//------------------------------//
// Chapter 4: Week 1, Fillydelphia Zeppelins at Manehattan Equestrians 
// Story: Strong Talons 
// by Ambizar 
//------------------------------//

"Goooooooooooooood morning fillies and gentlecolts! Welcome to Manehattan's premiere early morning talk show, Mornings with Mic!" This is your host, Amped Mic, and I'm here this morning with who many ponies are predicting to be the future of hoofball here in the big city; The Manehattan Equestrians' own, Gaius Strongtalon! How you doin' Gaius?"
"I'm doing great, Mic." I replied as calmly as I could. There was a sea of radio equipment and a pane of glass between me and the charismatic radio host, and the microphone I was speaking into was much bigger than the one that had been used to interview me at the Draft. All of this combined with the knowledge that thousands of ponies were currently listening to me made it hard to treat the interview like a casual conversation like I had been instructed to. Despite the pressure, I tried my best to stay calm and collected.
"So, just three days from now, you and the rest of our beloved Manehattan Equestrians will be starting the new season of hoofball in your own city against your bitter division rivals, the Fillydelphia Zeppelins. All of Manehattan is buzzed about this event, Gaius. Tickets to the dome are sold out. Equestrians merch is selling like oat cakes. Fans are out waving team flags in the streets! I'll bet you're getting mobbed out of the sky on your way to practices!"
"It has been pretty crazy. Fans in this city have a huge love for this sport, Mic."
He smiled at my comment. "Indeed they do! But my question to you now, Gaius, is how do you handle the immense pressure that's been put on you to be the big downfield threat that the Manehattan Equestrians need? How confident are you in your abilities as a rookie to be a big part of this offense?"
I cleared my throat, trying to find the right wording for my answer. "The pressure is... definitely there. What's really helping me, and will help me through this season, is that I'm not the only threat downfield. Marathon Iron and I are really partners in that aspect." And really only in that aspect.
"Fans are really expecting this offense to be different from last year. What are some of the key differences you've seen during practice that really make this offense shine when it comes to new team additions such as yourself and Marathon Iron?"
"Hmm... I think the biggest difference is that with more receiving talent, we have more potential with multi-pronged offensive strategies. We can run more routes and give Hoofrocket more options. And you know Hoofrocket, options are all he needs."
Amped Mic grinned wide at my comment. "That he does. He's not Manehattan's hoofball darling for nothing! That being said, how have you been getting along with our star quarterbuck? Any juicy tidbits you have for everypony listening this morning?"
I scratched at my chin. "What can I say? He's a nice guy, keeps his muzzle clean. Worst dirt I have on him is that he uses up too much hot water after practice. He really is everything the hoofball magazines make him out to be."
Amped Mic seemed a little disappointed at my lack of gossipy details, but he kept the ball rolling.
"Well, we all know you're going to be facing what's supposed to be a tough new defense in Fillydelphia, so we're all wondering how you're planning on dealing with such a formidable wall. Especially when it comes to the cornerbuck Net Weaver and, of course, Manehattan's former defensive MVP, Hard Stop."
"I'm honestly kind of excited." I said with extra enthusiasm. "Facing something of that caliber as my first exposure to an EHL game is pretty steep, but it gives me a chance to prove myself. We've been training tirelessly on offense to prepare for the defense we'll face three days from now, and I say bring it on."
"And how! We're almost out of time for this first slot, but I have one more important question before we go. Gaius, what do you have to say to the haters and nay-sayers? To the ones who think Manehattan wasted a draft pick on you, that you'll crumble from the first tackle, that a griffon has no place on a team who's logo isn't an emblazoned shield?"
Wow. That hurt a bit. Regardless, I sat tall and mustered all the confidence in my voice that I could.
"Let them talk. I'm pretty good at proving ponies wrong."


[o==o]-------[o==o]


This was it. After all the practice, aches, pain, and sleepless nights, hoofball season was finally here. And with it came our first game of the year against Fillydelphia. Against unicorn quarterbuck Carrier Saint and what promised to be a shiny new defense with newly signed defensive talent and a young, hungry coordinator at the helm. Throw in the fact that both teams were heated rivals competing in the EHL East, and you had one of the biggest games of opening weekend.
We were in the locker room. Even deep within the Manehattan Dome, we could hear the roar of the crowd traveling down the entry tunnel and reverberating through the structure around us. The stadium had completely sold out. There were almost 70,000 ponies in the stadium waiting to cheer us on, desperate for Manehattan Equestrian hoofball. My wings were harnessed, my pads standing solid underneath my light blue and deep violet jersey, the sides and back emblazoned with STRONGTALON and my number 11. This was no practice jersey, this was the real deal. And I would be lying if I said it didn't feel awesome. I was holding my helmet in the crook of my foreleg, clutching the facemask in anticipation. My teammates were kneeled around me, filled with the same eagerness. Snowfall was to the right of me, and our star tight end Hightower sat to my left. All of our attention was focused on the same empty spot at the front of the locker room while the impatient roar of the crowd outside rumbled through the walls around us.
