The finality of it all crushed Ty. He slumped against his seat, unable to push through his exhaustion. It was over; they had won. His adrenaline soon wore off, leaving nothing between him and the pain throbbing through his leg.
The rest of the Dons, on and off the field, celebrated with abandon, even as Shamrocks fell to despair around them. Not even Jeremiah escaped the black wave that spread throughout them. He dropped to his knees, aghast. The officials—as they had been throughout the game—were no help, no matter how much he pleaded to them. There was no overturning the call, no need. What was done was done.
The crowd couldn't be happier. At the end, they might've celebrated no matter the result; it was the game itself that had won them over.
Ty had to join the revelry; Coach Hoang had noticed his hesitation. He pushed up, keeping pressure off his left leg until he was standing. It wasn't so bad then, walking wasn't painful. Hopefully his expression was more grin than grimace.
'Good work out there, Samuels. You worked hard for that win, so go enjoy it.'
Ty nodded, patting Coach Hoang's shoulder on the way past. Luke watched him go. It had been a strange game, and he was thankful they made it out the end of it with victory in hand.
Was it disrespectful—stupid—to be shocked? Samuels had been great in the second half, but even then he'd never taken things to his chilling, otherworldly level … yet Luke hadn't felt anything similar from Byrd, either.
Teams had to be special to make it this far in the tournament, and to be a special team, you needed special players, and/or a special bond like the Dons' brotherhood.
Was Byrd's god-given height the thing that made him intrinsically special? Maybe the athleticism and talent displayed by dominating two sports at once?
That didn't sound fair, but what else could it have been? Was Ty's exceptional wingspan not an unfair advantage he also had? At least that was making up for a lack of height, but no-one ever said life was fair. If someone was so naturally gifted, it just meant you had to work that much harder to make up the difference.
Perhaps Luke was overthinking it. What did it matter how Byrd and the Shamrocks were special? The Dons had beaten them. But if they came up against them again in the following years, perhaps that understanding would be the difference between relying on another Hail Mary, or beating them outright.
Ty strode onto the field, examining the scene before him. A pile of Dons had buried Chris in the end-zone, though Deshaun had started another dog-pile after knocking an unsuspecting Stephen down; Benny and Donte joined them. Jay stood off to the side, and Ty walked towards him, but was intercepted by none other than Julia Skye.
She smiled at him, camera looming over her shoulder. 'Julia Skye here for ANB Sport with none other but the star of the moment, the Dominguez Dons' number one Cornerback, Tyrese Samuels.'
Ty shifted to a more relaxed, carefree posture. He was the best, of course the game hadn't strained him. Defeating Stringbean had been a breeze. That's what everyone needed to see.
'Tell me, Tyrese,' Julia continued, 'how difficult was it overcoming such a big size difference today?'
'Not difficult at all,' he answered, perhaps too quickly. 'When it comes to me … size doesn't matter. There's no handicap my skill can't make up for. Still, going against a giant idiot like Jeremiah Byrd isn't much of a handicap anyway.'
She smirked at the camera. 'Well, the game certainly was close, but you did manage to persevere and come out the other side with the victory—congratulations, by the way—and with these latest win, that brings you and your teammates to the grand final of the National Championship, how does that feel?'
'It feels … like a hot shower after a gruelling workout. A welcome relief, but expected; this was always going to happen.'
'So would you say you were destined to make it this far?'
'I shape my own destiny.'
'Oh, I like that.' She beamed at him. 'Now, your opponents for the final have yet to be decided—the Gordon Longhorns and the Gainesville Red Elephants will be playing later tonight, which you can watch right here on ANB Sport with kickoff at seven p.m. Central—but, Tyrese, do you have any words for whoever ends up facing you in the final?'
'Sure. Whoever they are, it doesn't matter what team, they might as well not show up. The championship already belongs to me and the Dons.'
A twinkled entered her eye; she'd found her hook. 'As confident as ever, Tyrese. Thank you for your time.'
Ty stepped past her as she and her cameraman went off to find the next biggest interview. He'd made it to the final step. One more game. Which team would step up to them? Would someone else expose Kentavious as a fraud before he could?
'They sure like you,' Jay said, following Ty's gaze.
'They do? Oh, the reporter, right. Of course. Why wouldn't they?'
Jay quirked his head slightly. Did he have the energy to question that mental lapse? … Nah. 'It's good. … Better you than me. … Just trying to say thanks for taking all the heat. … Even if I think Coach still doesn't want us talking to them.'
'Hah. That's probably my fault anyway. I don't see what the problem is, though, aren't athletes obligated to talk to the media?'
Jay sighed. '…Obligations are the worst.'
Ty frowned. Jay sure was a strange guy outside of football. The celebrations were dying down, and the Shamrocks had picked themselves off the turf and came together as a group. They weren't huddled together, but were clearly keeping separate from the cheerful Dons. Most of the reporters left them be, though they weren't responsive to any who did approach.
When Coach Long gathered the Dons to shake hands with the Shamrocks, the Shamrocks turned and walked off towards their tunnel. Boos rained upon them, but the Shamrocks ignored them, keeping their heads down. Even Stringbean had wilted.
Ty watched with a smile. "That's right, you big bastard. Go crawl back to basketball, bitch." If he never saw Jeremiah Byrd on the gridiron again, it'd be too soon.
'Fuckin' racist assholes can't even handle shakin' our hands after gettin' belt to ass,' Stephen said.
'What was that?' Coach Long said, rounding on him. His brow was deeply furrowed; could there be a greater slight than a team refusing to shake their hands, especially after such a hard fought game?
