© 2009 Namennus Wreck. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse

ISBN: 978-1-4343-6160-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-0261-9(ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2008901652

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

Chapter 1

An Unforgettable Picture 2007

Chapter 2

Merrymeck 1996-1998

Chapter 3

Freshmen 1999

Chapter 4

Brooklyn VS Easternmeck

Chapter 5

Missed Opportunity

Chapter 6

Sarlaner

Chapter 7

A Lucky Day

Chapter 8

Brooklyn VS Blair

Chapter 9

Know Your Enemy 2000

Chapter 10

Grandpa Mires

Chapter 11

Brooklyn VS Bishop

Chapter 12

The Long Road Home

Chapter 13

The Heavy Price Paid

Chapter 14

Defining Moments

Chapter 15

Reborn

Chapter 16

Brooklyn VS Darkmire County

Chapter 17

Brooklyn VS North Bronx 2000 State Championship

To a brother who has had everything,

To a brother who has had nothing,

To a brother who has felt every emotion possible,

And to a brother who remains only human.

Chapter 1

An Unforgettable Picture 2007

O ne evening last week I needed to get some pictures of myself as a kid for an activity at work. I called my mom to let her know I was coming over to look for them. When I arrived at my parent’ s house, my mom directed me to their spare bedroom.

Mom do you have those baby pictures, I needed?

Sure, she replied. They’re back there, next to your brother’s football stuff.

I started to fiddle through some of the boxes.

Why is this stuff out? I asked irritably.

I just wanted to look at some of the old articles and pictures, that’s all.

I could sense that familiar disappointment in her voice. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Why does she do this to herself, I mumbled.

I didn’t want to look at them, but curiosity got the best of me. It was like a dying flame that would never go out. I looked at the old photos of us growing up; I remember that sweet innocent little smile. I wish I knew my brother better, I wish I could call him my best friend, but I don’t even know if he really knew himself.

The memories began to flow and unfortunately I couldn’t make them stop. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen.

Oh Joey, I hissed, my frustration beginning to boil. All that potential…lost.

Growing up he was one of those kids who threw tantrums when he wanted something. Telling him no several times was the only way to make him stop, that or submitting to his demands. I was one of those kids who would push the buttons, but knew where to draw the line. I was able to find a balance between right and wrong. I had to work hard at making the grade, but I always did, especially as I got older. My behavior was that of a mischievous one. In our scale a four was the worst and I knew how to stay just below that.

My brother enjoyed our mom’s embrace. She was a woman of compassion and only saw the good. She was defensive of us, like any mother would be, but I always felt like she shielded Joey much more than she should.

If I ever got into trouble it was from stupid things, like throwing erasers or screaming in class. When I knew I was getting a phone call home, I always did my best to get to my mom first. She would handle the situation much better than my dad. Plus I knew my punishment would fit the crime.

I can remember one time in class; we put a fake spider looking bug on this kid named Jim. He squealed like a pig, it was hilarious! When I saw the face of my teacher though, I knew what was coming. I made sure that I gave him my mom’s number.

My dad was a great man also, but he seemed to always be consumed with his own things. We had to like what he liked and what he wanted to do, and if we didn’t, well too bad. He worked hard, and he always made sure we were taken care of. I see a lot of him in me, perseverance, cleanliness, and most of all that drive, that unbreakable drive. I also inherited his stress and sadness though. I stress out about so much, stupid things especially. My dad is so good at giving advice, but following it is much more difficult, even for him. Throughout the years, we had a decent relationship, it wasn’t the best by any means, and honestly I wish it was better.

When I was a little kid I could remember him building these elaborate train cities. He was into N scale trains. The N symbolized the size of the trains. They were about the length of a middle finger. He spent hours upon hours building these mountains, lakes and little bridges. They were so detailed if you took a picture of the city, you would think it was real. My brother and I enjoyed watching him put the little people next to the house holding hands, happy families taking a walk. I remember looking at all those happy families.

Family, that’s a funny thing. We, as a people, define family in so many ways. My family, well, has fallen apart in recent years. I used to be proud of the family values we upheld. I always considered us a solid middle class family, one that stood together through the good times and the bad. We were a team, four members that function at their best together. My dad made sure that our image of family was that of perfection, nothing less.