The hooting and yelling started when Head Coach Playmaker walked through the door and stepped to the front of the locker room. He was an aging maroon stallion with a formerly stark black mane and tail that had mostly faded to gray. He raised a hoof, and the commotion calmed down. Now, I may have been an EHL rookie, but I knew all too well what was about to happen. With our season starting with a home game against a bitter rival, we were about to get one heck of a speech from our coach.
"Gentlecolts," he started with a confident smile. "Here it is. This is what we've been waiting for. Waiting months for, practicing weeks and weeks for. We're here, boys."
There were some whoops at his words, a few from me. He continued.
"Now across our fine stadium in the visiting locker room is a team that has come to our turf with the sole goal and expectation of humiliating us in our own city."
This line was met with boos and insults from the team, followed by a few laughs. Coach Playmaker raised his hoof for silence again and we all obeyed, aside from the rambunctious crowd outside.
"But, my question to all of you is, are we going to let them?"
The entire team shouted out a simultaneous "No!"
"I said are we going to let them?" Coach Playmaker exclaimed again.
"NO!" The team started hooting and pounding their hooves. The scene reminded me of the Vanhoover Academy locker room before the Academy Championship, but with even more passion. Hoofball was these ponies' lives. It was our lives; I was shouting right along with them. We were a team, and this team was less than five minutes away from stealing the show in our own stadium. We were tired of waiting; we wanted blood. But we would have to wait a bit longer, because the coach wasn't finished.
"Well then it looks like we're going to have to play to win tonight, boys!" More cheering, then more relative quiet. "Now, when I look at this locker room, I see a huge collection of talent and determination. But I also see something more. I see a brotherhood. I see a family.
"You care about one another, and you stand on that field together! If anypony doubts you, then you don't hesitate to show that pony why they're dead wrong! Defense!" Coach turned to left side of the locker room, which had a larger number of our defensive players. "Where's Terror Sack?"
The dusty violet pony in question stood up. He was our outside linebucker, and the pony we were counting on to replace Hard Stop for the season. He was big; not massive like an offensive linepony, but tall, hard-muscled, and scarily strong. He had unmatched physicality, but many questioned whether his field sense and technique could truly match that of Manehattan's last defensive star.
"I'm right here, coach." He said with an intimidating snort. Coach Playmaker narrowed his eyes.
"There are thousands of ponies in those stands that may or may not believe in you tonight, son. They're still mourning the loss of Hard Stop to the enemy, as are we all. They may not think that you can carry your weight. They may think that you'll be unable to get past the enemy's line. They might think that you won't even touch their quarterbuck. That Carrier Saint will get off this game without a scratch! They probably see you as a cheap substitute, how does that make you feel?"
Terror Sack gave a sound that I could only compare to a snarl. "It excites me, coach."
"Why is that, son?"
Terror Sack stamped. "I get to prove a stadium full of ponies wrong!"
"Yes you do!" Coach jabbed a hoof at him. "I'm depending on you tonight, Terror! You gotta put pressure on Saint no matter what! I need you to use every ounce of hate, doubt, and determination you've got and channel it into putting their quarterbuck on the ground! Do you hear me?"
"Yes sir!" Fog was fuming out of Terror Sack's nostrils. I quietly reminded myself to never get on his bad side.
"Now where's Endgame?" Coach asked.
Endgame was our free safety, and had evolved into the defacto leader of our secondary since the last Equestrians safety, Propeller Crash, had retired at the end of last season. He was a mid-sized but solid Black Earth pony with a charcoal mane and tail. He was typically reserved, always staying quiet while acutely observing his surrounding with his piercing red eyes. As a safety, his job was to cover anyone or anything that wasn't covered by the other defensive players, or more honestly by Searing Shock, our number one cornerbuck. He was, literally, our last line of defense.
"Yes, sir?" He asked.
"You've got a lot on your plate tonight. Carrier Saint likes to pass it long, and his receivers will do anything they can to make it past you. You have a lot of defensive players in that secondary that are going to be looking to you for leadership. Can you handle it, son?"
Endgame's demeanor never changed. He just nodded. "Not a problem, coach."
"Alright. Now that brings us to the twins. Where are those two boys at?"
