Braxton had returned to the field, and so did Sumo, positioned as a WR and a Center respectively. Even the punt returner remained on the field, taking his spot behind Trevor as the RB. Both he and Trevor were the same height—the shortest on Westfield's roster.
Whilst every Shamrock was large, there was a third giant amongst their ranks flanking the formation on the opposite wing to Braxton. Randy Buckland was a touch shorter than Braxton, but another giant nonetheless, though he was the spindliest of the three. His eyes were narrow slits, darting about as if looking for his next target, and inspecting it for weak points.
Deshaun sighed as he took his position opposite Braxton, glaring up at the braid-wearing bitch. "Hah, that's a good name for him."
Sure, Braid Bitch was tall, but not insurmountable. Deshaun hadn't practised against a giant oaf practically every day for four years just to get stumped when coming up against another one in a real game. Stephen's—and likewise, Braid Bitch's—height was an obstacle, but one that could be overcome.
He glanced across the field to where Ty and the real giant stood. It was easy to spot Jeremiah Byrd no matter where you and he were on the field, but Ty looked like a kid next to him.
"He practically IS a kid, damn freshy."
He sighed again, shaking off his hands to stop the jitters. Hopefully that little freak of nature freshy could overcome a height difference THAT large.
There wasn't much more time to worry about Ty, however, as the ball was soon snapped, and Braid Bitch lurched forward. Unfortunately, he wasn't as much of a lumbering, slow-footed buffoon as he looked.
Deshaun stayed back as his eyes darted between Braid Bitch and the QB; going up against Stephen had told him you wanted to stay out of a giant's reach until the last moment when you could make a break on the ball.
Trevor scanned the field, eyes falling on Braxton. He uncorked his throw just as Braxton broke to the outside. Stretching up, Braxton's reach was well out of Deshaun's range, even as he came flying in, latching onto the much larger Shamrock.
They were tangled up, and as Braxton tried to fight through, Deshaun pushed him over the sideline, stopping the play at 8 yards, just before the Shamrocks could earn a first down. Still, it was a successful opening play for Westfield.
"Fuck," Deshaun cursed himself. Just because he'd been training against Stephen all that time didn't mean he knew how to completely shut down his fellow Don, or someone like him. Usually, it was Stephen who came out on top in their duels.
'That's too easy,' Braid Bitch said, laughing. 'They don't got anyone taller than you to guard me?'
'You ugly motherfuckers think you're untouchable just 'cause you tall? Nah. You ain't winnin' shit today.'
Braid Bitch laughed harder, backtracking towards Westfield's huddle. 'I didn't know blacks came in such small packages.'
Deshaun stared after him, stunlocked by the response. Even when he'd found his way back to the Dons' huddle, he was still reeling from the comment. "Did that white boy really say that shit?"
JJ thumping him on the back, and telling him he'd "get them next time" dispersed enough of the cloud over Deshaun's mind, and he jogged back to his spot for the next play, glaring under his helmet at Braid Bitch.
With only a couple of yards to go, and with two more attempts at it, the Shamrocks tried their first run of the evening, sending their RB up the gut.
Sumo led the way, bowling over the first Don in his path like a bulldozer. The RB followed behind, cutting through the empty space. Sumo locked eyes with JJ, and lunged forward with a double-palm thrust. But JJ was nimbler than that, knowing he didn't have to take Sumo on directly. He skirted around the clumsy Center, and slammed into the RB instead, dragging him down after a short gain of 3 yards, yet those 3 yards were just enough to earn Westfield another first down.
JJ rolled off the RB, popping back to his feet, he offered the fallen Shamrock a hand, which was ignored in favour of Sumo's pudgy mitt which came a second later.
'You okay, Shannon?' Sumo asked, easily lifting his teammate back onto his feet. 'Sorry I missed him.'
Shannon, the sleek RB, patted himself down, nodding. 'You're fine, Jordy. I'm fine. It's all fine.'
Shannon looked JJ's way, and for a moment, soft grey eyes turned into hard, steel arrows. His whole face morphed from a rounded, cheerful if neutral expression, into hard lines and defined hatred. Both Shamrocks turned away, stomping back to their huddle.
JJ shook his head, wondering what their problem was. As he returned to the Dons' huddle, he glanced over his shoulder, taking another look at Shannon.
Sleek was the best way to describe him. Long-legged, and not that broad, he had strangely short arms. JJ had worried he'd be a formidable combination of power and speed, but after their first confrontation, he was feeling confident.
Compared to Denzel Kingston's power—even his speed honestly—Shannon was easy enough to wrangle once JJ got his arms around him. And unless he was waiting to show off at the right moment, he didn't seem all that shifty and agile either, at least not compared to someone like the Cats' RB all the way back from their first game in Regionals. "Stop thinking of Arby's that wasn't it. It was … Archie, yeah, with the hair." Compared to Archie, Shannon might as well've been running through quicksand.
The teams lined up with one another, the crowd beginning to chant "dee-fence", hoping to slow down Westfield's quick start.
