The clock read 13:30 in the third quarter and already the fans were heading for their cars. Nobody at Eastern Shores University wanted to watch the home team drop their ninth straight game, but another turnover, followed by a fumble on the ensuing kickoff, put the visitors up 52-7. And it wasn’t even the worst blowout of the season.

Coach Rip was furious. He cursed at the players and he cursed at the referees and he broke his clipboard over his left knee, but nothing would change. The Wild Squirrels hadn’t had a winning season in nine years. Sure, some could chalk it up to bad coaching, but Rip Zamboni was a legend around these parts. When he was a student, he had quarterbacked for the Squirrels and led them to four title games and three national championships. They had retired his jersey number a few years ago, but not a single student at ESU wanted to retire him.

The same couldn’t be said about Joss Friedman. The 6’6 tan-skinned junior with a bad haircut and an even worse attitude had only been quarterback for two seasons, but he was already on pace to be the worst player in school history. Naturally, he blamed it on the revolving door known as his receiving corps, but anyone who watched him could tell he was terrible. So what if he was throwing to different guys every week?

But if Friedman was bad as a football player, he was even worse as a human being. After throwing his sixth interception of the game, he hurried over to the sideline, tossed his helmet on the bench, and pushed right past his coach.

“Joss, wait,” Coach Rip said, but Friedman slipped right past him, weaved through a crowd of defensive linemen, and found the cheerleaders lazing about in the grass on the other side of the field.

Now, if there was one organization on campus that picked up the slack for the football team, it was the cheerleading squad. They had never won a national championship, but they were perennial finalists in the state competition every year, and this year’s squad was the best yet. With Kate Monroe now in her senior year, they were fully expected to sweep everybody.

“Hey, baby,” Friedman said, dropping down onto the grass next to Kate. He planted his meaty palm on her right thigh and squeezed it like a melon. “Just wanted to let you know I saw you shaking those hips for me out there and I appreciate it.”

“You’re supposed to be looking at your teammates,” Kate mumbled. Still, she blushed and let a small giggle escape.

“Why? None of them have an ass as cute as yours.” His fingers crept towards the bottom frills of her skirt. “Let me see that sexy thing.”

She playfully swatted his hand away and crossed one leg over the other to keep him from trying again. “Not here,” she hissed, motioning to the other girls with her eyes. Not that they cared or were even paying attention. With the stands clearing out and the game well out of reach, the girls had laid their pom-poms on the grass and were simply making small talk to pass the time.

Friedman followed Kate’s eyes and he imagined what it would be like to get it on with the whole cheerleading squad at the same time. He had tried before, of course, but some of them were stuck-up bitches.

Still, he had gotten bored with Kate. She would be graduating soon and, with his grades, he would be in college for another four years. That meant four more years of banging girls from Kappa Tau. At this rate, he would set a college record.

And while Friedman dreamed of setting records off the field, linebacker Matt Clay was setting records on the field. The beast of a man had just netted his thirteenth sack of the season and ran over to Friedman and Kate to do his victory roar.

“ALPHA DOGS!” Clay shouted, startling the rest of the cheerleaders, and he and Friedman chest-bumped while the other team ran another play and scored a touchdown.

Coach Rip came over to give both Clay and Friedman a piece of his mind.

“You don’t come off the field until the drive is over!” he yelled. Coach was always yelling. “Do you two even know the rules of football!?”

Clay and Friedman looked at each other and shrugged.

“I know the rules, coach,” Kate said, raising her hand.

Rip clawed at his own his face, obviously frustrated, and took a long, hard, deep breath before looking at Friedman through his fingertips. “…Come on, kid. It’s our ball. Get your helmet on.” He started back towards the sideline and then stopped, turning his head around.  “…You know, you’re lucky we don’t have a competent backup or you’d be warming benches for the rest of the season.”

He said this well in earshot range of Chaz Marcum, the second string quarterback.

Kate watched him storm away.

“He sounds angry,” she said.

“Nah. That’s just what they call tough love.” Friedman puffed out his chest, making out like he was some sort of hero and his team desperately needed him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me… I have a game to win.”

“Good luck!” she said.   

The Wild Squirrels lost, 73-7.

--------------------

After the game, Friedman showered and chest-bumped with every guy in the locker room—even Chaz the Spaz—before throwing on some jeans and a white varsity sweater with red stripes. He stuffed the rest of his gear in an oversized gym bag and slung it over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

Outside, there was a girl waiting for him. She had a pencil in one hand and a notepad in the other, and she raised them both eagerly when she saw him emerge from the locker room door. Their eyes met and the late afternoon sunlight bounced off the thin frame of her glasses and straight into his retinas.