Stalagmite and Stalactite both stood up from the small sea of blue and violet jerseys. Stalagmite was a defensive linepony, one of the imposing defensive players that lined up against the opponents' offensive line. Meanwhile Stalactite was our middle linebucker, which made him the de facto captain of the defense. They were both tall and strong, the former slightly more so than other other while Stalactite was a bit more agile. They sported slate gray coats and light blue manes that blended with their jerseys. They specialized in tearing apart offensive lines and and runningbucks, as well making the jobs of every pony on the opposite side of the fields much more difficult than they needed to be. Stalactite had the distinct responsibility of calling every defensive play for the defense from our defensive coordinator, making him the epicenter of communication. The fact that they'd both ended up with the Equestrians was a miracle, and they had worked in perfect parallel with Hard Stop last year. We were now hoping that they'd do the same with Terror Sack.
"Right here, sir," Stalagmite said.
"You two have one job tonight." Said Coach. "You go out there and make that offense miserable. I want to see the quit in their eyes, I want to see them lose hope. I want to see them running routes and options with the sole purpose of avoiding you two as much as possible, understand? Make them play around you, right into the secondary's hooves."
They gave wicked grins. Stalactite spoke up. "We can do it, Coach."
Coach Playmaker nodded. "A lot ponies have the audacity to say that this defense is 'crippled'. We're going to prove them wrong." He turned back to Coach Red Lightning, our defensive coordinator. "Aren't we?"
"You'd better believe it." He said with a smug smirk.
Coach turned around and regarded the left side of the locker room.
"Now, offense." Coach gave a dramatic pause. "I've got a lot to say to you all before we go out there, but... I think 'Rocket can say it all better than I ever could. Take the spotlight, son."
Coach Playmaker backed out from his limelight while Hoofrocket stood up to take his place in front of us. A steady chant of "Hoo! Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!" rang out until he raised his hoof for silence.
"Boys," he started. "We're here. We got another season to make count, so let's make it count. We've got a rival team in the opposite locker room getting ready to march out onto our field, and they think they're going to take it from us. Our offense is going to have a full day taking on their shiny new defense, but that's all we've been preparing to do for the past month, isn't it? Why shouldn't we be ready?
"Now where's my offensive line? Let me get the tight ends, too."
Twelve players in total stood up, although only five lineponies and two tight ends would likely see the field tonight. They were also very tall and directly in front of me, so they blocked my view of Hoofrocket.
"I'm gonna keep this simple. We're dealing with a tough front seven today, including Hard Stop. If he's in my face all night giving me one dirt bath after another, we won't get much done. I need your protection. Keep them off of me."
"You've got nothing to worry about." High Impact snorted. "He won't touch you."
"No, he won't." Bucking Oak, our right tackle, spoke with finality. Since he and Impact were the right side of our offensive line, they would be the ones dealing with Terror Sack all night. It was a tall order, but looking at them now, it was hard to imagine they wouldn't manage. 'Rocket gave a curt nod.
"Good. Marathon Iron!"
M.I. was a few ponies to my left. Hoofrocket's gaze focused on him as he rose and the ponies in front of him went back to the floor.
"You know a lot of the ponies we're going to be across the field from today. I'd never doubt your loyalty, but I have to ask this question right now. Are you ready to show Filly what an Equestrian can do?"
"Absolutely," Marathon Iron responded. He said it with conviction, absolution. Even I couldn't doubt him.
"Alright. And speaking of receivers, where's the new guy? Gaius Strongtalon, griffon kid wonder, where are you at?"
I stood up so that my head was visible over Halberd Flash, our starting left tackle, who was kneeling in front of me. When Hoofrocket saw me, he put on a mischievous grin.
"I've liked this kid's spirit from day one. Gaius, you're a part of an elite EHL receiving core now. I need you to show their defense what you're made of. Make their cornerbucks hate you, make their safeties scramble like newborn fillies. A pony that can guard Marathon Iron can escape any cornerbuck, even Net Weaver.
"So I need to know now, Gaius, are you up to it? Are you ready to really be in the EHL? If you say yes, that ball's coming to you at least once. Probably a whole lot more than once."
This was it. My lifelong dream ever since watching my first ever Hydras game with my father in Fivehead Field back in Vanhoover. As if on cue, the crowd outside erupted with a mix of cheers and boos at what could only be the Fillydelphia Zeppelins making their entrance.
"I'm going to be honest with you, 'Rocket," I said as calmly as I could while the rest of the locker room went silent, leaving the presence of the hoofball audience outside almost maddening. "If I were a betting bird, I'd say I'm the most ready player in this room right now."
The cheers from my teammates around me rivaled even the 70,000 hungry fans outside.


<*****>-------<*****>


The crowd went insane as our team burst through the paper Equestrians Bannister and onto the field. I'd been in big games before, sure, but the sheer amount of ponies in the seats of the stadium made me feel small and insignificant, even though I was a huge part of what they were all cheering for. Mom and Dad were in there somewhere, but picking their faces out of 70,000 was a total impossibility. And for once, it was too loud to hear Dad's embarrassing cheering.
