The longer practice went, the more frequently I'd glance over at the offensive practice field. Every so often, when some starting defensive lineman like Reggie McGrew or Ed Chester was beating me senseless—they were nice guys; this was just their job—I'd catch a peripheral glimpse of a ball flying down that other field toward the end zone.
I'd repeat the same two words silently to myself. Catch it. Catch it. Catch it.
He'd be standing there in his visor, watching that ball fly. If the bomb landed in the hands of its intended target, the whole offense would erupt.