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  1. Knights of Andreas Part IV Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DarthRaider DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever GA_Eagle JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Fifty-Five – Super Bowl XLIX The kick sails beyond the end zone, and officials spot the ball on the twenty as the Knights offense jogs onto the field. Maverick relays the first play in the huddle, a call decided four days ago, raising his voice against crowd noise. Apparently the fans will be a factor tonight. Just the way Maverick wants it. The Knights line up in a single-back, three-receiver set against Green Bay’s 3-4 defense. Maverick hands off to Jameson, who accelerates through a hole for a five-yard gain. The Knights show the same formation, then switch to shotgun. Maverick fakes an inside handoff, then throws toward the sideline for Wilkes. He catches it and runs straight into Tramon Williams, powering ahead for four yards. Third and one. Green Bay stacks the box as Maverick lines up under center, ready for a quick pass to Watson on a sideline route. Maverick takes the snap, looks right, and throws just as Watson breaks. A Packer undercuts the route and catches it. Maverick runs one stride before realizing it’s too late, and Davon House takes the ball into the end zone. “That was fast,” Harden says on a shaken Knights sideline. The offense sulks back to the bench with all eyes on their quarterback. “That’s all me,” Maverick says. “Got locked on.” “Don’t fucking do it again,” McKenzie says. Minutes later, the Knights offense starts again, down 7-0. Jameson gets a carry and surges up the middle, running into the secondary for a twelve-yard gain. “Okay,” McKenzie says to himself. “Much better.” Maverick lines up under center and motions Wilkes from right to left, leaving Johnson isolated wide right. He takes the snap, drops back, plants his feet, and sees Johnson break open toward the sideline. He throws and takes a hit. Johnson tracks the pass, but a green jersey gets in front of it. Johnson stumbles near the sideline, and a Packer runs the other way with the football again. Maverick gets back to his feet, but the corner is long gone. The stadium sounds like a Packers home game as Tramon Williams runs into the end zone, sending Knights players and coaches into a state of shock. A terrible silence falls over Knight’s End. The pre-game excitement has left the building, all hope along with it. Two weeks of build-up, and the game has been lost in a matter of minutes. The majority of fans are standing, occupying nearly every inch of the sports bar. But the frenzied gathering of Knights fans is now an awkward congregation of people, standing idly and staring into TV screens in disbelief. “Put Buchanan in!” a few fans yell, including one standing near Cooper and Sampson’s surrounded booth. Cooper agrees, but he can’t bring himself to raise his voice. “What a choke job,” he says, staring sadly at his beer. “Same route,” Sampson says, just as depressed. “Same play, same throw.” “At least we get to go home early.” The bar remains quiet during the commercial break, when a batch of unfunny advertisements fails to provide comic relief. When the game comes back, NBC reminds viewers of a famous statistic: no team has ever come back from a ten-point deficit or more to win the Super Bowl. The Knights offense huddles near the twenty, about to start their third drive of the game, already down 14-0. “Okay, boys,” Maverick says, hands on his hips. “I fucked up. I’m sorry. But I guarantee you all we still win this game. We can’t lose faith in each other. Not now. Not after everything we’ve done this year.” Maverick looks into his teammate’s eyes, not seeing the courage he was looking for. He can’t blame them, really, so he’s going to have to convince them with his arm. To his dismay, the next play call is a simple run up the middle. Jameson runs into a crowd for two yards. McKenzie calls another run play that brings up third and five, and he’s forced to pass. Terrified at the prospect of a third interception, he calls the safest play of the scripted fifteen. Maverick drops back and stares down Wilkes. He’s covered. Pressure forces him to step up. He shovels it to Bishop, who is tackled immediately for only two yards. Out come the punt teams. “Never thought I’d be so glad to see a punt,” Harden says, thankful it’s not 21-0. He paces along the sideline, toward his defensive starters. “Alright, assholes, finally time to go to work.” Lechler’s punt sails out of bounds, and fans prepare for the matchup everyone wants to see: Packers offense vs. Knights defense. Hardly anyone, of course, figured the Packers would be spotted a 14-point lead the first time Aaron Rodgers took the field. Rodgers fires left for Randall Cobb, who runs through his four-yard cushion for a five-yard gain. Eddie Lacy takes a carry up the middle and runs into a wall, going nowhere, a good sign. On third and five, Rodgers drops back as Grantzinger breaks free. Rodgers rolls out and throws it away. Harden praises his defenders as they return to the sideline, being as positive and encouraging as he can be. During and after the ensuing commercial, he goes over the three previous plays, nitpicking them to death. Suddenly, the punt teams retake the field; the Knights have gone three and out. Harden walks up to McKenzie, who is flipping through pictures frantically. “The hell’s going on, Mac?” “We’re trying, Merle.” “Try harder. Better yet, set your game plan on fire. I don’t care what it takes or how unpleasant it is.” As the first quarter ticks away, the game becomes a defensive battle, and the Packers’ 14-0 lead feels increasingly insurmountable. The Knights finally string together a couple first downs thanks to some impressive running by Jameson, crossing into Packer territory. McKenzie wants to turn Maverick loose, but he’s still scared of a poor throw. Essentially operating a west coast offense, Maverick hits receivers on quick routes, taking advantage of the cushion given by Green Bay’s secondary and neutralizing their pass rush. On a play-action pass, Clay Matthews comes free off the edge. Maverick somehow spins away, rolling to his left. Wilkes breaks downfield, and Maverick hits him in stride. The twenty-yard gain is the first quarter’s final play. On the sideline, Knights players and coaches feel the game returning to them, invigorated by the possibility of a 14-7 score. McKenzie decides it’s time to open things up as the Knights line up for first and ten. Maverick drops back, two green jerseys swarm him, and he sails a pass out of the back of the end zone that officials (luckily) don’t deem intentional grounding. More pass rush comes on second down, where Maverick rolls out before throwing it away. Word from upstairs confirms McKenzie’s fear: the Packers aren’t blitzing; they’re just dominating the Knights’ offensive tackles. The Adams/Fowler rookie pairing is a weakness that has been minimalized throughout the year, but now it’s in the process of costing the Knights a Super Bowl. Bishop is assigned as an extra blocker to help Adams with Matthews. Maverick drops back in shotgun, waiting for routes to develop downfield. Julius Peppers breaks off the edge, and Maverick has nowhere to run. He goes down for a five-yard loss, and the field goal unit comes on to attempt Los Angeles’ first points of the night. McKenzie is still processing the pass protection struggles when he remembers how poor McCabe was two weeks ago. He watches as the kicker boots a forty-three-yarder through the air and towards the uprights. It strikes the net, and officials signal it’s good. The Knights sideline celebrates for the first time, finally on the board. The teams trade punts with both defenses holding their own. The Packers’ pass rush continues to prevent Maverick from throwing anything downfield, while the Knights accomplish the same with a combination of pass rush and tight coverage. Lacy runs through a hole for his largest carry of the day, eight yards, and a first down. The Packers are near midfield, and Harden decides now is a good time. Randall and Martin inch towards the line of scrimmage, showing blitz. Rodgers calls out adjustments to his linemen, ostensibly altering the pass protection, just what Harden wants. On the snap, Randall and Martin back off, but Grantzinger and Brock swing from the edge to inside. The Packers’ offensive line spreads out, leaving Brock with a free run at Rodgers. The quarterback jukes, but Brock swats the ball out. It bounces around on the grass and into a pile of green jerseys, and the Packers recover. Though enraged the Knights didn’t recover the fumble, Harden takes advantage of the down and distance. On second and nineteen, Rodgers falls victim to another blitz, this time sacked by Luck. On third and twenty-four, James Starks takes a draw up the middle but runs into Anthrax after only one yard. The Packers punt it away. The Knights take over from their own eighteen with 6:24 left in the half, and the Packers defense relegates them to four- and five-yard gains. On third and one, Jameson punches through a wall for six yards. Two plays later, Johnson makes a third down catch in traffic, absorbing a big hit for twelve yards. Knights feel confidence returning to them, though the eleven-point deficit still looms. McKenzie makes Bishop an extra blocker again, which gives Maverick enough time to drop back and float a perfect pass to Wilkes on a post, who goes down inside the red zone, the Knights’ best field position so far. McKenzie considers his options carefully, calling a rollout on first and ten. Maverick rolls right, sees nothing but tight coverage, and plants his feet to look left. Matthews levels him, and the ball almost pops free. Penner helps Maverick to his feet, slowly, as officials spot the ball for second and sixteen. A screen to NesSmith and quick pass for Bishop get only five yards, and the field goal unit comes out again. McCabe knocks the chip shot between the uprights, and it’s 14-6, Packers. The offense celebrates the score, trying to suppress their frustration, knowing they left points on the field. Harden preps his defense for two-minute mode, and the Packers start their next drive with 2:25 left before halftime. Rodgers comes out firing, as expected, throwing immediately and letting his receivers chew through easy yardage, including Jordy Nelson’s first reception tonight. At the two-minute warning, the Packers are sixty-four yards from the end zone. The Packers open it up, taking deeper shots with Rodgers sitting behind a clean pocket. Despite some incompletions, multiple catches by Cobb get the Packers across midfield in a blink, calling their first timeout with 1:42 to go. Rodgers’ next pass lands right in front of Harden, in Cobb’s arms again, for a twenty-yard gain. Harden isn’t counting, but that’s already Cobb’s seventh reception, over a hundred yards. It was a ridiculously accurate throw, but this is turning into the Randall Cobb show. Harden decides it’s time to give Marshall some help, a tactic likely to become permanent in the second half. The Packers get in formation with the clock ticking, still more than enough time for a score, now eighteen yards from the end zone. A few short passes with another timeout in between set them up on the seven-yard line with 0:45 to go. Rodgers drops back in shotgun and Grantzinger breaks free. Rodgers spins away, rolling right, eyes focused on the end zone. Knights shift in coverage, trying to stay near their assigned receiver. Rodgers pumps, then runs toward the opposite side of the field. Brock and Luck dive for the quarterback but miss. Suddenly, Rodgers sets his feet and fires toward the end zone, where a green jersey stands alone. Flash runs for the receiver and hits him hard, but the pass is complete. It’s tight end Andrew Quarless, who leaps up from the ground as the Packers celebrate. The Knights walk off the field visibly shaken. “Go Pack Go” chants can be heard around the stadium as the extra point makes it Packers 21, Knights 6. A tense chatter fills the locker room as coaches and players enter. The shock and disappointment of the game’s opening minutes is growing into anger. Per the Super Bowl’s extravagant halftime show, the Knights have about half an hour before the second half, and they might need every minute. Harden, knowing he doesn’t have much to change, ignores his defensive subordinates and seeks out McKenzie. “Mac,” Harden says, “I don’t know what you’re planning for the second half, but for the love of God it better be something different.” “We’re looking at it, Merle,” McKenzie says. “Take it easy, coach,” Maverick says, stepping toward the crowd of coaches. “We’re making progress. Just gotta get in the end zone.” “Get out of my face, Mav,” Harden says. “I’m not talking to you.” “Oh yeah? Well that last score before halftime didn’t help, you know.” Harden feels his face go red, and he doesn’t bother restraining himself. “Didn’t help? I’ll tell you what didn’t help, asshole. Two fucking interceptions! Two touchdowns you’re nowhere close to getting back!” McKenzie steps between Harden and Maverick, but Harden presses on with the locker room silent around them. “One more interception, Mav, one more, and Max goes in!” “Bullshit.” Harden lowers his voice, still breathing heavily. “Mac, please communicate to our quarterback both how serious I am and how important it is that he throw to the guys in white jerseys, not green.” The Packers open the second half by going three and out, and the Knights take over, chipping away at Green Bay’s defense. Harden watches as McKenzie calls a nice drive, balancing pass and run plays beautifully. He’s not sure McKenzie is doing things much differently than in the first half, but at least it’s working. Out of the corner of his eye, Harden spots Rika walking around aimlessly. “Don’t you have coaching to do?” Harden says. “Secondary’s fine, coach,” Ripka says. “With Flash helping on Cobb, I don’t see any more problems. And I don’t see the use in nagging them; we need to keep things positive on at least one side of the ball.” “I know,” Harden concedes. “We just may not be able to catch up.” Both men look up at the scoreboard. Maverick fires a bullet over the middle that Johnson catches for a twenty-yard gain. Maverick gets up from the grass after taking a big hit and jogs toward the new huddle. Excitement builds in the stadium as the Knights line up for first and ten, within field goal range. Jameson takes a carry four yards up the middle. Maverick hits Wilkes on a slant for four more, and it’s third and two. Fans around the stadium make noise as McKenzie chooses his call immediately, one he and the coaches drew up at halftime. Maverick lines up in a two-back shotgun formation, the same formation Bishop has been blocking out of. But on this play, he’ll be sweeping laterally into green grass. Maverick likes what he sees and takes the snap. The Packers blitz. Maverick stares down the middle, trying to sell a long throw as blitzers break free, then dumps it off to his right. He gets drilled and hits the ground. Bishop breaks on his route as the ball hits him in the hands and bobbles. He tries to get it under control as a defender levels him, and the ball bounces out of bounds. As he walks back to the sideline, Maverick stares down Harden, almost hoping he tries to blame him for that one. Seconds later, Bishop searches for a quiet spot and sips some water, but it isn’t long before McKenzie fires away, addressing the entire offense. “Get it together, ladies!” he barks. “That’s enough of the careless mistakes. We’re a better team than this, and everybody knows it. Let’s start showing it!” Bishop wishes he could just find a quiet spot somewhere in this stadium and stay there until the offense’s next drive. Somewhere near the end of McKenzie’s tirade, McCabe’s field goal is good, and it’s 21-9, Packers. Harden calls plays effortlessly despite the Packers finding rhythm on offense. He can’t stop Rodgers forever no matter how good his players are, and he’s wearier of the clock than anything else, less than four minutes in the third quarter. Rodgers drops back and stares down Nelson, with Rose all over him, and fires. Rose and Nelson run along the sideline and jostle for leverage with Rose in position for an interception. Nelson tugs on Rose’s jersey, blatant offensive pass interference, so Rose can only swat at the pass. He bats it back toward the middle of the field, where Flash dives for it, getting his hands under the ball before it hits the grass. A nearby receiver touches him, down by contact, and officials signal a change of possession. The sideline comes to life around Harden as his offensive players jump up from the bench. “Somebody show me something!” he yells to them as they retake the field. “Show me something right now, goddamn it!” Harden can hear the excitement in McKenzie’s voice as he calls plays. He hopes the offense can feed off that, because another field goal isn’t going to cut it. Maverick hits a few short, safe passes for a first down. McKenzie considers those his best tactic against the Packers’ pass rush, which is still dominating. He hasn’t taken one deep shot for Watson yet, and the way the game is going, he’s not sure he ever will. He has another way of getting Watson involved, though. Banks takes a sweep toward the sideline and runs ahead for another first down, crossing midfield. Jameson takes over, and McKenzie calls his number. The running back runs behind strong interior blocking, powering through defenders five or six yards at a time. The Knights move the chains, but the clock ticks under one minute. Second and four on the Packers’ thirty-five. McKenzie picks another play from halftime, and the Knights line up in a new formation: Maverick in shotgun, Jameson and Watson in the backfield with him. Maverick takes the snap and fakes an inside handoff to Jameson. He steps right before lofting it back to his left, where Watson catches it. He waits for blocking to set up