by Purple Hazel
Ozzie’s heart raced. His eyes burned with excitement. The moment had come. “Fuck yeah!” he yelled back at Coach Nguyen. Securing his helmet and activating the interior lens light, he burst from the sideline and sprinted onto the field like a college walk-on getting his chance at glory…
He was tight as a drum. Hadn’t stretched in hours. Arm needed another warm-up throw or two. Legs weren’t loose anymore. Feet and ankles strained against their wraps after standing still for so long. “Too late now,” he muttered as he long-legged it out to the huddle. “Time to shine. Been waitin’ for this all night.”
Unfortunately, the first order of business was to get a now very unstable Assegai to yield control and leave the field. Tall order! That was going to be like bouncing an angry drunk from a titty bar late on a Friday night.
“What you want, old man?!” scoffed Assegai as Ozzie checked himself in. Coach Nguyen had signaled a referee about the substitution. Nevertheless, Assegai for some reason felt like creating a stink about it. Wouldn’t give up his position on the field without a struggle. Almost seemed like he was inviting Ozzie to fight him for it! Just stood with hands on his hips, jeering at his replacement, almost provoking an altercation. Luckily, Samson was still on the scene and in no mood to let things degenerate further. He’d had just about enough of Assegai and his antics since the start of the half.
“Hey, asshole! That’s enough! Get off the fuckin’ field!” he yelled at the stubborn South African. Soon others were joining in, urging him to accept the coach’s decision and beat it to the sideline so play could resume. Not long after that, a referee walked over and inquired as to the situation.
“Oi! You blokes got things sorted?” asked the referee, with one hand on his hip, and another gripping his whistle. If things didn’t right themselves, he certainly had it within his power to penalize the Wranglers another ten meters for delay of game. This would make things even worse for them. Field position had been an issue most of the night, and now they were back at their own thirty-meter line.
“Yep, we kin work it out, I reckon,” replied Ozzie, ignoring the scuffle going on between his own Forwards and a now-resentful Assegai. “Thank you, sir. I think the boys ’n I just need to have a little chat, that’s all. Our friend here was just leavin’.”
The referee chuckled. It sounded almost like a group of men pleading their case with a bouncer at a nightclub to let them stay—as long as their drunk friend would agree to leave quietly. “Alright, Ranger,” he laughed. “Then let’s get things moving along, shall we?” Ozzie nodded and called the offense together for a huddle. Assegai, realizing he was being ignored, trotted off the field reluctantly. Returning to the sideline, he spoke to no one as he sat down on the bench and sulked. Ozzie, meanwhile, told his teammates of his plans.
“Alright…now y’all listen up. We got about ten seconds, so let me tell ya’ rill quick what we’re gonna do.” The players were already emotionally frazzled from the embarrassment of the past several minutes. Yet Ozzie’s bright confidence inspired them.
“Now…I think we can drive this motherfucker right down the field on these bastards. Whaddyah say to that?” This raised a few snickers and murmurs. Ozzie expected that, given what they’d been through already, yet he continued unabated. “First off…I’m scriptin’ the next five plays. We’re gonna run ’em all without a huddle, too, so listen up. O.C.’s gonna shit down my neck when he figgers it out, but y’all leave that up to me. We got plenty o’ time. Alright?” A few heads nodded.
“Strong Right. Thirty-eight. Toss sweep. Same as them Limeys been seein’ all night. Run it. Line up again. Then we do Strong Right 49 Blast. We’re gonna draw that middle-backer into blitzing us, thinkin’ we don’t dare throw it with a new Center Back in the game. Get it?” A few more heads nodded. Samson got a big grin on his face, realizing where Ozzie might be heading with his logic.
“Once they stuff us on them two plays, we gonna throw it. Get me? Run Strong Right again, then we go back to 38 toss sweep, but this time…I fake it. Two Back, you cover my ass from the backside. Four Back, you find that Middle Backer on the blitz and light him up like a slot machine when he come through. Outside Backers? You know what to do. If he blitzes…which he’s gonna…I’ve been watchin’ him doin’ it all night when we’re strong right…then Five Back, you go curl around and I’ll toss it over his head to ya’. Six Back, you hitch ’n go. Remember how we practiced it ’fore the game?” The Outside Backer grinned and nodded. “If I get time to throw it, I’m hittin’ you down the sideline. Run about ten meters…stop like yer gonna turn ta’ catch it…then take off. Thirty meters ’n you should see the ball comin’ for you. Then you just beat the safety to the fuckin’ goal line.”
