Defeat Is Simply Unimaginable
The Line of Scrimmage. Known as the LOS. It is the strip of the football field where the fiercest physical warfare unfolds — the zone where the offensive and defensive linemen collide head-on, down after down.
And just behind the offense's LOS lies the Pocket. This is where the quarterback takes shelter, his offensive linemen walling off the defenders who want his jersey. The window lasts roughly three to five seconds — often far shorter. While the line holds, the quarterback has to find a man to deliver the ball to and fire a pass that is both quick and precise.
But what happens when the plan falls apart? When there is nowhere to throw at all? Or when the line caves in far too easily?
What is a quarterback supposed to do then? Meekly accept the tackle?
No. Not necessarily.
In moments like these, an out exists: the quarterback can deliberately sling the ball out of bounds or hurl it into the turf, manufacturing an incomplete pass. It burns one of the four downs a drive allows — but it spares him from losing yardage.
And then there are certain quarterbacks who, when the play breaks down, simply start running. Lateral to the pocket. Or behind it. Sometimes they stab straight through a seam in the line, attempting a quarterback's rushing attack known as the Scramble.
This is the so-called After Play — pure improvisation and raw ability laid bare, everything that exists beyond a quarterback's execution of the called play. At the high school level, it is almost never seen.
But today, here — Oahu, Hawaii, inside Aloha Stadium, the pride of island people who love their football — the After Play keeps unfolding, over and over again. By the quarterback of Kahuku High School. By Dwayne Moi Stone.
Twenty-two players gathered on the field. And every eye in the stands swung back toward them.
Out on the field, a voice thundered.
"Blue-40!! Set, hut!"
…
"HIKE!!"
Among the people inside the stadium today was Tom Herman, head coach of the Texas Longhorns. Herman had been brought in to take a team that had languished under Charlie Strong and deliver a championship, and in a single year he was already being credited with rebuilding the program around his trademark Spread offense.
But for Texas to climb any higher, Herman needed a quarterback who truly understood his Spread. Not merely a QB who could run well — a QB who could actually wield the Spread as a weapon. The roster did have a promising signal-caller in Sam Ehlinger, yet the truth was he fell well short of what it would take to carry Texas to a national title.
So Tom Herman had deliberated long and hard, and finally decided to observe Dwayne Moi Stone with his own two eyes. To be sure, he had heard plenty about the boy and watched plenty of film — but his honest assumption was that a Hawaii prospect would turn out to be somewhat overhyped.
Barely two hours after arriving at Aloha Stadium, that assumption was dead.
And out of his mouth came the proof — in a voice thick with conviction.
"We have to get that kid."
"Tom… those After Plays of his…"
"Yeah."
"…."
Tim Beck, Texas's offensive coordinator who had made the trip to Hawaii alongside Herman, was equally captivated by Moi's play. An O-line that couldn't protect him properly — and unrelenting pressure on top of it. After getting flattened for a monstrous sack on today's very first possession, Moi had gone berserk instead of rattled. If the receivers had been just a little more talented, the scoreline would have been far uglier still.
And Kahuku's offense kept rolling. Third and two. To keep the new drive alive, Kahuku needed two more yards.
Under center. Moi pressed in tight behind his center, set for the snap. Even this was astonishing. Half of a high school QB's snaps coming from under center? Usually at that age a kid can't move freely inside the pocket, and his vision and judgment are still raw, so the standard is to line up as far from the D-line as possible.
But Moi didn't seem to care in the slightest. If anything, he looked like he was enjoying being under center.
"No. 08!! Switch Jam!!"
"Hut!"
Before calling for the snap, Moi pointed behind the Saint Louis defensive line and barked out a number. In that instant, Tim Beck marveled all over again — even if what escaped him was a rueful little laugh.
Then Moi slid his left foot back a step, shifting the tight end who had been aligned on the left over to the right side. The snap call came only once the play clock had been bled down to nothing. Anyone else would have panicked with time breathing down their neck. Every one of Moi's movements dripped with composure.
"Green-80!! Turbo, set!!"
The instant Moi called Turbo, the ball was snapped. The sneaky shift in snap timing threw off the reaction of the Saint Louis D-line, and Moi — pocket secured, rock steady — fired a pass to the tight end who had swung right. An easy catch. Fresh downs. Kahuku picked up six yards as if it were nothing, and now stood at the 26 — six measly yards from the red zone.
Tim Beck let his gaze wander around the stands — and someone caught his eye. He leaned toward Tom Herman.
"That's Nick Saban."
"…."
That Alabama had staked its very existence on Moi's recruitment was known to every NCAA D1 program in the country. Beyond them, ten schools — USC (CA), Florida, Ohio State, Michigan, Clemson, Oklahoma, Notre Dame, Kentucky, and Auburn — had publicly declared they were betting their programs' fates on landing him. Add in the teams courting him behind closed doors, and you were looking at more than thirty universities who wanted Moi. As for the remaining hundred-odd schools — they would be the ones getting turned down.
"You can practically hear the old man drooling from here, can't you?"
