“I got the middle linebacker’s number, T.K.,” says Frazier in the huddle. “I can twist that Johnson dude around my little finger.” He shakes the temporary cast Rauscher has slapped on his broken arm. “I got him coming, I got him going. You put it right over him, and I’ll see he ain’t there to stop it.”

T.K. nods his recognition of Frazier’s suggestion. “Lammy,” he asks, “how’s your leg?”

Howe injured it three plays ago. He’s been walking with a limp ever since. His running game doesn’t seem to have suffered. “Feels O.K. I don’t think I can handle many quick cuts, but I can carry straight ahead good enough.”

“Super. It’s gonna be a red series fifty four.” Howe will carry straight up the middle. “On two. Check with me at the line.” This means T.K. reserves the right to change the play audibly once he’s seen the defense.

The Prospectors break and line up.

T.K. surveys the Minutemen’s defense. They’ve got five men on the line, four back. Johnson at middle linebacker is riding close in. Frazier can get to him easily. The red fifty four should work. “On three.” An odd number means the play called in the huddle is go. “Forty four, thirteen, twenty six, hut one, hut two.”

T.K. fakes a handoff to Clausen, lays the ball gently into Howe’s gut, and steps back to fake the pass. Frazier pops the linebacker a good one. Howe steps into the hole and is gone. He makes it nearly ten yards before a safety brings him down with a bola.

“Let’s try it again,” says T.K. in the huddle. “Check with me at the line. On one.”

Johnson didn’t learn his lesson. He’s playing exactly the same as before.

“On one. Sixty five, ninety seven, thirty two, hut one.”

Again, Howe bursts through the hole. This time, he darts into an alleyway off Temple and disappears. The Minutemen team gives chase.

T.K. lets them go. He’s got a lot of confidence in Howe’s ability to break away. T.K. heads directly for the goalyard.

When he arrives, there are three Minutemen there ahead of him. Obviously, the Minutemen know about Howe’s abilities, too. T.K. hides, pressing himself into a doorway, one with a good view of the goalyard. He waits for Howe to arrive.

Almost from out of nowhere, Howe runs into view. Completely ignoring the three to one odds against him, he steams full bore for the goalyard. T.K. bolts from the doorway and sprints for the goalyard himself, heading toward it at a ninety degree angle from Howe. By a very slight margin, T.K. will reach the goalyard first. It’s a play the Prospectors have worked on again and again.