At that point, Samson clarified, “I thought you said five plays Ranger. What about the other two?”
“Same thing brother,” replied Ozzie. “If we complete the pass, just do it again. We line up and go 38 Toss Sweep. Fake it. Try and complete a pass down the field. If we keep completing it, we line up and do it again. Do it until they stop blitzin’ that fucker through our line. See?”
“Now…we don’t got much time ’fore we get a delay of game so let me tell you this, Five Back. If that Middle-backer stays at home, you take him out. Go for the legs. I’ll see him if he’s still there, and throw to the Six Back. If that fucker gets through, I’m tossin’ out to the flats to avoid the sack. Okay? You Forwards…just give me THREE SECONDS. Four ’d be better.” Then he grinned and broke the huddle.
At that point, most everyone got the picture. It was just like the old days with “Ranger” Guerrero running the offense…
Ozzie had guessed right—for the most part. London stuffed the misdirection sweep to the weak side. Middle Back burst through and tripped up the Four Back, who stumbled for maybe a meter or two before falling to the turf. The toss sweep to the right invited the same defensive tactic, luring the middle-backer on the other side into blitzing C-gap and causing the Three Back from Dallas to take a wider arc around the defense. London easily brought him down right around the original scrum line. Just what Ozzie expected.
But on the third play, Dallas’ Forwards braced themselves excitedly for Ozzie’s proposed trickery: the fake toss sweep, with the Three Back blowing up the blitz, the Four Back sealing the London Defensive End, and Dallas’ Five Back wide open behind the defense for an easy grab. Unfortunately, the Three Back dove early at the blitzing Middle Back and Ozzie suddenly found himself in danger of being sacked! Thinking fast, he tossed it out to the side where it fell harmlessly to the ground near his Four Back’s feet. Now it was Fourth Down, and last chance for Dallas before they had to turn it over. However…Ozzie was undeterred. He was certain they could fool London once again.
“THIRTY-EIGHT! THIRTY-EIGHT!” he screamed as he stood in position behind the Center Forward. He was about three meters back of him and expecting a shotgun snap, just like in old-fashioned American football. Dallas was at the thirty-three meter line, and it would have been far wiser to “kick for touch”, as they say in rugby. But Ozzie wasn’t interested in that, even if others were staunchly opposed. By then the Offensive Coordinator was literally screaming into his headset to punt.
“Fuck! Ranger? Can you hear me? Shit! Punt it. Punt it, goddam it!” Ozzie ignored him. He lined up in the same formation for the fourth straight time.
“THIRTY-EIGHT!” he yelled again, then very rapidly he screamed, “CHECK! CHECK! CHECK!” He then stood up straight like he noticed something odd and was alerting his men to it. It was all a ruse. No audible had been called. He could see the Middle Backer from London staring back at him through his bright red lens. Poor fellow had no idea what he was going on about! He stood up too, for just a moment, then Ozzie quickly yelled “HIKE!” It worked perfectly!
Sure enough, this momentary hesitation was enough to delay the blitz for perhaps a half-second. The middle-backer came barreling through the C-gap only to find Dallas’ Three Back cutting his legs out f
rom under him before he could plant his feet and leap over him. He practically cart-wheeled through the air!
“Nailed him!” Ozzie exclaimed excitedly, then he looked out over the defense to find his man. Wide open. Ozzie jumped up and heaved it to him. Hit him right between the numbers. Completion! And with that, the Five Back turned downfield to pick up ten extra meters. It was plenty. Dallas had its first big play of the second half.
“FIRST DOWN!” yelled the referee. The Wranglers went wild with excitement. Now they were starting to believe in their wise old leader. Some even came back to huddle-up behind the scrum line. Ozzie waved them off with a shoving motion. “No huddle! No huddle! Keep it goin’! Keep it goin!” he hollered at them. London’s defense was already in confusion. Time to strike. The players quickly lined up for another play.