I really don’t know a lot about my parents’ past. I know stories of their youth. Dad had a younger brother, who died when Dad was almost twelve. I know about how my mom and her two brothers fought and how my mom was made fun of for being chubby. But I didn’t know what made them tick. I saw their actions and reactions. I knew my dad’s character was steadfast and firm. I knew my mom was softhearted and cared only for the little things, but I didn’t know what shaped their lives, especially my dad. He was a hero and usually you don’t know about a hero’s past, only that whatever happened in their past drives them toward the future.

As I sifted through more and more pictures of my brother, I yelled to my mom, Do you have the Brooklyn articles here too? No answer. Where is she? I wondered. I rummaged a little deeper into the box. Ah here they are". Do you know that innocence we have when we are children? It was scary; I could see it in his eyes. It slowly turned to rage, sadness, and finally hatred. I could see him changing, like a catapillar to a moth.

There wasn’t really a time where I could say he snapped, or couldn’t handle the pressures of life, it wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Was he picked on more than other kids? I don’t think so, but like I said, I really only knew his shell, not the tormented soul inside. He never let anyone in.

My mom protected him from the pestering. He was a little chubby as a child. I was guilty of fueling that fire and I am sure his friends were too. He wasn’t grossly overweight or anything; just enough to take notice and kids being kids would take advantage of it.

My brother and I were six years apart. We didn’t really have much in common either. My mom used to tell me he looked up to me, but I never saw that. I mean I knew he looked up to me, but I definitely wasn’t his hero, at least from what I could see. He knew I didn’t drink or do drugs and my mom would hold me up on a pedestal because, at my age, it was relatively unheard of for a kid not to cave into that sort of peer pressure. Plus when you’re in high school and college, drinking and smoking is almost just the thing to do.

We both played baseball. I loved baseball, but I always had to work at being a good player, it didn’t come natural. As I grew out of baseball, I decided to take up skateboarding. I was heavily involved in it and I must say I actually got pretty good. It’s worth noting that I am quite critical of myself, even if I succeeded one hundred percent, I still felt like I could do better. Baseball wasn’t my brother’s forte either. He moved on to football in the mid 1990’s.

My dad was always around. He diligently took both my brother and me to every game, every practice, and every event whether it was baseball or football. He made sure we were there on time every time. My brother needed a little bit more discipline than I did; he needed a little bit more of a regimented schedule, so he took to football much better than any other sport.

I gazed at what looked like a very recent picture of my brother maybe 2005 or 2006. He was dramatically changed. It was only in the end that I realized it wasn’t the words that he lacked, for the pictures told us the story of triumph, misfortune, but most of all tragedy. To me it was the best four years of his life; to him, it could have been the worst. To my family, it was a great joy. The roar of the crowd, he was a hero. He was who we wanted to be. He was my dad’s protégé, everything he wasn’t. He taught my brother well. He taught him discipline, sacrifice, and above of all he taught him never to quit. My brother bore the burden of not only pleasing our family, but especially our dad.

As I looked at that picture one last time, I couldn’t help but remember that’s when it all began to fall apart…

Chapter 2

Merrymeck 1996-1998

M y brother played football throughout his middle school life. He was a good player. You could tell there was a lot of talent and potential. It was in these delicate years that I think, really shaped who he is today.

The crowds at Merrymeck weren’t the best. It was a melting pot of kids from all backgrounds, but in a more old fashioned area of town. My brother went through several phases at this school; he was a jock, a skateboarder, a redneck, etc. It was that typical age of finding oneself. He hung out with several different crowds trying to figure out where he fit in. He enjoyed migrating between the different groups too. He had a piece of each crowd in him really. It was like one of those paintings with all the little pictures inside. He looked the same from a distance, but when you got close to him, you could tell there was a lot going on. In the beginning, I couldn’t say he was part of the grunge crowd, or the gangster crowd or any crowd for that matter.

The inner gears of his mind really began to tick at this point. Like my father, he began to keep things inside. He wasn’t really good at telling us about an issue he was having, rather he would act it out. I often think about those kids who walk into their schools and start shooting up the place. People say He was a great kid, a little quiet, but a great kid. Sometimes we don’t look for the right signs. Sometimes we want someone to tell us exactly how he feels, but in reality it isn’t the words that always tell the problem. Sometimes it’s the quiet that are the words. My brother sadly was exactly this way.

