Chicken Sandwich

The Separating White Line I glance up at the scoreboard; the clock reads 2:15 left in the fourth quarter. My team is down by 3 points; we have eighty-five yards to go, and have no time outs left. I yell out the cadence and the center snaps the oblong ball into my hands. Taking a short three-step drop I glance to my left. The only objects I see are two beefy defensive linemen bearing down on me. Somehow I r...