Page 24
After a long drive down the field, they had to settle for a field goal.
Abby made popcorn and Dylan practiced balancing kernels on the end of Gen’s nose during the commercials.
When he’d realized how much food training was an integral part of Gen’s routine, Dylan had embraced the new dynamic and taken it upon himself to “help” her.
If she left the popcorn, he’d take it from her nose, pop it in his mouth, and offer her a small piece of kibble in return.
When she didn’t manage to resist the temptation, he followed Abby’s instructions to “cover” the food when it fell to the floor, preventing Gen from positively reinforcing her own disobedience.
After a few rounds, she ignored the popcorn every time.
By half-time, the 49ers and Raptors had battled up and down the field but only scored nine points between them: one field goal for the home team and two for the visiting team. Both would have to adjust.
When the 49ers received the ball to open the third quarter, they scored a touchdown in less than two minutes.
Under pressure to respond, the Raptor offense took the field, but a quick three-and-out later, the 49’ers were in control again.
They pushed down the field and into the red zone.
A last-ditch defensive effort, led by a big stop from Jimmy, held them to only three points, but they’d widened the gap to a two-score game.
Scott took the field with his offense, but their struggles led to a third and eight. Scott flicked a pass to Finn, who dove toward the line, and the chains came out.
“Fourth and inches,” Abby said as the television posted the same in a strip along the bottom of the screen.
“They should go for it,” Dylan declared.
“Seems early, still.”
“Yeah, but if they turn it over and San Francisco scores, they’ll have to dig out of a seventeen-point hole.”
Seconds later, Scott went under center. Dylan had been right.
Abby mulled it over as she kept one eye on the television and one on the boy.
He never missed his dad’s games, but he definitely didn’t have Scott’s passion for football.
Some kids would have already been on a champion selections team by Dylan’s age, following in their father’s footsteps.
Abby had always assumed because he didn’t play, he wasn’t interested.
She’d been wrong. He’d grown up with this game, grown up on Scott’s lap as he watched tape, grown up on the sidelines with the kids of the other players, many of whom were on those elite teams. He’d listened to countless hours of commentary, decoded innumerable plays, slid Xs and Os around a board since he’d mastered a pinch grip at less than a year old.
“Yes. Go, Dad!” Dylan pumped his fist as Scott dove over the line and got the first down. He turned to Abby. “He’s been watching a lot of tape of Manny Patrick, the Chiefs quarterback.”
Abby nodded. “Looks like it paid off.”
A couple solid runs and some quick passes got them into the red zone, and if they pressed now, they could close the gap with a full quarter still to play.
Dylan, fingers twining in Gen’s ruff, hummed as the offense set. Then, eyes lighting up, he leaned forward. “C’mon, Dad.”
The ball snapped, Scott dropped back and turned right, passing the ball to one of his runners. The cameras and blockers slid left, following the runner, who ran out of bounds after only gaining a yard, but then...
“Yeah!” Dylan whooped.
The camera, realizing the runner didn’t have the ball, panned back to Scott, who’d already set his feet. He drilled a pass between two defenders, a chancy throw, but it paid off.
The receiver rolled to his feet and spiked the ball as the refs raised their arms.
“Touchdown.”
“Finally!” Abby high-fived Dylan.
But the Raptors had blown all their energy on those seven points, and the defense struggled against the 49’ers offense.
Garrett Matthews, the quarterback, had studied in Kansas City under Manny Patrick; one step better than studying his tape, and they’d dialed in their rushing game. Another touchdown.
Again, the Raptors were deep in a hole.
Playing catch up since the half had taken its toll, and exhaustion dogged the defense’s steps. They needed a long drive to run out the clock a bit, then maybe take a two-point conversion. Either way, they couldn’t allow the 49ers to score again.
Then, in surreal slow-motion, Scott passed up the field, straight into the arms of a defender.
“No,” Abby shrieked in outrage. “Come on.”
Dylan slumped in his seat.
“It’s okay, there’s still time...”
But the last few minutes of the game spun out with another touchdown for San Francisco, an easy pick-six, and by the time the Raptors got the ball back, only enough time remained for Scott to pitch a Hail Mary up the field, but the receiver tripped over his own feet, sliding on his belly in the turf as the ball sailed overhead.
The last second ticked away.
Dylan and Abby sat silently as the commentators picked the game apart, then Abby grabbed the remote and mashed the power button. The screen went dark, but still, neither one said anything.
“It’s early in the season,” Abby choked out. “Away games are hard. They’re home next week, and the Seahawks lost today, so they’re only one-and-one...”
Dylan nodded. “I know.”
He didn’t need reassuring; this had always been his life.
“Ice cream?”
Dylan grinned. “Yes.”
Table of Contents
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- Page 24 (Reading here)
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