"Let's go Dawgs!"

Coach Peterson's inspirational words left my mind as soon as my feet stepped onto the soft grass of Arizona Stadium. The early evening's air blew with a warm, dry breeze that carried the concession stand smells of hot dogs, nachos, popcorn, peanuts, and soft pretzels onto the edges of the field. A loud, but expected, chorus of boos and jeers greeted us when we took the field and I looked forward to the moment I turned the crowd noise into absolute silence.

Or even better, groans of complaint about Arizona's defense.

Arizona's 3-4 defense was just like Oregon's, three big guys on the line of scrimmage with four linebackers behind them, then two safeties that hung further back in zone coverage and two cornerbacks on the edges. The one exception of how they were different from the Ducks' defense, at least going off our film study sessions, was Arizona's left cornerback number 78, TJ Hall.

An All-Star player, TJ lined up both as a safety in the backfield and cornerback on the line of scrimmage. In either position, he was a step faster than the other backfield defenders. So I rotated Wes and Seth into the outside and slot receiver positions, then ran them as decoys who slapped hands with Arizona's corners and safeties for most of the first quarter of the game.

Pointless running around as distractions left both of my wide receivers impatient, out of breath, and pissed off at me. I largely ignored their gripes and frustrated grimaces in the huddle because Arizona's fourth linebacker put more pressure on my offensive line and me not to get sacked. That said, useless receivers meant our high-powered, trick-play offensive game grinded to a near-halt.

The first quarter was slow, methodical, and probably boring for anyone not directly involved on the field. The 'chip one yard at a time' approach worked to our benefit since we lulled the home crowd's enthusiasm down the longer we possessed the ball and grinded down their defense play by play.

Guess I'm taking a page from Jake Harrison's playbook.

Jamal, our main runningback, gained two yards gained as a rush, then I connected on a screen pass to my tight end Reese for four-yards before I rushed for the first down. None of these plays were my preferred style of play, but I grinded out my patience while Wes and Seth ran the steam out of 78's legs.

Wes and Seth's frustration showed the more huddles we gathered in, their tight-lipped expressions only tightened further until their wrinkled foreheads and gritted teeth reminded me of gargoyles.

"One slip," I reminded them at one point with a raised, gloved index finger before I set up another run play.

One step off 78's game was all I needed, but we never got one until halfway through the second quarter. Wes got an inside step up on him, the extra inches we needed. I set my foot stance, squeezed my right arm, flicked my wrists, then watched while the magic happened.

To be fair, after the twelve yard pass, Wes cranked his legs for another seventeen yards. I just stood back like a spectator, until 78 shoved him out of bounds then delivered another hit out of bounds. Wes got up with obvious words exchanged about the late hit, which earned us another ten yards for the penalty after the catch.

"Let's give 'em a trick," Reese griped out at that point.

"Weak side run, your turn Kade." I shook my head at Reese, then shifted my eyes to Kade, my fullback for today's game, who nodded.

My eyes shifted to number fifty-five, whose forehead glistened as beads of sweat trailed down the evidence that he'd shoved hard all game. "Darrius, left side fake out, set the right block with Reese, let Kade punch it through, six-oh and we'll take out the twelfth man."

"You got it," Darrius and Reese both grunted out, Darrius from exhaustion and Reese more with the same frustration Seth and Wes still looked at me with.

The Arizona fans started out the game in a ruckus, which slowly subdued into bursts of anxious, impatient rounds of cheers throughout the first half of the game. I wanted us headed into the locker room for halftime while the Wildcat fans sat on their hands.

"If you think we'll score before halftime," Seth grumbled before we broke the huddle. I just shook my head since we had eight minutes left in the first half of a still scoreless game.

"Sell it." I snapped at him, then pointed at the line of scrimmage. "T I right!"

Like a textbook play, I set the offense into an "tight I" formation, where my center Zander lined up in between me and four offensive linemen stacked shoulder to shoulder, with Darrius on the inside-left. For the bottom of the "I," Kade lined up behind me as a fullback next to my runningback Jamal. Despite Wes and Seth's dirty looks over their shoulders at me since they knew they were on decoy duty again, I split my receivers wide on each side and stacked Reese the tight end wide on the offensive line for an extra blocker.

Once Zander snapped the ball back to me, a snarled clash of grunts and shoves erupted on the line, during which Darrius lightened up slightly against his defensive end. Since Darrius faked being overpowered, his Arizona opponent believed he controlled the line of scrimmage play. After the defender's let up, Darrius surged forward like a bull, grabbed onto the guard's shoulders, and shoved him hard.

