It's common knowledge: you don't tackle the other team's kicker. You can block their kick, intercept the ball, hope it didn't go through the goal posts... but you didn't tackle them. It could be a foul, if the hit is hard enough, but that wasn't the point. It was one little rule that everyone followed. Everyone except one team. And they'd pay for it.

T.C. Williams and their rival team are tied. You step onto the field- not the first time this game, but you're rarely on anyway. As kicker, you have on job and one job only. Kick the damn ball through the poles. It's easy enough- and you're considered the best kicker in the entire state of Virginia, according to the statistics. You're not nervous.

But if you get this, your team wins. The stadium is alive with cheering, the cheerleaders bouncing around and shaking their pompoms. You can hear Coach Boone and Yoast yelling things to you before they go silent, letting you focus. Gerry and Julius pat your back as you job on and Alan flashes you his usual smile, making you feel more at ease. The ball is held for you as everyone else gets in position. Your heart is racing. It's all on you.

The whistle goes off and you run up, your form perfect. Wind is perfect. Your foot makes contact with the football and it goes flying. Everyone watches with bated breath and... it's in! But your relief and happiness is short lived. There is no time for celebration.

Because three hundred pounds of pure muscle from the other team's linebacker is ramming through you, sending you sprawling down as the lug falls on top of you, all the air leaving your lungs at once. Your head hits off the ground, your helmet flying off, your ribs giving way to the weight on top of you. Kickers are small- linebackers are huge. And he just made a capital offense.

Never tackle a kicker... unless you want your ass kicked.