End Zone

"Imagine what it's like," I said, "to go against a major power. These people come on and on. So imagine what it must be like to go against a really major power."

"Yeah, think what it must be like to take the field against Te

"Against Notre Dame or Pe

"The Fighting Irish," Onan said. "The Nittany Lions."

"Imagine what it must be like to play before a hundred thousand people in the L.A. Coliseum."

"And nationwide TV."

"UCLA versus LSU."

"One of the alltime intersectional dream games."

"We'll never make it," I said. "We'll never even get out of here alive. They'll just keep coming and coming."

"That fiftyfive is the meanest thing I ever hope to play against."

"Mallon," I said.

"That thing is clubbing me to death. He rears back and clubs me with a forearm every play. I start wincing as soon as I snap the damn ball because I know old fiftyfive is already bringing that forearm around to club my head. Gary, I only go about one ninetyeight That thing is easy two thirtyfive."

"And still growing."

"I guarantee you I'm not about to get him any madder than he was the day he was bom. I can take sixty minutes of clubbing as long as I know I'll never see that guy again. He is one mean person, place or thing."

The coaches started yelling for their people. Onan went over to Tweego's group and I went to the blackboard where Oscar Veech and Emmett Creed were waiting.

Creed spoke slowly and evenly, looking from Hobbs to Taft to me, ignoring the other quarterbacks and ru

"Right guard blocks down," Veech said. "Harkness takes out the end."

It wasn't time to go back out yet. I went and sat against another wall. Mitchell Gorse, a reserve safetyman, walked by. In his spotless uniform he looked a bit ludicrous.

"We'll come back, Gary," he said.

"Bullshit."

Across the room Bloomberg was sitting on a park bench that had somehow found its way into the dressing area. From somewhere I could hear Sam Trammel's voice.

"Crackback. Crackback. Crackback."

My helmet, wobbling slightly, rocking, was on the floor between my feet. I looked into it. I felt sleepy and closed my eyes. I went away for a while, just one level down. Everything was far away. I thought (or dreamed) of a su

"They're putting me in for Rector," he said.

"What's wrong with Cecil?"

"Nothing wrong with Cecil. He's just not hitting. He's getting beat. His man is overpowering him. Number seventyseven's his man. He looks real big, Gary. Big, strong and mobile. Those are Tweego's exact words. What do you think?"

"His tusks would bring a fortune in Zanzibar."

"He's jamming up the damn middle. Coach just talked to me about it. He said to fire out and really hit. Really chop him up. What do you think, Gary? Supposin' I can't move him? They're counting on me to move that fucking mother animal."

"He'll kill you," I said.

"You think so?"

"He killed Cecil, didn't he? He'll kill you too. He'll drive you right back to the bench. He'll humiliate you, Roy. Coach'll have to send Skink in. He'll be reduced to that. Len Skink. DogBoy. He'll have to do it. Because seventyseven is going to eat your face. You'd better fake an injury the first time we have the ball. It's your only hope. I promise I won't let on. If you try to play against that big horrible thing, he'll send you home in pieces. He did it to Cecil and he'll do it to you. Look, Roy, I'm just kidding. It helps me relax."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm kidding."

"That's what I mean."

"You'll do the job, Roy. I just said those things to undermine my sense of harmony. It's very complex. It has to do with the ambiguity of this whole business."

I got up and punched a locker. It was almost time. I didn't expect Creed to have any final words and I realized I was right when I saw George Owen get up on a chair. His gaze moved slowly across the room, then back again. He held his clenched fists against the sides of his head. Slowly, his knees began to bend.

"Creeunch," he said softly. "Creeunch. Creech. Crunch."

We started to make noises.

"You know what to do," he said, and his voice grew louder. "You know what this means. You know where we are. You know who to get."

We were all making the private sounds. We were getting ready. We were getting high. The noise increased in volume.

"Footbawl," George Owen shouted. "This is footbawl. You thow it, you ketch it, you kick it. Footbawl. Footbawl. Footbawl."

We were ru

"How to go, little Billy."

"Hiyoto, hiyoto."

"They're out to get us. They'll bleach our skulls with hydrosulfite."

"They'll rip off our clothes and piss on our bare feet."

"Yawaba, yawaba, yawaba."

"How to go, Gary boy. How to jump, how to jump."

"They'll twist our fingers back."

"They'll kill us and eat us."

Centrex came out. We gathered around Creed again and then broke with a shout. The kickoff team went on. Bing Jackmin kicked to the 7 or 8 and they returned to the 31 where Andy Chudko hit the ballcarrier at full force and then skidded on his knees over the fallen player's body. I watched Creed take his stance at the midfield stripe. Bing Jackmin came off the field and sat next to me.

"One two three anation. I received my confirmation. On the day of declaration. One two three anation."

"They're coming out in a doublewing," I said.

"It's all double, Gary. Double consciousness. Old form superimposed on new. It's a breakingdown of reality. Primitive mirror awareness. Divine electricity. The football feels. The football knows. This is not just one thing we're watching. This is many things."

"You know what Coach says. It's only a game but it's the only game."

"Gary, there's a lot more out there than games and players."

Telcon faked a handoff, dropped slowly back (ball on his hip), then lofted a pass to his flanker who had five steps on Bobby Luke. The ball went through his hands, a sure six, and he stood on our 45yard line just a bit stu