Within a stumbled step, Darrius plowed the defender out to the right. Combined with a block on the extra linebacker from Reese and whatever dancing sales pitch Wes performed that drew the safeties' attention to the left side of the field towards him, Kade had a clear path on the right side.

A short, stocky guy, Kade had the muscle but lacked the speed of both our runningbacks. Darrius did his job so a peewee player could've run forwards, and, fifteen yards later, we faced first and goal. With one quick glance at the defensive set up, where the fourth linebacker roamed a few steps sideways on my right side, I went with my instinct.

Feel like a zone blitz is coming. Ballsy.

Catch me first.

"Brooks, ZB tight!" I pointed Seth next to my center Zander in an indirect command that I needed an extra tight end blocker on the right side. Seth gave me a narrow-eyed look on his trot towards the position, but took his spot on the line of scrimmage as an extra tight end instead of a receiver.

Don't complain, you're at least in this play.

First step right off the snap, I knew I was right. The linebackers on my right side pressed into my offensive tackles, but I'd stacked them up with Reese and Seth for pass protection. My eyes skimmed around the field and found single coverage, just one safety on Wes. I ran right, drew the defenders, then pitched the ball across the field to the left.

I drew in a sharp breath at the clean, smooth spiral that arced towards the left corner of the endzone. Wes got a jump up early on the safety, easily tucked the ball right into his number eleven, and kept it on the downward crash from the safety's tackle.

Right when I took one step in Wes' direction, a blunt force charged right into my chest. The linebacker I'd outran took offense to his failure and shoved me backwards onto the turf.

My head snapped slightly from the contact of my helmet flat down and the early night sky, faintly dotted with white stars, blurred for a moment. A ring pierced my ears, then slowly faded out to shrill whistles, grunts, and streams of profanity that surrounded me while I sat up.

"Alright?" A large, bulky frame towered me and I glanced up to number fifty-five's large, gloved-wrapped hand stretched out to me.

"Thanks Darrius," I grunted as he pulled me up to my feet, then smacked his other hand in the center of my chest.

"I got'cha." His white teeth flashed around his black mouth guard as he grinned from the other side of his helmet.

Guess I'm glad he didn't smack me on the ass. One grab from Ellie was enough.

"Where were you when he flatlined me?" I teased while we jogged off the field together.

"I'll get him next time," he mumbled once we reached the sidelines.

Despite my extra ten-yards gained in our side's favor from the penalty, the rest of the first half fell into a stalemate that carried over to the second half. We marched down to the forty-five yard line but failed to convert on down, then Arizona returned the favor. At the end of the third quarter, Jamal fumbled one of his handoffs, which thankfully I fell on top of but that killed our only momentum up to that point.

Arizona hadn't fared much better offensively and we still led 7-0 headed into the fourth quarter. The air in the stadium mixed impatient anxiety with a lulled sense of boredom which, as the visiting team, I couldn't have asked for a better atmosphere.

Both sides of the ball, us and Arizona, bore down into a game of who fatigued first. Impatience and frustration gave way to slip-ups and stumbles, which I chomped down on like a predator on bait. After almost three-quarters of the game with run after run play, Arizona's safeties pinched inward toward the center of the field. I lined up Jamal and Kade behind me again and ran a few sweep and stretch tosses to them, with mild improvements in our yardage gained.

"Now," I goaded Seth on our second down possession in the fourth quarter. By now, the linebackers' chest heaved and their slower legs fatigued from how they'd unsuccessfully chased me all game. Arizona's blitz's were completely predictable, which opened the our passing game to short-yardage screens whenever the defense pressed for a sack.

Hands grabbed my jersey and I threw the ball out of bounds a few times but not one of the defenders brought me down all game. As the game grinded on, the left defensive lineman jumped offsides a few times, which gave us even better field position and Arizona's frustrations grew into dirtier plays. At the expense of Wes and Seth mauled over and tripped a few times, we capitalized on every extra yard gained and faced the endzone again with six minutes left in the game.

"I'm fucking begging you, LT," Seth gasped out, hunched halfway over like most of the guys in the huddle. Sweat tickled out from my helmet and down the sides of my neck as I glanced around the tired but determined faces. Black face paint was smeared and streaked with sweat, every mouth dropped open, and sharp pants filled the airspace in between our circle.

While Seth's fingers rubbed over a few red, swollen spots on his left bicep. "Give me something."

