Snap Judgment: Holders, snappers have little time to get it right

1.3 seconds.

That’s how long you have to get it right.

If you don’t, tomorrow morning’s newspaper will say “Kick Failed.”

Getting it right is a three-man job.

The long snapper, looking back through his legs, throws a football between those legs seven yards backwards. He knows full well after doing this he will be at the bottom of a mosh pit.

The holder, crouched down in wet grass and mud, catches that ball — which is moving at 35 miles per hour, and places it on a small rubber tee. His margin for error is about an inch and a half.

The kicker (the only one of the three who gets his name in the newspaper if all this goes right) begins moving forward when the ball is first snapped. He looks at, and swings his leg at an agreed upon space trusting that the holder will put the football on that spot sometime before his foot gets there.

All that, in 1.3 seconds. “One Mississippi, Two Miss—” (On second thought that’s not a good way to count time around a kicker).

In one weekend of local high school football this fall, teams tried 60 extra points– 11 times something went wrong —”Kick Failed.”

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To learn how to get it right, I got a lesson from three Skyview Storm football players: kicker Braden Hadfield, holder Brody Barnum, and long snapper Thomas Fletcher.

And after the lesson, the trio and their coach, Steve Kizer, gave me the scariest final exam possible.

“It’s trust,” Hadfield says. “I have to trust (Brody) whether the ball is there or not. As soon as ball is snapped I take a step. I’m moving before the ball is in his hands. So as soon as it’s down it’s gone.”

If Hadfield waits for the ball to be there before he starts his motion, it’s called a blocked kick.

The holder’s job initially involves math. It’s Barnum’s responsibility to count the players on the field. If he doesn’t see nine teammates’ backsides between him and the oncoming rush there’s going to be trouble, or at least a time out.

Fletcher’s an interesting specimen. Technically as the long snapper he’s a lineman.

But at 5-11, 170 pounds and with surfer-blonde hair, he looks more at home in an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog than he does on the offensive line.

But the sophomore seems to have been born for long-snapping. It’s his sole job on the Skyview football team.

The unique football skill got Fletcher’s father through college, and into a few NFL training camps. It may do the same for his son.

“I started snapping when I was 4 yrs old,” the younger Fletcher says. “I thought it was hilarious to go upside down and throw objects through my legs. After breaking a ton of stuff, my dad taught me how to do it right.”

Fletcher is the fourth-ranked long snapper in his class nationally according to the Rubio Long-Snapping Camp. That’s right, there’s a camp for that.

How important is the long snapper? On one of his best Skyview teams, Coach Kizer had his quarterback do the job. He was the best on the team.

Fletcher is a perfectionist. On field goal and extra point attempts he aims for the crook in Barnum’s left elbow, and remember his view of that target is upside down, between his legs, 21 feet away.

Barnum focuses on the little things too.

After catching the ball and placing on the tee, he tilts it slightly towards him.

“I’m anal about that,” Hadfield says.

Hadfield’s kicks tend to float to the left. The small angle Barnum puts on the ball pre-flight straightens that out.

And as if there wasn’t enough to do in this fraction of a second, Barnum will also spin the football so the laces face away from his kicker. On a longer kick, aerodynamics is such that laces on either side of the flight will pull the ball left or right.

While all this happens.. 11 opposing defenders are charging through Fletcher, and towards Barnum and Hadfield.

I asked, “Do you see them coming? Do you hear all the ruckus?”

Hadfield: “I don’t think about anything. Just three steps back, two to the side, and kick.”

Barnum: “I block it all out.”

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To get ready for the real thing– holding for a kick with a real rush of defenders during a live drill, I practiced with Hadfield, Barnum and Fletcher on the sidelines.

Full disclosure: I did play one season of football, in 7th grade, but the only thing they let me hold on that team was the water bottle carrier.

Fletcher’s first snap went through my hands and hit me in the chest. I was practicing for Lucy’s job in the old “Peanuts” comic strip, but I felt like Charlie Brown.

I caught the second practice snap, but in a panic I placed the football down sideways instead of on its end, and nowhere near the tee. Hadfield didn’t bother finishing his kicking motion. ( and probably reconsidered that “trust” thing).

Eventually practice made adequate, and Coach Kizer called me out for the real thing.

Storm Special Teams Coach Jeremy Tortora took a moment to explain the “Fire Drill.”

In the highly likely event that this particular holder fumbles the snap, I’m supposed to yell “Fire!” and try to throw the ball to a teammate for a two-point conversion.

I explained to Coach Tortora that my version of the “Fire Drill” would be “Stop, Drop and Roll.”