and one more
For zuben_eschamali
Score One for the Good Guys
580 words; PG I think?
There’re ten seconds left on the clock and the Cowboys are down by seven. The bar is eerily silent and Jared can’t help but gnaw on his fingernails, nibbling them down to the skin while his knee bobbles fiercly under the table.
It takes just six seconds for the quaterback to drop back and the ball to soar through the air for a solid forty-three yards before it’s caught on the twenty-two yardline and the receiver spins out of reach of two defenders, sidesteps a third, and races into the endzone.
The bar erupts, Jared along with it. He launches himself to his feet, fists pounding thin air as he crows with the crowd.
The special teams crew races onto the field for the final moments to set for the extra point, and the bar lowers itself to a nervous rumble.
“Make the play, make the play,” Jared pleads to players who can’t hear him from his seat.
Dallas is playing at home, and the unwritten sports rule says go for the win with the crowd behind you. But there’s still the safe bet of an easy extra point to force overtime.
Jared keeps praying, fighting to keep his eyes open and daring himself to watch the play unfold while his stomach flips with the fear of his team letting him down in the playoffs.
The center hikes the ball back to the quarterback crouched yards behind him and the offensive and defense lines crush into each other. It’s a deathly long second when the quarterback spins to the tee. But then he’s shifting with a quick step to the left, rising, and throwing the ball clear into the left corner of the endzone, smacking his receiver in the numbers.
Jared’s on his feet, screaming and jumping just as the bar catches on and celebrates.
Everyone’s spinning to one another, slapping hands and hugging fiercely with few dry eyes.
Jared goes from friend to friend until he’s embracing a perfect stranger and they’re hopping together as they’re cheering loud and ridiculous. The hands at each other’s backs are firm and warm, and Jared tucks his head into the crook of the guy’s neck as he shouts his elation at the Cowboys advancing to the Super Bowl.
Then they stop, feet solid on the ground but arms still tight. Jared shifts back and stares into the weary face of someone from the table next to his.
“Hey,” Jared says carefully.
“Hey,” he says back.
“Jared.”
“Jensen.”
“Cool,” Jared nods as he releases him.
“You want a beer?” Jensen asks, thumbing behind him to a few half-full pitchers at his table. “Least I could do.”
“What?” Jared laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair. “I’m the one with the,” and he tips his head to the side while motioning at Jensen’s neck.
“Okay, well,” Jensen laughs back. “You can get the next one.”
“Alright, yeah, I can do that,” he returns with a grin.
“And maybe a few after that.”
“Oh, yeah, for sure.”
Jensen pulls out two chairs from his table, ignoring his friends and immediatley focusing to Jared. “You come here often?”
Jared chuckles and swallows down a big gulp of draft beer. “First time. But I like it,” he says with a cheerful push in his voice.
“They got a good Super Bowl party. We reserve tables for it. You should come back.”
“I definitely will, yeah,” Jared smiles back.
Jensen smirks and nods. “I can save you a seat.”
“You better.”
Score One for the Good Guys
580 words; PG I think?
There’re ten seconds left on the clock and the Cowboys are down by seven. The bar is eerily silent and Jared can’t help but gnaw on his fingernails, nibbling them down to the skin while his knee bobbles fiercly under the table.
It takes just six seconds for the quaterback to drop back and the ball to soar through the air for a solid forty-three yards before it’s caught on the twenty-two yardline and the receiver spins out of reach of two defenders, sidesteps a third, and races into the endzone.
The bar erupts, Jared along with it. He launches himself to his feet, fists pounding thin air as he crows with the crowd.
The special teams crew races onto the field for the final moments to set for the extra point, and the bar lowers itself to a nervous rumble.
“Make the play, make the play,” Jared pleads to players who can’t hear him from his seat.
Dallas is playing at home, and the unwritten sports rule says go for the win with the crowd behind you. But there’s still the safe bet of an easy extra point to force overtime.
Jared keeps praying, fighting to keep his eyes open and daring himself to watch the play unfold while his stomach flips with the fear of his team letting him down in the playoffs.
The center hikes the ball back to the quarterback crouched yards behind him and the offensive and defense lines crush into each other. It’s a deathly long second when the quarterback spins to the tee. But then he’s shifting with a quick step to the left, rising, and throwing the ball clear into the left corner of the endzone, smacking his receiver in the numbers.
Jared’s on his feet, screaming and jumping just as the bar catches on and celebrates.
Everyone’s spinning to one another, slapping hands and hugging fiercely with few dry eyes.
Jared goes from friend to friend until he’s embracing a perfect stranger and they’re hopping together as they’re cheering loud and ridiculous. The hands at each other’s backs are firm and warm, and Jared tucks his head into the crook of the guy’s neck as he shouts his elation at the Cowboys advancing to the Super Bowl.
Then they stop, feet solid on the ground but arms still tight. Jared shifts back and stares into the weary face of someone from the table next to his.
“Hey,” Jared says carefully.
“Hey,” he says back.
“Jared.”
“Jensen.”
“Cool,” Jared nods as he releases him.
“You want a beer?” Jensen asks, thumbing behind him to a few half-full pitchers at his table. “Least I could do.”
“What?” Jared laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair. “I’m the one with the,” and he tips his head to the side while motioning at Jensen’s neck.
“Okay, well,” Jensen laughs back. “You can get the next one.”
“Alright, yeah, I can do that,” he returns with a grin.
“And maybe a few after that.”
“Oh, yeah, for sure.”
Jensen pulls out two chairs from his table, ignoring his friends and immediatley focusing to Jared. “You come here often?”
Jared chuckles and swallows down a big gulp of draft beer. “First time. But I like it,” he says with a cheerful push in his voice.
“They got a good Super Bowl party. We reserve tables for it. You should come back.”
“I definitely will, yeah,” Jared smiles back.
Jensen smirks and nods. “I can save you a seat.”
“You better.”