Better Off Getting Run Over by a Motorcycle

Wouldn't getting run over by a motorcycle have hurt less?

If you are born a man of Hawaii, there are certain things you must learn.

Ohana.

At its heart, it means family. But relatives and friends alike fall within the bounds of ohana.

And within this culture of ohana, the men pass down a tradition as old as the islands themselves—

A mindset carried from some impossibly distant past, handed from great-great-grandfather to great-grandfather, flowing down through the generations until it reached ours.

The heart of Hawaii's men.

With that thought in mind, I took my place beside my brothers.

Right now, my teammates were down on one knee on the field, pounding the earth with their fists. And standing before them, I raised my voice and roared in the language of Hawaii:

Before foreign invaders ever reached our shores, we men shielded the women.

And everyone but me answered as one:

"TÃKU TÛRANGA-!!"

(Because that is my duty!!)

Now. It begins.

"TÃKU TÛRANGA-!!"

Arms raised to shield the children!!

"TÃKU TÛRANGA-!!"

Warriors who fought to protect!!

"TÃKU TÛRANGA-!!"

And who stormed the fortresses the enemy built!!

By the time that final cry faded, the roar of the stands had swelled even louder—which meant my own voice had to climb higher still.

We are the young warriors of Kahuku High School!!

And this is our battlefield!!

Now, my brothers cry out once more. For our family, for our community, we became one!! We will remain warriors, ever brave, never retreating, never surrendering!! We will not yield to danger!! Like the tiger sharks of our shores, we will fight as the raiders of old once fought!!

"RUTURUTU – HI!!!"

(We will tackle with ferocious strength)

"MAKAMAKA – HA!!!"

(We will fight as one)

"RUTURUTU – HI!!!"

(We will tackle even harder)

"MAKAMAKA – HA!!!"

(We will fight as a team)

Because—

We are the Red Raiders.

#. August 11, 2017

#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, United States

#-2. Kahuku CDP, Honolulu

#-3. Kahuku High School

#-4. Football Field

Savage howls filled the air from every direction.

We had just become warriors starved for blood.

That haka you just heard was something we had built and perfected ourselves over summer training camp. It was brand new.

"Let's kill them!!!!"

"We'll tear them to shreds!!!"

"Smash their bones to pieces!!!"

(Jim Nantz) — CBS Lead Announcer

"Woo-ow. Now that was an incredible wave of energy. Kaipahua Kura. We're told the students of Kahuku High School have reworked the school's traditional haka into something all their own. It really makes you feel you're in Hawaii. Hello, friends, I'm Jim Nantz, and we'll be bringing you Kahuku High School's 2017 season opener—the team that made so many headlines last year. Tom McCarthy joins me."

(Tom McCarthy) — CBS Announcer

"Remarkable, Jim. It's remarkable enough that we're broadcasting a high school football game at all—here we are, calling the season opener. And what's even more remarkable is just how much interest so many people have in this game."

(Jim Nantz)

"A lot of fans out there are starving for football season. There's still a little time left before the NCAA and NFL seasons kick off. But make no mistake—there's a reason we went out of our way to broadcast this one. Isn't there?"

(Tom McCarthy)

"There certainly is. Dwayne Moi Stone. Last year, he didn't just rewrite every freshman quarterback record—he was named the outright best quarterback in the state of Hawaii. This year, you could make a real case for him chasing national awards."

(Jim Nantz)

"Kahuku High School, led by Dwayne Moi Stone, went twelve and one last season. And they're widely rated as a dramatically improved team this year. In Hawaii, there's simply no one at their level."

This year's opener was set for a national broadcast—not on Fox Sports, but on CBS.

A few of the kids might be shaking in their cleats.

So while the team captains headed out for the coin toss, I turned to face everyone huddled around me and bellowed:

"Don't you forget—today is a golden opportunity!!"

"…."

"Pull together as one team, and give me everything you've got!! We're going to win it all in Hawaii, and some of you are going D1!! And this right here is our home—the ground we have to defend!! The whole world calls us Hawaii's No. 01!! So let's show them they're wrong!! Because we're the No. 01 in the NATION!! LET'S GO!!!"

