Dale Denton | The Legacy | Rookie Year

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

[redsox907]

life comes at you fast

[The JZA]

Chapter X: O.P.P. (Other People's Problems)

The Alaska Airlines Field lights burned hot that night, the kind of glow that made every bead of sweat shine like it was under a microscope. The Huskies had been barking all week about “extending the streak” and “locking in.” Dale was ready to stamp his name—solidify himself as the guy in the Big Ten again. But Wisconsin wasn’t playing tourist. The Badgers came out mean, looking like they circled Dale’s jersey number on the scouting sheet with a big red marker and a grudge.

They ain’t wanna just win. They wanted his head.

First drive, drop back—boom. Pocket collapsed before Dale even finished his three-step. Big boy #23 put both hands in his chest and rag-dolled him straight into the turf. The crowd let out that “oooh” groan, the kind that sticks.

Dale popped up fast, tried to play it cool, but the hit rattled him.

Next series, Coach Danielson dialed up a play-action bootleg, thinking Dale could shake ‘em on the edge. Didn’t matter. Wisconsin’s linebackers read it like they stole the script. Outside backer came screaming downhill, helmet right under Dale’s chinstrap. Grass in his mouth, ringing in his ears.

By halftime, it was a bloodbath. Eight sacks. Dale’s jersey was dirty from neck to knees, shoulder stinging, neck stiff. Every time he tried to run the RPO, the Badgers clogged the lanes, forcing him to keep it. Every time he kept it, another helmet to the ribs. It wasn’t football anymore—it was a hunt. On the eighth hit, Dale stayed down longer than he meant to, eyes blinking up at the stadium lights like they were fading in and out. Trainers helped him limp off, the sideline dead quiet except for Tanner throwing practice snaps behind him.

That silence said it all.

The Huskies’ locker room was lit up with the stench of sweat and silence. Losses do that to a team—suck the air out the room, even when cats try to joke or fake like it ain’t eating them alive. But this one hit different. Wisconsin wasn’t supposed to come up in Seattle and punk them like that. Not in their house. Not on Dale Denton’s watch.

Only problem? Dale wasn’t on watch anymore.

In the trainer’s room, the air smelled like tape and menthol. Cold pack pressed to his shoulder, Dale sat on the table, legs dangling, bouncing his knee out of habit. He could still hear the thud of every sack in his head, like echoes that wouldn’t quit.

Door creaked open. Coach Danielson stepped in, hat low, jacket half-zipped, that warm-but-stern tone loaded in the chamber. “How you feeling, son? Took quite the beating out there. Those Badgers were coming after you hard.”

Dale smirked weakly, wincing as he shifted. “Yeah… I’m just peachy. Pride hurts worse than the shoulder. But I’m good, Coach. Just need a week.” Truth was, he wasn’t good. Every bruise from weeks of refusing to slide as a QB was catching up at once. But pride made him spit lies. “So,” Dale asked, voice hoarse, “we pull it out? We win?”

Coach’s pause gave it away before his words did. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well… we didn’t walk away with the ‘W.’ Badgers edged us out in OT. Thirty-four, thirty-seven. Just wasn’t meant for us tonight.”

Dale’s stomach sank. Losing hurt worse than the sacks or his shoulder.

Coach stepped closer, his eyes scanning the swollen shoulder under the ice wrap. “Looking at the state you’re in, I’ma have to make the call and pull you from future games. Tanner’s finishing the season.”

Dale’s head snapped up, brows furrowed deep. “Nah Coach, c’mon. I can still go. This ain’t nothing. Next Saturday I’ll be ready.”

“I respect your fire, Dale. I really do,” Coach said, leaning against the wall, arms folded. “But I gotta think about the bigger picture. We got two regular season games left and a conference title to fight for. We can’t afford you breaking down further when Tanner can fill in.”

Dale’s jaw clenched, words sharp. “So you just bench me? After I dragged us to 8-2? After I played damn near every snap bleeding for this team?”

Coach’s tone didn’t budge. “You're still in the doghouse, son. This ain’t the time to play macho. Sometimes being a man means knowing when to step back. You played a hell of a season. You gave us 21 straight wins since you came here. You got us a a bowl game secured. And if we beat Northwestern and Oregon, we'll be right back in that natty picture, thanks to you. Don’t forget that.”

The room felt smaller, walls pressing in on Dale as he let out a sigh that rattled in his chest. Head hanging low, neck screaming from the strain, he finally muttered, “Aight… do what you think is best.”

Coach’s hand landed on his back, firm but fatherly. “Good deal. You’ll thank me later. Take care of that shoulder. And if you need anything, I’m here.”

Then he was gone, door clicking shut, leaving Dale alone with the buzz of fluorescent lights and the weight of failure. Dale ripped the ice pack off, tossed it to the floor with a thud. “I’ve heard those words before…”

He laid back on the exam bed, staring at the lights above, chest rising and falling with frustration. He wasn’t home anymore. He wasn’t the Dale Denton he thought he knew anymore either. Everything he was, everything he’d built, felt like it was slipping through his hands one snap at a time. His mind replayed every sack in slow motion—the crash of pads, the roar of the crowd, helmets scraping turf.

Voices echoed down the hall. Laughs, sighs, showers running. His teammates living in the loss the way ballplayers do—some bitter, some brushing it off. But Dale? He was stuck, marinating in the reality that his season just got snatched from under him. Door swung open. Tanner strolled in, still halfway in pads, hair dripping from the post game rinse. He tried to keep it respectful, but that little glimmer in his eye? Couldn’t hide it. Kid was hype. He finally got his shot.

“Yo, you good, big bro?” Tanner asked, leaning against the doorway.

Dale adjusted on the exam table, winced from the shoulder. “Define good.”

Tanner chuckled under his breath, shook his head. “Look, I ain’t trying to kick you while you down, but… Coach told me I’m running first team this week. Just wanted to let you hear it from me too.”

There it was. The dagger Dale already knew was coming for the second time, but hearing it out loud made his chest burn worse than his ribs.

“Yeah… I heard,” Dale muttered. He sat up straighter, forcing himself not to show weakness. “Don't get too comfortable. You still couldn't lace my cleats even if I taught you how.”

Tanner smiled and chuckled, but before he left, he added, “whatever you say old man. Since you're free next week, you can take that hundred dollars you won and put it to use at the bingo hall or something” Then he dipped out while laughing heartily, leaving the words hanging like smoke in the air.

Later that night, Dale limped back to his dorm. The campus was quiet, but his head was loud—louder than any student section he’d ever played in front of. Every doubt, every regret, Tanner's taunt, circling like vultures.

His phone buzzed.

Trey. The last name he wanted to see.

“Damn bro, Badgers did you dirty. Hope you ain’t broke over there .”

Dale gritted his teeth. Trey always knew how to twist the knife, even in a text. He thought about firing back, something raw, something final… but he stopped himself. Locked the phone. Tossed it on the desk.

He stared out the window instead, campus lights blinking in the distance. For the first time since he stepped on Washington’s field, Dale Denton wasn’t in control. Not of the game. Not of the locker room. Not of his own damn story.

All he had now was pain, pride, and a question burning hotter than his shoulder:

Who the hell am I when the ball ain’t in my hands?

And for Dale, that was the scariest question he ever had to answer since Notre Dame.

[The JZA]

life comes at you fast

redsox907, What goes around, comes back around

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

[djp73]

redemption arc loading, better turn down that wear and tear though

[Soapy]

im mad confused. was there really a no game with no passing attempt?