in front of him, then accelerates. His speed sends a buzz throughout the stadium and he bolts into the secondary, tries to juke a defender, and trips. He hits the ground at the nine-yard line, the closest the Knights have been to the end zone. McKenzie considers his next call as the clock hits zero, and players traverse the field for the fourth quarter. The energy on the field persists throughout the commercial break, and both teams get set for first and goal with the entire stadium on edge. Maverick studies the defense, calls out a few fake audibles, and hands off to Jameson. He runs straight ahead with Penner leading the way. Grodd crushes a linebacker, and Jameson takes off, end zone in sight. Multiple safeties close, but Jameson lowers his shoulders and powers through a massive collision at the goal line. He lands on his back in the end zone, football clutched against his chest. Touchdown, Knights. Jameson is the star among the chaotic celebration on the sideline, but Maverick is the most energetic, running maniacally, enticing the stadium crowd and screaming, “We are back, motherfuckers! We are back!” The game goes to commercial with 14:52 to go, the score Packers 21, Knights 16. After an inauspicious first half with blowout potential, Super Bowl XLIX is headed for an epic finish. Harden tries to relax as he calls plays, feeling his heart beat between snaps and stop every time Rodgers throws the football. Every play matters now. Every snap, every block, every tackle. One play will be the difference between winning and losing, and it could happen at any moment. The Packers appear more aggressive, and Harden suspects Coach McCarthy wants to air it out with his MVP quarterback to regain control. A two-score Packer lead at his juncture would, indeed, be dominant. The Knights coverage remains tight, but Rodgers still finds receivers on consecutive third downs. Harden chalks that up to a lack of pass rush, curses himself for backing down on the blitzes, and responds with force. This creates two incompletions and a stuffed Lacy run, and the Packers punt it away with 10:35 to go. Jameson takes an off-tackle carry but runs into a wall of defenders for no gain, dampening the Knights’ momentum. Maverick manages to find Bishop through a massive blitz to set up third and six, but he’s forced to throw it away before anyone can get open. In a blink, the Knights defense retakes the field with 9:43 on the clock. Harden keeps up the aggression, forcing third and nine. Rodgers takes the snap and hands off to Starks, who runs through an all-out blitz and into the secondary. Schwinn tackles him near midfield, and the Packers’ side of the stadium celebrates. Meanwhile, Maverick and McKenzie prepare on the bench. The next drive is their last stand, they decide. No matter what the score is, the Knights take the field in four-down mode. An impressive Lacy run brings up second and one at midfield. Harden sighs in frustration and looks up at the clock. 8:03, 8:02, 8:01… Randall stares down Rodgers, under center, sensing a run, ready to crash the line. Rodgers takes the snap and lowers his shoulders on a sneak. Randall surges forward to fight back against the offensive push. Rodgers goes nowhere, and Martin runs in to drag him backward. Officials signal no gain, and it’s third and one. Harden sizes up the situation. He decides McCarthy won’t go for it if the Packers are denied here, so the Knights are one defensive stop away from getting the ball back. Harden calls close run defense with tight coverage on the outside, hoping for a sack if Rodgers keeps it on play-action. Rodgers lines up under center with both Lacy and Starks in the backfield. Defenders inch toward the line. Rodgers takes the snap, fakes a handoff to Lacy, and tosses it wide to Starks, running toward wide-open grass. Grantzinger sheds his block and chases the running back toward the sideline, the only defender between him and twenty yards. Starks slows and stutters, but Grantzinger lowers his shoulders and accelerates, catching Starks off guard and leveling him for a four-yard loss. Half the Knights sideline rushes onto the field to congratulate Grantzinger as both punt teams come out. Maverick fires up the offense on the sideline. The ensuing kick goes out of bounds, and the Knights offense takes the field, eighty-six yards from the end zone with 6:05 left. McKenzie operates with all three timeouts available, though still limited to short passes and rollouts. Wilkes for five yards. Johnson for three yards, out of bounds. Bishop for three yards, first down. 5:26, 5:25, 5:24… Maverick rolls out, sees nobody open, and runs ahead for five yards, going out of bounds. He drops back on second down, pressure forces him out of the pocket, and he throws it away. Third and five. Maverick drops back and tracks Johnson on a deep post corner. He feels pressure but waits, determined not to force anything. He fires just as Johnson breaks and gets hit. Johnson tiptoes near the sideline, corralling the ball and landing on the Knights sideline. Everyone in white and purple signals catch, but an official says incomplete. Harden is about to protest when his eyes hit the field. Maverick is wincing on the ground, still not on his feet. “Get up, Mav,” Harden says. “Get up.” McKenzie notices and heads for the bench. “Max!” he yells, searching until he finds #6. “Max! Warm up.” Buchanan jumps up and starts throwing passes to a trainer. A few offensive linemen help Maverick to his feet as Harden throws his challenge flag, hearing word from upstairs that Johnson got both feet down. Harden hurries toward his quarterback. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Maverick says before any coaches or trainers can butt in. “Just landed a little weird.” The game halts with 4:45 on the clock. The referee goes under the hood, Buchanan keeps throwing passes, and trainers examine Maverick’s left shoulder area. “Just feels a little strained,” Maverick says honestly. “Not the same as before. I’m fine.” He flexes the shoulder around, wincing in pain but able to move his arm fluidly. He undergoes more examination before throwing a few passes and facing more questions. The review ends, and the referee delivers the official ruling. “After review, the receiver got both feet down, in bounds, and maintained possession as he was going to the ground. It’ll be first and ten on the forty-five-yard line. Los Angeles will not be charged a timeout.” Satisfied, Harden walks back toward the medical gathering, where Dr. Evans is now examining Maverick. “Time to go,” Harden says. “I gotta take him in, coach,” Evans says. “Could be another separation.” “In his non-throwing shoulder? I’m not concerned. How do you feel, Mav?” “I’m ready, coach,” Maverick says. “Get in there.” “Wait!” Evans says, but Maverick runs out anyway. Harden ignores him, and Evans grabs the coach’s arm. “He needs to undergo a thorough medical exam. I am a doctor, and I’m telling you, you are jeopardizing his health if you—” “And I’m the head coach, Evans. It’s the goddamn Super Bowl, now get out of my face!” Harden returns to the edge of the sideline. Play resumes with the Knights in Packers territory. Jameson takes a draw up the middle, finding a hole that closes quickly for five yards. Maverick looks for Watson on a quick slant and gets blindsided by Matthews for a four-yard loss. He gets up slowly as officials spot the ball for third and nine. 4:01, 4:00, 3:59… Dejected, Maverick sulks to the huddle and hears McKenzie’s play call, one he’s been anticipating. He does his best to look frustrated as the Knights break the huddle, lining up in shotgun with Wilkes and Johnson wide right. Maverick takes the snap, fakes a quick pass, and watches Wilkes go deep. He rolls right, escaping pressure, and heaves it as far as he can. Wilkes runs full speed with a corner right on him, tracking the pass. They both run towards the goal line, and Wilkes tries to time it perfectly, leaping into the air and getting both hands on the ball. He slams onto the grass, sure he’s dropped it, but the ball is still in his hands, and he sees an official running in with both arms raised. Knights 22, Packers 21. The entire offense runs toward the end zone, but Maverick sprints ahead to lead the pack, jumping on top of his receiver and bringing them both to the grass. Bedlam reigns on the sideline, where Harden holds two fingers in the air, trying desperately to communicate the call. He and McKenzie run onto the field, screaming toward the goal line at the offense, which eventually huddles up. McKenzie calls a quick pass with an option to run up the middle. Maverick gets everyone set, sees the Packers still unorganized, and hurries the snap. He fires left for Johnson, who catches the pass and dives across the goal line for the two-point conversion. The celebration reaches its peak, with the score Knights 24, Packers 21, 3:44 to go. The Knights sideline is elated, the offense especially relieved, and more than happy to hand the game over to their defense. The ensuing commercial break ends quickly, and the Knights defense looks to its head coach one last time before taking the field. “Pretty simple, men,” Harden says. “Do your job, and we win. Do your job, and we’re world champions. Get it done.” Aaron Rodgers takes the field with all three timeouts. A field goal ties the game; a touchdown takes the lead. Rodgers drops back and hits Cobb on a post, his first reception in a while. It took Green Bay longer than Harden thought to realize Cobb could still get open, just not deep. Another quick pass to Quarless moves the chains. Rodgers hurries everyone to the line and throws for Davante Adams on a screen. He gets six yards before running out of bounds. Harden has seen enough. He alters his plan to a pure pass defense, putting Brock and Martin in constant blitz mode. Rodgers drops back, swarmed by white jerseys, and spins out, somehow escaping. Eyes downfield, he fires for Cobb, who makes an acrobatic grab along the sideline. Officials signal catch, and the Packers are in Knights territory with 2:34 left. Rodgers rolls out and shovels it to Starks, who jukes through defenders for six yards. A quick handoff to Lacy gets two yards, and the Packers let the clock tick to the two-minute warning. Both teams prepare for third and one. Harden debates his call. The Packers aren’t in field goal range yet, so it’s four-down territory for them. His gut tells him play-action here, so he calls it conservative. Both teams gets set with the line of scrimmage stacked. Rodgers calls a hard count, nobody bites, and hands off to Lacy. Anthrax breaks through but misses the back, who lowers his shoulders and dives ahead for a first down. Harden spits on the grass as the Packers call timeout. Rodgers drops back, scans, then rolls out with Brock in pursuit. The quarterback runs forward and slides down for a four-yard gain. 1:43, 1:42, 1:41… Both teams hurry to the line. Rodgers fakes a spike and looks deep, but the Knights have everyone covered. He throws over the middle, threading the pass between two defenders and into Cobb’s hands for a first down. “This fucking guy,” Harden says to himself, calling the next play while accepting a truth: the Packers are in field goal range now. As much as he detests himself for it, he has to play it safe and protect the end zone. Rodgers drops back on consecutive plays, finding receivers without much yardage. The Knights hold things down over the top as the Packers burn their remaining timeouts. The drive culminates in third and three from the nineteen-yard line. Rodgers floats one to the end zone for an open Cobb, but Flash runs down the pass and bats it out of bounds. The clock freezes at 0:42 as the field goal units come out. Mason Crosby lines up for a thirty-six-yarder. Harden watches the line of scrimmage, knowing a block or miss wins the Super Bowl for the Knights. The snap is high, but after a good hold, Crosby boots it right down the middle, and half the stadium cheers. Tie game, 24-24. Maverick takes his place in the huddle, waiting for the commercial break to end. He stares at the end zone, eighty yards away, up at the clock, 38 seconds left, then into the eyes of his teammates. “Well,” Maverick says casually, “this feel familiar?” The players smile; a few of them laugh. “I told you a few hours ago we were winning this game, and we’re winning it right here. Now, listen, we may only have three throws, and we gotta hit all of ‘em. Don’t overthink anything. Catch the ball; get out of bounds if you can. Sideline’s calling timeouts. Everybody ready?” “Just make sure you throw to the white jerseys, Mav,” Wilkes says. “Thanks, asshole. Let’s do it.” The Knights line up in formation with fans on their feet. Most players on the sidelines rest, preparing for a fifth quarter, except McCabe, warming up for a potential game-winning kick. Maverick drops back and stares down Watson. He fires as he breaks toward the sideline. Watson catches it, drags his feet against the grass, and stumbles out of bounds. Catch, eight-yard gain. 0:32. Maverick drops back and fakes a sideline throw to Johnson. The corner bites. Maverick steps up and fires, hitting Johnson in stride. Johnson runs over the middle and goes down with defenders closing. Harden calls timeout. The clock stops at 0:23 with the Knights on the forty, ten yards from midfield. Maverick lines up in shotgun, wanting Wilkes on a deep pass to end it here. But the Packers show blitz, so he audibles. He takes the snap and throws for Wilkes on a comeback route. Wilkes catches it and gets hit in bounds. He lowers his body and muscles forward, diving out of bounds after ten yards. 0:13. Fans around the stadium rise from their seats. The Packers secondary backs up, ready for a Hail Mary. McKenzie isn’t planning one, still one timeout left. Maverick drops back and looks to Wilkes—covered. Johnson—pressure blocks his view. He shifts right and steps up, surrounded. He sees Bishop over the middle with Packers nearby. Out of time, Maverick plants both feet and fires as hard as he can, tackled as he lets it go. Bishop jumps for the pass, catches it against his stomach, and gets crushed, flipping through the air. His helmet smacks against the grass, and the stadium goes still. The nearest official runs in and makes his ruling quickly: completed catch. First down on the thirty-five. The crowd roars for the monumental play. Players scramble on the field, some getting in formation, some rushing toward Bishop. Harden holds up his arms, walking towards an official with his eyes on the clock. 0:05, 0:04, 0:03— Harden calls timeout and lets out a deep breath. The offense jogs back to the sideline with a woozy Bishop in tow. The tight end’s smile is visible through his facemask as a crowd gathers around him. Noah McCabe runs onto the field, and the gravity of the situation subdues the celebration. Players compose themselves for what will be the final play of regulation, a fifty-two-yard kick. Everyone in the stadium stands, including the Knights’ executive suite. Phillips, especially, is aware of McCabe’s inconsistent season. He has, though, made three field goals tonight. Can he make one more? Players take a knee on the edge of the sideline and lock elbows, some fixated on the field, some bowing their heads in prayer. “C’mon, Noah. C’mon, Noah.” “One more kick, baby! One more and we win!” “Right down the middle, Noah!” Officials wind the play clock and McCabe lines up for the kick. Penner snaps the ball back to Buchanan, who plants it against the grass, laces out. The Packers surge for a block and McCabe boots it into the air. “Good snap.” “Nice kick, get up there, get up there…” “C’mon, that’s going through! That’s going through!” “No, don’t hook!” “Shit, he missed it.” “That’s good! GOOD! GOOD!” “YEAH!!!” The sideline’s view of the officials raising their arms becomes obstructed by a wave of white jerseys sprinting onto the field. Adrenaline and euphoria propel players into a stampede. Harden is disoriented with everything around him, still checking the field for any flags or sign the play was nullified. But nobody stops the mass of people rushing the field. Purple confetti falls from overhead. Harden has too many thoughts to be led by them, finding his way toward midfield thanks to security practically shoving him there. Only after shaking McCarthy’s hand does he realize he’s doused in Gatorade. Knight’s End launches into hysteria, with fans celebrating louder than they ever have in Los Angeles. Liquid flies into the air. Plates of food fall onto the floor. People run around in every direction. Cooper and Sampson lose each other temporarily amidst the chaos, but they soon reconnect with a manly, celebratory embrace. Cooper gets a thought, and he’s had far too much beer to reconsider it. “Hold this!” he says to Sampson, removing and handing over his Jameson jersey. “What?!” Sampson wonders where he’s going, but Cooper can only hear screams of celebration as he runs out into the street, shedding his clothes. Fireworks go off in the distance as Jay Cooper sprints naked down the streets of downtown Los Angeles. Players walk on the confetti-littered field, Super Bowl Champion hats on their heads. Wayne Schneider, Chance Phillips, and Merle Harden take their position at the podium, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Someone speaks over the stadium’s intercom, introducing Super Bowl XXXIV MVP Kurt Warner, who stands at the edge of the crowd, holding the Vincent Lombardi Trophy. Knights players inch toward Warner’s walking path as he carries football’s championship relic toward the podium, reaching out to touch it as Warner makes his way to the podium. Commissioner Goodell takes the microphone and talks, but the players aren’t listening. They stare at the crowd, at the stadium around them, at the small details they never have time to appreciate, or never care to. They want to remember every piece of this moment forever. As they wait their turn to hold the precious trophy, players shake hands and hug each other repeatedly, wading through a crowd of players, friends, parents, wives, sons, and daughters. Schneider gets the trophy first, delivers a spiel about returning glory to Los Angeles, and hands it to Phillips, who speaks briefly, trying to focus more on the fact that he’s holding the Lombardi Trophy in his hands, that he is the GM of a Super Bowl winning team. His next duty is to hand the trophy off to Super Bowl XLIX MVP Jonathan Maverick, who—while taking playful jabs about his two-interception performance—carries it down the stairs and onto the field. He hands it off, and the Knights of Andreas take turns holding the Lombardi Trophy and hoisting it into the air.