He never really got into trouble at Merrymeck, not any that we knew of anyway. He yearned to be liked and like most kids wanted to fit in so badly he would do anything to look better than the next kid. He wanted his friends to be his family. They understood him more than we did. His friends were like him. He wouldn’t betray them, just like they wouldn’t betray him. They knew exactly the way he felt. This uncanny loyalty to his friends was the straw that broke the camel’s back. My brother’s low self esteem, coupled with the fact that he wanted to be liked, was like pouring more gasoline on a fire already picking up steam. There was something seductive about pushing the limits, whether it was morality decisions, or just plain right or wrong decisions. He took pleasure in pushing the limits as far as they would go. He could never be the boss of the family, but he would make an outstanding soldier.

His attitude was one of growing invisibility. My mom fueled this attitude too. She was his protector, often going against proper disciplinary actions and letting him slide. I was one of those kids who if you told me once I stopped, especially if I knew there would be a bad consequence. My brother on the other hand, didn’t really know the meaning of stop. We required different methods and incentives to learn right from wrong. My mother and father never adapted to this change. They tried to raise him like me, but their rules became more flexible over the years with him. With me, they were relatively strict. I often felt the punishment didn’t fit the crime, whereas my brother’s punishment was often too lenient. One time I was caught talking on the phone past 9 PM on a weekend night; for this I wasn’t allowed to talk on the phone for a week. To me this was like murder. My brother on the other hand, when he hit my age at that time, it didn’t really matter much. I guess what I am saying is that my parents learned certain methods and techniques while raising me. They tried to apply the same techniques to my brother, but he didn’t really fit my mold. They were honest blunders on uncharted waters.

He wasn’t involved too much in Merrymeck except for football and basketball. He hung out with a few hoodlums who lived close to the school. The school was set so far back from the road it was often too difficult to see what was going on in the woods. They would occasionally get into trouble. I remember he got caught looking at pornographic material. He was too young to really fully understand what he and his buddies were doing, but it wasn’t the fact that he was doing these sorts of acts. It was the fact that his pride, lack of discipline, and his disturbing view of the world had begun to distort what the difference between right and wrong were. No matter how much my parents tried.

At the age of fourteen, Joey was headed to high school. This was a double- edged sword. Some of the potential negative friendships he was developing were severed, but some were emboldened. He only spent two years at Merrymeck, but while he was extracted from one hostile environment, he was thrust into a more stress filled, pressure oriented one.

He would be going to Brooklyn High School. This school really wasn’t known for much. It wasn’t the newest school and it wasn’t the best school by any means. It was an old public school that was in bad need of repair; it was built in nineteen fifty-one. She wasn’t decrepit, but she was showing her age.

Football was like any other sport here and wasn’t the town favorite. Magnolia, North Carolina wasn’t one of those rural towns in which life revolved around a certain sport, let alone profit off it. It was one of those towns that like with professional sports, the fans were seasonal. If our team was winning, then fans were head over heels for them. If they were losing, there was no need to even bring up sports in a conversation. High school football was the same, no exception. To the ones who were involved it was their life, but outside them, no one cared.

At first I was this way also. I mean, I didn’t care either way. I had my own stuff going on; high school football was the furthest thing from my mind. North Carolina has a team but I only watched here and there. I never made it a priority in my life to make sure to get home and watch the game, nor did I ever go to a tailgate party. The most football I ever got into was watching my brother and his team, the Brooklyn Patriots.

Chapter 3

Freshmen 1999

U pon entering Brooklyn that fall as a freshman, Joey was picked along with two other kids to be part of the varsity football team. His ego began to grow. Brooklyn was part of the 4A conference. This was determined by several factors. The school size determined your number, which would increase as the size of the school population increased, and your quadrant or conference determined the teams you would play. This was a great honor, it’s not usual for three junior varsity players to be pulled up in their ninth grade year. It was my brother, Joey Puluzenelli- a middle linebacker, Jason Daby – a quarterback, and Darron Limer – a receiver. All three had the potential to go all the way to the NFL, but in the end only one would make it there…

Go! Go! Move it! You want to be the best don’t you! gripped Coach Pittman.

Yeah I want to be the best grumbled Darron.

