Out of the Pocket by Bill Konigsberg Read Free Book Online

Somers, who was in the backfield. It left them with little coverage in the middle of the field. It was as if they were discounting Austin’s ability to make a difference.
    How could they have forgotten? Austin was one of our best weapons, and that wasn’t exactly a secret.
    I called an audible. “L thirty-nine, L thirty-nine!” I yelled, keeping us in the tier but telling them that I would be looking for Austin over the middle.
    “Thirty-three, fourteen, hut, hut . . . HUT!” Bolleran snapped the ball and I dropped back about fi ve yards, my eyes darting left to right as I watched the play develop. I could see my left tackle was struggling to contain the rush, and my heart sped slightly.
    That’s when I noticed that their free safety, who I thought was going to cover Somers out of the backfield, was actually back covering Austin. He was right in the path of Austin’s route. I tried to fake him out by looking left. I watched Austin’s progress out of the corner of my eye, just as I sensed, out of the corner of my left eye, a defender breaking free and heading right at me.
    I was forced to throw a second before I wanted to in order to avoid the sack, and I hung the pass a little high. Then I noticed the free safety hadn’t bit on my fake. He was right there, and Austin was 43
    going to have to battle for the ball. He stretched up high and made a great catch, leaving his midsection vulnerable. The Oilers’ free safety rammed him in the lower back. Austin held on to the ball, but crumbled to the ground.
    Coach ran onto the field to attend to Austin, along with our trainer. I hurried over, feeling horrible for having caused the problem by throwing high. Austin was holding his right side and writhing on the ground. “It’s his rib cage,” the trainer said, instructing Austin to breathe. “We’ll need to take him in, see if he broke something.”
    “Austin, I’m so sorry,” I said, guilt flooding through me. “All my fault.”
    “Dude, you hung me out there,” he said, moaning. “Nice audible. Next time you have the idea to change a play at the last second, leave me out of it.”
    “Man. I owe you big-time,” I said. “Sorry.”
    He grimaced as he sat up with the trainer’s help and got to his feet. He walked off with the trainer and Coach on either side of him.
    Damn tier. My body felt cold, and I blamed the formation. If we’d just stayed with what we were good at, this wouldn’t have happened.
    Coach glared back at me. “You lose track of the free safety? Keep your mind on the game, Framingham,” he said. He turned away from me and continued to walk Austin off the field. The crowd cheered supportively for Austin.
    My head felt foggy, and in the huddle, that was obvious. I hesitated and didn’t know what play to call. A teammate ran in with the new play, but I still felt a bit lost until Rahim shook me out of it.
    “Part of the game, Framingham. If you’re gonna be big-time, you need to deal and move on.”
    He was right. I shook it off and set up the play, and by the time I started the snap count, I was back. The next play was a simple fly pattern to Rahim, who streaked down the right side. Their corner44
    back got no help from his safety and Rahim was too fast. An easy touchdown gave us a 28–0 lead.
    We won big, 44–7. After halftime, we mostly ran, since the Oilers showed no ability to stop our ground attack. In the raucous locker room, we got the news that Austin had gone to the hospital and that X-rays had been negative.
    I breathed a sigh of relief, but was brought back to earth by Somers, who rat-tailed me as I bent over to dry my legs. “He’s still gonna kick your ass, Bobby.”
    I rubbed my stung butt and shrugged, knowing that wouldn’t happen. But I couldn’t help but wonder how things actually would go. I’d never caused a friend to be injured before. Instead of feeling great after a win, I dressed quickly and trudged out of the locker room, thinking about what Austin was going