Out from the huddle steps a lone figure. He walks slowly towards midfield, staring straight ahead beyond the black and white stripes and into the eyes of his approaching opponents, his intensity palpable.

His advancing foes grasp one another’s hands and march cautiously towards him, presenting a united front while providing each other with strength to face the solitary form who comes into focus with each additional step.

They stop, the three or four men linked at their fingertips standing five yards apart from the one who crossed the field alone. The coin is tossed, the call made. The two sides shake hands and depart for their respective sidelines.

The posse that met him at midfield may have tried to overwhelm Harvard captain Dante Balestracci with sheer numbers before the game’s opening kickoff, but it is the multi-man delegation that slinks back to its own bench after getting its first taste of the oft-punned Inferno and the man who will be hurling them down into the dirt in only a few moments.

“I think it’s funny when a lot of guys come out real stone-faced and they try to intimidate you,” Balestracci says. “I’m not being cocky, but they’re not going to intimidate me.”

Inferno

With his team trailing by 20 late in the fourth quarter, Holy Cross’ senior wide receiver Ari Confesor—who had through three-and-a-half quarters plagued the Harvard secondary with his size and quickness, racking up more than 100 yards through the air—began a slant pattern over the middle of the field before quickly slipping into a hole in the Crimson coverage. Crusader quarterback Brian Schiller watched him the whole way and snapped a quick throw, cast perfectly in stride with his route.

As Confesor looked inside towards the ball, his eye latched on to a far more important development five yards beyond his objective’s path.

Dante.

Balestracci raced towards Confesor, his body squaring to deliver a knockout blow.

And so Confesor just stopped running. Like a deer in the headlights.

It wasn’t because Confesor was a coward—he’d taken his fair share of licks from the defensive backs during the game’s earlier moments. It was his fear of the Inferno.

Despite his team’s desperate circumstances, despite needing a first down to keep the chances of a Crusader victory alive, despite his own competitive edge, the potential reward earned by facing down Balestracci’s wrath simply wasn’t worth the pain Confesor was certain to experience.

Ballgame over.

* * *