After parading around the field, we took our spots on our sideline. I was situated on a bench close to Hoofrocket, Tremor Blitz, and my fellow receivers. I finally got a good look at the Zeppelins on their sideline, with their intimidating gray and orange jerseys. Factories in Fillydelphia made most of the airships used in Equestria, hence the name.
The scene around us was chaos. Playmaker, Red Lightning, and the rest of the coaching staff got their magical headsets up and working while water ponies and sideline staff got ready to help the players with towels and refreshments. Our cheerleading squad was already on the field, composed of a group of lovely mares decked out in bright and flashy cheer uniforms and pom-poms in the sky blue and deep violet of the Equestrians. They took advantage of the white-hot crowd by doing acrobatic tricks and flips to keep the energy going strong. At one point, a pegasus mare flew above her fellow cheerleaders and did six midair loops in a row before free-falling back into their waiting hooves. If I was being honest, the feat was as impressive as any hoofball play I'd ever seen. It put any academy cheerleading stunt I'd seen to shame.
Up in the stands, security pegasi and unicorns remained vigilant, in case a fan decided to rush on to the field in the middle of a game with either hooves or wings. It happened fairly regularly, but it was almost always stopped in time. Security in hoofball stadiums took their jobs pretty seriously. To keep unicorn magic from being a factor, all of the game balls and uniforms for players, workers, and refs alike were warded. Towards the north end of the stadium, a team of unicorn ponies stood at the ready by the giant scorecards, waiting to record the points scored by either team. Below that was the giant time cards, which would show how much time was left in each quarter of the game.
Officiating ponies were all over the field, at the sidelines, and even in the air around us, dressed in the black and white stripes of refereeing uniforms. They all wore their own magical headsets, some of which even connected to speakers throughout the stadiums. There was one room packed into the stands where a team of unicorns managed all of the communication equipment, keeping things flowing smoothly. Also clustered with the control rooms were the radio boxes, where different radio ponies and hoofball announcers would be covering the game live. This was the first game of the season for both teams, so almost everypony in Equestria was sure to be listening. Magazine sales would be through the roof tomorrow, too, as highlighted by the masses of journalists and photographers littering the edges of the field. Thankfully, the security around the sidelines kept them and the radio interviewers from getting anywhere near us or the coaches, at least until the game was over.
Before long, a small group of players from each team left the sidelines to meet in the middle of the field with a referee for the bit toss. The field itself is one hundred yards long (one hundred twenty, counting the two end zones) and just under 54 yards wide. The field is covered with specially grown turf grass on top of a solid base of packed dirt, designed to give ponies' hooves (and griffons' talons) maximum traction. For every ten yards, there's a white line painted on the field. From the end zone, the numbers go from 10 to 20, all the way to fifty in the direct center of the field before then declining.
After exchanging hoofshakes, the referee explained the rules of the bit toss, which was very simple. Fillydelphia was the visiting team, so they got to call heads or tails. Whoever won the toss could decide if they wanted the ball kicked off to them first, meaning their offense had a chance to score right out of the gate, or, they could decide to let their defense take the field first.
Fillydelphia called heads, and the ref sent the bit flipping into the air before it came back down and landed in the grass. It was tails, and we decided to receive the kick. The referee's voice resounded through the speakers to let the crowd know the result, and he got an ovation in response. Our offense would be on the field first; offense meaning me. But before we could get to work, we had to receive the kickoff.
Every hoofball game starts with the kickoff. The hoofball is set up on the field near the end zone of the team that was kicking, and the team's kicker will send it to the opposite side of the field, where the opponent's special teams is waiting. The returner catches the kicked ball and proceeds to run it down the field while the special teams around him try to guard him from the opposing players that try to tackle him. When the returner is brought down, the point he's brought down at is where the offense has to start. Unless, of course, the returner brings it all the way into the end zone for a touchdown. In that case, the ball is just kicked off to the opposing team and the cycle starts anew. From there, the quarterbuck and his offense takes the field and gets ready to drive the ball.
Our kick returner was Marathon Iron. Since he was fast, maneuverable, and experienced, he was a perfect pick for the position. They'd considered me, but went against it based on my lack of special teams experience in academy. Gleaming Lance always returned kicks in Vanhoover. Ponies on our sideline began scrambling as we sent our special teams on the field. I wasn't a part of the returning squad, but Snowfall was, and he left his seat beside me to get in position. Coach Playmaker started barking orders in his headset that connected to the headset in Marathon Iron's helmet, letting him know exactly what the play was. It was then up to M.I. to rally the players around him.