  2. Knights of Andreas Part IV Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DarthRaider DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Forty-Nine – Mediate Towards the end of the third quarter of the Sunday Night Football game between the Cowboys and Giants, the Cowboys extend their lead to 31-7, and the broadcast becomes dull with a blowout on the field. A video review begins with no commercial, so NBC cuts to a shot of commentators Al Michaels and Cris Collinsworth. Final scores from week 12 flash on a video screen behind them. Michaels: “And so we’ll take a moment here to look around the league, and at a few of the notable scores from today’s action. New England wins big over Detroit, 34-9. Seattle gives Arizona its second loss of the season, gaining ground in the NFC West. Denver wins a wild, high-scoring affair with Miami, 39-36. And, perhaps most interestingly, the Los Angeles Knights with a very impressive 23-6 victory over the Kansas City Chiefs, despite all that’s gone on with Merle Harden this week.” Collinsworth: “Or maybe because of all that’s gone on.” Michaels: “You could be right.” Collinsworth: “You know, we’ve covered the Knights twice on Sunday Night Football this year, Al, and when you talk to every one of their players, you get a sense of the incredible amount of respect they have for Merle Harden. There is nothing they would not do for their head coach. In terms of leadership, there aren’t many coaches better than him.” Michaels: “And they’ll have another big divisional test next week, as they visit the San Diego Chargers on Monday Night Football.” Monday, the Knights’ share of post-week 12 coverage focuses on the usual—continued defensive dominance, first place in the division, quarterback situation—while reporters still work the Merle Harden alcoholism story, digging deep but not finding much. The rumors dating back to Harden’s Carolina days pop up again, the same ones that circulated after his press conference finally validated them. The facts line up as follows: the Panthers did not want Harden back despite a very productive seven-year tenure, the Knights hired him late in their search for coordinators and assistants, and Harden is currently in a marital separation from his wife. Fans don’t need journalists to fill in the rest. Late Monday night, however, a rumor surfaces that Harden could step down at the end of the season. None of the nation’s prominent reporters claims the news as their own, but they pass it on and speculate nonetheless. Adam Javad is as surprised as anyone, and considers the rumor just that, even if it supposedly comes from “a source with knowledge of Harden’s thinking.” Javad doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t want to be shown up either. And, to be fair, Harden is one of the few figures at the MedComm Center he doesn’t have a good read on. It’s very possible he’s been outworked here. Javad works his sources, including and especially Chance Phillips, to get some answers. Tuesday, ESPN plans to tackle the Harden story on Around the Horn. The topic comes after the first commercial break, during the “Buy or Sell” segment. Tony Reali, show host: “We move to Los Angeles, where the Knights have won five of their last six, sit in first place in the best division in football—and could lose their head coach this offseason? Rumors circulating that Merle Harden could, in light of the same personal troubles that caused his recent leave of absence, step down at season’s end. Plaschke, you’re local. Buy or sell Harden bowing out at the end of the year?” Bill Plaschke, in Los Angeles: “I’m selling this, Tony. I know Merle Harden, I’ve talked to him many times, including this year, and I’ve been covering him since he landed in L.A. as a defensive coordinator. Nothing about him, to me, suggests that he’s leaving. Nothing about him suggests he’s wearing down. Did you see what they just did to the Chiefs? I’m not sure where these rumors are coming from, to be honest.” Reali: “Jackie?” Jackie MacMullan, in Boston: “Well, Bill, the rumors might be coming from nowhere, but so did his leave of absence, let’s not forget that. Anyway, I’m still selling this mainly because—who’s his replacement gonna be? Ron McKenzie, who is in his first season as a play caller at the NFL level? Is Merle Harden going to force the Knights into another head-coaching search, their third in under a decade? I just don’t see it.” Reali: “Woody, I see you shaking your head.” Woody Paige, in Denver: “I’m buying this. Did you all see his press conference? Did you see how worn down he looked, how unenergetic? That’s not the Merle Harden we all know. His hair’s getting grayer; he’s starting to lose it—I know, look at me! He’s been separated from his family over a year now, we all know that, and I think it’s wearing on him. You know who he reminds me of? Jim Schwartz. He has that sort of fiery style, the kind that promotes intensity and a lack of discipline in his players, and you know where Schwartz is now? Not coaching the Lions anymore because the act wore thin!” Kevin Blackistone, in Washington: “Yes, Woody, I watched his press conference because it was only thirty seconds long! And his big, dramatic ‘leave of absence’ was only five days! I’m selling this all the way. Look, I don’t deny he’s going through some struggles right now, but Woody, you know another coach with the reputation you described? Pete Carroll, in Seattle! How’s he doing? Oh yeah, coaching a perennial Super Bowl contender. It’s not always about coaching style, it’s about effectiveness and the team you’re coaching, and Merle Harden is coaching a pretty good team in Los Angeles.” ESPN’s next show, Pardon the Interruption, allots time for the same subject, though in a more open-ended context. The topic is slotted into the show’s opening segment. Tony Kornheiser: “Back to football now amidst rumors that Los Angeles Knights head coach Merle Harden could step down after the season is over. Harden went on a leave of absence for ‘alcohol trouble’ last week but returned in time for Sunday’s win against the Chiefs. Harden has been with the Knights five years; this is his second as head coach. Wilbon, just how much worse off would the Knights be without him?” Mike Wilbon: “A lot worse. A lot worse, Tony. The Knights are one of the better franchises in the league. They’re young, they’re talented, they’re very well rounded. So I think if they lost a few players, they’d be okay. Heck, we’re seeing them succeed with a backup quarterback. But if they lost their head coach, they’d be in trouble because they don’t have anybody to replace him. And I think we also need to mention here, Tony, that none of us knows exactly how serious this issue is to Merle Harden. This is definitely a personal issue, and Merle, as you know, is not an open book when it comes to those types of things.” Kornheiser: “Well, on that note, I find it very interesting that in his very brief statement he made last Saturday, he never actually used the word ‘alcoholic.’ So there’s that. As far as losing him, I don’t think they would be losing a lot. I know it’s a big deal, to change coaches in the NFL—” Wilbon: “Huge deal.” Kornheiser: “—but I think the Knights have the front office in place to find a stable replacement, and more importantly this. I’ve said this before—I know you’ll disagree with me—from a scheme standpoint, from a tactical standpoint, I think Merle Harden is one of the most overrated defensive minds in football. You watch Knights games, Wilbon, and he sends these all-out blitzes and gets burned all the time.” Wilbon: “All the time.” Kornheiser: “So, I’m not sure what they’d be missing from that angle. But in terms of leadership, I will concede that I think he’s an excellent coach.” Wilbon: “And that’s what does it for me, Tony. You know, the Knights went on an unbelievable run last year. Could go on one this year, depending on when they get Jonathan Maverick back. And there’s a reason they never did anything like that when Caden Daniel was head coach. And I got nothing against Caden Daniel. But there’s something about Harden and the way he connects with his players…without him, Tony, they’re not the same team. They’re not the same team.” Early Wednesday morning, radio show co-hosts Mike Greenberg and Mike Golic run through another episode of Mike & Mike. Their more casual, improvised structure eventually gets to the Knights without predetermined talking points. They deliberately avoid the overused headlines, Golic points out how impressive it is for the Knights to be 8-3 given everything going on, whereupon Greenberg summons a piece of paper from under his microphone. Greenberg: “And speaking of the Knights, we see all this attention focused on their coaching staff, all this attention focused on their players—we should be talking about their front office.” Golic: “It’s pretty good.” Greenberg: “It’s better than that. I wanted to talk for a minute—because I did some research—about their GM, Chance Phillips. Just listen to these statistics.” Golic: “Did you calculate those yourself?” Greenberg: “I—just let me finish.” Golic: “Oh boy.” Greenberg: “These are all out of the Knights’ 24 top starters, the 22 on offense and defense plus their kicker and punter. Only 2 out of 24—that’s eight percent—are inherited from before Phillips took over in 2010. So ninety-two percent of the starting roster consists of players picked by Phillips, but that’s not even the impressive part. Of the 22, 14 are draft picks. So they have done an incredible job building through the draft.” Golic: “Are you counting Jonathan Maverick or Max Buchanan as quarterback?” Greenberg: “I…it doesn’t matter! Phillips drafted both of them!” Golic: “Wow.” Greenberg: “Fourteen draft picks, seven free agent signings—some of them very savvy—and one trade. I mean, when you talk about rebuilding a roster, this is the dream scenario! And then, on top of all of that, you’ve got the incredible, incredible decision to fire Caden Daniel—right in the middle of this ascending rebuild—and insert Merle Harden as head coach. I mean, Chance Phillips…this guy is a genius!” Golic: “But you—” Greenberg: “It just goes to show, in football, and I guess in any other sport, you can get things turned around fast if you get the right people in charge.” Golic: “But you gotta watch out, though, because everyone else around the league sees that as well.” Greenberg: “Oh, so you’re saying it’s open season.” Golic: “Well, yeah, it’s about to be. I mean, it’s monkey see, monkey do in the NFL. We talk about it all the time. So they’ve built, obviously, a very nice structure in that organization, but come offseason, it’s about to get feasted on by 31 other teams.” Thursday, just after three, a small piece of information leaks from the Javion Torrey case. ESPN is the first major outlet on it, and they don’t waste any time, preparing to cut into College Football Live, currently on the air. Behind the scenes, producers scramble to get the broadcast ready. “Going live in four! Somebody get Roger on the phone,” referring to Roger Cossack, ESPN’s legal analyst. Minutes later, the broadcast flashes a “BREAKING NEWS” graphic, then cuts to anchor Hannah Storm. “Breaking news here on ESPN regarding the Malik Rose investigation: ESPN has learned that, on the night of the attack on Javion Torrey, Malik Rose placed a phone call to one of the associates being charged with assault. Sources say the call was placed several hours before the assault allegedly took place. We’re going to bring in Roger Cossack, ESPN’s legal analyst, on the phone. Roger, what should we make of this?” Cossack: “Well, it’s obviously a very interesting piece of information, and one the prosecution is going to use to its advantage. Remember, as far as we know, there is no physical evidence connecting Malik Rose to the scene of Javion Torrey’s assault. So, the prosecution’s narrative, which is that Rose ordered the two defendants to carry out the assault, gets some credibility because of this phone call.” Storm: “Okay, so Roger, is this information enough for the prosecution to bring charges against Rose?” Cossack: “No, not enough to bring charges most likely, and certainly not enough to go to trial. Now, it needs to be said that there may be more information the prosecution has that has yet to come to light. Otherwise, the prosecution’s best bet for a conviction on Rose remains a confession from one of the assailants, which has not happened yet.” ESPN sticks with the Rose/Torrey story, getting insight from other, non-legal analysts, stretching the coverage into NFL Live. The reaction from the sports world is vicious, the leading theory behind the case now seemingly vindicated. Rose makes no public comment, nor does anyone inside the MedComm Center, and Rose’s attorney offers the same, generic lawyer talk, insisting his client will be shown innocent once all facts come to light. The buzz about the case, however, lingers through the weekend and up to Monday night. After the minute-long montage ends, the screen fades to an overhead shot of Qualcomm Stadium, downtown San Diego and the setting sun in the background. “Welcome to San Diego, and Monday Night Football!” says the voice of play-by-play commentator Mike Tirico as the screen cuts between various on-field shots of players and coaches. “We’ve got a good one to wrap up week 13, an AFC West battle between the San Diego Chargers and the Los Angeles Knights.” As the screen cuts between shots of head coaches Merle Harden and Caden Daniel, a graphic shows the current AFC West standings. “And as we are minutes away from kickoff, take a look at this, an unprecedented group of strong teams in one division. This is what the AFC West looks like after Denver’s win over Kansas City last night. Los Angeles has a slim lead at 8-3, Denver just behind at 8-4, San Diego at 7-4, and Kansas City is 7-5. At least one of these four will not make the playoffs…” The screen cuts to an indoor shot of the broadcast booth, with Tirico and color commentator Jon Gruden. “…Conventional wisdom says three teams would make it—the division winner and two wild cards—but right now, you’ve got three AFC North teams at 7-5; they’re in the mix. So, Jon, when it comes to the Knights and Chargers, just how important is this game tonight?” “It’s critical, Mike,” Gruden says. “Critical! It’s December 1st. After tonight, only four weeks left on the regular season, somebody in the AFC West is gonna be left out of the playoff picture, and it could be one of the teams taking the field tonight! Only one of these teams can go into December with a win.” Pre-game ceremonies culminate with the national anthem, ESPN squeezes in a short commercial break, and the game kicks off with the Chargers receiving the ball first. They open with run plays, not getting much yardage. Tirico: “That’s Jerome Jaxson, former Los Angeles Knight, on the carry. And there you see Caden Daniel, former Knights head coach…” A graphic appears showing Daniel’s name and record with the Chargers: 18-9. “…had a lot of success in San Diego so far, 11-5 and a playoff berth last season, looking to duplicate that this year. Here’s Rivers in shotgun. The Knights blitz, and Rivers is sacked on the play! Sam Luck breaks through, and the Chargers go three and out on their opening possession.” Gruden: “Mike, it’s another one of Merle Harden’s patented blitzes. Here you’re gonna see both inside linebackers, Briggs Randall and Marlon Martin. They both show blitz. On the snap, only Martin comes, so the left side of the line gets stacked up, and that allows Luck to break through for the Knights’ first sack of the night. I’m sure it won’t be their last.” The Chargers punt, and the Knights take over with decent field position. They also open with the run game, finding more success. Buchanan throws short, high probability passes, and the Knights soon cross midfield. A clutch third down catch by Bishop sets the offense up on the Chargers’ thirty-six, but Buchanan takes a sack on first down. Tirico: “Buchanan in shotgun for second and sixteen. He hands off to Jameson, who runs through a hole, takes down a few Chargers and runs to the thirty! He gets the sack yardage back and then some, taking some defenders with him in the process! It’ll be third and two.” Gruden: “You gotta love the way Marcus Jameson plays football. I was talking to him this week at practice, and he talked about how Marcus Allen is his football idol. Well, you can see the comparison on tape! Jameson’s a big, bruising back that, if I were a defensive player, I certainly would not want to tackle.” Tirico: “So here are the Knights, on a manageable third down. Buchanan under center. Play-action, Buchanan rolling left, fires to the end zone…incomplete! Overthrown, looking for Joseph Watson.” Gruden: “It’s a well-designed play, going for the end zone, and Watson’s open, Mike! He gets past Eric Weddle, but Max Buchanan’s throw is just a little too far. Buchanan’s done a tremendous job for the Knights this season, but I guarantee you Jonathan Maverick does not miss that throw.” Tirico: “And there is Jonathan Maverick, on the sideline, injured, of course, with a separated shoulder suffered in week 1. Interesting note: this is the first time Maverick has traveled with the team since his injury—of course we’re only a little over two hours from Farmers Field—but that’s gotta be a good sign for the Knights. Maverick also told us this week that he is now