"Earn it, weak side coverage," I pressed out between my own pants for air. "Wes tight block left, fake run left. Seth hook right. Get open and you get the ball."

I took a risk when Seth lined up in 78's coverage zone. Right when the ball was snapped, Seth collided into single coverage, where his reception chance wasn't worth the risk of an interception. Instead, I gritted my teeth into my mouth guard, grasped the ball into my chest, and drove myself forwards, step for step before a large, heavy body collided with my shoulders and another into my chest. My legs strained with forward momentum and a massive shove into my lower surged me forwards.

The air squeezed out of my lungs while my view of the endzone tipped, spun, then blurred around me like a bad carnival ride. My body pitched forwards, then rolled over and my right shoulder landed hard onto the turf. A large, heavy, and honestly pretty smelly defensive lineman's hulking form landed on top of me. The tune of both our grunts, mixed with a string of curse words that involved rendering me unable to have future children filtered into my ears in between other players' grunts and threats as they joined the pile. Hot breaths fanned into my face as another Arizona player tackled me, where his helmet cage rattled against mine.

"Drop it, bitch!!" Fists punched into my gut, my groin cup, even my inner thighs and I grunted through all of them. I gritted my teeth and winced at the sharp burst of pain from cleats kicked into my right shin, but clenched my fingers into the pigskin.

My hands kept their tight grip on the football against fingers that grabbed at it until the much-needed shrill whistles from the refs ceased all movement and curses. The silence that greeted me once the unfiltered air hit my lungs was broken only by a few Husky players' cheers. With a grunt, I dropped the ball, stood up in the endzone, and brushed myself off.

Not pretty but I'll take it.

"Dawgs in the house! Dawgs in the house! Dawgs in the house! Who..."

The entire team, both offensive and defensive, sagged in the locker room after the game even through the celebratory cheer chant. The mood was light with survival relief after our 14-0 shutout, which earned the defense the game ball for their hard-earned shutout efforts. Personally, I was pleased with the outcome even if it wasn't how I normally earned the 'W' for my team.

From their seats on either side of my locker, Wes and Seth glared at me, probably for their lowest yardage and scoring production game of their collegiate careers. By their sweat-soaked hair lines, red-tinted faces, and the start of bruises on their necks and arms, they looked like they'd battled hard all game.

"Next one," I promised as I peeled off my sweat-coated gear and under clothes.

"Couldn't have tossed me one TD chance tonight, LT?" Seth scowled like a child who lost appreciation of his participation trophy.

Guess I know what we'll be working on next week.

"Don't be a fucking sore winner," I grumbled at him, then tossed my sweaty clothes into my bag. "I'll boost your fucking stats against Michigan if that's what you're pissed about. Win is a win, Brooks."

"He's not wrong," Wes piped up from my other side. "We'll get the yards back and more. Wolverine's defense this year is shit."

"There you go," I muttered, grabbed my towel, and showered quickly. After I dressed and answered a few reporter's post-game questions, thankfully soon my head lolled back into my bus seat's padded headrest.

The ride back to the Tucson airport was smooth, relaxed, and quiet. Only the sounds of muted conversations from the coaches' section, faint music from earbuds, and a few snores filled the bus. The loudest snores came from Darrius who, even from three rows ahead of me, sounded like I sat behind a chainsaw.

My eyelids drooped but the last thing I wanted was that I fell asleep on the short bus ride instead of the three hour flight, so I pulled out my phone. After a few mindless updates and tags to the game summary, I opened my texts and smiled at one particular message.

Ellie: Like I promised.
Ellie: [ image attached ]

My eyes lifted first to my left, where Kade snored almost as loudly as Darrius. After another quick privacy check down the aisle and into the rows ahead of and behind me, I clicked on Ellie's picture. Part of me wished I hadn't looked at it but the interest that stirred between my legs suggested that my cock sure appreciated what Ellie had sent me.

Her long hair was pulled up into a ponytail and the purple Huskies jersey I'd bought her, in the smallest adult-sized I'd found, hung off her small curves. The skin on her chest was exposed by the white V-neck collar and faint outlines of her nipples peaked on either side of the one and zero for my number ten. Her bare legs were exposed as she knelt down on the gray comforter on my bed - correction, our bed. While she'd exposed nothing sexual, I knew that she really had worn nothing but my jersey.

I snapped my phone off for privacy, then leaned back in my seat. My tired cheeks pinched with the grin that spread across my face the longer I pictured Ellie's boldness in my mind. With as much discretion as possible, I shifted my hips and adjusted myself.

Definitely awake now.