Get in the Game: Part 2
Jeff Foley
Saturday October 7, 2000
Just focus and get the job done. Do you know how many people are living vicariously through you right now? And your teammates and coaches are counting on you. Get open. Catch the ball. Suck it up, Foley.
If the play were destined to work though, Carolina’s defensive back would be backpedaling. Instead he’s waiting as I sprint toward him. He’s standing still, only his chest moving as he breathes. I cross the line, setting the play in motion, and he takes a single step back but keeps his eyes glued to me. I hit seven yards and put the brakes on, trying to stop and turn in one motion. The moment my hips swing around, however, the defensive back hits me. I have no idea who’s covering me, but he’s draped over my back, his left arm hooked around my waist. I swing my head around and look at Loots as I try to fight off the defender.
The football is already flying high above the turf, going to the other side of the field. All three Albany receivers are covered and Loots throws the ball into the stands, sending somebody home with a souvenir. The defensive back disengages and I hit the turf with a bang. My left knee screams in pain. My ribs hurt so much that I lose my breath.
But the physical pain dims in comparison to the blow my ego takes when I look up. A yellow flag is lying on the turf, right where I crossed the line of scrimmage. A penalty marker. Judging by its position on the field, it’s got to do with me. I want to ask a referee what I did wrong, but I have to get off the turf in a hurry. AFL teams have only twenty-five seconds to run each play and there’s another Albany receiver coming into the game to take my place.
“Offsides on the offense, number 80,” the referee calls out as I leave the field.
“Rudy! Rudy! Rudy!” cries the crowd again.
That’s me. I’m Rudy. Number 80. Nelson is wearing my number from last year so I got stuck with a new number. I hang my head as I join my teammates on the bench. Biggs pats me on the helmet and tells me not to worry. I’m more confused than worried though, not exactly sure what I did wrong.
“You were offsides,” says Biggs, echoing the ref. “You crossed the line of scrimmage before Loots snapped the ball. You’ve got to watch the quarterback.”
“Oh.”
“It’s OK,” Biggs says. “It’s just one play.”
None of the coaching staff glances at me. They’re too busy getting ready for the next play. The Cobras accept the penalty, making it second and thirteen from inside the Albany five-yard line. I find a spot on the wall, overlooking the field, and set my helmet down. Pawlawski is on my immediate right. I unhook the Velcro on my gloves, certain that’ll be it for me today. Pawlawski, who’s been shouting advice to Loots throughout the game, takes a moment to console me. It happens to the best, he says.
But I feel like the whole focus of Coach Dailey’s anger at halftime was stupid mistakes, unnecessary penalties. And I wonder how many gassers I’ll have to run at the next practice.
Jeff Foley was a writer for ArenaFan Online from 2000 to 2001.