able to throw a football again, so you would expect to see him back in the lineup very soon. Here’s Noah McCabe on to attempt a forty-seven-yard kick. McCabe, a rookie out of UCLA, has struggled this year, kicking just over seventy percent. The kick is up, down the middle, and good, and the Knights strike first, up 3-0.” The Chargers retake the field after a touchback. The Knights sniff out a screen pass for no gain, then stuff an off-tackle run, bringing up third and ten. Tirico: “Rivers, calling out adjustments with the play clock low. Knights send a blitz, Rivers dumps it off to Jaxson, who is crushed by Martin for no gain! It’ll be three and out again for the Chargers, this time without gaining a yard.” Gruden: “Well, Mike, we talked earlier about how the Knights have won so many games with a second-string quarterback—it’s their defense! It’s the one of the top two defenses in football, one of the best, personally, I’ve ever seen. When most teams bring the house on an all-out blitz, the flat is wide open. Not this defense. Rivers makes the right decision, but Marlon Martin closes on Jaxson beautifully and just levels him.” The punt return gives the Knights decent field position, and they take advantage. Balanced play calling and execution put them in the red zone without any big plays, but consecutive incompletions bring up third and ten from the eighteen. Tirico: “Buchanan drops back, looks, steps up, throws toward the end zone…caught for a touchdown! It’s the tight end, Logan Bishop! And just like that, Los Angeles is up two scores.” Gruden: “Check out the pass protection on this play. Here’s Tristan Adams, a rookie left tackle. He’s struggling a bit this year. So what do you do? You let the rising star guard Chase Grodd help ‘em out! The double team gives Max Buchanan the time he needs to go through his reads and find Logan Bishop in the end zone. That’s a well-drawn up play by offensive coordinator Ron McKenzie.” When the Chargers get the ball back, they apparently abandon the run game, letting Rivers loose and finally getting first downs. A bubble screen to Jaxson gets them in field goal range, where the drive stalls. Nick Novak comes on for a forty-five-yard field goal that sails through the middle, and it’s 10-3, Knights. The Knights respond by going three and out. The Chargers soon punt too, and the game becomes defensive and unexciting. Into the second quarter, Buchanan’s inaccuracy limits the Knights offense, failing to hit multiple open receivers. The Chargers offense, however, is just as stagnant due to a suffocating Knights defense. The first half is a minute away from ending when the Knights start a drive in their own territory. Buchanan tries to force a pass into double coverage, and the Chargers intercept it. Qualcomm Stadium comes back to life as the Chargers take over on the thirty, and a quick pass and timeout brings up second and one with 0:46 on the clock. Tirico: “Woodhead gets it on the toss, running into traffic, heads toward the sideline, met there by Rose, and he’s tackled for no gain. It’ll be third and one, and the Chargers call timeout. And now some pushing and shoving between Rose, Woodhead, and Grantzinger! Tempers rising here, with a crowd gathering, but officials step in, managing to break it up. All is calm for the moment. So Caden Daniel, as you see, planning the third down play call with Phillip Rivers. And, you know, Jon, Caden Daniel is one of the nicest, most respectful coaches in this league, but he certainly is aware of the developing animosity between these two teams.” Gruden: “Absolutely, and some of it is because of him! This is the team that fired him, Mike. So you can bet when Caden Daniel sees the Los Angeles Knights on the schedule, that’s a game he wants to win. Badly.” Tirico: “So here we go, third and one. Rivers under center, Jaxson in the backfield. The Knights defense crowds the line, showing blitz—now they back off. Rivers gives it to Jaxson. He is stuffed! Damian Jones gets penetration and brings Jaxson down for a loss of one. Caden Daniel, it looks like, is gonna let the clock tick down here, call his final timeout, and send in the kicking team.” Gruden: “I want you to watch right here in the middle. That’s Damian ‘Anthrax’ Jones. His teammates call him Anthrax, I’m not really sure why. But he is an unsung hero on this defense. Here he just pops off the ball, and he’s in the backfield. You know, he doesn’t get a lot of credit, doesn’t get a lot of sacks, but watch this defense play, and you’ll see Damian Jones make impactful play after impactful play. He is a force at nose tackle.” Tirico: “So on comes Novak. He made his first attempt from forty-five yards, this one from thirty-nine. The kick is up, down the middle, and good. And that’s how the first half will end, with the Chargers narrowing the deficit to four. It’s Los Angeles 10, San Diego 6 at halftime.” Coming back from commercial, the broadcast opens with an overhead shot of the stadium, courtesy of the Goodyear blimp, the field now shining brightly around an otherwise dark San Diego. Tirico: “Let’s go down to Lisa Salters, before the start of the second half. Lisa?” The camera cuts to a close-up of Salters, on the visitors’ sideline. Salters: “Guys, I talked to Knights head coach Merle Harden and, as usual, he was a man of few words. I asked him what his team needs to do to improve in the second half and he simply said, ‘Play better.’ When I asked how, he said, ‘We need to score more points than they do so we win the game.’ Mike, back up to you.” The camera cuts to a standard angle of the field, with both kickoff teams lining up, but laughter from both Tirico and Gruden is audible. Gruden: “Merle Harden, you gotta love him.” Despite the close score, the second half begins on a dull note. Neither team can move the ball consistently or notch any exciting plays. It becomes clear, however, that Rivers can lead his offense more effectively than Buchanan can his, so the Chargers tilt the field position battle in their favor, and near the end of the third quarter, another Novak field goal narrows the deficit to 10-9. Neither offense responds with production, but the game intensifies as both defenses tackle harder, including some borderline cheap shots that incite bouts of modest pushing and shoving. No personal fouls are called, but the tension keeps the fans energized. Early in the fourth quarter, the Knights let Jameson carry the offense, after handing him scattered carries so far, and he gets them to midfield by himself. A few plays later, it’s third and two. Tirico: “Buchanan, play-action, looking, pumps, fires over the middle. A leaping catch by Wilkes! An acrobatic grab, and the Knights are in field goal range.” Gruden: “Da’-Ja-mir-o-quai Jeff-er-spin-Wilkes. Say that five times fast! I love this guy, Mike. His numbers are down a little this year; he misses Jonathan Maverick. But he’s still an outstanding wide receiver and a playmaker for this Knights offense. And by the way, check out this replay. Here’s Chase Grodd, he picks up Manti Te’o on a blitz, and what a terrific job to plant his feet, hold position, and let Buchanan deliver the strike downfield. Grodd’s having a heck of a night in pass protection.” The Knights fail to get another first down, but McCabe converts a field goal, extending the lead to 13-9 with 10:35 to go. The Chargers take over and come out passing, but the Knights shut everything down. Two swatted passes by Rose and Marshall plus a near-interception by Stevenson brings up fourth down, and the Chargers punt. The Knights try to run some clock with Jameson, but the Chargers stack the box and limit production to one first down. The Knights punt with 6:07 to go. Rivers comes out firing again, but the Knights pass rush shows up this time. Blitzes by Randall and Schwinn force Rivers out of the pocket to throw it away on consecutive downs, and it’s third and ten. Tirico: “Rivers in shotgun, Knights rush only four, under pressure again! And he’s forced to throw it away! So, three plays in a row Rivers has had to throw out of bounds due to pass rush, and Jon, there it is again, you mentioned the talent of this defense. You know a little something about defense; you coached a Buccaneers defense in 2002 that was pretty good.” Gruden: “I’ll tell you what, Mike, this Knights defense is just about as good. They cover, they tackle, they blitz, and they do it all well! There’s talent at all eleven starting positions, they’re well coached, and they’re confident. I called plays on offense for many years in this league. I would not want to call plays against this defense, I tell you that.” Boos are heard as the Chargers punt it away again. The Knights try to run out some more clock, incorporating motion and a few tosses to Banks. They chew through yards and multiple first downs, eventually forcing the Chargers to use their timeouts. Near midfield, the drive stalls with 1:13 on the clock, and Shane Lechler punts the ball out of bounds on the ten-yard line. San Diego starts its final drive with no timeouts. The Knights don’t back off from pass rush, with their secondary on lockdown. Rivers finds Antonio Gates over the middle for a first down and spikes the ball with 0:53 on the clock. Two incompletions later, it’s third and ten. Tirico: “Rivers rolls right, looking toward the sideline, still looking, sacked by Brock! Rivers gets hit hard, now trying to scramble everyone back to the line for fourth down.” Gruden: “Sean Brock, The Closer, does it again, Mike! And now the Chargers have to run a play. The clock’s gonna run out!” Tirico: “Under five seconds, Rivers waiting for everyone to get set. They get the snap off just in time. Rivers just looking to throw it deep here…and the ball is stripped! And Zack Grantzinger falls on it, recovering his own fumble! The clock is at zero, the game is over, and what a fitting way to cap a dominating defensive performance.” Gruden: “What a finish, and what a game, Mike. Not as high scoring as some people would like, but I’ll tell you, these two teams do not like each other. This is quickly becoming the premiere rivalry in the AFC West.” Tirico: “And you saw there, the handshake between Caden Daniel and Merle Harden, looked like there was a bit of a conversation there, tough to know what that’s about. But at any rate, that’s gonna do it for us. The Knights win, 13-9, they and the Chargers split the season series, the Knights remain in first in the AFC West, while the Chargers are now tied with Kansas City, two games out. On behalf of all of us here at ESPN, we thank you for watching.”
  3. Knights of Andreas Part IV Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DarthRaider DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Forty-Four – Fact, Fiction, and Statistics Jay Cooper endures stop-and-go traffic en route to work. Monday mornings always blow, but staying up for last night’s game makes it worse. Staying up to watch his shitty team get blasted by the Patriots makes it near unbearable. The lone benefit to such a long commute? More sports radio. The coverage of the Knights is, per usual following a loss, dismal. Not that a loss to the Patriots is egregious, but in the context of the season, the Knights’ outlook is grim. The fan consensus seems to be that without Maverick, the Knights are incapable of beating playoff-caliber teams. And considering their schedule and division are full of them, their playoff chances are quickly shrinking. Call-in fans play the blame game, as they always do. And while fans haven’t let go of Harden’s “not worried” comment, they direct their anger toward someone new this time: Chance Phillips. “The most cap space in the league, and you don’t have room for your starting left tackle? Is protecting the quarterback not a priority?” “It’s not like Veldheer was overrated either. If we re-signed him, we’d have the best offensive line in the league!” “You know, I’d be okay with letting him walk if they actually did something with the money they saved. I get that they re-signed a few guys, but what about Maverick? Nope. Wilkes? Nope. Randall? Nope.” “Phillips has always preached smart economics, and I think we all liked that from the beginning, but there comes a time when you have to spend money. If this season is lost because of Maverick’s injury, that has to fall squarely on Chance’s desk.” The phone at the edge of the desk rings. Only a few people in the building can call Phillips directly without going through his secretary, and he doesn’t have to guess which one is calling first thing in the morning. “Good morning, Wayne.” “I need to see you for a minute.” That’s not good. Schneider, of course, is historically critical on days after a loss, like any fan, but Phillips has barely had time to process anything beyond the fact that the Knights are 2-1, with a home game against Miami next Sunday followed by their bye week. The Knights don’t play a road game for over a month, something they can hopefully take advantage before what looks like a brutal mid-season stretch: at Seattle, at Baltimore, Denver, at St. Louis the following Thursday. “Good morning,” Phillips says once he reaches the open doorway to Schneider’s office. “Have a seat,” Schneider says. No denying it now; this isn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. But Phillips has been through this gauntlet many times before. He sits across from the owner and tightens his gloves. “What’s on your mind, Wayne?” Phillips asks. “Jared Veldheer.” Phillips maintains a straight face. “He’s a Cardinal.” “Yes, indeed he is. For five years, thirty-five million.” “This happened in March, Wayne. If there’s a point here, I’d appreciate you arriving at it.” “The point is our franchise quarterback is sitting at home with a separated shoulder thanks to a rookie left tackle. Meanwhile, our former left tackle, who plays at a Pro Bowl level, left town because you didn’t give him a contract the team could afford.” “We’ve been through all of this, Wayne. At the time, we went through the decision, and you agreed with it. You agreed with my philosophies. We make all financial decisions as if we only have a little bit of cap room. If we re-sign Veldheer last year, maybe we’re out of cap room and forced to let Randall go next year. It’s releasing a good player today to sign a great player tomorrow.” “At the expense of a great quarterback sitting on the injury report.” “In hindsight, yes. But we can’t analyze our decisions that way. We reflect on what we did and do the best moving forward.” “Well, as long as you’re reflecting, think about this: you re-sign Veldheer, Maverick’s not hurt. You re-sign Veldheer, we’re Super Bowl contenders just like we were all offseason. This is not me saying you were wrong. This is me telling you to think about that.” “Fine.” “There’s a meeting later. My secretary will give you the details.” “Good. Anything else?” Schneider shakes his head, and Phillips walks to the door. “Actually,” Schneider says, halting Phillips in the doorway, “I was going to wait, but I guess I might as well.” Schneider stands up from his desk. Phillips, nervous now, waits as the owner gets closer and puts his hands on his hips. “Stan Kroenke just bought sixty acres of property in Inglewood. Hasn’t been reported yet. Wanted to give you a heads up.” “Stan Kroenke? Rams owner Stan Kroenke?” “That’s the one.” “So, what does this mean?” “The owner of the St. Louis Rams, a franchise with stadium issues, just purchased enough land to host the summer Olympics. Right now, it means nothing. Next year? We might have company.” Phillips has no idea how to feel about that. Ever since the Raiders/Knights saga, he assumed the NFL’s connection to Los Angeles was finalized. He never thought another franchise would make a serious play to be Los Angeles’ second NFL team. And if they did, what would that mean for the Knights? Cooper gulps the first beer of happy hour, relaxing in the usual spot at Knight’s End. The televisions show Around the Horn on ESPN, but the sound is muted in favor of music. Cooper swipes away on his phone, skimming the remnants of his fantasy team. “Howdy, partner,” says Cassie Sampson. The bottom of his beard almost touches the table as he takes his seat. “I’m fucked, man,” Cooper says. “First Mav goes down, now this Adrian Peterson bullshit.” “Did you finally drop AP?” “Yep. Odell Beckham, too. I’m 0-3; can’t afford to wait for him to show up, and knowing my luck, he’s probably another overhyped bust. What about you? Didn’t you draft AP?” “In one of my leagues, yeah.” “How many leagues are you in?” “Five.” “Jesus, Cassie. Get a life.” “I got Jameson in three of them, doing big things so far. Trade for him if you can. With Maverick hurt and Jaxson gone, McKenzie’s gonna feed him a lot.” “Yeah, yeah.” A waitress comes around, prompting Sampson to order a beer. Then he adds, “Oh, and could you put his beer on my tab, please? Thanks.” “Dammit, Cassie, this is already more sympathy beers than you promised.” “Sue me. Just don’t start thinking you can gamble your way out of it, you degenerate.” “I want a concrete, detailed, effective plan,” Schneider angrily tells everyone around the table. Phillips does his best to look interested, anxious for this meeting to end. He looks a few seats down and sees that Harden feels the same way, but he’s not trying to hide it. “That’s all. Now get to work.” Phillips heads for the door as fast as he can. He makes eye contact with Harden on the way out, but Harden doesn’t say anything. When Phillips gets back to his office, Keegan is there waiting for him. “What was that about?” Keegan asks. “Schneider is tired of all the bad PR the team is getting,” Phillips says, sitting down and taking out his phone. “Bad PR? For the Patriots loss?” “No, more so an emphasis on team image. A lot of people are starting to label us as a dirty team, with guys like Flash and Rose talking trash, late hits, etc. This is all according to Wayne, anyway. And then there’s Rose’s past, which I guess people are starting to talk about again. I’m surprised; Wayne seemed to direct a lot of the