Dale Denton | The Legacy | Rookie Year

[Count]

60 pass attempts

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

[Captain Canada]

This dude slingin' from the jump. 60 pass attempts is insane.

[Soapy]

This dude slingin' from the jump. 60 pass attempts is insane.

he's going to die

[The JZA]

Chapter V: The Win & The Cure

"And the Washington Huskies have upset the Miami Hurricanes..."

Those were the words flooding televisions and monitors from coast to coast. That sentence echoed like a war drum, over and over again. Hard Rock Stadium had turned into a graveyard. You could hear the disbelief in the silence. City folks and college kids alike repping the U, all of them frozen in place, their faces in disgust as time hit zero and the scoreboard read: 24-40.

Miami was supposed to walk through this one. Ranked #8 in the country. A heavyweight. A national title hopeful. Washington? Unranked. Disrespected. Overlooked. But that night? They brought hell to South Beach in purple and gold.

Only those who rode with the Huskies saw it coming. Only those who watched the rise. Only those who believed. Dale Denton, He was at the head of that line.

The young quarterback walked off the field like he owned it—because that’s exactly what he did. Miami tried to put him in a box, but Dale cracked it open from the inside and lit it on fire. Be it from the pocket or with his legs, he carved up Miami’s defense like he was drawing art with the football. Every drive was a canvas, and Dale painted touchdowns.

"That’s how we do it! That’s how we do it!" Chris Lawson screamed as he bounced on his cleats, adrenaline still pumping. The wideout had torched Miami’s secondary for 123 yards on five catches, two of which ended in six. He was surgical with the routes, slicing the field like a blade through butter.

Miami came out hard, trying to bully Washington with man-to-man and press coverage. Big mistake. Dale read them like a used playbook. Midway through the first quarter, he saw the gap. Miami was obsessed with closing the edges, crowding the sideline. But in the process, they left their middle wide open like a bank vault with the code taped to the door.

That’s when Dale pounced. He dropped back, scanned the field, and caught Chris breaking into the seam like a thief in the night. One pump. One rocket. Eighty-five yards later, they were celebrating in the end zone. Even tight end Decker DeGraaf got his plate—two touchdowns, both off busted coverages where Dale extended the play just long enough to make magic.

It wasn’t just skill. It was chess. Mental warfare. And Dale was checkmating grown men like he was born to.

Walking through the corridor toward the locker room, sweat soaking through his undershirt, Dale felt the weight of another W in his bones. "Good work out there, Dale," Coach Danielson said, slapping him on the shoulder. "You’re really something to see this past month."

Dale grinned. "Thanks, Coach. I’m just doing my part, bringing home the wins. It’s only fair you get what Notre Dame could’ve had."

Danielson chuckled. "You get us a few more of those, we might mess around and make history."

"Say less, Coach. Line ‘em up and watch ‘em fall."

The confidence wasn’t arrogance—it was earned. Dale had been grinding for this. The buzz on social media only added to the fuel. Winning four straight, cracking top defenses, and now earning Big Ten Player of the Week honors? That kind of love hits different.

But Dale knew what came with the light—more eyes, more expectations, more hits. He’d taken more than his share. The bruises came with the glory. Quarterback wasn’t for the soft. And winning? That wasn’t for the quiet ones. That was for the wolves—or in this instance, the dawgs.

Still, Dale kept some of his thoughts locked up. He saw flaws in the team—gaps on the O-line, lapses in coverage, a few players still acting like this was high school. But he kept his mouth shut. One game at a time. Handle your business and let your play do the talking, as long as the team was winning.

Dale glanced over as they hit the tunnel exit. "So... Fresno State next. You got something to talk about during film session next week?"

Coach Danielson gave a small smirk. "Jeez, you thinking about the next game already?"

"I was thinking about it during the game."

Danielson shook his head, laughing under his breath. "I love your focus. But let’s just enjoy this one for now. Get back to campus, rest up. Still got a lot of football to play."

Dale wasn’t worried about Fresno State. Hell, he wasn’t even worried about rankings anymore. He was doing what he loved, what he’d been doing since he was seven in flag football, juking kids out their cleats. Now he was doing it on the big stage. With pressure. With pain. With poise.

And it wasn’t just for him. Every time he stepped on the field, he thought about Amani Toles. His brother in all but blood. His memory was stitched into every throw, every hit, every win.

Dale wasn’t just playing. He was on a mission. He had to be greater, for both of them.

From rain and more rain, to Miami weather, back to more rain and cold fronts. It was just what Dale had needed—a weather shock to his immune system that got caught lacking. Sniffles, watery eyes, dry throat, a thumping headache. Dale was down bad in the worst way.

Coach Danielson took one look at his quarterback that Monday morning and immediately started weighing his options. The Fresno State game was later that week, and his QB1 looked like he'd just crawled out a sick ward.

