The offensive coordinator appears complacent. It’s a rare sight. He’s smiling. Peacock postured, and certain. His pride is so pronounced that even the defensive coordinator – whose affinity for humanity seldom prompts insight – is able to immediately understand that something good has happened to his colleague.
“You’re in a good mood.”
The offensive coordinator doesn’t hear him.
“I said, ‘You’re in a good mood.’”
“What’s that? Sorry.”
“You look like you’re feelin’ good. What’s goin’ on?”
“Oh, yeah. I think I did it.”
“I invented the perfect play.”
The seeming lunacy of the statement doesn’t escape the defensive coordinator. He doesn’t know how to respond. He respects his colleague, but his claim is ridiculous.
“Oh yeah? Let me see it.”
Still dreamy, as though something mesmerizing is occurring in the distance, the offensive coordinator hands over his playbook. The defensive coordinator takes it, looks at the page, rests his finger on his mouth, twice stops himself from speaking and proceeds to not do anything for several seconds. The offensive coordinator continues his gaze toward the horizon.
“This is incredible.” The defensive coordinator can hardly believe what he’s seeing. “We have to run it. All the time.”
The two coaches call their players together. They line up. Even though the defensive coordinator knows exactly what the play will be, he can’t stop it. The offense scores a touchdown. It’s perfect.
“We have to try this again.”
They do, but a funny thing happens. As the ball is hiked, the right tackle slips and the defensive tackle is able to break through his block and sack the quarterback.