blame on Merle. Apparently he’s earning a reputation as an undisciplined head coach.” “His defense has been top 5 in fewest penalty yards the last two seasons.” “That’s a good point, but perception has an aversion to facts.” “Solution?” “More attention to Luck’s foundation, team charity events, the usual bullshit.” “Sounds like this is more about making Schneider happy than anything.” “It is. All part of the game, Michal.” “What are you doing?” Phillips texts away on his phone to a familiar contact, one he’s been in touch with consistently over the last year. “My part to keep the boss happy. The media plays a key role in the NFL, fair or not, so it’s up to us to manage that role as best we can.” A few seconds later, Phillips gets a reply: “I help you, you help me.” Adam Javad wakes up Tuesday morning, thankful for a good night’s sleep after a busy Monday. Though he spent most of it inside his apartment, he phoned in for interviews with several talk shows, including the Jim Rome Show and SportsCenter. Jonathan Maverick’s injury has been the story of Los Angeles, and Javad is on the pulse of it. He flips open his laptop and skims Rotoworld for any news. It looks like a normal Tuesday, but one of the NFL headlines catches his eye: “Report: No News on Maverick’s Shoulder.” Javad clicks the link and his heart skips a beat as he reads the top line of the blurb. “Los Angeles Mobile reporter Adam Javad says the Knights ‘don’t have anything new’ on Jonathan Maverick’s AC joint sprain.” He gets lost in his own thoughts, enjoying the satisfaction of the moment, envisioning how many sports fans are reading this, seeing his name, right now. He snaps back into it and reads the rest. “Maverick officially has a grade 3 AC joint separation, and while the standard recovery timetable is 10-12 weeks, shoulder injuries can vary. The Knights, like many teams, are typically vague when disclosing injury information, but Javad is historically accurate with his reports, so we’d take this one seriously.” He reads that last part again. “…Javad is historically accurate with his reports…” Javad enjoys a moment of happiness for his achievements. He has worked hard for recognition, but now he has something better: a reputation. He gets to work on what should be a busy day of writing. Per yesterday’s conversation with Chance Phillips, his obviously invaluable source inside the Knights’ organization, he’ll be writing a feature on Sam Luck’s foundation and an editorial on why the NFL’s view of the Knights as a dirty team is wrong. He actually disagrees with that, but this is business, and it will all be worth it eventually. Buchanan drops back and throws left, trying to split the gap between the corner and safety. The wobbly pass hits an open Wilkes, who lowers his shoulders into a tackle, falling forward for a twenty-two-yard gain. He jumps up and down, celebrating what feels like his first big catch in months. The Knights are across midfield against the Dolphins in a scoreless game. Buchanan appears to be in rhythm with the offense; he led a successful drive to open the game that culminated in a missed field goal. Buchanan takes a snap from shotgun. On the edge, Cameron Wake commands a Zeitler-Fowler double team but still gets close to the quarterback. Buchanan steps up, no other pressure around him, and fires a pass over the middle that hits Johnson between the numbers. First down on the Miami thirty. McKenzie slows down and runs the ball with Jameson, but the Dolphins stack the box. The league obviously took notice of how the Patriots stopped the Knights last week, and McKenzie expects to see stacked boxes until Maverick returns, if he does. Third and four. Buchanan fakes a handoff to Banks and looks deep, but a blitz comes through, and he’s forced to roll out and throw it away. On the sideline, McKenzie paces back and forth, waiting for the whole offense to take seats on the bench. “Unacceptable, ladies!” he says. “That’s about the sorriest blitz pick-up I’ve seen in a long time. You just wasted a promising drive. When are we gonna learn to finish? When are we—” A wave of boos stops McKenzie’s rant, and he realizes the forty-two-yard field goal attempt missed. The energy inside Knight’s End increases slightly, as the Knights are finally on the clock again. Fans loved seeing the Knights trade up for Tristan Adams Thursday night, and it was even more surprising to see them move up again last night for Evan Fowler. But at the cost of trading up twice, the fifth round is almost over, and the Knights are about to make only their third selection of the draft. “Who do you want?” Cooper asks. “Let’s get a runner to complement Jameson now that Jaxson is gone,” Sampson says. “I’m thinking Alfred Blue from LSU or Storm Johnson from UCF.” “Not bad. I want some depth at corner. Marshall’s one of the most overrated players in the league, and his contract is almost up, thank God. Oh! The pick is in.” Cooper leans back as the bar goes quiet and takes a sip of beer. The on-screen infographic reveals the name of the pick. Cooper chokes on his beer and spits some onto the table as Knight’s End recoils in horror at the screen: “Noah McCabe, K, UCLA.” “A kicker?!” Cooper says after clearing his throat. “A fucking kicker?” “That’s weak, man,” Sampson says. “Could have just signed a guy after the draft. No need to burn a pick on one, especially with so few picks left.” “Phillips has lost his mind. Holy fuck.” Midway through the third quarter, the score is tied 3-3, and there’s no denying it: this is an ugly game. The Knights defense is completely manhandling Miami’s offense, allowing only three points after a Buchanan interception set Miami up in field goal range. Anthrax and Mike Pouncey are having a great battle, while Luck and Randall have been living in the backfield on running plays. Grantzinger and Brock are wreaking havoc on passing plays, keeping Tannehill under constant pressure. On the other side of the ball, the Knights offense can barely string two first downs together. McKenzie is using every screen, fake, and trick in the playbook (that Buchanan is comfortable with), and none have worked. The offense has gotten enough yards for a field goal attempt three times, but McCabe has only made one. After Flash steps in front of a Ryan Tannehill pass, the Knights take over at midfield. A frustrated McKenzie decides to unload. Buchanan lines up in a bunch formation and fakes a handoff to Jameson. With the Dolphins converging at the line of scrimmage, Buchanan rolls left and looks deep. Watson is streaking for the end zone, so he heaves it up. Open by five yards, Watson tracks the pass and reads it as underthrown. He slows to a near stop to make the catch on the goal line and absorbs a crushing hit. The official watches Watson carefully as he rolls around in the end zone, football still in hand. Touchdown, Knights. McKenzie praises Buchanan on the sidelines. The kid needs some confidence right now, and that’ll do it, even if that was an ugly throw. Fourth and one for Miami, 4:45 to go. Knights up, 10-6. Tannehill fakes a handoff and drops back. A blitz comes for him just as he throws it up, somehow finding Charles Clay over the middle for the first down, and the Dolphins stay alive with the clock ticking, now past midfield. “Goddamn it!” Harden yells, nearly ripping off his headset. He instead grabs the microphone and bellows the play call to Randall, hopefully causing ear damage. This is a big drive in the context of the season, and everyone knows it. The Knights are about to go into a much needed bye week, and a 3-1 record will feel miles better than 2-2. Tannehill hits a few short completions, bringing up third and four. Harden sends another blitz, but the Dolphins set up a screen to Lamar Miller, and the running back runs through open field, reaching the eighteen-yard line. Stomachs tighten throughout Farmers Field as the clock ticks under three minutes. The Dolphins line up for first and ten. Tannehill hits Clay over the middle again, but Martin tackles him immediately for only two yards. Harden blitzes on second down, forcing Tannehill to throw it up, and the pass sails out of the end zone as the clock freezes at 2:00. Harden considers his call for third and eight and decides against a blitz. The Knights line up in their 2-4-5 nickel formation. Tannehill takes the snap in shotgun and Brock accelerates toward the left tackle. He engages, then sidesteps, and has a free shot at Tannehill. He hits the quarterback and drives him to the ground. Miami calls timeout as Brock celebrates, feeding off the surge in crowd noise. The Dolphins now face fourth and fifteen. Harden wants to go for the kill with a blitz. Weary of another screen, though, he decides on a four-man rush. Tannehill takes a deep drop. Luck and Grantzinger break through, forcing Tannehill left. He throws against his body over the middle, and Randall undercuts the intended receiver, intercepting it. He runs into open grass and slides, sealing the victory. Monday begins the Knights’ bye week of the 2014 season, a perfectly timed break resulting in a relaxing Monday at the MedComm Center, relatively speaking. Knights fans, however, are still worried. They’ll gladly take a 3-1 record, quarterback injured or not, but the Knights have a brutal schedule after the bye, facing five teams who finished with a winning record last season. It doesn’t get much easier after that either, backloaded with divisional matchups that will be critical to making the playoffs—something Maverick’s separated shoulder has put in jeopardy. The Dolphins game was an ugly one, and the Knights were thankful to come out with a win. Fans are realizing that this, unfortunately, will be the trend this season: no victories will come easy, and every win will feel more like relief than triumph. As the coaches prep for the week on the first floor, Phillips works upstairs, counting the hours until something he’s been looking forward to: a quarterly report from Michal Keegan on the team. Keegan has been sitting behind his computer screen since five this morning (two hours before Phillips arrived), typing and clicking and printing away. Phillips was excited to hire Keegan in the offseason, though he still isn’t sure exactly what he will bring to the table. So far, his most meaningful contribution to the MedComm Center has been causal Fridays, getting Phillips and his subordinates to dress down to a polo and slacks. Keegan, meanwhile, hasn’t worn a tie since his interview. Phillips finishes scribbling another note and looks at the last question of what has been a pretty impressive interview so far. Overall, he’s done a lot more listening than writing, always a good sign. “So, what drives you?” Phillips asks. “What about statistics motivates you to do it?” “Just the fact that information is out there, and the more you study it, the more you can learn,” Keegan says. “Some people have told me over the years that you can’t overwork yourself, can’t overburden yourself with information, but I disagree. I think the more information you have, the smarter you are.” Chalk up another impressive response. Phillips makes his decision. “Do you have any questions for me, Michal?” “Yes, actually.” Phillips nods as if to say, “Ask away.” Keegan says, “What type of role do you envision for me, specifically?” “Well, Michal, you’ve been honest with me, so I’ll be honest with you. I’m sure you’re well aware of what’s happened in baseball the last decade or so. Sabermetrics and what not?” “Of course.” “Part of me believes there’s something similar on the horizon in football.” “And you want me to figure out where it’s coming from?” “I want you to ignite it yourself. I want you to revolutionize the statistical approach to this game. I want you to determine which stats are significant, which are not, which stats create wins, and which stats win Super Bowls. You report directly to me. Spend enough time around me, and you’ll be more than comfortable with how an NFL franchise is run. Long term, you can pick your job in this league. Hell, you can take my job someday if you want.” Keegan looks like he’s thinking, but he’s not good at hiding his excitement, the only negative Phillips has noticed so far. “So what do you say?” “Some highlights,” Keegan says, flipping through papers filled with tables of data. “Brian Penner has a Run Blocking Differential of 82, second in the league among centers and fifth among all offensive linemen. Grodd’s RBD is top ten in the league and Zeitler’s is top twenty, so the interior offensive line is creating holes as big as any in the league. The trouble has been opposing defenses stacking the box, but we’ll get to that later.” Phillips looks around his office for reactions. He has limited the audience to Harden, DeMartine, and himself. The GM, assistant GM, head coach, and the 27-year-old kid younger than half the team and all the coaches. “Malik Rose has a YSPR of 2.37, third in the league among cornerbacks. That’s Yards of Separation per Route, basically measures how close a corner stays to a receiver, physically, in man coverage. His 1.98 YSPTR—Yards of Separation per Targeted Route—would easily put him tops in the league, but he gets targeted so infrequently that there’s not enough of a sample size to trust the statistic.” “I think that says everything that needs to be said about Malik Rose right there,” Harden says. “When it comes to tackling, I use a customized Tackle Rating. Too many teams look at flat numbers like tackles, missed tackles—even tackling percentage is misleading because it ignores how difficult each tackle was to make. My rating takes into account body position and angle relative to the ground, runner’s velocity and acceleration at moment of impact, everything. Long story short, Briggs Randall and Marlon Martin are tops at 95.4 and 93.6, respectively.” “Out of curiosity,” Phillips says, “who’s last? Among starters, that is.” “Marshall and Brock are both low, at 52.5 and 51.1.” Keegan goes on with more numbers, accolades mixed with negatives, summarizing position by position, every claim supported by numbers of some kind. Among receivers, Alex Johnson has been gaining the most separation from corners in man coverage, with Watson close behind. The Knights generate much more pass rush from the strong side (Grantzinger, Luck) than they do on the short side (Brock, Vance). Marlon Martin has been a much more productive blitzer than Randall despite the fact that they blitz about an equal percentage of plays. The three-man pass rushing rotation of Grantzinger, Brock, and Jamari Price has been a two-man show. Price, the Knights’ 2013 first-round pick, has been remarkably unproductive. Harden silently agrees with Keegan on that one. Keegan then talks about some new metrics he is trying to design, intended to produce a comprehensive rating of a player. The ratings are normally distributed based on positive and negative outcomes of a player’s actions, and the numbers are run through iterations with others’ to avoid strength-of-opponent bias. In other words, a left tackle won’t be punished as severely for getting abused by elite pass rushers. The iterations repeat until every player’s final rating converges within an interval of 0.01. Keegan pauses longer than he has so far, and everyone eventually realizes that’s his way of opening the floor. DeMartine steps in first. “So, Mike, do these numbers all come from a spreadsheet, do you get any of them from film, or what?” “I believe the process should be an integration,” Keegan says. “The film should either support or contradict what the statistic tells you. And often, technology can enhance the film analysis, so it’s not just me watching and taking notes subjectively.” Phillips really likes that belief. His biggest problem with the sabermetric crowd in baseball is their claim that you can understand the game without watching a single inning. “Okay,” Phillips says after a few more minutes of philosophical discussion, “let’s talk about Buchanan.” “Average Accuracy Radius,” Keegan says. “It essentially measures how close to a receiver’s hands or numbers a quarterback’s throws are. Buchanan’s AAR is 2.59, 16th in the league. That puts him on par with mediocre quarterbacks like Kaepernick, Cutler, etc. So, not good, but not dreadful.” “That sounds fair,” DeMartine says. “I also like to look at vector fields for quarterbacks. Create them, technically. Assign every throw a magnitude and direction. This provides a more sophisticated version of a pass chart. Buchanan throws toward the sideline way too much, in my opinion, because those long throws are exposing his below-average arm strength. He should throw between the hashes more.” “Yeah, I’ll be sure to relay that to Mac,” Harden says. Keegan goes on about ways to improve Buchanan’s performance, and when the subject seems closed, Phillips says, “Okay, Michal, sum it all up. With the metrics you trust most, what’s the overall breakdown of us versus the league?” “If I had to summarize?” Keegan says, thinking. “We have one of the best defenses in the league and one of the worst offenses. I know that’s a woefully vague description, but it’s nearly impossible to quantify an entire team’s value as a whole.” “No, that’s alright, I think we can all agree with that assessment.” “But with a healthy Maverick, we’re near the top of the league.” Everyone nods, even Harden, and Phillips decides to take advantage of the agreement. “I called everyone in here because Michal brings, very obviously, a unique approach to our evaluation process,” Phillips says. “And I think he can help make our team better. I agree with Michal’s belief that the more information you have, the better. And as a GM, I always like getting a new perspective. So what do you guys think?” DeMartine looks pleased, but Harden speaks first, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “Just a bunch of fancy math to me. Games are won and lost on the field, not up here. No disrespect to you or the evaluation process, Chance. And no offense to you either, kid. I’m on the field every time they play. I watch every snap. I know what I see.” “You watch film, though, don’t you?” Keegan says. “You can’t learn everything about a play just by watching it once at field level.” “Of course I watch film. And again, I see what goes on. Everything I need from the tape I can get with my own eyes. And these eyes have seen a lot of tape. I value my experience.” “We should be constantly reevaluating our process of interpreting the game. Sometimes too much experience can lead to a biased point of view that is, quite frankly, outdated.” Uh oh. Phillips sits back and watches Harden purse his lips. Keegan’s gonna have to learn to deal with many things in the NFL, including Merle Harden; might as well let him learn the hard way. “Now you listen good, kid,” Harden says, leaning in. Keegan looks more curious than scared. “You want to come in here with your stats and your metrics and your iterations or whatever the fuck, fine. Chance is a smart man, he’s a good GM, and he’ll know what to do with them. You want to come in here and tell me my experience doesn’t mean anything, and we’re gonna have a problem. I may not have much clout in the organization compared to guys like Paul and Chance, but let me tell you, son, one man to another, I am not a man you want to have a problem with.” Keegan swallows hard, trying to keep a straight face. To his credit, he doesn’t seem shaken up. Harden stands up and heads for the doorway. