The Big Time

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BEFORE SETH'S FINGERTIPS EVEN touched the ball, Troy felt a sickening shift in his gut.

The ball nicked off Seth's fingers.

Seth twisted, landed on one leg, and collapsed.

The Packers' running back adjusted for the tipped ball. It dropped into his arms like bread into a basket. The runner turned and charged ahead. Only a couple of Falcons could even get close, and they were tangled up by plenty of Green Bay blockers. The runner waltzed into the end zone for a touchdown. The hometown crowd booed.

Seth staggered to the sideline. Coach Mora jumped all over him, grabbing hold of the back of Seth's shoulder pad and tagging along with him all the way to the bench.

Troy followed.

"What the heck was that?" Mora asked, his face red. "I called a Double Cat Zone so we'd have plenty of backup on that screen, and it looked to me like a doggone Cyclone Blitz call. Did you run a Cyclone?"

Seth slumped down on the bench, slammed his helmet on the carpet in front of him, and threw back his head, shaking it with rage. "Yes! I ran a Cyclone, okay? I messed up."

Mora's face contorted with disbelief. Quietly, he asked, "You ran your own play?"

Seth glared at him. "I was trying to make something happen."

Mora barked out a laugh. "You made something happen all right."

"All right," Seth said through clenched teeth. "I messed up. Relax. It's early."

Mora nodded and said, "Okay. Relax. I can do that. But remember this, Halloway. I'm the coach. You're the player. So, I call the plays. You got that?"

"Okay," Seth said. "Got it."

Mora stomped off. Troy gave Seth a sympathetic look, then shrugged and followed. That wasn't the end of it, though.

The trouble had only begun.