Coach Pittman was a rather chubby man. Short too. For someone shouting so loud, you would think he would at least be in shape. His heart was in the right place, but his coaching skills weren’t.

Damn this doesn’t seem right! Darron said to Joey.

Yeah I know, I wonder if he knows what he’s doing. Joey said.

What sort of season do you think we are going to have Darron?

Man we are gonna whup butt! Darron said with confidence.

Darron was a short stocky black boy from Magnolia. Joey knew him from Merrymeck. He was always sure of himself except around dogs. That boy was so afraid of dogs, no matter their size; he would run like a little girl to her Barbie doll. Joey and Darron were close friends; they fed off each other’s energy. They were both outspoken and good-hearted, but if crossed, they would let you know. Darron was an up and coming receiver. He was a speed demon. He was short and agile and he could jump like a puma. They were both running around the track, getting conditioned for their first big game as varsity players. Their team took to the three of them also. There was really no bad blood or jealousy. The only bump in the road was when Coach Pittman put Joey into the middle linebacker role instead of his returning player Tyler Petty. Petty, who at the time was a decent player, was disappointed that he didn’t get his old position back. Coach Pittman made the decision based off past performance and future longevity. Needless to say Petty slipped into the back rows for most of that season.

Go, go their coach shouted.

Is that all he can say! Joey said with a sense of irritation in his voice. You know our practices need to be more advanced, this crap isn’t gonna get us anywhere.

You are exactly right, it’s too ancient Darron replied.

It was a hot blistering afternoon in August. If it were any hotter the pavement would melt. The team was getting ready for their season opener. It would prove to be a long season that year.

Hey you think Lynn is gonna be there? Joey asked.

Man you are all about that girl, I bet she will be. She’s got a thing for you Darron said squinting up at the sun.

This was the first girl Joey was really interested in. Blonde, slender and her smile was beautiful. There was something about her that he was attracted to. He liked authority, and if it was coming from a girl it was even more attractive.

Morgan was the starting quarterback, he was a solid player. He knew where to throw the ball and how to get the job done, but he wasn’t exceptional. He always threw the ball to his favorite player and friend, Muhad Angis. He was a great receiver, fast, experienced. He was going places. He was a senior like Morgan. Coach Pittman liked them both. They were his aces.

Throw it, throw it! he shouted.

Morgan launched it downfield. Angis caught it but it was a bit sloppy.

Get over here, both of you. I told you to zigzag left then right, then left again! Angis you barely made it in time!

But –Angis tried to get a word in.

The coach snapped around to give Morgan his next bite.

Morgan, what did I tell you? Throw it on the third count! You are counting too long! Both of you aren’t listening. You want to be the best don’t you? You want to win don’t you?

Both boys looked defeated as usual, such a waste of talent. They were good kids, trying hard to be the best they could. Darron and Joey and the others continued to watch the spectacle.

Man, glad I ain’t them! Joey said.

Line up, everyone, the defense coach said.

His name was Coach John Cain, a tall black man in his mid thirties, a gentle giant indeed. The kids looked up to him. They respected him and his judgment; you could tell they had more respect for him than for their head coach.

There were over thirty-five kids on the team, but consistently about twenty-six played that year. Three freshmen - Joey, Darron, and Jason, twelve sophomores - Aden, John, William, Baker, Carl, Jacob, Travis, Jackson, Billy D, Handsome Harry, Timmy, and Vito, seven juniors - Isaiah, Jassan, Hanney, Brett, Petty, Erick, and Pat, and four seniors - Morgan, Angis, Spleet, and Boone. They were a rugged bunch. They looked kind of like the Bad News Bears. They were different in so many ways; they all came from different backgrounds. If it wasn’t for football, I doubt any of these kids would have ever made any effort to get to know each other. There was definitely a sense of comradery though, even in the few weeks they had spent together thus far.

Alright, this is our situation. Three or four of you are doing what you are supposed to be doing…that’s it! Coach Pittman was pissed as usual.

He went into his rage for about twenty minutes pointing out all the rights and wrongs.

Why are you here? he asked. You are wasting my time and your time. You guys are better than this!

The players seemed distant. It was hot as hell and they had been practicing all day. All they wanted to do was take a shower.

Alright, get out of here, I hope for you all’s sake this coming Friday, we are good enough to beat Easternmeck High!