“THIRTY-EIGHT! THIRTY-EIGHT! CHECK-CHECK-CHECK!” he screamed, then stepped back a bit as if he’d changed the play yet again! “SIX-TEEN! SIX-TEEN!” he then bellowed more slowly and emphatically, which he noticed had an immediate effect on the Safety. The nervous man actually took several steps forward…like he was anticipating the same play!
“I got him now,” muttered Ozzie. “I’m not even gonna fake the toss sweep this time.” He then took one more deep breath. “Here we go mother fucker. HIKE-HIKE!”
The Six Back did a perfect “hitch and go” route, running downfield ten meters, then pausing for an instant before racing down the sideline. He beat his man easily, sprinting like a madman. “There he goes!” yelled Ozzie to himself, and he could already hear the Offensive Coordinator screaming into his headset begging him not to throw it downfield. “No! Fuck...Ranger! Don’t throw it!”
This time the Middle Back for London stayed at home and met the Five Back coming across the middle. Ozzie barely noticed this, worried far more about his Two Back picking up the Defensive End bearing down from behind. The rest of his Forwards were holding their own, so Ozzie reared back to throw. The rush of excitement electrified his body. “Here it goes baby!” he grunted as he heaved the ball.
Oh, how it sailed through the air! And the moment Ozzie let go of it, it seemed he had only a second to watch it spiraling downfield, with the backdrop of tens of thousands of Londoners in Wembley Stadium watching, gasping, and screaming in panic. “Oh God!” Ozzie could hear a voice yelling. Wondered if it was the Offensive Coordinator, but then dismissed the thought as he noticed it was spoken with a British accent.
Then came the impact. A helmet planted firmly in his left clavicle. An arm looped around his leg. The defense had closed around him. It sounded like an automobile accident, or a door slamming inside his head. Within moments, he was buried under a pile of angry, gasping, sweaty Englishmen. All he could do now was protect himself at the bottom of the pile and hope for the best.
“Incompletion!” bellowed the stadium announcer. Sure enough, in his excitement at finding his wide-open receiver, he’d overthrown the poor man by several meters! Not that the fellow didn’t try desperately; however, it was not to be. The ball drifted beyond his fingertips and bounced on the Wembley Stadium turf. No dice. The play was a bust. London had done just what he’d expected. His teammates had done just what he’d asked them to do. Yet he had failed them. It almost felt for a moment like this was Dallas’ last chance to put the game away…
Subsequently, Ozzie was helped to his feet by a few of his loyal Forwards, everyone gasping and heaving to try and get their air back. He was dumfounded, watching the replay on the large video screen displayed next to the scoreboard at the opposite end of the stadium. How could he have missed? Now what was he going to do? That was the fifth play he’d scripted for them!
His team gathered around him and formed a huddle. They didn’t know what to do, either. They’d gone no-huddle for five plays and fooled the pants off of London. Yet now they had no idea what they were going to try. Meanwhile, Ozzie was getting an earful from the Offensive Coordinator up in the press box!
“Ranger? Are you listening? Ranger? Jeez! You listening to me, goddam it?” he kept screaming. Ozzie even looked over at the sideline to see what Coach Nguyen was doing. Was he about to send in Haskeh and replace him? It was hard to tell. Coach Nguyen was standing with his headset in his right hand and both hands on his hips while shaking his head. A trace of a grin could be seen on his face. Seemed to Ozzie like Coach Nguyen had taken off his headset completely, just so he wouldn’t have to hear his own Offensive Coordinator screaming in his ears! Ozzie nodded toward him as if to say, “Don’t worry, I got this coach…” then turned to his teammates and sighed.
“Okay boys. Now we got ’em just where we want ’em,” and when he said that several teammates coughed, laughed, and wheezed with surprise at his gallows humor.
“Izzat right?” one of them taunted playfully. “We at midfield, Ranger,” he then added, panting. “Done did all them five plays. What now, old man?” Another then said, “Too far away for no field goal. Whuddya got in mind?”
Ozzie thought about it. Suddenly, hours and hours of studying plays and learning defensive tendencies from his famous brother began to pay off. He could see everything now in his more mathematical, educated mind. What he’d demonstrated over the past five plays should have been plenty enough to confuse London’s defense into staying in their zones until they had a chance to determine a pattern to Dallas’ tactics. Ozzie pictured it now. Everyone would sit back in coverage, wouldn’t they? They’d wait to see what Ozzie did next. Or would they?
