The defensive end across from me has sixty pounds on me.
He knows it. I know it. Everyone in the stadium can see it.
Under the Friday night lights, he looks across the line at the 195-pound left tackle assigned to stop him. He smirks.
I smirk back.
The ball snaps.
He explodes forward, trying to bull-rush straight through me. He expects his size to win. Instead, I drop my hips, strike with my inside hand, and use his momentum against him. He hits the ground.
Pancake.
I turn toward the huddle.
One play down.
That block looks physical, but the work behind it is mostly mental. I had watched this defender on film. I knew how he lined up before a bull rush and how he attacked smaller linemen. I couldn’t beat him by trying to become something I wasn’t.
I had to focus on what I could control.
Technique. Preparation. Leverage. Timing.
My hands have to be up, my feet moving. I have to recognize what a defender is doing almost before he does it.
That mindset follows me into the classroom. Whether I’m studying for a test or watching game film, I like breaking problems into smaller pieces and figuring out what comes next.
By the end of junior season, I’d recorded 23 pancake blocks and been named Clovis North Lineman of the Year.
But the number I remember most isn’t 23.
It’s five.
Five offensive linemen standing shoulder to shoulder.
I can do my job perfectly and we can still lose the play if we aren’t working together. Being a captain means helping the guys beside me, not just handling my assignment. I started spending extra time with younger linemen, watching film and sharing techniques that took me years to learn.
This season, one of those linemen is my brother Casey.
Casey is our starting center. I get into my stance at left tackle, look down the line, and see my little brother. Things I spent years learning are now things I can pass on to him.
Before a snap, sometimes it’s a word. Sometimes it’s a glance. Sometimes neither is necessary.
We know our assignments.
The ball moves, and so do we.
Up in the stands, our youngest brother, Barrett, is watching.
He’s only in eighth grade, but he’s already bigger, stronger, and probably a better athlete than both of us. Casey and I know it. We’ll just never admit it.
We grew up playing football because our mom, a classically trained ballerina, loves the game. She got that from our Papa Mike. Now I get to play beside Casey while Barrett, Mom, and Papa cheer us on.
I want Barrett to see more than a good block. I want him to see us work hard, help teammates, and keep going when a game isn’t going our way. I’m his big brother whether I play well or not.
Soon my high school football career will end. Casey will still be playing, and Barrett will eventually join him. I’ll be in the stands with Mom and Papa, cheering them on.
I want to study business and eventually work on the business side of sports. I don’t know exactly where that will take me, but I’ll bring what football taught me: prepare, trust your teammates, and make the people beside you better.
The defensive end saw 195 pounds.
I saw an opportunity.