With a new set of downs, the world was their oyster. They could do anything they wanted. Another run? Play-Action? A Draw? The Dons wouldn't know what was coming at them until it'd flattened them.
But no, it was quite obvious what was coming next to those with enough awareness. Westfield had proven they could get a first down when they wanted, even if their first run wasn't as successful as they would've liked. Now it was time to see which of the game's two stars would shine brighter in their showdown.
Stringbean towered over Ty, grinning down at him. Ty ignored him, locked on Trevor instead, waiting for the snap. He couldn't press close at the Line, he'd learned that on the first play, when his spear hadn't been able to reach Stringbean before one of his beanstalks slammed into Ty first. He had to stay back, waiting for the right time to close in and snatch the ball away, that's how the Dons would slay these giants.
Stringbean was quicker than he looked. A lesser CB would've been surprised at his sudden burst of speed—made more impressive from his starting point at the end of Westfield's O-Line. However, he wasn't fast enough to break away from Ty, not even when he feinted in then cut out; there wasn't a step of separation as they veered towards the sideline.
Jeremiah still wore a grin on his face. He was too slow to get away from Ty? Fine, who cared? What was Tyrese Samuels to him but an ant desperately clinging at his laces? He didn't need to shake Ty off to beat him.
Trevor was calm and composed behind the Line, watching Jeremiah lope across the field. He took a breath before launching the ball deep, putting it out in front of Jeremiah and Ty.
A Fade down the sideline. Expected, but just because Ty knew it was coming, didn't put him in a position to stop it; if you stood on the tracks, you knew a train was eventually going to come run you down, and that knowledge didn't help your chances of physically stopping it.
Ty didn't need help, didn't need advantages, didn't even need Coach Hoang. All he needed was himself. He'd beat Stringbean with his own superiority, eclipsing the giant, and reaching higher than Stringbean ever could.
As the ball neared, Stringbean glanced back, shifting around, preparing himself. Ty had been watching it float towards them throughout its entire journey. He put himself in the best position, using a running start and launching into the air, as Stringbean leapt from a standstill. Both of Stringbean's hands stretched into the sky, where only one of Ty's did. Ty flailed, reaching as if he could pop his fingers from their sockets, stretch them along tendons, and extend a few extra inches … but he still couldn't come close to the ball—it fell easily into Stringbean's hands.
Ty crashed onto the turf, landing awkwardly with how he'd thrown himself wildly at the ball. A snort from Stringbean could've been a laugh, could've been simple exertion as he turned and strode down the sideline. Zayden closed the distance quickly, shoving him out of bounds, but not before he'd earned 23 yards for the Shamrocks, and brought them across half-field.
Ty picked himself up, dusting himself off. Zayden cast a look his way, and Stringbean's dumb grin could've been seen from space. Ty ignored them both, stalking back to the huddle; he'd jump higher next time, simple.
Resetting with another first down, the Shamrocks tested the Dons' run defence again. Maybe the first time had just been a fluke, maybe Jordy could have a better impact now he knew what to look out for. Instead, JJ was just as disruptive, even with Jordy getting a hand on him, he wouldn't be denied, and laid his hands upon Shannon, dragging the RB down after another gain of 3 yards.
The result didn't strike a lot of confidence in the Shamrocks, and provided a little fervour for the Dons' supporters, helping them find their voices after Jeremiah's big gain had silenced them.
Regrouping, JJ reminded his hermanos the Shamrocks were still out of field-goal range. If they could just get stops now, everything would be fine.
Deshaun repeated the mantra "just one stop" in his head as he lined up against Braid Bitch again. Deshaun could stick with him, he knew that; usually it was the opposite. His speed was his fatal flaw, but that wasn't an issue this game. He could dominate, could prove he deserved to go D1, and could be the leader on a D1 defence.
The ball was snapped, and Deshaun jumped back, eyes scanning the middle of the field, making sure it wasn't another run; it wasn't. The QB dropped back, clutching the ball to his chest, never even looking to hand it off.
Braid Bitch lunged forward like he was chasing after Deshaun, who continued backpedalling. Braid Bitch then cut in decisively. There was no feint, no deception at all, just pure confidence. Why did he care if Deshaun followed him?
Trevor fired the ball over the middle, floating it up high. It lifted just beyond JJ's outstretched fingertips, and even Deshaun's as he launched himself. Braid Bitch's hands found it, just before he collided with Sonny, who dropped down and crashed into him hard, sandwiching Braid Bitch between himself and Deshaun. The collision didn't jostle the ball loose, but it did stop the Shamrocks' progress, and kept the reception to 11 yards.
Still, that brought Westfield to the edge of the red-zone, and gave them a fresh set of downs to assault the end-zone with.
Braid Bitch bounced to his feet, towering over both Deshaun, and Sonny, who Deshaun helped back up. 'Woo! Ain't no stopping me, boy. I don't give a donkey's ass if you bring three next time.' He shoved past them. A snarl stuck in Deshaun's throat, as Sonny grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back towards the Dons' huddle.
