High school games usually aren't high-scoring because of the intensity—most matches end with both teams in the teens.
But in this battle for a top-ten spot, Medford High and St. Mary's Academy had already pushed the score to 24-16 early in the second quarter.
That kind of firepower was way above your average high school league game.
And the excitement? It was just getting started.
On Medford's two-point conversion attempt, Mike used his slick moves to dodge defenders and punch in another two points for the team.
Then, when St. Mary's got the ball back, they fired right back with their brutal rushing attack, closing the gap again.
The back-and-forth was relentless, turning the game into a nail-biter.
The fans were eating it up, cheering louder with every play.
By the end of the third quarter, the score was 33-30. Medford clung to a slim lead.
The good news for Medford? They had the kickoff to start the fourth quarter.
This was their chance to pull away.
During the two-minute break, Coach George didn't bother with X's and O's.
Seeing how wiped out his guys looked, he just pumped them up: "Boys, you're doing great. I'm proud of you. Hang in there, keep it up—victory's ours."
Three quarters plus halftime and timeouts meant the game had been going for almost an hour.
The nonstop physical grind was testing everyone's stamina.
It was as much a battle of will as anything.
Coach George glanced at Sam, slumped on the bench with his head down, and asked, "Sam, you okay? Can you keep going?"
Over the first three quarters, Sam had fought like a warrior. He hadn't completely shut down their No. 74, but he'd slowed him down enough to make a difference.
Medford's narrow lead? Sam deserved a big chunk of the credit.
"I'm good, Coach," Sam said stubbornly, lifting his head. Sweat poured off his face like he'd been hosed down.
As the former school bully, Sam had his pride. He hated feeling useless more than anything.
He'd felt that helplessness once against Mike. No way was he letting No. 74 make him feel it again.
Coach George saw the fire in his eyes, patted his shoulder, and said, "You're a good kid. Don't push too hard—if you can't go, tell me."
The two minutes flew by, and both teams hit the field for the final stretch.
The crowd erupted again as the players took their positions.
Amid the roar, Sam flicked sweat from his eyes and stared down the big dude across from him. No trash talk this time—just pure determination in his glare.
Whistle!
Medford on offense.
Sam slid over fast, cutting off No. 74 as he tried to rush the quarterback.
Boom!
The two giants collided.
Sam, the smaller one, hit the ground hard—but with sheer grit, he reached out, grabbing at Oher's leg.
Whistle!
Holding after hitting the turf—offensive penalty on Medford.
Maybe Sam's toughness got to him, because Oher's big, dopey face broke into a friendly grin.
He bent down, offering a hand to help Sam up.
Sam waved it off stubbornly.
Teammates rushed over, blocking Oher and hauling Sam to his feet.
This time, nobody griped about the penalty. If anything, there was a quiet respect in the air for Sam's fight.
"You're bleeding..." Mike said, walking up.
Sam pulled off his helmet, wiped his nose, and saw blood on his fingers.
He was pale, clearly running on fumes.
Mike raised his hand, signaling for a timeout.
The guys helped Sam off to the sideline.
Tactically, Sam—the biggest guy on the team—was the best match for St. Mary's monster No. 74.
But in his current state? He couldn't keep playing.
Without Sam containing him, if No. 74 started dominating with his size, things could go sideways fast.
Nobody wanted that.
As Coach George racked his brain for a fix, Mike spoke up: "Coach, let me handle the big guy. I can contain him."
(Wrong version? Nah—this is the real deal, fresh off the press.)
Mike was the strongest player on the team by far. Matching him against their strongest guy made sense.
Coach George was tempted, but then shook his head. "No way, Mike. You're our offensive star. If you burn energy on defense, it'll mess up our whole attack."
The guys nodded—they agreed.
Over half of Medford's 33 points came from Mike's freakish plays on offense.
Sending your scoring machine to play defense? Didn't add up.
"Don't shoot it down yet," Mike said, breaking down the situation. "After three quarters, I've noticed their rush is nasty, but it all revolves around that No. 74.
"If I shut him down in the fourth, their offense basically dies."
Mike could see that St. Mary's rushing scheme was their coach's in-game adjustment.
And it only worked because of No. 74's insane blocking. Neutralize him, and half their attack crumbles.
As Mike explained, the path to victory got clearer.
Then he added, "Plus, I trust my teammates. Once No. 74's not a factor, they'll stonewall the rest."
Of course, it all hinged on Mike actually containing No. 74.
If he did, and their coach stuck with a rush scheme the players weren't used to...
It'd be a nasty surprise for St. Mary's.
Hearing Mike lay out the plan—and his faith in them—the Medford guys' eyes hardened with resolve.
Who joins football without wanting to shine?
Now Mike was handing them the spotlight.
Coach George realized this was probably Medford's best shot at winning.
But again—it all came down to Mike stopping No. 74.
That was no easy ask.
"You sure about this?" Coach George asked, still worried.
"Absolutely," Mike said with a grin. "It's all for the win."
Truth was, with his demonic physique, Mike didn't sweat collisions or getting banged up.
"Alright!"
Mike's vision sold Coach George. He gathered the team and laid out the new game plan for the final quarter.
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