As soon as he said Dismissed! the boys took off running for the locker room.

Look at them, those damn kids run faster to the locker room than they do out on the field! Coach Pittman looked in disbelief.

Maybe coach, you should go a little easier on them Coach Cain said.

Maybe you should shut the hell up! Coach Pittman pouted.

He walked off in his familiar strut; he knew what he was doing. He was right and they were wrong, period.

Hey Darron are you gonna go lift weights with Timmy? Joey asked.

Hell nah, I smell too bad, need to take a shower! Darron shouted.

Alright, I’m going to work out a bit with the other guys I’ll see you tomorrow then said Joey.

That afternoon Joey worked out for another couple of hours. His spotting partner was Jason; Timmy had already left for the night. Jason was about five nine, a hundred and eighty-nine pounds, rather skinny for a quarterback. He was reserved and very polite. He had both parents in his life, but his dad was more prevalent. He taught him proper manners. He was the type of guy you wouldn’t expect to play football. He looked more like a chess player or a professional golfer. He made good grades and never got into trouble. His older brother broke several school football records both in high school and in the first two semesters of college. Perhaps he was simply following in his brother’s footsteps. People always said his brother was an amazing quarterback, but Jason would be better. It seemed like his dad trained them both from birth. They were almost like machines.

Okay, you ready? said Joey.

He was getting ready to do the bench press. At this point Joey was pushing two hundred pounds and was about six foot; at almost fifteen he was a big kid. He was picked to be middle linebacker that year, a position he occasionally played at Merrymeck. Jason lifted the weight.

One, two…three…come on…four…five…good, I got you, Jason said.

Joey stood up. The strain from practice had finally gotten to him.

So are you playing Friday? he asked Jason.

Nope, not that I know off, unless the coach has a change of heart, I will probably be sitting.

He is all about that Morgan huh? You are so much better than that kid. He won’t realize that until it’s too late though. Joey answered.

Well maybe I will get a chance to prove myself. That’s all I can ask for.

It was getting late. Dad came to pick Joey up around eight that night.

How was practice? He eagerly wanted to know.

Good, same old. Coach Pittman yelled for a while, Aden threw up as usual, and practice was the same drill as it always is, he said.

Joey looked out the window as they drove away. My dad and my brother had an odd relationship. They were subliminally always at each others necks. They were both hardheaded and always the ones that were right. My dad went to every game and videotaped every play. He was my brother’s biggest fan, but my brother never really trusted him. He always felt like there were different motives… Was he taping to look good in front of the other parents? Was he taping to impress his friends? Was he really doing it for me?

You know I am proud of you Joey, Dad said.

I know, thanks, Joey replied.

The car wound around the curve and drove off. They were father and son after all…

Chapter 4

Brooklyn VS Easternmeck

I t was time to see how good the Patriots were. It was the season opener and the Patriots were playing at home. The field was tidied up; fresh chalk was used to line the boundaries the night before. There were several people there, but for the first game of the season, it was pretty pathetic. Three players from each team walked out onto the field to meet the Ref, Morgan, Angis, and Boone, not only the three starters, but the seniors of the group. If you were the lucky ones to walk out to the center for the coin toss, you had the whole world looking at you. It was time for the flip. The quarterback for Easternmeck called it.

Heads!

Heads it is, Easternmeck’s ball, the Ref shouted.

Spleet was the Patriots kicker, a rather dopey looking fellow, who didn’t know how to do much other then kick a football. They called him Spleet because it rhymed with feet and one time he slipped in practice right in front of some girls and the team thought it was hilarious. So they put the two words together and came up with Spleet. At first he hated it, but after a while he got over it. He kicked the ball solidly down the field to the Easternmeck’s twenty yard line. The receiver took off like lightning. Thirty…forty…fifty…he was finally stopped at mid field. Brooklyn’s special team walked off the field. Coach Pittman looked at them with his piercing red eyes. It was two minutes into the game and he was pissed already.

Blue forty-two, hike! Easternmeck’s quarterback yelled.

This guy was good. He knew exactly when and where to throw the ball. It landed right into the hands of number twelve at the fifteen yard line. They called him Watuga because of his crazy Indian uncle. He was completely wide open.

Touchdown! the Refs screamed, the small crowd yelled with glee.