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen. It’s the goddamn bye week, and I need a fucking drink.” After Harden is gone, Phillips, smiling, pats Keegan on the back. “Don’t worry about him, Michal. I thought that was brilliant.” “Yeah, ease up,” DeMartine says. “Merle’s sort of an acquired taste. If he seems intimidating, well, just be glad he’s our coach and not somebody else’s.” A week of practice comes and goes, filled with the usual routine on defense and lots of experimentation on offense. McKenzie tries every formation and trick he can think of, desperate for a way to enhance the offense’s production with Buchanan under center. The most effective plays they run on the practice field are the sorts of receiver screens that filled his playbook in college, plays easily defended in the NFL. Friday afternoon, players dress in the locker room, ready for a weekend off. Unsurprisingly, Brock gets things started. “Plans for the weekend, gentlemen?” “Hang on, hang on,” Luck says. “Before you get going, last chance for everyone to hop onboard this Sunday.” Brock: “Onboard what? That charity stuff you’re always talking about? Picking up trash and talking to kids with cancer? Fuck that.” Martin: “It’s in your contract, Sean.” Brock: “Fuck my contract, man. And Sam, the Good Luck Foundation? Could you have picked a worse name?” Luck: “Blow me. And it’s not just for charity. Goes back to what Mr. Schneider was saying about our image.” Brock: “Oh! That reminds me. How’s this for image? I got a new squeeze, and you’re never gonna guess who it is.” Grantzinger: “Congrats, Sean. What’s his name?” Brock: “Let me set the scene for you. She’s laying out by the pool on a beautiful, sunny day. Her bikini barely covers up her massive tits. Then the pool boy comes in to do some work, but it’s not the pool he’ll be working on. A few minutes later, she moves inside into the sauna, and in comes the pool boy—” Anthrax: “Hold up, I’ve seen that one. Are you serious?” Flash: “What? Which one?” Anthrax: “Dude, Sean…Scarlett Lynn Smith?” Brock nods smugly. Everyone else looks shocked. Randall: “I don’t believe this. You’re dating Scarlett Lynn Smith?” Brock: “I’m fucking Scarlett Lynn Smith. Though I suppose with her, they’re one and the same.” Randall: “There’s no justice in this world.” Anthrax: “Man, I’ve jacked it to that scene alone about a hundred times.” Brock: “No longer, fellas. She’s officially hooked with me now.” Grantzinger: “So you’re banging a broad who’s been pounded by half the porn industry. Congratulations are definitely in order.” Brock: “Actually, she’s taking a break from work ever since she met me. Said she’s never had a fuck like me, on or off camera.” Flash: “Brock, yo, there is some shit we don’t need to know, man.” Brock: “Alright, fine. So who’s down for a night out? Malik!” Rose is almost finished dressing and looks as if he hasn’t heard any of the ongoing conversation. Brock: “Malik! You’re down, right?” Rose: “I got shit to do. Some of us have families to take care of instead of porn stars.” Brock: “C’mon, always with the family. Your wife is great, man, she can handle the girls for a while. What’s the harm in—” Rose rises from his chair and gets right in Brock’s face, nose to nose, with a look in his eye like he’s about to kill him with his bare hands. “I got shit to do,” he says flatly. Brock backs off and holds his hands up. Rose gathers his belongings and struts out of the locker room for the weekend. “Well now,” Schwinn says, “y’all are some colorful fuckin’ characters, I tell ya what.” The slate of week 5 games passes without much drama. In the AFC West, another surprising loss drops the Chiefs to 2-3, but that’s the extent of good news for the Knights. They stand even with the 3-1 Broncos and half a game behind the 4-1 Chargers, next Sunday’s opponent. Monday morning, one player walks into the MedComm Center and heads for the training room with Dr. Evans. “Good morning, Jonathan,” Evans says. “Let’s take this thing off.” Maverick holds still as Evans unties the sling, and his right arm is free, though still stuck in its right angle position. At Evans’ request, Maverick tries to bend his elbow and move his forearm back and forth. It feels unnatural, like he’s not supposed to move his arm ever again, but he fights the stiffness. Then he looks at his shoulder. “Not just yet, Mav,” Evans says. “One step at a time.” “But this is good, right?” “I wanted the sling off in four weeks, and it’s off in four weeks. This is a step in the right direction, though there’s still a long way to go. We’re on schedule.”
  4. Knights of Andreas Part IV Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DarthRaider DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever GA_Eagle JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Fifty-Three – The Battle of San Andreas From his seat, Chet Ripka looks around the second floor hallway of the MedComm Center, a building he hasn’t seen since announcing his retirement over two years ago. As a player, he never felt nervous before a game. He now twitches and fidgets, adjusting his tie, buttoning and unbuttoning his suit jacket, anxiously running through potential interview questions. Where do you see yourself in this organization? Secondary coach. I feel very comfortable coaching the same position group I played my whole life. (That answer was going to be defensive quality control coach until the Knights lost their secondary coach a few days ago.) What about this team, specifically, makes you think it’s a good fit? I feel like I have continuity within the organization. I know everyone in the front office and have tremendous respect for Coach Harden. How will you get players—most of whom recently played alongside you—to respect you as a coach, and not as a player? I think it’s important to establish procedures early and often. As a coach, if you see something a player’s doing you don’t like, you need to identify it and deal with it. Early in my career, my coaches were quick to point out any sloppy tackling techniques I had, and I credit them for fixing it early, or else I might have been a bad tackler my whole career. Ripka reconsiders his response to that last question, a tough one, as the door in front of him opens. Chance Phillips and Wayne Schneider appear with smiles on their faces. “Good morning, Chet,” Phillips says. “Good morning, Chance,” Ripka says. “Good to see you again. And same to you, Mr. Schneider.” “Call me Wayne, please. It’s good to see you, Chet.” “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Phillips says. “We’re just waiting for Merle to show up so we can—ah, there he is.” Ripka turns around and sees Harden staggering towards them, looking rather annoyed. Still, Ripka looks at his old coach with great admiration. “Great to see you again, coach!” Ripka says, smiling and extending his hand. “Hi, Chet. You’re hired.” Harden turns around and walks the other way. “Um, coach,” Phillips calls down the hallway, “don’t you think we should—” “Hire him, dammit!” Harden disappears down the stairs, leaving the trio alone in the hallway. “Well,” Phillips says, “you can see he hasn’t changed.” He looks at Schneider, who shrugs, as if to give his blessing. “Um, Chet, not to be indelicate here, but we’d still like to ask you some questions.” “Of course.” Twenty-four hours later, a contract is finalized, and when the Knights take the field to prepare for San Diego, they take it with their new secondary coach. Players get going broken into positional groups, an unusual and deliberate decision by Harden, who walks onto the field with Ripka alongside, approaching the secondary. A wave of chatter spreads across the field. “Okay, men,” Harden says, addressing the group of corners and safeties. “As we all know, Andy has gone on to greener pastures, and we’re lucky we found a damn good replacement. Chet, you’re familiar with all these idiots, except, of course, the ones who replaced you. Sebastian Stevenson…” Stevenson steps forward and shakes his new coach’s hand. “…and Bobby Schwinn.” Schwinn does the same and says, “Howdy, partner!” “Now let’s get to work,” Harden says, blowing his whistle to let practice officially begin. Ripka greets his old teammates one by one, especially happy to see Rose, who he took pride in tutoring during his playing time in Los Angeles. “Coach Ripka,” Rose says. “That sounds strange. Gonna have to get used to that one.” “You and me both,” Ripka admits. The reunions end, and practice turns serious. Harden watches everyone closely, as usual, under his new coaching configuration. He will personally assist Ripka in coaching the secondary (even though it won’t take him long to learn the playbook) and keep the former quality control coach in charge of the defensive line. The Knights will find a permanent replacement in the offseason, which hopefully won’t begin next Monday. As the Knights run through drills and plays for Sunday and eventually make their way inside for film review, news breaks of Ripka’s hire. The move draws near unanimous praise from Knights fans, as Ripka was always a fan favorite. Critics of the move accuse the Knights of making a hasty, sentimental decision. Others assert that Ripka, despite a borderline Hall of Fame playing career, is unqualified as a coach. NFL fans can’t get enough of the Knights/Chargers storyline, embracing the irony that either Caden Daniel or Merle Harden will be representing the AFC in Glendale. How fitting would it be if the Knights beat Daniel en route to their first Super Bowl? How fitting would it be if Daniel beats the team that fired him en route to his first Super Bowl? On the second floor of the MedComm Center, none of this matters. At least not for now. The Knights are close to making a hire for vice president of player personnel and have their next director of scouting picked out; the focus is finding an assistant general manager. Phillips and Schneider cast a wide net to fill DeMartine’s position. It’s not critical the Knights get an immediately productive assistant GM, so they can afford to dig deep and find someone with high potential. Over the course of the week, they interview five candidates, each currently working in an NFL front office. Candidates are impressive in their own way, none comes off as incompetent, but nobody jumps out. Nobody wows. This round of interviews is designed to find a great football mind who has the potential to be a great leader. By the end of the week, Phillips doesn’t feel he’s found anyone who fits that description. Friday night, he and Schneider are debriefing the latest interview, with Phillips expressing his frustration. “What if we don’t hire one?” Schneider suggests. “Assistant general manager isn’t a necessary position anyway. Perhaps it’s best not to force it if we can’t find a quality man for the job.” “We might end up at that point,” Phillips says, “but I really want to try and make it work. It’s my preferred method of organization. I’ve seen and experienced different dynamics within a front office, and I don’t like ones without a chief assistant. It just becomes four or five people shouting different things at the GM. I like having a right-hand man who I trust, who can synthesize it all for me.” “Understandable, certainly. Look at it this way: none of the five guys we’ve interviewed are in line for jobs elsewhere. So we have time on this one.” “At least there’s that.” “May I offer a suggestion, Chance?” “Go ahead.” “Don’t approach this search as if you’re trying to find the next Paul DeMartine. He was a great hire for us back in 2010. We really found a gem, and we’re lucky he stayed with us as long as he did. You’re not going to make a hire like that every go round.” “Doesn’t mean we can’t try.” Parking lots around the complex open at 9:30am with plenty of cars waiting. Kickoff is scheduled for 3:30pm Pacific time, leaving plenty of tailgating time. Plus, the NFC Championship Game starts at noon. Parking spaces fill quickly, coolers are opened, grills are put together, and portable TV sets are set up. Unlike last week, Knights fans deal with a disturbingly high presence of enemy fans, an unfriendly reminder that Knights/Chargers is a geographical rivalry as much as a divisional one. Stadium gates open at 1:30, by which time the NFC Championship Game is nearly half over. Fans watching or following on their phones are stunned to see Green Bay with a 16-0 lead. Fans with lower level tickets stand as close to the field as possible, watching players warm up and roam the field. Others head for one of the stadium’s numerous bars to watch FOX’s broadcast of the NFC title game. During warm-ups, both teams keep to their respective side of the field, rarely mingling with the opponent. Many opposing coaches and players know each other, but there’s something about the gravity of this game that won’t allow for cordial smalltalk. Nearing kickoff, players clear the field as most fans still follow what’s happening a thousand miles north of Los Angeles. Green Bay leads 19-7 after three quarters with Seattle making a comeback. The Seahawks get another touchdown late, making it 19-14, but a failed onside kick ends the game. The Packers win the NFC, eliminating the possibility of a Knights/Seahawks rematch in the Super Bowl. A touchback puts the Chargers on the twenty to start the game. Phillip Rivers and his offense take the field in their road white jerseys, navy blue pants. The Knights line up on defense in all black. As both teams settle in formation, all fans stand on their feet, waving towels and screaming. Just like last week, the Farmers Field crowd is going to be a factor. Rivers hands off to Jerome Jaxson, who slides between linemen before being tackled by Randall and Martin for a two-yard gain. From the sideline, Harden listens to feedback from coaches upstairs. The line of scrimmage is a pivotal battle in any game, but Harden wants to make it the focal point today. If he can stop between-the-tackle runs, the Knights win, no matter what else happens. Jaxson takes another run, off-tackle left this time, juking between Brock and Vance to reach the second level, where Martin brings him down. Third and three. Harden calls a strong-side blitz, and Rivers lines up in shotgun with crowd noise blaring. Rivers takes the snap. Grantzinger comes free. Rivers heaves one over the middle and takes a huge hit. The ball heads for Antonio Gates but sails high, and Gates can only tip it as it goes out of bounds. Flash comes running in and levels Gates, sending him to the grass hard. Farmers Field rumbles as the Chargers jog back to the sideline, some protesting to officials about potential personal fouls, but no flags are thrown. The Knights’ secondary takes their spot on the bench, soon approached by Coach Ripka, pictures in hand. Nobody says anything, of course, but seeing Ripka in a coach’s polo and slacks with a headset on is a strange sight. “Good start, guys, good start,” Ripka says. “Let’s keep up the energy.” Ripka goes through the previous three plays with little to dissect or criticize. Blessed with coaching one of the league’s most talented secondaries, Ripka’s job is just to keep their heads on straight. The Knights offense starts on its own twenty-eight-yard line. Jameson takes two carries up the middle for nine yards. On third and one, Maverick rolls out on play-action, hitting Bishop on a quick out and a first down. McKenzie calls plays with the opposite game plan from last week: establish the run to set up the pass. He considers the Chargers defense balanced but especially strong in the secondary. The Knights will need to run the ball effectively to put together long drives. Jameson chews through more yardage. McKenzie can see from where he stands that the Grodd-Penner-Zeitler trio is dominating the point of attack. Wanting to preserve Jameson’s carries, McKenzie subs in Banks, who runs through equally strong blocking. The Knights get a first down on the Chargers’ thirty, and McKenzie calls a receiver screen to Watson. Maverick takes the snap in shotgun, fakes an inside handoff, and throws laterally. Watson catches the pass, fluidly accelerates through blocks, and he’s gone. He hits full speed and reaches the end zone in a blink, launching Knights fans to their feet with deafening screams. Amidst the loud celebration, Harden notices Maverick wincing as he walks back to the sideline. “What happened, Mav?” Harden asks. “Took a fucking cheap shot.” Harden and others look up at the replay screen. Though the camera pans to Watson, Maverick clearly takes a big hit long after releasing the pass. After McCabe’s extra point, the game goes to commercial, and Harden seeks out the referee. “You guys