Page 86 of Campus Heat

“Yeah,” Cam admitted.

Dylan leaned forward, and I could tell that he was completely energized now.

“If we stack the tight end on the inside, though,” Dylan added. “That linebacker will be forced to decide who he will cover.”

“Or he crashed the run,” someone called from the back, earning a few laughs.

“Which leaves the seam open,” Cam finished triumphantly.

Harris’s expression instantly changed. The wide smile he had remained, but it was as if the guys had just overrun him with a range of new ideas and techniques. He turned toward the whiteboard and started drawing out our characters.

“Okay, get up here,” Harris said.

Cam stood first and grabbed a marker. He quickly drew his idea of the formation, labeling the positions with big block letters. Dylan got up next and took a different colored marker to draw out the defensive shift.

“No, no,” Cam said, pointing at the drawing. “The safety needs to be here.”

“This is where he ends up,” Dylan said, slapping his hand. “This is where he starts from.”

Harris leaned back against his desk with his arms folded across his chest. His lips curled into a hint of a smile as he watched them argue. Then more guys got up to add their two cents to the drawing.

“Move the running back slightly left,” one of the seated guys suggested.

“Why?” someone else asked.

“So it sells the sweep better.”

I stood up before I noticed what I had done. It was as if my body was functioning on autopilot and it wanted to set all of these guys straight.

“Give me that,” I said as I snatched the marker from Dylan.

Then I erased a part of the route and redrew it. A few of the guys tried to argue while others cringed, but I didn’t care.

“If the tight end chips the linebacker first,” I said. “He will slow him down just enough for Dylan to cut inside.”

“Yeah,” Cam said, nodding slowly. “That could work.”

Dylan stepped back and studied the board. “Try it again.”

Harris rewound the clip one more time. We watched the play unfold one more time while glancing at the board. This time the mistakes felt so obvious that we could kick ourselves. When we reached the same spot again, Harris paused.

“Well,” he said. “That’s the most productive film session we’ve had all season.”

The room erupted in relieved laughter. Then the guys started gathering their things, but the chatter between them was still about the play. Harris didn’t move right away, though. Instead, he leaned back against his desk and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

“Hold up a second,” he said after a moment.

The room fell quiet, and he took a second to look over each and every one of us.

“You know I’m not a career football coach.”

A few of the guys exchanged nervous glances, but no one spoke up.

“I’ve heard the rumors,” Harris continued. “About the alumni questions and I’ve heard the little comments.” He let out a small, panicked, and completely humorless laugh. “Some of you probably heard it at the fundraiser dinner.”

My stomach turned into a gigantic knot as Harris nervously scratched the back of his neck.

“They weren’t wrong,” he said quietly. “I came from basketball and I didn’t have twenty years’ worth of football experience.”