It was the bottom of the fourth quarter and, once again, he was on his back, under a pile of sweating guys. No, he wasn’t having a good time. He was pissed off—in a great way. In a way that pumped him up, and made him push harder—allowed him to think. Put life into perspective. His mind easily focused during a game. When the opposing team breathed down his neck right before he threw the football. It was a battle. And he intended to win. On the field, it didn’t matter that his girlfriend had screwed around with another guy. Or that his mother wouldn’t be winning any ‘Mom of the Year’ awards. Out here, amongst the sweat and the turf, what mattered was that his teammates were playing like crap. They needed to suck it up and win this effing game. His freaking life depended on it. Podunk Cheyenne, Wyoming was sucking the life out of him. He needed out. There were a couple of scouts in the bleachers tonight. Impressing them meant a full-ride scholarship.