Watuga did a little dance and walked to the sidelines, slapping everyone’s hands.

What the hell are you guys doing out there, the coach yelled. Morgan, do your thing and remember to count!

Morgan ran out looking at his team for the first time in this sort of atmosphere. Aden was the center.

Hut one…hut two…hike! Morgan yelled.

The ball snapped right into his hands. The faint voice entered his mind, he whispered to himself.

One…two…three!

He released the ball just before he got sacked. It was a deep bomb to Angis at Easternmeck’s ten yard line. If he had gotten there a second later it would have been an amazing catch, but that night they must have tried that play fifteen times, and it never worked.

Finally it was half time.

Thank god, several players whimpered. They all knew what was coming.

They entered the locker room with not only a sigh of relief, but of regret knowing they disappointed their families as well as their coach; it was their coach that they were most upset about.

You know I try with you guys, I push and push you guys to do what I am telling yah. I don’t do it to bust your chops! I do it because I know you can win.

Aden stood up.

Man it’s just the first game!

What the hell did you just say? the coach answered back.

There was a moment of silence. Aden and Erick were brothers and although Erick was older, he let his brother pretty much do what he wanted to do, disrespectful or not. Their parents were friends of my parents and because of football, they hung out a lot. Aden was a month older than Joey, even before football they were friends from Merrymeck. Aden, unlike his brother, had a bad temper and it always flared at the wrong time.

I said what does it matter? he answered again.

You are out, William get ready, you’re in.

Yes sir William made sure to answer quickly.

To some of you this is a game, to me it’s a war Coach Pittman lowered his voice.

He must have been the greatest in his day. He was like an army general. He had medals all over his chest, but it was past his time. He was respected by all the coaches, but to some it was just time to bow out and graciously leave. Of course no one would ever say this to him, but everyone at least on the team, knew it. Joey lay against the wall in the back with Darron, listening deeply, for some reason those words vibrated a cord somewhere in his inner workings. To some of you this is a game, to me it’s a war. It echoed not only in his mind but in his soul. No other words ever resonated like that up until now in his mind. It just seemed to click with where he was at that moment. Coach Pittman kept rambling on, but it didn’t make sense. Joey was no longer paying attention. He leaned back on the bench, gnawing on one of his dirty finger nails. That day something changed in him. He didn’t just apply those words to the game; he applied them to his life.

Half time was up. The score was twenty-one to fourteen. The Patriots took the field.

Coach, coach, Darron yelled.

What is it? he replied.

Put me in, please, I can get the job done.

Maybe later, we can still win this game. He replied with absolutely no confidence in his eager young player.

Darron sat back in the chair next to Jason, who was contently watching Morgan’s every move.

They picked us for a reason right, Jason? Darron asked expecting him to agree wholeheartedly, but Jason wasn’t paying attention to his complaints.

Dad was up in the stands video tapping the entire game. Joey got to play some, but definitely wasn’t turning any heads. Mom wanted him to play so bad. She wanted to see her son perform a miracle that night. He did have one notable play. It was in the third quarter, third down and three yards to a first down at Brooklyns twelve yard line. The play was for Joey to whip around the left side as Erick, the strong side backer, took on two of the Easternmeck guys. If timed perfectly Joey could slip in-between them and have free range to sack the quarterback. That’s actually what happened. Dad and Mom jumped up screaming.

Yeah they screamed, Go Joey!

He stopped what could have been a touchdown pass. Joey straddled the quarterback for a second.

Their eyes met, I got you, Joey said with great satisfaction.

There was four minutes left in the fourth quarter. The score was now twenty-three to fourteen. The Patriots managed to keep themselves in it. Carl, Isaiah and Jacob held the offense together long enough for Morgan to throw some completions to his receivers. Erick, Joey, and the rest of the defense managed to stop the bleeding late in the third quarter. It was the Patriots ball at their forty yard line, they needed a huge play. Morgan broke the huddle.

It’s coming to you Angis. He said walking up to the back of Aden.

Angis gave him the nod. As he said this, the defensive tackle for Easternmeck heard exactly what he said. The snap was off; the Patriots protection cover was overwhelmed. Morgan didn’t have much time. Angis was running as fast as he could. Jason stood up as if he was watching the entire play in slow motion and he knew where the ball was going to go. As the ball