“Cole’s pass just tied the game is what happened!” Don Paul gave Kip a hard slap on the back. “Hot damn, Savannah, looks like you were right. That buck we bagged must have really done the trick! Say, tell us again what that little special delivery was all about.”

Savannah shifted uncomfortably. “Uh … luck. Everyone knows that a dead buck in the locker room brings good luck on the field.”

Ned Balooka turned from his laptop. “What’s that you say … a dead buck?”

“Never mind. Not important.” Savannah pressed her forehead to the glass. “Is Cole okay? He looks a little shaken.”

Bernice bit into a nacho. “That bastard Flamont got him a good one in the kneecaps, long after the play.” She sucked melted cheese off her fingertips. “But he’s fine. Look, he’s getting right up. Don’t worry, honey, he’s a tough kid.”

Midway through the third quarter, Booker broke Philip Meekin’s already broken neck.

Phil had just brick-walled a Badger tight end after a six-yard gain. Both players landed on the sideline in front of the Elmwood bench. Cole had filled in at deep safety on the play, and watched from a few yards away as Booker came off the Badgers bench, took hold of Phil’s helmet, and twisted like he was working the stubborn lid of a pickle jar. No flag was thrown.

Gasps swept the crowd as Phil returned to the huddle, his head turned 180 degrees. His wobbly gait betrayed some loss of balance, but there was no noticeable sign of discomfort.

Cole returned Phil’s head to its rightful position with a swift yank, and both boys went back to work.

The Badgers came gunning again on the next play, a third and short. Their quarterback found daylight on a keeper, then pitched to the fullback a split second before Kevin O’Flannery drove the QB into an ice chest. With the benefit of a crucial block, the fullback made it down to the Jackrabbits’ nine. Fortunately, the Badgers’ advance crumbled after that. The drive ended with two blown snaps and a fumbled pitch that rolled out of bounds. They settled for a chip-shot field goal, but had regained a three-point lead at the end of three.

The clock seemed to go into overdrive then. The sides exchanged possession twice with little gain by either team. As the clock ticked below seven minutes, Belfry Ingram had a look at a field goal from the forty-three. It had the distance but caught the wind and sailed an arm’s length wide of the upright.

Cole compiled a mini–highlight reel on the next possession but couldn’t quite convert it into points on the board. The pain in his back and elbow had returned with a vengeance. Given that his teammates felt no pain and required no oxygen, they seemed to be faring much better than he was.

The clock ticked on. Six minutes. Four minutes. Three.