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This is my moment.
“Hold up.” Brett steps in beside me and quickly fires off his first throw before I can. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
We both watch as his ball barely skims over the crossbar.
“Damn, that looked close.” He struts around in front of me with a smirk and stops directly behind me. “Good luck following that.”
He’s trying to throw me off and intimidate me. I get it. But all he’s done is piss me off.
“Yours did look close.” I step back in and focus on the crossbar again. It still looks huge. I launch my first throw and quickly turn around to face the opposite direction. The ball hits the crossbar dead center and echoes across the field as I look directly into Brett’s eyes. “But mine sounded closer.”
The entire team choruses a mixture of cheers and jeers, clearly enjoying the competition.
“Thirty yard line!” Coach Chubb shouts from the sidelines. We both respond immediately, moving back in silent compliance.
But Brett’s not talking shit anymore. He realizes he’s in a fight where every throw matters.
“Ladies first.” He holds his arm out, prompting me to go before him this time.
“Good one, Brett.” I chuckle and wave him aside. Gripping the ball, I focus in on the crossbar. Thirty yards out and it still looks just as clear to me as the first time. I’m completely dialed in and don’t waste any time throwing an absolute laser that hits the crossbar dead center, again.
The sidelines erupt in a collective “oh shit.” Two in a row off the crossbar is rare.
Brett looks a little rattled now as he steps to the line, patting the ball nervously a few extra times before throwing. His second attempt sails straight over the crossbar by at least a foot.
“Shit!” He takes off his shoulder pads and tosses them on the ground.
“Forty yard line!” Coach Chubbs orders.
I notice Brett trying to steel himself with a few deep breaths as we walk back another ten yards.
There’s no more trash talking… or strutting. This time he just shrugs his shoulders, allowing me to choose which one of us goes first.
I nod, barely acknowledging him, and place my left foot on the forty yard line. I pick up my head and lock in on the crossbar again. It looks a little smaller this time, but I feel good today.
This is my moment.
Seconds later, the ball hits the crossbar an unprecedented third time in a row.
Fuck yeah!
Brett is a four-time Pro Bowl quarterback, and he doesn’t buckle under the pressure. In fact, he gets closer to the crossbar on his third throw than on the previous attempt, but not close enough.
“Fifty-yard line!” Coach Chubb lets us know we’re not done yet.
Brett quickly sprints back another ten yards to set up and throw first. I’ve just caught up and made it to the fifty-yard line by the time he lets the ball fly.
Unfortunately for him, it’s his worst of the day.
“That ball was wet,” Brett explains immediately after the release. The throw is weak, and the ball falls a few yards short of the crossbar. “Dammit!”
I don’t say a word and let him walk it off while I set up at the fifty yard line. The crossbar suddenly looks a lot smaller.
I’m not sure if it’s the added distance or the chirping and chattering coming from my teammates on the sideline, but it takes me twice as long to lock in and focus. When I do, I smile and think to myself again,this is my moment.
The ball spirals directly at the crossbar again, as if it’s on a frozen rope. Seconds later, it blunts against the metal for arecord-setting fourth consecutive time. And all of my teammates rush the field.
“Fun’s over, boys,” Coach Chubb shouts, interrupting the celebration. “Everybody get back to work.”
