ACT Reading Practice Test 21

PROSE FICTION: Football Failures

A cold wind soothed the faces of the sweaty men huddled on the muddy field. The team stared at the goal line and focused on the game-ending, season-defining play in front of them. Dusty air filled their lungs with

Line 5 each deep heave they mustered. For almost two hours the men had battled their opponents on the barren football field. Joe, the center, could see the coach describing the play to a younger player. He was one of the grunts, a lineman, big and tall

10 and eager to push open gaps for the backs. The underclassman’s labored jog back to the huddle mirrored every man’s fatigue. The quarterback confirmed the play and articulated it to his team. Joe saw his mouth move but could

15 not hear the words; nonetheless, he knew his blocking assignment. The hiss of the crowd muffled all sound on the field. Suddenly, Joe picked a voice out of the din, and turned his attention to his good friend Mark. “This is it guys,” Mark was yelling. “We’ve been practicing

20 for four months this season and for three more years before that. It’s time we score and take home a win. Let’s get it done!” They all clasped hands to break the huddle and returned to their individual concentration. Time seemed to drag as the team marched back

25 to the line of scrimmage. Joe glared at his opponents, pleased by the heavy clouds of vapor billowing from their mouths. Exhaustion was written on their faces and in their twitchy movements on the line. He turned his head toward the place in which he wanted to force

30 a gap, then to the defensive end who stood fast with his hands on his knees, gaze fixed on the ground. Joe smiled inwardly; he knew his team had beaten the other with physical play and superior endurance. Time froze as he prepared to snap the ball.

35 Joe leaned over carefully and clutched the moist leather ball. His teammates cautiously took their places right and left, lining up as in countless practice drills, in perfect order. Like clockwork, too, was each man’s thorough examination of the opposing force, scanning

40 back and forth for a gap or a weak player, feeling the opponents’ stares in return. Joe felt the quarterback crouch behind him. The passer’s booming voice still did not register with Joe, but instinct told him what he needed to know. Three staccato hikes later, he snapped

45 the ball with speed and hurled himself towards the first defender. Joe felt the crunch of pads and brought his forearm under the other man’s shoulder pads. Lifting with his arms and legs, he threw the lesser player onto his back.

50 The meager lineman lay stunned for a moment, which greatly amused Joe, assuming the two yards he had sent his man back was more than enough to free the rusher to enter the endzone. This lucid moment lasted but a split second before Joe again lunged toward an upright

55 opponent. Joe turned abruptly at the sound of a whistle and strained to find the scoring rusher. Something was wrong. Joe’s teammates stood stunned, staring at the pile of defensive players who had fallen on their

60 running back. Referees began pulling men off the heap. With only a few men left on the ground, Joe could see the ball, still in the backfield, and in the arms of an opponent. He heard his coach from the sideline: “Fumble? Are you kidding me? I can’t believe you

65 guys!” His men had turned over possession of the ball, and time ran out on the game. “We had them beat, you know,” Mark hissed to Joe as they walked slowly off the field. “They were dead tired. We should have

70 won the game.” Their one chance was gone and now they had to endure the other team’s celebration on the field. Joe’s team never liked losing, but having come so close to a victory that day meant their last-minute defeat would be especially disappointing.