“Well, we can run the ball on ’em now I bet. Them Middle Backs ’ll stay put. We kin prob-lee line up and drive it down their throats,” he began, speaking candidly. Only he had no intention of doing something like that. He’d done a perfectly good job of selling the deep pass to the London secondary. That only left one, maybe two defenders left to try and maul the backfield: the weak side Middle Back…and the Defensive End. They’d finally gotten to him on the previous play—right after he’d released the ball. Knocked the piss out of him, too. This time they’d be out for blood if he dared trying it again.
“Here’s what I’m thinkin’, boys. We got two suckers over there on that defense that we ain’t fooled yet, and they’re both comin’ for me on this next play. Now…I’m gonna take a beatin’ for doin’ this, but y’all listen up. We’re gonna do Strong Right, 33 Counter. But Three Back, I’m gonna fake the handoff and toss it to the Two Back on a swing pass. Two Back, you hold up that Defensive End for three seconds, then let him go. We’ll pull the Left Outside Guard to give you an escort against that Outside Backer and you’ll be off to the races. It’ll be just you and that Safety over there to contend with. Got it?”
Everyone did. On paper, it was a brilliant call—if, of course, the Two Back caught it—and assuming the Defensive End blitzed—which he likely would. Ozzie just knew he’d fall for it. “Y’all ready now?” Ozzie asked one more time, giving them five extra seconds to catch their breath.
“Okay?” he then added, and raised up his hands to clap them together and yell “BREAK!” The team turned and trotted up to the scrum line to set up and run the play.
“THIRTY-EIGHT!” he screamed again…as if London wasn’t tiring of that number already. He then stepped in closer for the snap, which he hadn’t done yet. “THIRTY-EIGHT!” he yelled one more time, then “HIKE-HIKE-HIKE!” in rapid succession so that London’s Forwards would lunge forward aggressively. After that, it pretty much worked according to plan.
The left outside guard pulled back and sprinted around the end, just missing the Defensive End, who thought he saw the same damn play for the sixth time in a row. The Three Back sprinted past Ozzie, who curled around to the right and pivoted completely to fake a handoff to him. The Three Back then collided immediately with an excited defensive Forward who bear-hugged him, wrestling him to the ground thinking he’d just made a devastating tackle. The weak side Middle Backer then attacked quickly through the gap, and Dallas’ Two Back sprinted out into the flat.
Now Ozzie had
two marauding monsters coming at him, fully believing they had him dead to rights. Knowing he was about to get pounded into the turf, he raised up quickly and lofted the ball right over their heads, with only a slight lead on his receiver. The Two Back caught it easily and exploded into full stride. With a lead blocker plowing the road, there was little London could do to stave off disaster. The fleet-footed Two back raced down the sideline for the remaining forty-seven meters or so to the goal line. Dallas had finally scored another try!
Back on the sideline, it was pandemonium. “Holy shit!” yelled Coach Nguyen. “What in the hell was that?! What in the hell was that?!” But there was no use questioning the result. There was only one word for it, at least according to one particularly jubilant teammate nearby, and the little kicking specialist from Quebec City was screaming it out for the all the world to hear:
“Magnifique! Magnifique! Oh coach, do you see? It’s Ranger! He’s back. It’s like zee old times!” And within minutes, the joyful Canuck would seal the deal, kicking the ball through the uprights and bringing the score to 14-6…
Ozzie, sadly enough, would neither see nor experience any of this, by the way. He was, unfortunately, out cold. The hits he took from the two London defenders after releasing that pass were enough to send him into dreamland.
It was incredible, the impact they leveled on him. It was also enough to give him a severe concussion. By the time the pile of bodies had been removed and there was only one immobile carcass left on the ground, that’s when his excited teammates realized their brave leader was unconscious. Sure enough, with the game on the line, he had delivered. And the previously partisan British fans were already chanting his name out of respect a few minutes later when EMT’s arrived on the scene to tend to him. Ozzie would know none of this—nor hear the appreciative English crowd.