"Can you blame him? He's probably the quarterback Saban's dreamed of his whole life."
"And you?"
"Whew… honestly?"
Until today, Beck had been split right down the middle. Moi was, without question, an alluring prospect. Whichever program landed him could count on at least three years of genuine national championship contention. But at the same time, he was an enormous gamble.
Word had spread through every NCAA D1 football program that acquiring Moi would demand a staggering price. A roster rebuilt around him, of course. Massive sums of illegal money. Every comfort and convenience money could buy. Not a single word of it had ever come from the player or his family — and yet somewhere along the way, D1 circles had come to accept all of it as simply the cost of doing business.
A blue-chip high school recruit. Undeniably a temptation almost impossible to refuse. And yet at the same time, you had to remember what had become of the best high school players in years past. The success rate for 5-Star prospects sits at roughly fifty percent. If the NFL's level of play is a 100, NCAA D1 is a 50 or 60. And the NFHS? Generously, a 5 or 10. Unlike the other major sports — MLB, the NBA — the gulf between levels in football is savage. Nowhere more so than between high school and college.
And yet here was Tom Herman, feeling a temptation he could hardly refuse. The chancellor's voice flickered through his mind.
Once Moi had spent three years — or four — in the program and gone on to the NFL, Texas intended to pay out twenty million dollars. Hand over roughly two million up front as a signing bonus, and deliver the balance after the NFL Draft. When he'd first heard the proposal, Tom Herman had said, "That's insane," and genuinely hadn't understood it. But after watching today's plays, he wanted that boy in burnt orange so badly he'd have carved out his own stomach for the chance.
"Hm?"
Eleven yards from the end zone. Kahuku's offense. The Red Raiders' O-line gave way yet again and the pressure came screaming in — and Moi bolted to the right. Then, cradling the ball as he ran, he launched himself high into the air in front of the safety.
The Saint Louis safety flung his body at him. But there was no tackle to be made. Moi was already sailing well overhead. It looked like a leap of at least 150 centimeters — and after letting the tackle slide harmlessly beneath him, Moi came down light as a feather.
Aloha Stadium caught fire. A wall of sound louder than anything the planes shuttling through Honolulu's airspace had ever managed filled the arena, and the men from Texas watching it all went wide-eyed and clutched the backs of their own heads.
"Oh, Lord."
"Good heavens…"
A play bound for ESPN highlights, without a doubt. An absurdly high leap followed by a touchdown. And the remarkable thing wasn't the highlight itself — it was that a quarterback, not a wideout or a running back, had manufactured it.
With a highlight reel he had built entirely on his own, Moi handed Kahuku a 20-10 lead.
"ALL DAY!! ALL DAY!!"
"LET'S GO-!!"
One more touchdown right before the half. Team morale punched straight through the ceiling. The locker room was absolutely electric.
"Alright, everybody lock in!"
"…."
"…."
The head coach stepped inside, silenced us, and laid out exactly why we had to give everything we had in the half that remained. And then he said it — about them.
"Tear those sorry sons of bitches apart with no mercy!"
"OORAH-!!"
"Come on, let's go-!!"
Grind them into the dirt, he said. So naturally, we answered at full throat.
Honestly? The defensive scheme Saint Louis had prepared today was good. More than good — it was damn good. They'd found the hole on our weak side, something that had barely surfaced all season in Hawaii division play, and built a defense engineered to hammer that seam over and over.
What's more, Saint Louis's No. 8 and No. 9 were two of the finest edge rushers — pass rushers — in the state. Put simply: they were the kind of kids who eat quarterbacks alive. And for a right-handed quarterback, the left side is always the weak point. As it happened, our weakest stretch of O-line was also the left. Nothing until today had ever exposed it. Even Bingham hadn't known our weakness — natural enough, since they were a mainland team.
Anyway. The plan was clearly to stack sack after sack on me until I lost my composure — but as the After Plays kept succeeding, the strategy curdled into a liability instead. By committing both right-side linebackers as pass rushers at once, they'd torn open space behind them. The first few times I threw into that void, they responded in the second quarter by splitting their pass rushers evenly to both sides — which only softened their right D-line and cut down how often pressure arrived at all. That's why the After Plays thinned out in the second quarter.
"You are straight-up killing it today."
"All you, big bro."
"Heh heh. Same goes for the second half, yeah?"
"Just leave it to me. I'll peel 'em apart, nice and smooth."
"That's it — that's exactly what I'm talking about."
Somewhere across the concourse, the Saint Louis locker room was probably drowning in chaos right about now. The players' faith in Cal Lee was famously absolute — and that coach's scheme had just been systematically shredded. There was no way the mood in that room was anything but ugly.
"Moi."
"Yes, Sir."
"The first half was perfect. Do it again in the second."
"Oorah."
Warmed clean through by the head coach's praise, I gathered my teammates one more time before we took the field. And I shouted.
"It's not over yet!"
"…."