Both teams lined up on their respective sides of the field, then the whistle sounded and Fillydelphia's kicker, Hoofswinger, let loose. He galloped full steam ahead and swung his right hind leg in a vertical arc at the hoofball, slamming it into the sky right off of its kicking tee. As soon as the ball was airborne, the defending team began charging forward. On the other side of the field, M.I. positioned himself to catch it. As soon as it was in his hooves, everypony around him charged as well.
What was in actuality a sport seemed more like a war. Ponies crashed into each other as our special teams did all they could to protect Marathon Iron as he weaved his way down the field. Marathon caught the ball at about the ten yard line, and eventually went down at the twenty-eight. The overwhelmingly pro-Manehattan crowd roared in approval, and I hopped up off of the bench with Hoofrocket and the rest of the offensive starters as we rushed on the field to take our positions.
Several of my teammates and coaches clapped me on my pads and helmets as I ran, doing their best to cheer me on and get me hyped, as if I needed help in that department. The line of scrimmage was set at our twenty-eight yard line, and it was time to go to work.
We all got in our huddle as the roar of rabid fanponies continued to assault our ears. My pads and harness were secure, helmet on, talons guarded. This is what I lived for. Hoofrocket turned back to Coach Playmaker to give a signal, then knelt down to call out our play.
"Alright, Coach wants us to start strong, so that's what we'll do. Iron, you'll probably be getting double coverage, so let's take advantage of that. Gaius, I need you open. Can you handle that?"
"No problem." I answered. he nodded.
"Then let's go."
Hoofrocket called out the play, then we broke and got in formation at the line. The ball was sitting perfectly on the line of scrimmage, tenderly placed by a referee. The first down line was marked by triangular flags on both sidelines ten yards downfield. We had four downs to make it there against Fillydelphia's defense in order to be given a fresh set of downs. I was in the slot, closer to my team on the right side of the field. M.I. was out far left. As Hoofrocket predicted, there were two ponies in position to guard him, one of which was Net Weaver, the Zeppelins' star cornerbuck and one of the best pass defenders in the league. Iron had his work cut out for him. Hard Stop was behind the defensive line to the far right, looking every bit as big and intimidating as Terror Sack, maybe even more so. The cornerbuck assigned to me was about five yards behind the line, staring a hole through me. I knew the reality, this was supposed to be a tough defense we were challenging.
The offensive line got set while Metalmane, our center, got ready to snap the ball to Hoofrocket. The pony in question was calling out matches to his line, getting everypony in position for the play. The crowd was buzzing, waiting for the first play of what had promised to be a new, explosive offense.
"Ready? Set, hike!"
Bodies collided as I bolted from my position and started my route. My cornerbuck kept a fair distance, trying to predict where I would move. He seemed to respect my speed, though, and never made a move too aggressive. He expected me to dart past him if he got behind me, which is exactly what I would have done. I knew I couldn't just depend on him to make a mistake. This wasn't academy, the pony guarding me was a pro. Part of me wanted to let loose, try and rip past him and just book it towards the end zone, but that wasn't the plan. I reached the optimal point in my route, the sweet spot I had practiced so many times over the past several weeks. I knew exactly what to do.
I turned around to see Hoofrocket's pass already coming towards me. I quickly set my paws and extended my talons to catch.
The cornerbuck came in at blinding speed. While he had initially been several paces ahead of me, he had somehow closed the distance and stuck a hoof in between my talons, knocking the ball away before I could catch it. Incomplete pass. The clock stopped, and both teams began to reorganize as we shifted to second down. The enemy cornerbuck gave me a cocky smirk as he jogged back to his team. I had failed to catch the pass, so we hadn't gained any yards. But more importantly to me, I had failed my first catch attempt in the EHL.
The clock restarted. We had forty seconds to snap the ball and start the play, or we would be penalized. I dragged myself back to the huddle a couple of my teammates gave me reassuring clops on the helmet.
"Happens to the best of us," I heard Snowfall say. The noise from the crowd had depleted a bit. They weren't fans of what they just saw. Their hotshot rookie griffon had just gotten thoroughly beaten.
"Good try, Gaius. It happens, don't dwell on it." Hoofrocket's stare bore into me. "You'll get another chance, just stay focused. I still need you."
"You've still got me," I said as confidently as I could. I looked to my left to see Marathon Iron staring daggers at me through his facemask. For the first time, Hoofrocket didn't seem to notice. 
"Okay, we're going to try something different. Hightower?" We looked over at the tight end, built like a brick wall with shoulder pads.
"I'll be ready." He said.
"Good. Let's roll."