'Nothing, Coach. Just stupid shit. I'm sorry.'
'They were racist to you boys?'
Stephen went quiet as more eyes turned towards him. Deshaun kicked up some of the turf. Jay groaned. Of course that's what it was. He should've seen it. Just as many eyes that had focused upon Stephen, turned towards the Shamrocks' tunnel and narrowed.
'They were, and they got what they deserved,' Ty said, finally.
Coach Long opened his mouth but Deshaun cut him off. 'It was just bullshit trash-talk, and we dealt with it.'
Coach Long's expression darkened, and Stephen backed up a step. When had Coach ever had such a furious look before? He looked ready to punch someone's lights out. He took a deep breath, but his expression didn't shift much.
'I'm proud of you boys handling this adversity with such professionalism, and keeping your tempers under control, but if what you're saying is true, we can't let behaviour like that stand. It's unacceptable!'
Stephen flinched. 'Coach we didn't—'
'Don't start, Day,' Coach Hoang said. 'This isn't snitching or any other bullshit like that. Coach Long's right. There's no room for racism on the gridiron, that's not competitive, its vile.'
'Thank you, Coach Hoang. I'm sorry we didn't notice anything during the game, boys, and that you don't feel comfortable enough to bring this sort of thing up with us.'
Coach Long placed a hand on Stephen's shoulder, looking up into his eyes. Somehow, Coach could still make Stephen feel like a little kid … except it wasn't a bad feeling? It was hard for him to describe, but it was like knowing there was someone who would protect you and help you solve a problem that seemed unapproachable on your own.
'Coach, we didn't… it's not that we didn't trust you with this we just—'
'You were toughing it out. Don't worry, I've been there. I was a young man too, you know. Once upon a time anyway. You feel like the world's always looking down at you, always beating you down, so you grit your teeth and bear it, try to prove that you can handle it, that you can thrive even against the stream, even on your own. You can, I know you boys are tough, but you don't NEED to be this tough, you don't need to carry this burden alone. Let me ease some of that load off your shoulders.'
Stephen slumped, and Coach Long pulled him into a hug that took the rest of the weight off the boy's shoulders.
Silence hung over the Dons for a time, before JJ began clapping. It was gentle, and quiet at first, though others soon joined in and it quickly became a steady, powerful applause. Coach Long called the rest of the boys in, and they shared a group hug on their field of victory, one that lasted a good full minute before they eventually broke apart, and journeyed down their own tunnel.
The victory speech was quick, as Coach Long couldn't put into words how resilient the boys were putting up with what they had to deal with on the field and coming through with the victory against those odds. The whole team deserved the game ball, he said, and after leaving it in the middle of the room, he left, bringing Coach Hoang with him to go track down the officials and lodge a complaint.
Even with such an important grievance sidetracking them, the Dons didn't waste time lingering after the game. They had a bus to catch, and homes to hurry back to before the day was through.
Coach Long's mood hadn't improved when he led the boys onto the bus. It didn't take a genius to realise he was unsatisfied with whatever answers he'd received about their complaints. When prodded about it, he said nothing more than that the commission was going to "look into it". From his tone, it was clear he wasn't very hopeful about Westfield seeing harder consequences than a slap on the wrist, if any at all.
The mood affected the trip. Some tried to look past it, tried to lighten it with music, but the heart wasn't there for most. It was a rather quiet and sombre drive back home; an outsider would've assumed they were returning after a loss.
Bella, of course, sat beside Ty, who leaned against the window, using his own arm as a pillow. The pain in his leg had waned, but fatigue had set in.
'They were really saying all that nasty shit?' Bella asked, her voice just audible over the thrum of the road, engine, and distant thump of music from the back seats.
'You think we'd make it up?' Ty answered. 'The giant prick I was guarding was dropping the hard "R" every time he opened his mouth.'
'That's fucked. How is someone gonna play this sport and behave like that? Especially nowadays?'
'Racists aren't known for being smart.'
'I'm sorry.'
He frowned. What was she babbling about? People were making a bigger deal about it than they should've, caring too much about the thoughts of irrelevant idiots.
'You didn't do anything to be sorry about.'
'I know but I…'
'But what?'
'Nobody should have to deal with that. It's not fair.'
'Not fair? That bitch can say whatever he wants to me. It's meaningless. What does have meaning, however, is that I knocked him out of the tournament. We get to fight in the championship game, and those dumbass racists can do nothing but sit on their couches and watch.'
Bella was quiet then. Ty closed his eyes. Maybe she'd remain quiet long enough to let him sleep through the rest of the trip. She watched him, wanting to say more, wanting to tell him how proud she was, how strong he'd been, and how much of a great leader he'd be in the coming year, but she stayed quiet; he'd earned his rest.
Without other distractions, Ty's thoughts turned back to Julia Skye and the question she'd had for him regarding his next opponent, who would be decided that night in the second semi-final game.
Red Elephants and Longhorns. He didn't know shit about either side, except Kentavious was on the Longhorns. It'd be funny if after all that false hype, and such an egregious bye, Kentavious fell at his second hurdle, much like Richaun Howard had upon his first.
Of course, Richaun had the unfortunate luck of running into the best player in the whole tournament for his first game, but Ty and Deshaun couldn't be the ONLY competent CBs in high school.
As Ty drifted off in his seat, a night of little sleep finally catching up with him, a new question entered his mind, contending with the first—had the Tigers' lucky stripes rubbed off on the Dons? Winning off a Hail Mary certainly pointed to such a conclusion. If that was the case, how much help would that be in their championship game?
"It doesn't matter. I'll win. No matter what. I have to win."