Another thunderous roar erupted, and in the middle of it, the coin toss was settled.

Defense first.

When Coach waved us in, Coach Hie Kaia—the defensive coordinator who'd joined the team just this season—raised his voice.

"Special teams!! Lock it in and let's go!!"

"OORAH!!"

This year, we'd added a staggering amount of firepower.

Every position finally had a true specialist.

One of them was the kicker.

Right up through last year, Sekope had been forced to handle kicking duties on top of everything else—but this season, we had a dedicated specialist, a transfer from Nanakuli named Duke Heffernan.

Duke was a sophomore, same as me.

And his leg was the real deal.

Pweeee—!

At the whistle, Duke belted the ball with everything he had.

The stands immediately erupted into noise. The ball sailed deep, dropping just inside the opponent's ten-yard line, and Leilehua's returner scooped it into his arms and took off.

He looked like he was running awfully hard, too.

But.

He didn't get far.

Because Mikae dropped him with a bone-rattling tackle.

Roughly around the 21-yard line, I'd say.

"Starters!! Show them what you've got!!"

"Tear 'em up, stomp 'em!!"

"Wasn't it stomp first, then tear?"

"Ah—."

I gently corrected the chant for the transfer student next to me.

Right now, just like Coach and the other coordinators, I was wearing a live headset.

One of the biggest changes to our program this year: a coaching booth had been installed high up in the stands.

With it, we could hear the calls coming down from above. The two teams' offensive and defensive coordinators—whichever staff members were assigned—sat in the booth and relayed strategy to the coaches below.

"4-3. Left lane support."

"4-3. Left lane support."

For the quarterback, it was already habit—a murmur under my breath.

I painted the defensive scheme in my head.

4-3 front.

Strong side to the defense's left.

Of course, that could shift at any moment. Just as a quarterback can audible on offense, there are defenders with the authority to do the same.

The middle linebacker.

On our team, that was Kana'i.

Even now, the guy was signaling away, hard.

Soon enough, Leilehua's offense got underway—and a collision broke out on the far side of the field.

Their running back had tried to slash off right tackle.

This time, it was Fatu's turn to show his stuff.

True to his title as Hawaii's best strongside linebacker, he shut the rushing attack down cold.

"Come on!!"

"That's it!!"

Leilehua did manage to convert one first down and pick up some decent yardage, but they were forced to punt just past our own thirty.

All of this, three minutes and twenty-one seconds into the first quarter.

Now, it was the offense's turn.

"Go set the field on fire out there."

"You know I will."

Coach John Morse clapped me hard on the back, and I shouted my war cry and sprinted onto the field.

(Jim Nantz)

"Football history has never produced a high schooler like this. The footage of him competing in Hawaii's state track meet not long ago was positively explosive. Ten point zero one seconds. There is not a quarterback in the NCAA or the NFL—anywhere on earth—who runs faster than Dwayne Moi Stone."

The very first offensive snap of the entire season.

No need to get greedy.

So—

"Let's run Festival."

"Smooth."

"Good. Let's Go!"

One of the things we quarterbacks did preparing for this season was compress our play calls down to the barest minimum of words.

A single word—Festival—contained three complete plays.

The O-line's pocket protection scheme. The gap the running back was to hit. And the routes for every other receiver on the field.

We used to call each of those out separately. Now it was far, far simpler.

And then, one more thing.

"Green- 80!!"

….

"SET!"

There was one other change we'd made.

And that was—

"Hike!!"

We'd overhauled the audibles, too. The old Hut now served mostly as a decoy call.

Hike had become the real snap count.

Taking the snap from under center, I spun immediately and handed the ball to our starting running back, Enoch.

Enoch slashed into the chaos of the line and chewed out seven yards.

An excellent result for a first-down attempt.

The kid can definitely run.

The quality of our rushing attack was on another level. Sorry to Harmon and Elvis, who graduated—but from what we saw in summer camp, Enoch was several tiers above both of them.

And an elite running back means the game gets exponentially easier.

Because all I have to do is hand off the ball and let him fly.

Yards come dirt cheap.

"Green- 80!"

"SET, SET, HIKE!!"

