“CULLEN WORKED THE FOOTBALL in a circular motion around his head, under his arms, around his waist and each knee, finally playing catch with it between his legs. “Reverse!” Cullen shouted, although nobody was close by to hear him. He changed the direction of the rotating football. He rose up, spun the football in his hands. Cullen locked his hands around the ball, squeezed it and pulled it close against his chest. He loved the smell of a slightly worn football. He loved the feel of a rumpled pigskin between his fingers. Cullen dropped the ball, then grabbed it. He faced forward in an under-center position. Cullen looked left, then right, and barked out the cadence. “Red 89. Red 89, hut, hike!” Cullen dropped back and executed the bootleg, faking a handoff to his left, and then bootlegging to his right and throwing the football towards the sideline. “Damn!” Jordan…