Normally, he would have pushed right past her, but he had to look down to shield his eyes from the sun and he got a good look at her figure. She was skinny and not altogether too short, wearing a black buttoned jacket, a purple mini-dress that showed off her legs, and black buckle pumps that had been standing in place for almost an hour. He smiled—that dashing Friedman smile—when he looked back up at her.

“Hi there! I’m—”

Before she could finish speaking, he had snatched the pencil and notepad away from her and began scribbling something down.

“Who should I make this out to?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“What’s your name?”

“Um… It’s Tori, but…”

“Here you go, Tori Butt.” He handed back her belongings, picked up his gym bag again, and started towards the campus parking lot.

Tori stared down at the notepad. All that was written was a seven digit phone number.

“I don’t think you understand!” she cried out. When he didn’t look back, she chased after him, stumbling down the steps in her pumps. “I don’t want your autograph or…whatever this is.”

“Sure you don’t, baby. Sure you don’t.”

“No, please. If you could just wait and—”

“I’m a very busy guy. If you want something, walk and talk. You can do that, can’t you?”

Tori’s glasses had slipped down the bridge of her nose. She pushed them up with her finger, nearly impaling herself with the pencil in the process, and nodded.

“Yes, you see… I’m a journalist with the school newspaper and my first assignment is to interview an athlete on campus.” Friedman jumped over a railing and Tori had to circle around to keep up. “I’m new to this school and my supervisor was very adamant about me interviewing someone on the cheerleading squad or the girls’ softball team or the girls’ basketball team or the girls’ chess club, but I—”

“But you just couldn’t resist the chance to talk the greatest quarterback of our generation.” He combed a hand through his thick, dark hair. “I don’t blame you. I would’ve done the same if I was a gorgeous chick.”

“Greatest quarterback of our generation? But your team is last in the division…”

“I don’t play defense, sweetheart.”

“But you turned the ball over eight times. Isn’t that bad?”

“A girl pretending to know about football. That’s cute.” Friedman stopped in front of an old Buick LeSabre the color of vomit and fumbled for his keys. “Here. Hold this for a sec.” He shoved the giant gym bag into Tori’s chest and dug deep into his jean pockets. “Football is a lot like life. You gotta tackle your problems, block your tears, and score as much as you can. You can quote me on that.”

Tori’s whole body was concealed behind the bag as she struggled to keep from falling over. “Um, I think Lewis Grizzard said that…more or less… And isn’t it ‘block your fears’?”

Friedman finally found his keys. He unlocked the car and then stopped for a moment to look at himself in the side mirror. Damn, he thought. Kate was one lucky bitch to have him. He tilted the mirror to get a better look at himself and then spotted the two scrawny legs sticking out from under the gym bag. Not wanting his uniform to end up on the pavement, he popped the trunk, grabbed the strap of the gym bag with one hand, and tossed it inside with a heavy thump.

“I’m starving,” he said, slamming the trunk. “Let’s get a burger.”

“I’m a vegetarian.”

“Hey, I didn’t ask you about your religious beliefs.”

By now, the other football players were heading towards the parking lot. They were about as distraught with the loss as Friedman.

“ALPHA DOGS!” one of them shouted.

Friedman thumped his chest with both hands and hollered back. “ALPHA DOGS!”

About five or six others joined in and soon the whole parking lot was one big shouting, grunting, testosterone-filled fest.

Tori looked around at all the burly football players and then raised her fist. “Yeah, Alpha Dogs!”

The cheer instantly died out.

“Yeah, that’s more of a guy thing…” Friedman said. He turned his back on his teammates, who were now giving him strange looks, and studied Tori like he would study a hunk of veal in a deli. He could have jumped in the car and drove off without her, but something about those legs enticed him. They were just too damn nice to leave behind.

“So…food?” he asked.

Tori looked at the beat-up car in front of her and then down at the notepad. She wasn’t sure that thing was even street legal, but a hastily written phone number wasn’t going to get her very far. Flashing her friendliest smile, she nodded and folded the notepad shut before tucking it away in her rear pocket.

“Cool.” Friedman walked over to the passenger side door and yanked on the door handle. The entire door came off.

“Um…is it supposed to do that?” Tori asked.

“Just roll with it, sweetcheeks.”