I deliberately called set twice in a row to sow confusion in the opponent's D-line. D-linemen of the impulsive sort jump offside on fake calls like that—and when they do, we get free yardage.

Unfortunately, no such luck this time.

But it didn't matter. The first down was ours regardless—Enoch had ripped out ten yards on just two carries.

I glanced toward the bench.

Two first downs on the same rushing concept. Unless the opponent was stupid, they'd be keying on it now.

Which meant, of course, we had to change things up.

Their read going forward would almost certainly be run first.

That's the picture that would've taken root in their heads.

As it happened, Coach was thinking exactly the same thing—the Metal Slug sign came flashing in.

"I'm going to slaughter them today, I'm telling you!"

"Kid's got some mouth on him, huh?"

"I was already planning to put you in your place."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Hey!!"

"Quiet, you. Listen up, Metal Slug."

"Oooh—I like that."

"That's round one of your applause. Let's go!!"

Yes, the play was named after exactly what you're thinking.

The side-scrolling run-and-gun game. We took our inspiration from the arcade classic's famous "Heavy Machine Gun!"—a passing strategy built on the shotgun formation that runs through the tight end.

But precisely because it was a passing concept, I had to keep the possibility of taking off myself on the table.

So what would my call be?

Yeah.

"Blue- 40!!"

That's the one.

"SET! HIKE!"

A longer snap came back to me than before, and while scanning toward the wide receivers, I let my head drift just slightly toward the middle of the field.

The man I was looking for: Sekope Latu.

Our starting tight end.

There he is.

The instant our eyes locked, I threw on pure reflex.

(Jim Nantz)

"And ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠once again, the pass arrives right on the money! Kahuku High School rips off fourteen more yards! Leilehua's defense simply cannot get their bearings! Nearly thirty yards gone in the blink of an eye! They'll be in the red zone any moment now."

(Tom McCarthy)

"Last year, Kahuku's head coach Gavin Travis admitted the roster wasn't strong enough around Dwayne Moi Stone, and that he'd have to do a lot of running himself. But Coach Travis also said that letting him command from the pocket was the best way to draw out everything the young man can do. It's early in the game, Jim—but that is already on full display."

(Jim Nantz)

"And today, no fewer than 87 NCAA programs sent representatives to scout Dwayne Moi Stone. That's less than half of last year's number—but I'd say it's more accurate to say several schools simply faced reality and gave up."

Before we knew it, we'd marched down to the 21-yard line.

Functionally, the red zone.

Once again, I glanced back at the bench. I signaled Coach for a red-zone play, the OK sign came back instantly, and a single play call came in.

I liked it.

So I called the huddle right away.

"It's the Naruto Run."

"FINALLY!!"

"Time to let our wide receivers have some fun too."

"Don't get ahead of yourselves—I'm calling Blue. You botch your routes, and I'm the one running the Naruto."

"Leave the worrying to us, boss."

"Good. Let's go."

The Naruto Run.

Yes, it's named after exactly what you're picturing this time, too.

A red-zone formation: three wide receivers, one tight end, and one fullback.

"Blue- 40!!"

I made the first call, then slid my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠back foot just a step back.

Right on cue, Sekope took off on a jet sweep. And the moment he found his spot, I barked "Hike!", turned, faked the handoff to the fullback, and settled into the pocket.

Seven linemen standing between me and the rush.

One side of it buckled—

KRAK!

But the fullback subbed in for Enoch, Trycen Mau, saved my hide.

Because that's what a fullback is for.

Running backs break down into three broad categories by position and role. Halfbacks and tailbacks, built around the rush itself. And the fullback, who blocks and takes on tacklers to protect them.

A fullback's job is to deliver blocks and punch it in on short-yardage situations right at the goal line—so rather than pure speed, you want a runner who can cradle the football and bring the power.

The tailback is your classic image of a running back.

The halfback sits somewhere in between—roughly seventy percent tailback, thirty percent fullback.

Our textbook fullback Mau came in at 183 centimeters and 109 kilograms.

More than enough to wall off an opposing end or linebacker.

Back to the Naruto Run.

The wide receivers ran their routes exactly as drawn.