"I'm playing this second half like it's 0-0! Don't look at the scoreboard!! You can look at it after the game is over!! Out on that field, we protect each other — and we carry each other!! You hear me?! We're a team! Friends — brothers — FAMILY!! Let's go like we always do! On three!!"
"RED RAIDERS!!"
"Four, five, six!"
"STATE CHAMPIONS!!"
"LET'S GO!!!"
With the loudest voices we'd raised all day, we marched back out onto the field. Along the way we hammered the corridor walls with our helmets, and at the tunnel entrance I stopped for a beat and waited for everyone to gather. From all around came the sound of men smacking their own pads.
"Last thirty minutes!! And when it's over!! We're the champions!!"
"LET'S GOOOOOO-!!!"
"BRING IT — ALL OF IT!!!"
"KILL 'EM!!!"
I had no idea how the second half would unfold. But I doubted much would truly change. The opposing staff might have a few ideas rattling around their head coach's skull, but overhauling a strategy on the fly at the high school level is next to impossible. Last year they'd had Tua — audibles, and quarterback After Plays of genuine quality. This year's starter was decent, but he wasn't that. So they'd lean on their players' minds instead. Rile them up, shake them by the collar. It works surprisingly often at this level — you see 30-0 games flipped all the time.
But we were ready for that too. Complacent?
What's that? Is it edible?
Beep—!
The second half. It opens with our kickoff.
Special teams take the field, and Miki Ah You — the team's backup linebacker — flattens the returnman at the 33-yard line. Roaring along with him, the rest of us let loose too.
"THAT'S IT, MIKIII-!!"
"FUCKED HIM UUUUP-!!"
"THAT TACKLE WAS INSANE!! ABSOLUTELY INSANE!!"
Look at your brothers, roaring their hearts out. In a mood like this — defeat is absolutely unimaginable.
The game was, for all practical purposes, over. Saint Louis's players had steadied themselves at halftime and come out swinging like men possessed — but both of the drives that crept near the end zone died as field goals, and that was the kill shot. Kahuku's D-line, monstrous in the moment of crisis, owned the third quarter, and on offense Moi was still running the show.
And here — these men had come from Georgia. Kirby Smart. Jim Chaney. James Coley. The coaches of the University of Georgia who, just last month, had sent the program's senior recruiter to Hawaii to judge the future of their team. And, at the same time, the men who had once doubted Moi.
"Ari was right."
"Justin's good too, but…"
"Yeah. He's on another plane entirely. Justin couldn't play like that as a sophomore. No — I won't even swear his senior tape was better than this. The kid got underrated because he's from Hawaii. That's the correct way to read it."
"…."
Kirby Smart — famous, among other things, for standing beside Nick Saban at Alabama — rattled off his evaluations like automatic fire. Kirby Smart had served as Alabama's defensive coordinator from 2008 through 2015, and many credit him with fully half of the dynasty Nick Saban built. His first season at Georgia fell short of expectations at 8-5, but last year he'd carried the Bulldogs to the national title game. They led Alabama in the National Championship — seemed poised to win it all — and then fell 23-26 in overtime, a bitter, bitter defeat. But now everyone knew: Kirby Smart was a great coach, and the most dangerous man alive to bring down the Saban dynasty.
Where Saban was the prototypical college coach who lusted after dual-threat quarterbacks, Kirby Smart preferred pro-style passers — QBs built in the shape of NFL prototypes. That, too, had fed their rivalry: at the most important position on the field, their tastes were opposites. Indeed, Georgia's starter last year, Jake Fromm, logged 55 rushing attempts and 79 yards gained — among the lowest figures in all of NCAA D1.
Which was exactly why he'd wanted Trevor Lawrence so badly. A true pro-style quarterback. But Lawrence chose Clemson over Georgia, and Kirby Smart settled — a sparrow in the hand for the pheasant in the bush — for Justin Fields.
The problem: Justin Fields was undeniably a dual-threat. And that didn't fit Kirby Smart's philosophy. For now, he intended to run the offense through the passing game rather than Fields's legs — but quarterback conversions like that have historically ended badly. Something like ninety percent of those players can't stomach the coach's demands and transfer after their freshman or sophomore season.
If that happened, Georgia would have to keep starting Jake Fromm through 2019 — which slotted, precisely, against the year Moi would enroll as a member of the 2020 class. It felt like nothing so much as fate.
Now, Kirby Smart made his decision. Georgia, too, would join RFM. Recruiting For Moi.
"I'm sending Ari back here. I want him paying his respects to the whole family — the grandmother, the parents, every one of them. And the moment we're home, we rewrite the recruiting board. If Justin balls out, wonderful. If not, we cut him loose without blinking. We get Moi to Georgia no matter what it takes. This year's and next year's classes? We focus them entirely on forging the spear and shield Moi will fight with."
Moi's play had captured the head coach of Georgia. And off to one side, Nick Saban, at this very moment—
"I told you. That boy is a once-in-thirty-years talent."
—was watching the game with the pure, unguarded joy of a man whose Alabama already had Dwayne Moi Stone tucked snugly in its arms.