This play centered around Hightower, with me as a backup just in case. The goal was a short pass to Hightower over the D-Line so he could punch through the secondary and get the first down, although that would count on Hard Stop fully committing to getting to Hoofrocket and not shifting focus. As a tight end, Hightower usually blocked with the offensive line, but could also serve as a receiver. And that's exactly what we needed him to do now.
We lined up again, the cornerbuck that blocked me last time was lined up directly across from me. He was Brown with a red mane, his jersey sporting the number 46 and the name "Cinnamon Fire".
"Welcome to the pros, griffon." He spat. I growled.
Metalmane snapped the ball. I ran my designated route, the cornerbuck not dropping his guard on me. I arrived at my sweet spot and turned around for the pass that might have been heading towards me.
There wasn't a need, as Hightower had gotten through and caught the pass. I immediately turned my attention to blocking my cornerbuck from making a tackle on Hightower.
But before we could even connect, I heard a crash behind me. Hightower had been tackled by Hard Stop, who had adjusted his path after the short pass, before he could make it to the first down. Hightower may have been big and strong, but against Hard Stop that apparently didn't matter. The poor stallion had been steamrolled. But that wasn't what caught my attention; after getting tackled, Hightower had dropped the ball. It was live.
The crowd cried out in horror. I sprinted, there was a Zeppelin player less than five yards from the ball and I was almost double the distance away. My talons pounded at the turf as I watched the linebucker dive for the live ball, the rest of both teams converging around it. If the ball was picked up by the defense, it would be theirs. Their offense would take the field dangerously close to our end zone. I lunged, throwing my entire body recklessly at the hoofball. Right before the linebucker could wrap his hooves around it, my talons enveloped it and pulled it away as I tumbled down the turf. A ref's whistle blew as he signaled that the ball had been recovered, even though it had bounced back and we had only gained about four yards.
The clock started again and there was a quick huddle as we all worked out the next play. It was now third down. After getting hit and subsequently helped up by Hard Stop, Hightower had been benched and replaced with our second Tight End, Rush Rider; an almost equally burly pony with a light blue complexion. After everyone was in the huddle, Hoofrocket turned to Marathon Iron.
"M.I., they have double coverage on you. Can you get open?" He asked.
"Yes." He said, not a shadow of doubt in his voice.
We lined up again, in a similar lineup to the last two plays. Their defense looked like it was converting to zone, so I wouldn't have a cornerbuck on me alone. But the only way I would get the ball this play was if M.I. couldn't get open. With both Net Weaver and another cornerbuck on him, that was a very real possibility.
The ball was snapped and we were off again. I ran a nearly straight route, pounding straight through the zone, fairly open. But the ball never came my way. Marathon Iron was in the middle of his two cornerbucks, Net Weaver's number 31 and the other cornerbuck's number 44 concealing his own 82. But still, Hoofrocket threw down left field. Net Weaver was all over him, there was no way...
M.I. climbed the imaginary ladder. He and Net Weaver both leaped, leaving the second corner in the dust. M.I. twisted in the air and clutched the ball to his heart, wrapping it in his forelegs. Then he fell back to the earth, letting Net Weaver fall on top of him. The crowd roared. First down.
Marathon Iron had caught the ball on the forty-four yard line, we were almost in Zeppelin territory. M.I. and Weaver both picked themselves up and exchanged hoof bumps as we formed another huddle. Everypony made sure to congratulate Iron on the catch, myself included. Our new offense had finally pulled one off.
I was benched for the next couple of plays because they were given to Blockbuster, our star runningbuck. When doing a running play, a receiver's main role is to block, unless it's a trick play like the play I did near the end of the Academy Championship. Since I'm not nearly as strong as I am fast, even after putting on some extra muscle in the past few months, I was substituted out and Hightower was put back in. Upon making it to the sideline, I was given a few congratulations for recovering the fumble and a cup of water that I downed immediately. Coach Long Haul gave me some advice for beating out cornerbucks due to my incomplete pass, but it wasn't anything I didn't know already. I had just failed to perform.
Back on the field, Blockbuster's runs got a first down within two plays, much to the dismay of Fillydelphia's defense. After Blockbuster got us to Fillydelphia's forty-two, I was pulled back in as we shifted back to passing. Hoofrocket called another huddle as Coach gave him the low-down through his helmet headset.
"We're going deep. Iron, Gaius, Snowfall, 'Tower. I need all four of you ready. Let's get some  yards and at least get in field goal range."
"Let's do it," Hightower said.
"Go." Hoofrocket stamped the ground and we all got up and took our position. The play we were running had the four of us eligible receivers all on the left side. The defense shifted frantically to match our lineup. Metalmane snapped and we all took off.
I angled farthest to the right. This put me in a zone to be most likely covered by a linebucker, and I liked my chances if that happened. I kept my route angled until I was on the right side of the field, then I bounded down and got ready for the pass.
