Everything turns black. I turned to look at him and almost immediately I’m thrown into oblivion. My mind goes blank and I lose consciousness. When I wake up, there’s a light in my eyes and I’m still on the field. Thank God, they didn’t pull me from the game yet.

“Can you hear me?” the medic is saying. The coach runs over to us and talks to the medic in hushed tones. He shakes his head and yells something at him. I can’t make out the words.

“Come on Jackson,” he says to me. “Are you good or do you need medical attention?”

“He may have a concussion and it could be bad. We need to examine him,” the medic says with fire in his eyes.

“Let him decide what he needs, dammit!” the coach yells.

I have the worst headache of my life and it’s not going away anytime soon. “Give me five advil and I’ll be fine,” I manage to whisper, mouth feeling dry. “And some fucking water. I’m dying of thirst.”

“He needs testing and to sit this one out,” the medic repeats. “That’s what I’m calling.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I tell him.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” he asks me.

I look at his hand and see two fingers duplicated over and over again. I blink again and they connect, only to duplicate again. “Two,” I tell him. “I see two fingers and I feel fine. Just got a little roughed up is all.”

“I could lose my job if I fuck up this call,” he whispers to me. “If I send you on the field, do you promise me you’re okay?”

“I’ll sign a fucking waiver if I have to,” I tell him, picking myself up from the grass. The crowd goes utterly berserk. I wave at the crowd, feeling incredibly dizzy and sick to my stomach. I look over at Fiona and she looks so damn worried. She’d kill me if she knew I was feeling this way and still staying in the game.

I walk to the side of the field and rest my body. When I sit down on the bench, I sigh loudly and rest my head in my hands. The world is spinning around me and I shouldn’t be staying in the game, but I have to finish this one out. I’m not about to be taken away on a stretcher during the Super Bowl. That’s not my legacy, dammit.

I look over at my beautiful fiancé standing over in the press area. She’s shivering against the foggy-cold air, looking at me with worried eyes. I give her the thumbs up. Whatever happens, I have to finish this game out.

Landon leans over. “Got the spins?”

“A little bit,” I smile. “It’ll go away, right?”

“Shit, man. Don’t ask me,” he laughs. “I’d probably finish the game out, only to find out I fucked up my body forever.”

The game chugs along and it’s neck and neck, through and through. By the end of the fourth quarter, it’s anyone’s game. I honestly don’t know how we’re going to win this. I’m injured, but still playing decent. There are only a few plays left. Lucky for us, we’ve got our offense.

We run a normal play, but their defense is strong. Loke can’t get around a few of their lineman that break through. When we huddle back up, the world feels intense and hurried. There’s not much time left. All eyes are on us.

“What do we do?” Landon asks Loke. “They’re killing us out there.”

“We gotta bring out the big guns,” he says, turning very serious. “You know what I’m talking about Jackson?”

“I know exactly what you’re talking about.” I smile.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Landon asks.

Loke tells him what the deal is. We go for a field goal. They receive the ball with 5 minutes to go. We plan for an interception and run it in. It’s about the only chance we have.

Landon, however, is not too thrilled. We call a timeout and discuss the whole thing together, as a team. The coach nods his head as he listens to Loke’s plan. “I’m just not sure. What if they score on us after the field goal?”

“It’s a risk,” I tell him. “But if we can hold it down, we’ll come out champions.”

“Fuck,” he sighs. “This isn’t the decision I thought I would have to make during the 4^th quarter. You feeling okay, Jackson? Your head up to date?”

“I’m good. Put me out there on defense, coach. I’ll intercept the damn thing. I’ll make sure we go home with that trophy,” I say. I look to the side of the field, at Fiona and feel my heart wrench. Winning this game is for her.

So, we go for it. “Break!” we scream, putting our hands in. We line up and the kicker kicks the field goal. We get the few points we need and then, it’s time for defense. Quickly, they try to score on us. We hold it down, but they’re only doing running plays. They know they need to be extra careful today.

“Come on,” I whisper. “Just throw the damn ball.”

It doesn’t happen. By third down, I’m convinced they’re just going to keep pushing on through. Another run play and I start to get real worried. However, the next play, I see their formation. “What a minute,” I whisper. “I know this formation.”

It’s a play I did in college, during the Rose Bowl. It was my winning play, and now they’re trying to use it on me! I run across the field, whispering to my players what they’re plan is, and quickly get back into formation. They’re going to pass the ball to number 37. And they’re going to try and do it triumphantly.

“Hike!” the quarterback screams and everything suddenly seems to slow down. Our cleats smash down on the grass as bits and pieces fly up around our legs. The linemen’s helmets smash together like a bunch of rams on the side of an eastern slope. The crowd cheers, boos, and spins their noisemakers.

I glance over at 37 and he makes eye contact with me, as well. He knows I know about his plan. There’s a look of fear in his eyes, for a split second, that tells me I can beat him. I run over to his side of the field, glancing at their quarterback.

Their quarterback drops behind everyone, winding his arm back. He launches that football into the end zone and I see it perfectly. This is it. It all comes down to this one second.

The ball comes closer and closer. I can’t even blink. My nerves are fucking shot. And then I think of her. Fiona. And my heart is set on fire. I jump in front of the wide receiver, number 37, and the tip of the pigskin touches my fingers. It knocks a little, bouncing off my palm, and for a second there I think I’m doomed. Somehow though, it falls into my arms. I catch the ball. Only problem is, now I’ve got a full defense facing me and I’m on the wrong end of the field.

“Here goes nothing,” I whisper to myself.

The crowd goes absolutely insane. A beautiful excitement surges throughout my body. It carries me across the field. I smash through one lineman and dodge another. I jump over one guy who tries to tackle me from below and spin around the next. It’s a dance. The whole thing is a fucking dance, and I’m killing it out there.

It’s a long fucking run, but I dive into the end zone, reaching out my arms. My body falls into the clearing and I close my eyes. It’s only by the sound of the roaring crowd, that I know I’ve just scored the winning touchdown. The Portland Black Wings have won the championship. And the crowd goes wild.