Date: December 8, 1989 (Friday Night).
Location: The Houston Astrodome.
Event: State Semi-Finals: Medford Wolves (13-0) vs. Lufkin Panthers (13-0).
The Astrodome was not a football stadium. It was a cathedral.
The roof was so high it had its own weather system. The lights were brighter than the sun. The turf—Astroturf, literally named after this place—felt like green concrete painted to look like grass.
I stood at the 50-yard line for the coin toss. I wasn't using the cane anymore. My ankle was taped heavily—a "spat" tape job over the cleats—but the pain had dulled to a manageable ache. I tested it, putting weight on my toes. It held.
Across from me stood the Lufkin captains.
They were massive. Their linebacker, Number 55—the one who ran the 4.5 forty—looked down at me. He wasn't trying to be intimidating. He just was.
"You the quarterback?" he asked. He sounded bored.
"I am," I said.
"Heard you were crippled," he said, eyeing my leg.
"You heard wrong," I said, keeping my face blank.
I looked toward the sideline. George Sr. was standing there, arms crossed. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the Lufkin offensive huddle.
I looked up at the stands. Thousands of people. Somewhere in that sea of noise was Mary, Meemaw, Missy... and Sheldon.
Sheldon wasn't cheering. He was holding a pair of binoculars and a notebook.
The Secret Weapon was online.
***
The First Half: The Code
The game began, and for the first twenty-four minutes, it looked like magic.
Lufkin received the kickoff. They lined up in the I-Formation.
The quarterback walked to the line. He wiped his hands on his towel.
Run.
Bullard, our linebacker, saw it. He shifted inches to the right.
The ball was snapped. The handoff went right. Bullard was already there.
CRACK.
The collision echoed through the dome. Lufkin lost two yards.
Second down. The Lufkin running back set his feet. His left foot turned out.
Run Left.
Our defensive end crashed the B-Gap before the tackle even moved.
Whack.
Loss of three.
Third and long. The quarterback licked his fingers.
Pass.
Our secondary dropped back instantly, flooding the zones. The quarterback had nowhere to go. He was sacked by Tiny.
The Medford crowd went insane.
On the sideline, George Sr. didn't cheer. He just marked his clipboard. Check. Check. Check.
It was surgical. We weren't overpowering them; we were dismantling them.
Offensively, I played smart. I wasn't running around like a maniac yet—saving the ankle for when it mattered—but I moved the pocket. I stepped up. The "Dan Marino" quick release was working perfectly.
Halftime Score: Medford 14, Lufkin 0.
***
The Adjustment
The locker room was buzzing.
"They don't know what hit 'em!" Bullard yelled, slamming his helmet against a locker. "We are in their heads, boys!"
George Sr. walked in. He didn't look happy. He looked worried.
"Sit down!" George barked.
The room went silent.
"You think this is over?" George asked. "You think a team that went 13-0 is stupid? They're confused right now. But eventually, they're gonna figure out that we're guessing right every single time. And when they do, they're gonna switch the signals."
He looked at me.
"Georgie. If the edge disappears... you gotta be ready to play real football."
I nodded, tightening my laces. "I'm ready."
***
The Third Quarter: The Trap
It happened on the first drive of the second half.
Lufkin lined up. The quarterback wiped his hands on his towel. Run.
Bullard grinned. He shot the gap. The safety crept up. Everyone committed to the run.
The ball was snapped.
The quarterback didn't hand it off.
He pulled the ball back. Play action.
It was a bait. They knew we were reading the towel wipe.
Bullard was caught in the backfield, completely out of position. The safety was five yards too shallow.
The Lufkin tight end was wide open down the middle.
The quarterback threw a strike.
Touchdown.
The Lufkin coach stood on the sideline, staring directly at George Sr. He tapped his temple. I see you.
The code was broken.
The Lufkin offense woke up. The "Freight Train" linebacker, Number 55, stopped thinking and started hitting.
Next drive: Lufkin touchdown.
Next drive: Medford punt.
Next drive: Lufkin field goal.
Score: Lufkin 17, Medford 14.
Fourth Quarter. 4:00 minutes left.
***
The Climax
We had the ball on our own 20-yard line. Down by 3.
I jogged into the huddle. My ankle felt stiff, but adrenaline was masking the pain. I looked at the guys. They looked terrified. The magic trick had failed.
"Forget the defense," I said, my voice steady. "Forget the tells. It's just us now. 80 yards. Let's go."
I looked at Tiny. "Tiny, can you hold Number 55?"
Tiny looked at the Lufkin monster. "I got him, Georgie."
"Good."
I shifted gears. I stopped protecting the ankle.
First down: I rolled out right. The pain flared, but I planted and threw on the run. 15 yards to Higgins.
Second down: Play action. I stepped up into the pocket, absorbing a hit as I delivered a strike over the middle.
We marched down the field. Real football. No gimmicks. Just execution.
It was 3rd and Goal from the 5-yard line. 20 seconds left.
Lufkin showed blitz. Everyone was coming. They wanted to end it.
I saw Number 55 creeping up. He was going to blitz the A-Gap.
I needed a play that used their aggression against them.
George Sr. signaled from the sideline. Field Goal unit?
I looked at the sideline. I shook my head. One play.
George nodded. He trusted me.
"Spread formation!" I yelled. "Empty backfield!"
Lufkin backed off slightly, respecting the pass.
I took the snap.
I looked hard to the left, freezing the safety.
Then I pivoted. I didn't crumble. I didn't fall. I planted my right foot—the bad one—and drove through the pain.
"Go!" I screamed.
Screen pass. To the Tackle.
Tiny released from his block. I lofted the ball over the rushing defensive end.
Tiny caught it at the 5.
Number 55 saw him.
The collision happened at the 2-yard line. The Freight Train vs. The Mountain.
BOOM.
Tiny didn't go down. He churned his legs. He fell forward.
He landed in the endzone.
Touchdown.
Final Score: Medford 21, Lufkin 17.
***
The Aftermath
The Astrodome erupted.
I stood in the center of the field. My ankle throbbed, but I didn't collapse. I raised my arms.
I was still standing.
George Sr. ran onto the field, hugging Bullard, then running to me. He grabbed my facemask and shook it.
"You crazy son of a gun!" George yelled. "You waved off the kick!"
"We didn't come here to tie, Dad," I grinned.
I looked up at the stands.
I saw Sheldon. He wasn't cheering.
He was putting his binoculars away. He looked down at the field, found me, and gave a single, curt nod.
Equation solved.
[Quest Update: The State Path]
* Status: Semi-Finals WON.
* Achievement Unlocked: The Giant Killer.
* Next Stop: The State Championship.
* Georgie's Condition: 90% Recovered (Sore but functional).