Unfortunately for me, Net Weaver was covering me. He was galloping like mad, matching my pace. The safeties were further downfield, covering Snowfall and M.I., the latter of which having escaped his cornerbuck. Hoofrocket let loose, the throw was to me. It was far, but I slowed down, leaping instead of rushing, doing anything I could to throw Net Weaver off. But I had to watch helplessly as he matched me and jumped directly in between me and the ball, catching the pass that was meant for my talons. Interception. The ball was theirs.


<*****>-------<*****>


After the interception, our defense had to take the field.  I sat down between Snowfall and Hoofrocket while Carrier Saint and the Fillydelphia offense began to set.
Snowfall patted my shoulder. "I'm gonna get some water. Be back in a sec."
He got up and trotted off. Hoofrocket shook his head.
"It's my fault, you were covered. I should have thrown to Marathon."
"No," I said glumly. "Your pass was perfect, I should have caught it." The noise in the stadium increased as Manehattan cheered on its defense. Terror Sack almost got a sack on Carrier Saint, and Searing Shock deflected a pass.
Coach Playmaker trotted up to me and Hoofrocket. Coach Lightning was calling the plays on defense, which gave Playmaker some room to talk to his players. He looked at me with a determined expression.
"Gaius, I don't know what else to say, son. You have to get open. You were the fastest receiver in the Draft, you have to shake these corners if we're going to have a chance."
The crowd yelled in frustration as Fillydelphia's runningbuck scored a first down.
"I will, Coach." I said as confidently as I could. "I'm not done yet."
"I hope not. Let's get to it." Coach continued down the benches to encourage the rest of the offense. I tried to keep my head held high, but I could feel my heart sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of my stomach. It had been up to me to move the chains, and I had failed not once, but twice. How had my first offensive drive in the EHL been so unsuccessful? I'd played right into Net Weaver's hooves.
"Sucks, doesn't it?" Hoofrocket said after he drained a cup of water.
"What?" I asked.
"You're going through what most rookies go through. The realization. It's worst for the hotshots, the ones who are top of their class in Academy. They come here and get slapped in the face by the pro leagues."
I felt irritation brewing in my chest. "What do you mean?"
"You were a beast in Academy, right?"
"Yeah, I guess?" I said carefully.
"No guessing to it, you were. Now you're facing ponies who are used to dealing with entire teams full of the level of talent you exhibit, and you're already having doubts. I know what you're thinking, you're wondering how you're getting beat, why you're suddenly not good enough."
I just stared at him. He threw his cup down and turned towards me, harshness suddenly in his eyes.
"Well it's time to stop." He scoffed. "Do you know what your real problem is?"
"Um..." My mind filed through a thousand different answers, but none of them was what Hoofrocket said next.
"Stop trying to be somepony else." He said sternly.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, anger suddenly surging within me.
"Stop trying to be Marathon Iron. I saw you jumping for that catch like you were trying to get an apple out of a tree. You did that because it worked for M.I., and because you missed your first catch, didn't you?"
My anger deflated. "Yeah... I guess so."
"There's no guessing to it. I don't need one and a half Marathon Irons. I need a Marathon Iron and a Gaius Strongtalon. I've seen you at practice. You don't care about being flashy, you don't worry about how you're going to outmaneuver your corner, you just leave them in the dust and put everything you have into the catch. That's what I need."
"I..." I started. He cut me off.
"You're worried about what these ponies think of you. Well stop trying to prove them wrong." He grinned. "Just be you and make them feel stupid for ever doubting you."
He put a hoof on my shoulder. "Fancy weaves and leaping catches isn't what got you to the EHL. Stop trying to play like a pony. You're not. You never will be. What you can be is the fastest, dirtiest, ugliest griffon they've ever seen, and they'll be terrified of you."
The crowd was cheering again. Fillydelphia had managed to make it to our twenty-yard line. They were on their fourth down and, from the looks of it, were about to attempt a field goal. The cogs in my head turned and turned, until they finally locked into place. Hoofrocket gave me that signature grin.
"Sooo..." He said teasingly. "What play are we running when we get back in there?"
I grabbed my helmet. Filly was setting up for the field goal. It was time to get back to work.
"Throw it deep." I said. "And throw it ahead of me. Even farther than last time."
Hoofrocket slipped his helmet on. "That's more I like it."


<*****>-------<*****>


Fillydelphia scored a field goal. They were three points ahead. M.I. caught the kickoff and returned it to our thirty yard line. We were now lining up at the line of scrimmage. I was away from the rest of the offense. As such, I had double coverage. Net Weaver was covering M.I. and the other corner was on me, one lined up directly across from me with a safety behind him ready to join the fray. I felt the feathers bristling on my back. It was showtime.