Determined, stubborn, the Shamrocks went for another first down run, this time sending Shannon to the outside.
Finally, Donte had space to work with as the Shamrocks' O-Line shifted to help the run, and he pushed the Tackle back, holding his ground, waiting until Shannon tried to sneak past the edge. Donte's arm shot out, snagging the RB's hip, wrapping around him tighter than a seatbelt, corralling him, pulling him down for a loss of a yard.
Without Jordy's assistance, Shannon was going nowhere on the ground; the Shamrocks would have to earn their win through the air … but as things were going, they were happy to do so. If only the Dons could turn their fate around. In the huddle, hopeful eyes kept finding their way to Ty's silent form.
Stringbean laughed when Ty came before him again. 'They must really hate your guts, leaving you to fend for yourself.'
'Oh, you don't know what having your teammates' trust looks like? I'm not surprised. Well, I am a bit surprised they're smart enough to see what a giant failure you are. Maybe you don't all have corn for brains.'
'You think you're so clever. You think all this shit-talking makes you look confident? It doesn't, it makes you look delusional. Nobody supports you, they all come to laugh at you when you fail.'
'I don't give a fuck what they're here for. Whether they cheer or cry, they're here to see ME, not you. You're just another name for me to conquer, and you'll be forgotten when I move on to greater things, just like all the rest.'
'Conquer? You're about to be conquered worse than your ancestors.'
Ty lashed out. Luckily the ball was snapped just as he did. His spear struck Stringbean hard, pushing him back for a second, but he powered through, barrelling ahead. Ty stumbled in his urgency to follow.
Trevor dropped far back. The Shamrocks were done playing around, and were going for the kill. The end-zone was his target, and held his gaze from the moment he secured the ball.
Donte couldn't give them the time for it all to develop. The long drop-back was the perfect bait, especially without a RB offering extra protection. He could save his teammates if he got to the QB. However, the sloppiness the Shamrocks' O-Line had when moving into position for run blocking was completely vacant when it came to pass protection.
When all they had to do was step back and protect the pocket, the Linemen utilised their long arms to their utmost, keeping Donte at bay, and pinning him in place. Their arms were like poleaxes. If he tried to go through them, they jabbed into his chest first and held him down. If he tried to go around, they swiped out and knocked him aside, or kept pushing him wider and wider with no chance to turn the corner.
He grit his teeth, pushing and twisting, trying to spin past, but the axe was sunk deep, and he couldn't budge it. He couldn't reach the QB. He couldn't help his teammates.
Jeremiah's route wasn't fancy by any means. It was a simple sprint, straight to the end-zone. Others spread out, attacking the corners, and another pair of Receivers hooked around underneath to keep the LBs occupied.
Zayden saw the other two routes heading for either side of the end-zone, but his eyes locked onto Jeremiah charging up the middle. That was the danger zone, even if Ty was right on top of it. What a strange feeling, yet somehow it was true.
With a clean pocket, and Jeremiah drawing nearer to the end-zone, Trevor launched the ball to the back of it, with a high-arcing lob.
Ty tracked the flight of the ball. Again, Jeremiah was late to turn his head, as if he expected the ball to fall right where he wanted it to, and looking back to confirm its path was an obligation he saw as beneath him.
Again, Ty veered away, running in an arc so he could come in at an angle, and get a proper running leap to attack the zenith of its drop zone. Stringbean planted himself before jumping. And Zayden swept in from the opposite side as Ty, eyes fixed on the ball.
The flying Dons collided, neither one even scraping the ball, as Stringbean remained ultimately uncontested, and unchallenged, coming out unscathed, standing tall with the ball held high above his head, feet solidly within the bounds of the end-zone.
A small contingent of the crowd burst into cheers, when the officials signalled touchdown. They were loud and boisterous, trying to make up for their lack of numbers through volume.
Ty hardly heard them, hardly even remembered Stringbean even as the giant freak was looming over him. He stared at Zayden. The were winded but thankfully nothing more disastrous had come from their in-air collision.
Ty was irate, first with himself, his body heaving with each angry breath. That anger quickly latched onto Zayden.
'What the fuck did you do?!' he yelled. He'd never asked for help, and he didn't fucking need it, especially not from Zayden. What the hell was anyone else going to do except get in his way?
Zayden pushed himself up, anger rapidly replaced confusion; he didn't offer Ty a hand. 'I tried to stop YOUR man from scoring! One of us had to.'
Ty burst up, going chest to chest with Zayden. JJ swooped in, pulling them apart before any shoving could begin, and the insults could deepen. Deshaun escorted Zayden back.
Nearby, even whilst surrounded by teammates singing his praises, Jeremiah watched on, and laughed. 'Typical!'
Ty's head whipped around, his rage finding a new target, its true source. JJ's arms squeezed tighter around him, as he dragged Ty back to the sideline.
'I know, hermanito, I know. We'll get them next time, but you have to keep your head straight. We're on the same team, all working together to stop these pendejos.'