missed roughing the passer on the TD,” Harden says. “We did?” “I know we scored anyway, but if they’re gonna take cheap shots like that, you guys gotta call them.” “Okay, we’ll look at it.” “Yeah, sure.” The Chargers face third and ten on their next drive, near midfield. They break the huddle late as fans get loud. Rivers tries to call a few audibles to his linemen, apparently confused. Fans scream louder. Rivers hurries back to take the snap, sees one second left on the play clock, and calls timeout. Fans celebrate their achievement, and players applaud them as well. This is newly paved ground for the Knights, and it looks like Farmers Field is establishing a reputation as a tough place to play. Before long, fans of other AFC teams will say of the Knights what they’ve said about the Patriots for years: “I hope to hell they don’t get home-field advantage.” The Chargers line up in the same shotgun formation. This time, Rivers doesn’t call any audibles before taking the snap. Brock comes free off the edge, forcing Rivers out of the pocket. He throws it away, and the stadium cheers briefly before reacting to a fight. Brock mixes it up with an offensive lineman, the two exchanging shoves to each other’s facemask as players rush in to break it up. As they’re separated, Brock gets the last punch, a good swipe to the chin, and a flag flies. Officials deliberate as Rivers incessantly pleads his case. The replay screen shows Brock hitting Rivers, helmet to helmet, after he threw it, a clear roughing the passer call. The Chargers’ linemen rightfully retaliated, and the skirmish ensued. This doesn’t worry Harden. Offsetting fouls means they replay the down, at worst. The referee breaks from the group and makes his ruling: “After the play, unsportsmanlike conduct, defense, number fifty one.” A wave of boos renders the rest of his words inaudible, but he signals first down for the Chargers. Harden sprints onto the field. “What the fuck! How are those not offsetting?! How can you call that one way?!” Harden continues screaming at whichever official tries to lead him back to the sideline. Some assistant coaches, Ripka included, eventually pull him back to avoid another penalty, and the game continues with the Chargers in Knights territory. “So it’s going to be that kind of game,” Harden says to himself, glaring across the field at Caden Daniel. That’s okay with him; if the refs are hesitant to throw flags on QB hits, he’s more than happy to keep blitzing. The Chargers, however, gain momentum with some sharp passes to Malcolm Floyd and Eddie Royal, the only receivers who can get open since Rose is on Keenan Allen. Another completion to Royal puts the Chargers on the Knights’ nineteen. Rivers lines up in shotgun and Harden calls a blitz. Rivers drops back, multiple linebackers come free, and he dumps it off to Jaxson on a screen. Harden doesn’t even have to look to know Jaxson cuts through blockers and open field en route to the end zone. A few players appear to have some tense conversations after the play, delaying the extra point attempt. Nick Novak eventually knocks the kick through, and the game is tied, 7-7. Harden looks carefully at his defense as they jog back to the sideline; the linemen, in particular, look dead tired. “It’s getting dirty out there,” Luck says. “Good,” Harden replies. “They’re holding every play,” Anthrax says. “Don’t be a pussy,” Harden says. “Hold back.” Jameson powers through a crowd of defenders for a first down. McKenzie studies his play sheet, struggling with the next play call. The Knights are still running the ball well, but they’ve had trouble throwing downfield. It seems every time McKenzie calls a long shot for Wilkes or Johnson, Eric Weddle is on that side of the field in double coverage. At some point, McKenzie has to wonder if he’s being outcoached. Still a long way to go (2:10 left in the first quarter), McKenzie holds off any radical adjustments for now. Weddle can hold things over the top. The Knights will use Wilkes and Johnson to work on San Diego’s corners instead. Maverick drops back and looks over the middle, waiting for Bishop on a crossing route. He feels pressure and hurries the throw. Bishop cuts toward the ball, but a white jersey is there first. It’s Manti Te’o, who takes the interception ten yards before Grodd wrangles him down by his facemask, costing another fifteen yards. A tired Knights defense takes the field with the Chargers already in field goal range. Harden watches on consecutive plays as Grantzinger and Brock beat their opposite linemen off the edge, then get blatantly held and dragged to the ground. This lets Rivers find open receivers, getting the Chargers down to the seventeen. Harden bitches at the refs and tries a few inside blitzes instead. Jaxson gets a few carries, not finding much room, and the first quarter ends with San Diego facing third and seven. Farmers Field gets loud again as Rivers lines up in shotgun. He takes the snap, steps up, and fires over the middle. Malcolm Floyd breaks on a post, open in the end zone with Flash closing. He catches the pass in stride and gets crushed by Flash, sending the ball flying out of bounds. The crowd roars for the massive hit, but the Chargers call for a flag. The begging eventually provokes boos from the crowd, with some light pushing and shoving on the field. Replays show a borderline hit on a defenseless receiver. It was a bang-bang play, but Flash led with his shoulder, definitely not helmet-to-helmet. With no penalty called, Novak comes on and kicks a thirty-one-yarder through the uprights, and despite the exciting play by Flash, the Knights trail, 10-7. The game progresses through the second quarter with tension on every down. Neither offense makes any big plays, and neither defense gets a turnover, but both teams play each other close. The blocking at the line of scrimmage is nasty, with holding penalties on both sides going uncalled. Corners and receivers fight for position with no pass interference or illegal contact calls. It’s the kind of quarter that will appear boring on the box score, but fans feel like the game could explode at any moment. McKenzie’s troubles worsen, as pass protection becomes a problem. Maverick is rushing more short throws, and with the Chargers still holding things down over the top, the Knights offense can barely muster a first down. Harden has an easier time despite being on the losing end of the field position battle. The Knights are achieving his primary goal of stopping runs up the middle, though Rivers still finds ways to hit receivers and move the chains. Both Rivers and Daniel are having a great game thus far, Harden admits. The Knights eventually start a possession pinned on their own five with three minutes left. After a few Jameson runs get them some breathing room, Maverick takes a shot downfield. Wilkes is doubled, of course, but as he jumps for the pass, a defender grabs his jersey and yanks him down. The nearest official sees it and throws his flag as the ball lands incomplete. Defensive pass interference, Knights ball at the Chargers’ forty-six. The forty-four-yard penalty rouses the stadium. Maverick runs out of shotgun exclusively, still finding no one downfield but hitting receivers for short gains. This gets a first down, but the clock ticks. The Knights use their timeouts effectively, but due to good defense (or bad offense), they can only reach the Chargers’ twenty-nine. Harden calls his final timeout with 0:03 on the clock, and McCabe comes on for a forty-six yarder. Players on both sidelines stand, ready to head into the locker room. McCabe’s kick sails high, hooks left, and strikes the net beyond the goal posts. The officials signal no good. Harden leads his team off the field, hearing some boos from the crowd, and senses something he hasn’t felt on the Knights sideline in some time: broken confidence. Two distinct dynamics occupy the home team’s locker room. Players sit quietly, more tired than anything, discussing personal battles with their opposite Chargers. Coaches, meanwhile, scramble to adjust their game plan for the second half. Harden and the defensive coaches don’t have much to debate. Yielding ten points is satisfactory; they just have to maintain that pace. Harden speaks briefly with Ripka, just checking up on him, then walks over to his offensive coaches, who look frazzled. “Well?” Harden says. “Our biggest problem is pass protection,” McKenzie says. “We’ve been debating whether to use Bishop as an extra blocker—” “Do it.” “I don’t want to take him out of the receiving game.” “Do it anyway. Our season’s on the line, Mac. We need something.” “I know.” “We get the ball to start the half. I want production on that first drive.” Just as quickly as the Knights take the field, with the sellout crowd trying to bring them back into it, they go three and out, and the Chargers take over. San Diego moves the ball effectively, mixing short passes with tosses to Jaxson, finding more running room than he has all day. As Harden tries to find a blitz that works, the home fans scream less and less on each play. A nervous atmosphere falls over Farmers Field as the sky darkens around the stadium. The Chargers take the drive into Knights territory and into field goal range, but two consecutive pass break-ups by Randall and Rose force fourth down. Novak comes on again, this time nailing a fifty yarder. During the ensuing commercial break, Knights players glance up multiple times at the scoreboard: Chargers 13, Knights 7. The gravity of the game, something they managed to avoid thinking about last week, sets in. Guys like Johnson and Martin start wondering if this is their last game in a Knights uniform. Upstairs, Phillips wonders which agents he’ll call first if tomorrow is day one of the offseason. And every player and coach on the field faces the question: is this how the ride ends? The Knights take over and come out firing. McKenzie has Bishop blocking, as planned, and calls rollouts for Maverick, trying to simplify things. It works. Maverick hits receivers on intermediate sideline routes, moving the chains and recapturing some momentum. Hoping the defense goes on its heels, McKenzie makes a more standard call, and Maverick hits Johnson on a beautiful throw over the middle, setting the Knights up in Chargers territory. Jameson gets a few carries, finding space and bringing up third and one. McKenzie calls Jameson’s number again, but he hits a wall at the line of scrimmage, gang-tackled for a one-yard loss. The punt teams wait, however, with a flag on the field. The officials congregate briefly and make a ruling. “Illegal use of hands, hands to the face, defense, number ninety eight. Automatic first down.” Huddled together, everyone on offense looks at Penner, who drew that flag, as the stadium cheers. “About time they called that fucker,” Penner says. “Must be the tenth time he’s been pickin’ my nose.” “And how many times have you had your hands in his grill?” Grodd asks. “Around nine.” “Keep it up,” Maverick says. “These assholes want to play dirty, we’re gonna give it to ‘em. So don’t back down, boys.” Jameson carries some more, rumbling ahead for gains of four and three. On third and three, Maverick drops back, can’t find anyone open, and rolls out to escape pressure. Watson breaks downfield and Maverick bombs it. Running along the sideline, Watson tracks the pass and dives for it near the goal line, making an incredible leaping grab that brings the crowd to its feet. Two officials confer as the stadium celebrates, eventually ruling no catch, incomplete. Knights fans boo angrily as Harden reluctantly orders the field goal team onto the field. Everyone looks on nervously as McCabe boots another wobbly kick, this one squeezing its way between the uprights. 13-10, Chargers. Minutes tick off the third quarter as the Chargers move the ball, the game’s intensity still tangible on every play. Every tackle is hard, every play includes some post-whistle jawing, and some near-dirty hits occur on the sideline. Rivers lines up in shotgun, near midfield. He drops back as Grantzinger beats his man. Rivers rolls right, and Grantzinger gets dragged down by an obvious hold. A flag flies. Rivers bombs it downfield for Keenan Allen, Rose running with him. The pass comes in, and Rose swats it away defiantly. Allen eases up, and Flash levels him with a devastating helmet-to-helmet hit. Allen goes limp and falls to the ground hard. Multiple Chargers make a beeline for Flash as flags fly. Rose and others hold them off, plenty of hard pushing, shoving, and screaming. It takes a minute for things to calm down, but when they do, the holding on offense and personal foul on defense offset. The down is replayed. Harden looks up at the clock: 1:13 left in the third quarter. That’s far too much time, he suspects, in a game that’s about to go haywire. Allen does eventually come to his feet, visibly woozy, and staggers toward the tunnel. A few Jaxson carries bring up third and four. Rivers fakes a toss and fires over the middle for Royal. He jukes a man and runs downfield, Flash right in front of him. Flash lowers his shoulders, but Royal spins, bouncing off his hit. Royal surges ahead another ten yards before Rose brings him down. Ripka walks up to Harden after he makes his play call. “I’m worried about Flash, coach,” Ripka says. “So am I,” Harden says. “Keep an eye on him.” They both do as the Chargers take a few shots toward the end zone, but the Knights have everyone covered. The Chargers try a draw on third and ten, which Randall and Martin are all over, forcing another field goal attempt. Novak makes his third of the night just as the clock hits zero, and it’s 16-10, Chargers, after three quarters. As the defense returns to the sideline, Ripka notices Flash looking tired and flustered. He looks to Harden as if to say, “Well?” “Coach ‘em up,” Harden says. Ripka grabs a few pictures from the drive, finds the one of Flash’s missed tackle, and walks up to him. “Take a look, Flash,” Ripka says. “You got low—good—but when you lead with the shoulder like this, you’re trying to hit, not tackle. You gotta wrap up.” “Man, why don’t you get out there and make a tackle?” Ripka freezes, not sure how to respond, especially with multiple players within earshot. “Ease up, Griz,” Rose says, patting his teammate on the back. “We all miss tackles. We’ll get it fixed, coach.” Ripka nods, equally satisfied and surprised at Rose’s maturity. This certainly isn’t the Malik Rose he first met three years ago. Maverick hits Wilkes on a deep post for a first down. The chain gang is barely in position when Maverick drops back again and throws a bullet to Watson over the middle, another first down. Harden can feel it coming together, and he knows why. This is something he always noticed about McKenzie back at NDSU: as a play caller, he can get into a rhythm. He knows exactly whose number to call at exactly the right time. Maverick operates flawlessly out of shotgun with a few well-timed runs to Jameson. The Knights march into field goal range, an energy swelling throughout the stadium as the possibility of reclaiming the lead rises. Jameson takes a carry up the middle through a huge hole. He spins off one tackler, jukes another, and sprints down to the ten. Knights fans come to their feet for first and goal. Seeing no reason to abandon Jameson, McKenzie calls his number again. He takes the carry off-tackle right and runs into a crowd. A second later, he emerges at full speed, heading for the sideline. He rounds the corner and stiff-arms a defender en route to the end zone. Farmers Field booms as the Knights celebrate. The Knights defense lines up with the crowd behind them again, 9:39 remaining in a game they now lead, 17-16. Grantzinger gets ready to blitz as Rivers fakes a handoff and drops back. Grantzinger rushes wide, spins around the right tackle, and dives for Rivers as he’s winding up a throw. The ball pops free, bouncing off the ground towards the end zone. Players from both teams run for it and converge around the four-yard line. A pile of about ten bodies forms, officials unsuccessfully trying to dig through the humanity. At the bottom, Luck feels the ball within his grasp, gets his hands on it, and hangs on. He feels people scratching his arms and fingers, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. It takes over a minute for officials to reach the bottom of the pile, and from it emerges Luck, arms cut, with the football. The officials signal Knights ball, and Maverick runs onto the field. McKenzie calls play-action, wanting a quick shot to the end zone. Maverick sells a handoff and looks for Bishop. He’s covered, so Maverick throws it out of the end zone. He takes a late hit, falling to the ground awkwardly. He gets back up to shove the guilty defender, but Penner does that for him, sending the Charger to the grass angrily. A flag flies. Harden inches onto the field, anxiously awaiting the officials’ ruling, which comes after a long conference. “After the play, personal foul, unnecessary roughness, offense, number fifty four.” “What the fuck?!” Harden screams, running onto the field as assistant coaches run after him. “Are you fucking kidding me? Learn to call a football game, you assholes!” Harden’s profane shouting continues as assistants pull him back toward the sideline. One unlucky official speaks with Harden one-on-one, and the coach unloads on a profanity-filled tirade about the horrible state of officiating in this game. Meanwhile, the Knights now face second and goal from the nineteen. Maverick likes the play call: an end zone, back shoulder fade to Johnson. He lines up in shotgun, sees single coverage on the outside, and takes the snap. He drops back, stares down Johnson, and fires for the end zone. Johnson turns at the right moment, but the Chargers corner is in perfect position, intercepting it in the end zone. Maverick falls to his knees, trying to tear off his facemask with both hands. The Chargers take over and manage a couple first downs, but the Knights eventually force a punt near midfield with 5:32 left. A poor punt gives the Knights great field position, where they happily chew clock with Jameson. The Chargers stack the box to stop it, but Maverick hits occasional play-action passes to move the chains. Victory is within reach as the Knights cross midfield at the two-minute warning, both teams with all three timeouts. A clutch catch by Watson gets another first down with the clock ticking. 