Two viable targets.

Which one had the better odds?

Found him.

The instant I locked onto the target, I threw again without a flicker of hesitation.

And the ball, flying low and fast, soon—

"—!!"

landed perfectly in Peter's arms.

The stands boiled over again, and through the din came the referee's voice:

"TOUCHDOWN!!"

Less than three minutes into the drive.

We had covered more than fifty yards and put six on the board.

The team's morale shot through the roof.

(Jim Nantz)

"TOUCHDOWN!! Kahuku High School!! An impeccably clean drive—and they've quickly grabbed the first six points of the ballgame!"

(Tom McCarthy)

"They made scoring look far, far too easy. Now, there's certainly a gap in level between these two schools, that's true. But you simply cannot deny the man at the helm of that offense—Dwayne Moi Stone. The composure in the pocket, the surgical passing. He's taken yet another step forward from what we saw at last year's Open Division Tournament."

Pweeee—!

On the extra point, we tacked on one more, and from there I handed the ball over to the defense.

Last year, because of Sioele, I couldn't go anywhere near the defensive unit as I pleased—but now I could move freely, clapping my hands and cheering on the D-line.

Seriously.

How much did I lose out on because of that guy?

And it was a relief not to hear Fake Samoan anymore, too.

"Let's Go, D-Line."

You saw it on the opening kickoff, and you saw it again on that first defensive stand.

Our D-line—once just big bodies, now transformed into Muscle Men—was, as far as I was concerned, a walking wall of terror for anyone who had to face them.

Mikae, Shiaoshi, Atamu, and Sedrick standing up front.

Fatu, Kana'i, and Zion lined up behind.

And I'll stake my name on this: if you listed Hawaii's top seven defensive linemen, those exact seven would make the cut.

Every one of them has the talent for NCAA D1.

Worst case, D2 or NAIA D1.

And we're high schoolers on top of it all.

People assume the young are fearless. But for the most part, that's nothing but bravado.

Face true, honest strength and real fear, and high schoolers crumple fast.

THUD!!

CRUNCH!!

"WHOO—AHH!!"

"That's gotta hurt."

Remember Zion? The one who hollered "Quarterbacks are all dead men!" on day one?

Well, right now, as if to prove his own words, he was delivering a monstrous tackle to Leilehua's quarterback.

In fairness, the opponent's O-line had given up the gap way too easily—but the hit was violent enough to make you forget that entirely.

Zion stands 6'2" (188 cm) and weighs in at 245 pounds (111 kg)—though on enrollment day, he'd been 255.

The reason he'd dropped ten pounds since? Muscle had packed itself solid into every spot where fat used to sit.

And I'll guarantee you one thing about that tackle.

Wouldn't getting run over by a motorcycle have hurt less?

Leilehua's quarterback lay sprawled across the field.

"They're subbing. Must've got hurt."

"Damn—! He just killed that dude!"

"This year they really might stomp 'em and tear 'em apart, huh?"

"More like smash 'em and crush 'em, no?"

"Heh heh. Fair enough."

Zion, celebrating after putting the opposing quarterback into the turf.

He could afford to—because the tackle was perfectly legal.

In football, even if you injure your opponent, so long as you stayed within the rules, it's not a sin. It's a medal.

Something like hanging the head of an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠enemy general you'd cut down from your saddle on the battlefield.

Just a feeling, of course.

Leilehua's O-line looked utterly spooked.

Honestly, I wouldn't want to line up against that defense either.

And that thought of mine was soon confirmed as fact.

"FUMBLE!!"

The substitute quarterback who'd just come in dropped a routine snap, and Mikae, cutting in without missing a beat, launched his body over the ball rolling loose on the turf and covered it.

The instant possession swung back to us.

"THAT'S IT!!!"

"MIKAE—!!"

I let my teammates whoop it up to their hearts' content, then jammed my helmet on and roared again:

"Let's go get some POINTS!!"

And on the way across the field as sides switched, Kana'i stopped me.

And he said:

"One. And one."

Offense and defense, one-to-one, was it?

So I told him:

"Screw that. It's two-to-one now."

And I flipped my middle finger up at him,

grinning ear to ear.