"Coach, I'm good," Dale croaked out, barely above a whisper.

Danielson frowned, arms folded. "You don't look good, Denton. If you can't play at 100%, then Matthew is going to get the snaps against Fresno"

"I'll be better by Saturday, Coach. I'm not missing that game. No way."

The man didn’t flinch. "This ain't about toughness. It's about performance. If you ain't at least 85%, you're riding the bench. As much as I want to play you, I won't let you hurt yourself out there if you can't breathe properly."

Dale didn’t argue. He just nodded, but his eyes burned with determination. Sick or not, he wasn’t giving up that starting job. Not now. Not ever. If he had to fight this flu like it owed him money, then so be it.

That Wednesday was the peak of the sickness. Dale was in full shutdown mode: throat on fire, ears ringing like he was standing next to a jet engine, chills making his muscles twitch, and body aches that made him feel like he’d been jumped by a linebacker crew, which has been a recent story. And on top of that? A big psychology test weeks ahead of the midterm exam.

He camped out in the library, hoodie up, nose raw from tissue friction, shivering as he tried to power through study flashcards. His hoarse coughs echoed through the quiet space like someone revving a chainsaw.

"Oh man, why this shit had to happen right now?" Dale muttered, head leaned back, trying to dull the pounding behind his eyes.

"You look like trash," a feminine voice said.

Light, but sharp. Dale opened his red, irritated eyes and tried to focus. Standing in front of him was a woman clutching books to her chest. Blonde hair with dark roots that matched her brows, green eyes that made money envy, and freckles dancing across her cheeks. That Crest-commercial smile made Dale forget about his sinus pressure for two seconds. Kinda slender, kinda thick. Her waist-to-hip ratio was disrespectful in those tight jeans and that fitted purple sweater.

"Fiyah fi dat," Dale said, lips cracking into a weak smirk. "You're not wrong though, I feel like a mess."

She chuckled. "Yeah, flu season can be hell around here. They always warn people to get their shots, but not everybody listens."

"Clearly, I missed the memo. I get a couple colds here and there, light stuff, but I ain't never been sick like this. Not one flu until now."

"Well, first time's always the worst."

"Feels like my chest is caving in every time I breathe."

"That sounds miserable."

Dale squinted at her, something clicking. "I seen you before... Psych class, right? You the fly honey that always got the corner seat."

She laughed. "Fly honey? Really? People still say that?"

"Sorry, my brain's cooked right now. Names ain't stickin' today."

"It starts with a C... Let me know if that jogs your memory."

"You playin' mind games before lunch, that’s wild," Dale joked. "Let me see... C... C... Not Candace. Cheryl is the one with the glasses... C... C... Clarissa?"

Her brows arched. "Color me impressed. Didn’t expect you to get it first try."

"Yo chill, I does this." Dale puffed up, but instantly folded, coughing into his hoodie as Clarissa laughed.

"I'm Dale, by the way. Pretty sure you already knew that, but just being polite."

"Nice to officially meet you, Dale. Studying for Ms. Hoffelman's test?"

"Yeah... Unfortunately. I like psychology, just not when I'm feeling like a chewed-up sock."

Clarissa smiled and then grabbed his notebook, spinning it her way and scribbling something in the corner.

Ginger, cloves, peppermint, lemon, cinnamon sticks, Splenda, and an address.

Dale looked down. "What’s this?"

"A tea recipe from this little shop nearby. They make good herbal and customs. Actually, before the shop, my mom used to make this for me as a kid when I got sick, but finding a little shop that makes your desired drink is awesome. I normally stop by there and have a cup to go with my bagel or just to clean my palette after a Sunday's brunch. It's not medicine like you need, but it'll help break things down, open you up and get you feeling right. Good source of vitamins too. Just don’t forget the sweetener or it’ll taste like dirt. Trust me. No one wants to gag on unsweetened tea, unless you like it unsweetened like some deranged people I know. One time I accidentally tried..."

Dale blinked. Clarissa talked fast but with purpose despite the rambling. A little nervous energy, but her vibe was cool. Dale appreciated it.

"I’ma tap in with this. Appreciate it."

"Hope it helps. And good luck against Fresno State."

Dale watched her walk away, that smile lingering in the air. Something about Clarissa wasn’t like the other girls on campus. She felt... different. Like she wasn’t the average nineteen-twenty year old about on campus, but rather someone who'd been through some things and knew how to carry herself regardless. Soft, yet mature. Real solid.

He looked down at the recipe again.

"Clarissa... I'll remember that." Dale spoke under his breath to him-self. He wouldn't forget that name or that face.

With two days left to get right before Fresno, Dale had a new mission. Get healthy by any means. The team was counting on him. He was counting on himself. And maybe, just maybe, he had a reason to stop by that tea shop and say thanks in person on Sunday.

[The JZA]

[The JZA]