It would probably have come out better if I knew anything about football… sorry.
There was a witch in the stands. There had to be.
Ernie was trying to miss throws. He was trying to fumble the ball. He’d even tried to run into the opposing team’s biggest guy: in short, he was trying to fail, because if he didn’t…
There had to be a witch in the stands.
He grabbed at the point of the ball and suddenly found the whole thing in his hands, threw it haphazardly, and found it flying true towards his teammate, tripped into the opposing team and ended up getting in their way just enough to tangle them up.
There had to be someone jinxing him. He couldn’t fail.
He made his second touchdown of the night and tried not to cry. Grown men don’t cry, certainly not football players, even college players. The team was cheering. They hadn’t done this well in years. They hadn’t done this well ever.
Someone was messing with him. There had to be someone in the stands.
Ernie made a last-ditch effort. He’d seen someone do this by accident, once, slip, fall just the right way, and fracture their leg. He found the muddiest patch of ground – it was a wet day after a wet week, so there was a lot of that – and let his heel slip out from under him.
The ball flew at him as he dropped and, on instinct, Ernie caught it.
There might be a witch in the stands. There had to be.
But there was also, front and center, the mafioso who had told him he had to fail today.
There had to be someone jinxing him.
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