“Hey,” he said, just loud enough for me to hear. “When you’re dancing at halftime, look at Section 120. Row 19.” And with that, he was off. The Red Cocks were crushing Indiana by halftime. It was a bloodbath. The boys were grinning from ear-to-ear as they barreled down the tunnel to head back to their locker room. Instead of our standard covert pinky promise, Tatum kissed me as he passed and winked. I didn’t think anything of it until I was standing on the fifty-yard line, anticipating the first eight-count of our halftime routine. I looked up into the stands. Section 120 was smack dab in the
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