Dale Denton | The Legacy | Rookie Year

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

that's gotta be the sexiest cfb playoff bracket i've seen Awesome win in the Rose Bowl, Aiden Chiles balling out in the bayou doe.

YaBoyRobRoy, Preciate it my dude, just trying to keep the formula in line with each other.

I honestly thought they were gonna turn up on us, seeing how they obliterated Colorado. He was lights out in that game. 409 yards and 3 TDs. The numbers were there against us, but our defense held up. Neither team gave with any turnovers, just a clean win/loss

[redsox907]

Dale said he's only leaving the playoff one of two ways

With a natty - or in a body bag

Good dub over LSU

That Irish pack going to be gas

[The JZA]

Chapter XII: High Morales, Higher Stakes

January, 2028.

New year in Washington, the kind where the cold bites your cheeks and your breath fogs up like steam off hot concrete after a rain. Fresh air biting but spirits high all over the state. Huskies fans still buzzing off that New Year’s Eve win, the kind of win that makes hangovers feel like war medals. Bars still reeked of spilled beer and the streets smelled like cheap champagne, gunpowder from fireworks, and straight-up victory. People were still talking about the game in barber shops, corner stores, and coffee spots.

But Dale wasn’t touched by the party fever.

No grinning at strangers in purple, no champagne toast, no playing the hometown hero in public champagne, no celebrating. It was all work—training, film sessions, and the quiet kind of thinking you do when you know history’s knocking on your door.

LSU was already in the rearview mirror, the echoes of that victory still bouncing in Dale’s head, but he didn’t linger on it long. Next stop was Miami, and all roads led to Hard Rock Stadium. Notre Dame—the team that could’ve been his had life zigged instead of zagged—was waiting there. The Irish were on fire too, rolling in at 12-1, fresh off embarrassing Alabama 49-24 like it was nothing. CJ Carr still wore that golden-boy label like it was stitched into his DNA, and Dale knew the man hadn’t erased the sting from last year’s loss in the natty.

But Dale hadn’t forgotten either; he could still feel the ache in his bones from it, still hear the silence in the locker room afterward.

This wasn’t just a matchup—it was a collision of unfinished business, pride, and a chance to put a stamp on history. Only one of them would walk out with a ticket to New Orleans, and Dale swore it wouldn’t be decided easy. If Notre Dame wanted it, they’d have to run him through, zip him in a body bag, and carry him off the field, because he wasn’t giving up an inch without a fight.

The week blew past like cars on I-95. Any down time Dale had, he spent it low-key with Benny—posted up in quiet corners, trading laughs, sharing looks that spoke louder than words. No titles, no labels, but the vibe was heavy, the kind of unspoken thing you feel in your chest. She liked him. He liked her. Sometimes she’d lean on his shoulder when the night got long, and sometimes he’d catch himself thinking about her when he should’ve been watching film. For now, that was enough to keep his mind steady when the noise outside wanted to pull him under.

Then it was time. The team boarded for their flight to Miami. January sun draped over the city, seventy degrees, the kind of winter you could fall in love with if you weren’t on a mission. Palm trees swayed like they were on vacation while Dale’s head was locked on the grind. The air was thick with ocean salt and the faint scent of fried food drifting in from street vendors. Dale thought about how easy it would be to get used to this weather, this pace, this life—but he shook it off hard. Not the time. It was game day, and everything else could wait.

In the locker room, pads clanking like loose chains, tape ripping sharp as gunfire, voices low but thick with focus. The air was hot and heavy with the stink of sweat, menthol rub, and the faint tang of adrenaline. Coach Danielson stood front and center, wide stance, hands clasped like he was holding the whole season together in his grip. His tone was calm, deliberate, but his eyes burned like streetlights in fog.

“Men... we’ve come a long way. Last week Pasadena, now Miami. Two different climates, two different stakes, one same goal. We’re one win from the grandest stage in college football. Leave it all out there—every down, every snap. Keep that hunger. Show ‘em why we’re Big Ten champs and Rose Bowl winners. Huskies on thr—"

"Hold up, Coach," Dale cut in, voice slicing through the air.

Danielson paused mid-breath, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile. He nodded slow. "Floor’s yours, kid."

Dale stepped forward, the room parting for him like he carried his own gravity. He let his eyes find every man in the circle, one by one, until he could feel the weight of their stares pushing back.

"I need this win," he said, his voice low but steady, building like a drumbeat. "We’re here to play Washington football—our football. If we ain’t doing that, we got no business being here. I’ve been hit, mauled, ran over, stomped out, and I never once complained about our trenches. I always got back up. I never asked for anything I couldn’t do myself. But I’m asking now—I want to go to New Orleans. I want this win in Miami. I want to walk out of here knowing we left blood on that field. Will y’all help me?"

"Hell yeah, we gonna help you!" Audric barked from his seat, fists balled tight. Other teammates then vocally expressed their aid in the upcoming battle.

"Then stand with me," Dale said, his voice snapping like a huddle clap. "Put your fists up. Dawgs for life on three."

One... two... “DAWGS FOR LIFE!”

The bark exploded through the room, bouncing off metal lockers and concrete walls. Helmets snapped on like combat gear. Cleats pounded the floor in a syncopated rhythm, a herd marching to war. Players barked back and forth like alley dogs with a taste for blood. Danielson watched, pride swelling in his chest, knowing Dale had just crossed over from leader to general.

The tunnel ahead was alive with noise, a living roar that rattled the steel supports. Fans were pounding on the walls, shaking the concrete with every chant. Out there was Notre Dame—no shortcuts, no freebies, just bone-on-bone, earn-it football under the Florida sun.

And Dale Denton wanted every last, bloody, beautiful piece of it.

[The JZA]

Dale said he's only leaving the playoff one of two ways

With a natty - or in a body bag

Good dub over LSU

That Irish pack going to be gas

redsox907,

Come hell or high water, Dale ain't trying to let CJ get a chance to redeem him-self. Ain't watching on no bench, ain't watching on TV.

[The JZA]

[James]

Couldn't write the story better yourself if you could. What a matchup

[Captain Canada]

In case you were wondering, I did take what you did to LSU personally

[Count]

gotta beat the Irish show em what they missed out on

[YaBoyRobRoy]

Time to out duel that Carr bum