The snap. I took off running at full speed, leaving my corner in the dust. I kept it up, forcing the safety to run behind me as I slipped into left field. I slowed down a bit, the safety on my six. I looked over my shoulder to see Hoofrocket throwing right before Hard Stop broke through and tackled him. The ball was going far, most would call it overthrown. But for me, it was perfect.
I put everything I had into my sprint. My defender was falling behind even at his top speed. I bounded at a blinding pace until I had put myself in perfect position, catching the ball over my shoulder to the ovation of the crowd. With the ball in my right talon, I was now running three-legged. I got a few more precious yards before the second safety cut me off and forced me to step out of bounds at Filly's twenty-seven yard line. The crowd erupted as we established our presence on the opponent's side of the field. I threw the ball to the nearest ref and gladly accepted the hoofbumps and helmet clops from the rest of my team.
"That's how you do it!" Hoofrocket said with a huge grin as we got in the huddle. "Now, the big question. Think you can do it again?"
Excited conversation rose up around me.
"Oh yeah, I can do this all night." I said.
"Then let's go." He said. He turned around and flashed a signal to Coach, then he called the play.
This time I was back in the slot, closer to the team. M.I. once again assumed the star position. But the ball wasn't going to him, at least not if I did my job. I had double coverage again. This time, however, they were set downfield, expecting another long pass. I looked back at Hoofrocket and made eye contact. He looked out at the defense's formation and nodded. This was going to be good. I stared at the corner that had insulted me earlier. 'Welcome to the rookie leagues', I thought.
The ball was snapped, I ran slightly forward, then made a hook and made my way closer to Hoofrocket. He immediately lobbed the ball my way as the offensive line began to form a wall in front of me that imposingly moved to the right. The defense began surging forward to meet me as I started downfield.
But for them, it was too late. I was already surging forward. I had two corners and a safety  between me and the end zone, but I also had Bucking Oak and Hightower to block. We were running a screen play, and it was working beautifully. Snowfall ran ahead to block the last unaccounted corner as I ran down right field.
Hightower blocked the first corner no problem. Snowfall only managed to temporarily trip up the second, but it was just enough for me to avoid him. I put on the jets and hugged the right boundary line as the safety charged towards me. Then I temporarily slowed down while I prayed for him to make the obvious mistake. He did.
The safety went for my legs as he converged on me, and I easily hurdled him. After that, the rest of the defense was either adjacent to or behind me, and none of them were close enough. Net Weaver was trying to close the distance, but even he wasn't fast enough. I had fifteen yards between me and the end zone. I ran with everything I had, trying to leave a trail of fire down right field. They were close behind me, but not close enough. The noise was almost loud enough to blow the roof off of the Manehattan Dome as I ran into the end zone. Touchdown.


<*****>-------<*****>


Photographers and interviewers crowded around me on the field. We had won the game 27-20. Marathon Iron and I had each scored another touchdown, and the defense got a pick-six, scoring a touchdown off of an interception. After the game had ended, both supposed bitter rival teams entered the field to congratulate each other in a sign of good sportsmanship in an EHL tradition. Of course, this also gave the media ponies an excuse to barge in. At the moment, there were too many microphones in my face to count, and dozens of ponies were asking me different questions. This was definitely something Academy hadn't prepared me for.
"Gaius, how did you recover after the first drive? What changed as the game went on?"
"Gaius, do you think your griffon athleticism was the key to your performance here tonight?"
"Do you think that Hoofrocket is the league MVP quarterbuck?"
"Gaius, how did you complete that screen play touchdown? Was that play added to the book during the offseason?"
"Gaius, what is the secret to your way of playing?"
The last question caught my attention. "What? Who asked that?"
"Me." I turned to see a cute hot pink mare with a silver mane in a reporter's hat holding a small microphone.
I smiled at her. "Repeat the question, please?"
She cleared her throat. "Gaius, what is the secret to the way you played here tonight, how did you overcome this elite new Fillydelphia defense?"
I caught a glimpse of Hoofrocket, surrounded by just as many reporters as me, if not more. I turned back to her microphone.
"I have the best team in the Equestrian Hoofball League, and the best quarterbuck."
The reporter mare arched her eyebrow mischievously. "And do they have the best receiver?"
I fought a laugh. "Probably. M.I. was pretty nuts tonight. And Snowfall's a big-time player."
She gave a confused look. Another reporter took the opportunity to force himself in front of me.
"Gaius, please! After tonight, do you have anything to say to all of the ponies who doubted that you would perform well in the EHL due to the fact that you're a griffon playing for Manehattan?"
I laughed. "Not really...but I'd bet they feel pretty stupid right about now, wouldn't you?"