1:50, 1:49, 1:48… Jameson takes two runs for three yards each, and the Chargers take two timeouts. The clock stops at 1:01 for third and four. McKenzie doesn’t need Harden to tell him to go for the win. The Knights line up in a bunch formation and Bishop motions left. Maverick fakes a handoff and rolls right, green grass in front of him. Wilkes breaks over the middle, but coverage is tight. Maverick decides not to force anything, runs forward, and slides with defenders closing. It’s only a one-yard gain, but the clock runs, and Coach Daniel calls his final timeout with 0:52 to go. McCabe and the field goal unit come on for a fifty-yard attempt. Harden preps his defense on the sideline for one final drive. McCabe kicks it hard and low from the right hash, but it doesn’t hook toward the middle of the field, nearly hitting the right goal post. No good, Chargers ball. In the Knights’ executive suite, everyone reacts in shock, especially Phillips. Is his decision not to re-sign Janikowski about to cost the Knights their season? Harden orders tight coverage and intends on calling blitzes. The Chargers are sixty-two yards from the end zone but only down a point. A field goal wins it for them, so the Knights can’t go soft. Rivers hits Gates over the middle and Randall brings him down. 0:47, 0:46… Rivers spikes it. Third and two. The Chargers line up with five receivers, the Knights in nickel. Rivers takes the snap and fires quick for the sideline, hitting Floyd. Rose runs him out of bounds on the Chargers sideline and Floyd gives him a late shove. “Don’t start with me, bitch,” Rose says. “I’ll fuck you up.” “What? Gonna get a few friends to beat my ass too?” Before Rose can react, Flash runs in throwing punches to Floyd’s facemask. The entire sideline goes after Flash, who flails his arms in every direction he can, sometimes hitting his own teammates. Chargers coaches try to prevent bench players from reaching the field, and a trio of Knights corrals Flash, still fuming with anger. Farmers Field boos as officials try to sort everything out. “Get him out of here,” Harden says to a few assistants. “I don’t care if they’re gonna eject him. Get him off this field right now.” The referee announces a personal foul against Flash and ejects him from the game. Multiple security guards escort him towards the tunnel as he continues to scream obscenities at just about everyone. Harden has Stevenson take Flash’s place at free safety, with Schwinn playing strong. Back to the game, the Chargers now have the ball on the Knights’ thirty-five, within Novak’s range, with 0:38 to play. Rivers hands off to Jaxson up the middle, but Randall and Grantzinger are there. Harden happily watches the clock tick. Rivers drops back, under pressure, and fires an errant pass that sails out of bounds. The clock stops at 0:24. Without a timeout, the Chargers have to throw toward the sideline here, Harden suspects, so he has his corners shade away from the middle of the field. Rivers takes the snap in shotgun and looks over the middle. Brock beats his man and dives for Rivers, grabbing his foot. Rivers tries to escape, but Brock throws him to the ground hard. 0:19, 0:18… Both sidelines enter a state of chaos. The Chargers keep their offense on the field. Fourth and fifteen. Out of field goal range. “Get back! Get back!” Harden yells. “HAIL MARY! GET BACK!” Randall tries to set the defense, getting the secondary back and sending a few linebackers to blitz. Rivers takes the snap with 0:08 on the clock. He drops back, faces pressure, steps up, and heaves it toward the end zone. Multiple Chargers converge toward the ball, right at the goal line, and multiple Knights dive for it too. It tips off everyone’s hands and onto Schwinn’s chest. The safety grabs the ball and goes down at the one-yard line. Farmers Field cheers for victory, but the clock stops with 0:01 left. Back near the line of scrimmage, Brock is in a fistfight with the Chargers’ left tackle. Grantzinger breaks it up with flags flying. Harden prepares for more punitive action as McKenzie preps Maverick for one last kneeldown, a tricky one so close to the end zone. The referee breaks from the official’s huddle and approaches Harden before making an announcement. “Okay, coach, we’re gonna eject both players, but since the fouls occurred after the change of possession, it’s still your ball on the one.” “About fucking time you got something right,” Harden says. Brock is all smiles as he’s escorted off the field, and the Knights offense lines up for one final play. Per McKenzie’s instructions, Maverick will try a hard count to incite a neutral zone jump. If that doesn’t work, he can sneak it for no gain, and it’s over. The Chargers stack the box, nine defenders breathing right in Maverick’s face as he lines up under center, his feet in the end zone. “Set…hut-hut…HUT!” A few white jerseys flinch, but nobody jumps. Damn. “Set…HUT!” Maverick controls the ball and goes down, trying to push forward with his feet. Everyone leaps on top of the pile, and a few defenders take swipes at Maverick. Emerging from the chaos, Penner takes exception to this, dragging one Charger backwards. His helmet falls off as he goes to the grass, and Penner throws one good haymaker to the jaw before more players hit him and bring him to the ground. It’s an all-out brawl, with everyone not piled on top of Maverick matched up with an opponent. Fans cheer with the clock at zero. One official digs through the pile towards Maverick, the rest helplessly trying to stop the madness. Eventually, Maverick comes to his feet, helmet missing, nose bleeding, blood dripping down off his chin, football in hand. “Get off my fucking field, you pieces of shit!” Feeling a surge of adrenaline, he sprints downfield, as if still carrying the ball, and spikes it against the grass as hard as he can, screaming as loud as he can. This fires the fans up even louder, somehow, and the brawl finally ends. The officials announce a few pointless penalties and ejections and declare the game over. Harden marches to midfield to meet Daniel, shaking his hand firmly, trying to break it. “Congratula—” Daniel starts to say. Harden pulls him close and grumbles right into his ear, “Next time you play my team, show some fucking class.” “Don’t try to come off as the innocent party, Merle. It doesn’t suit you.” Harden releases Daniel’s hand and shoves him backward, causing a commotion. He walks away, toward his teammates, ignoring something Daniel shouts back behind him. The bedlam on the field somehow organizes into the Lamar Hunt Trophy presentation, a true celebration last year that feels more like relief this year. Players accept the award all the same (except for the ejected Flash, Brock, and Penner), savoring their last minutes in Farmers Field with their fans before walking off the field beaten, bruised, and bloody—but going back to the Super Bowl.
  5. Knights of Andreas Part IV Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DarthRaider DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Forty-Five – See No Evil Whistles start the play clock, and the fourth quarter begins. The noise level rises in Farmers Field as the Chargers line up for third and two. Rivers takes the snap and hands off to former Knight, Jerome Jaxson. Black jerseys converge at the point of attack and Jaxson runs into a wall. He sweeps right in search of running space, but Grantzinger gets his hands on him. Rose runs in for the assist, both Knights putting something extra on their tackle as they throw Jaxson to the ground for one-yard loss. Jaxson did what he had to do, took the best contract and reunited with his old coach to boot, but none of that sentimental thinking applies on the field. He’s just another opponent now, and all opponents get treated with equal prejudice. After some more chirping, the punt teams come out. Harden crosses his arms and looks up at the scoreboard: Chargers 20, Knights 17. Despite the score, a 32-yard Phillip Rivers pass to Malcolm Floyd is the game’s only offensive touchdown. The Chargers returned a blocked punt for a touchdown, the Knights did the same with a blocked field goal, and Flash took a Rivers interception all the way. The punt pins Los Angeles deep, and Harden hears McKenzie’s play call buzz in his ear. He can hear the frustration in his voice, courtesy of another underwhelming performance on offense. Buchanan has actually been decent today, throwing accurately outside of one interception, but the offense hasn’t found a spark, and is unable to match the intensity of the rivalry game, something that would never happen with Maverick under center. McKenzie calls lots of runs and short passes, only down a field goal with plenty of time left. He dials up quick throws to Alex Johnson, who has developed into Buchanan’s favorite target. Two first downs later, the Knights are near midfield. An off-tackle Jameson run gets bottled up on first down. McKenzie calls a screen to NesSmith, but the Chargers have that covered too, and it’s third and nine. Buchanan lines up in shotgun and hits Bishop down the seam. He takes a hit two yards short of a first down. The crowd immediately pipes with noise, urging the offense to go for it. Harden checks the clock: 9:54 and counting. He covers his mouth and talks into his mouthpiece. “Mac,” he says. “Do you have faith in Max on a play-action call here?” “No,” McKenzie says, shielding his mouth with his laminated play sheet. “Punt.” Boos fill the stadium as both punt teams come out. Shane Lechler boots it deep, where Jaxson waits for it. A wave of black jerseys head for him, but he darts through one opening, then through another. Jaxson surges into green grass, crossing midfield as the crowd screams in horror. Only the punter to beat, Jaxson stutter steps and spins beautifully around him, running free into the end zone. Harden stares down McKenzie as the boos turn angry, and the Knights sideline is too quiet to ignore them. The score remains 27-17 as the Knights mount futile attempts to come back and the Chargers run out the clock. The intensity in the stadium fades with fans filtering out, but the game remains testy on the field. The Chargers eventually face third and twelve at the two-minute warning. Rivers throws a receiver screen. Rose breaks off a block and wraps up the receiver, pushing him backward. Whistles blow the play dead. Rose keeps fighting and receives a hit in the facemask, so he throws the Charger to the grass. A crowd gathers as officials run in to break up the scrum, multiple flags on the field. Harden looks across the field to Caden Daniel, his old boss, as the skirmish dissipates and the Chargers get ready to end the game in the victory formation. There’s no denying Knights/Chargers is more than just a divisional rivalry now, but Harden will worry about that later. These two teams will meet again. The Knights scoring only three offensive points and falling to 3-2 is more pressing. Malik speeds past car after car, the loss just hours old, though football is the last thing on his mind right now. He gets off the highway and makes a few turns towards his neighborhood. One road away from the gate, he slows down, looking on the side of the road, and sees it. Same car, same spot. Malik maintains his speed as he passes the car. The windows are tinted, but he can see a silhouette of someone sitting in the driver’s seat. He doesn’t need to guess who it is. He turns into the gated community, driving through winding roads to his house. He walks up to the front door, especially looking forward to seeing his two beautiful girls and hearing the same two questions. “Daddy!” Jasmin exclaims, running up to hug her dad. “Did you win?” “No, baby, we lost.” “Aww. Were you good?” “Daddy was the best.” “Yay!” He looks up to see Eva enter the room and notices the look on her face. She doesn’t need to say anything. “Jasmin, go check on your sister. I’ll be there in a minute, okay?” “Okay!” She runs off, and Malik faces his wife. “Car’s still there,” she says. “I know. I saw it.” “Malik, I don’t feel safe. It’s—” “You are safe. Jasmin’s safe. Tatyiana’s safe. Nobody’s coming near this house. Including him.” “Then tell me who he is. I deserve to know why the man is stalking us just outside our neighborhood!” “It was a street race.” “You’ve told me about those.” “Not this one.” He doesn’t want to say his name, though he can’t forget it: Javion Torrey. He knew it was him ever since he saw the car, the 1967 Dodge Charger decked out in a way only Javion Torrey would. Javion’s presence in Los Angeles represents everything that could derail Malik’s NFL career, everything that almost derailed it back when he was just a kid, just a talented defensive back growing up in Atlanta’s suburbs, just a great cornerback at the University of Alabama with a dangerous past. He can still remember everything about that night and the race. The crash, of course, has burned in his memory forever, and Malik hasn’t been in a street race since. He hasn’t done a lot of things since. Malik tells the story, recounting how he and Javion had decided to race for pink slips, how Javion was winning going into the final turn, how Malik’s attempt to bump him out of the way spun him around and into a ditch. “Why couldn’t you go back for him?” Eva asks. “This was only a few weeks before the draft. It would have ruined everything. I wouldn’t have been drafted, we wouldn’t be living here, in this house.” Malik looks around at the multi-million-dollar mansion, thankful for every inch. “I know you’ve been running from this a long time,” Eva says. “But this is your family, Malik. And this is your problem now. When you go out and play football, this doesn’t go away.” “You think that’s what this is? You think this is me just trying to make things go away?” “That’s exactly what it is. You just close your eyes and hope that things won’t touch you.” “You would too if you grew up the way I did.” Eva takes a breath and lowers her voice. “I didn’t know you then, Malik. But every time I hear you talk about it, I’m convinced whoever the Malik Rose was you mention, he’s not the man I see today. He’s not the man I married.” “Listen. When I step on the field, certain things go away. You’re not one of them. Our girls aren’t either. This is what I live for. For my wife and my baby girls. I don’t live for football. I play football so I can come home to you three.” Eva gets close, looks at him like she’s about to kiss him, then backs off. “Some days I think that’s only half true,” she says, walking away. Less than an hour into Monday morning’s taping of the Dan Patrick Show, the program comes out of a commercial break with an interview scheduled. Patrick hears word through his headphones that the caller is on the line. “We’re gonna stay in the NFL for a bit,” Patrick says, “and joining us now is a plugged in reporter from Los Angeles. He covers the Knights for the L.A. Mobile. Adam Javad joining us. Adam, what’s the mood in L.A. after Sunday’s loss to the Chargers?” From his apartment, Javad takes a deep breath (covering the phone so it doesn’t get picked up) and talks. “You know, Dan, I think it’s always frustrating after a divisional loss, but the team is still fairly upbeat about the season. Obviously a big game next Sunday against Arizona, and if the Knights lose that one and fall to 3-3, I think you might see some panic.” “Adam, you wrote a column that was published last Friday titled, ‘See No Evil,’ in which you took objection to the sports world’s perception of the Los Angeles Knights. You were particularly critical of the media’s role in supporting the narrative that the Knights are a dirty team. I would argue that teams don’t get that sort of image unless it’s deserved. Tell me why I’m wrong.” Javad’s column wasn’t his genuine opinion, so he bullshits as well as he can. “Well, like I said in the column, I think it’s a problem that affects all sports. I don’t think it’s unique to the Knights, or to the NFL. I think we, as—I guess a culture—see a few dirty plays here and there on the same team, we extend that to the entire team. And that’s been happening with the Knights.” “So what about yesterday, when you have a very testy game, lots of pushing and shoving after the whistle, and three personal fouls called on the Knights?” “First of all, it’s a divisional game. And it’s a rivalry. I don’t think that can be debated anymore about the Knights and Chargers. Don’t forget there were two personal fouls called on San Diego, so there was intensity on both sides.” “Why write this column, Adam? You cover the Knights but you’re not a Knights fan, correct?” “Well—” “Just answer that: do you consider yourself a Knights fan?” “I’m not from Los Angeles originally, so the answer to that would be no, but I think any beat writer would like to see the team they cover do well.” “Fair enough, but again, why write the column? You’re under no obligation to write positively about the Knights. You’re under no obligation to prop up their image. In fact, as a journalist, you probably have more material to work with if the team is considered dirty. So what gives?” “Because, Dan, I have an obligation to write it the way I see it. I’ve written editorials on league-wide issues I felt strongly about, and this was no different. And my biggest thing on this one in particular, and this isn’t directed at you, is I think some members of the media simply find it easier to support narratives that already exist, whether or not they actually believe them. This is obviously an extreme example, but if you think Tom Brady is a bad quarterback, are you gonna dig up all the stats and put yourself out there? No way. You’re gonna go with the flow and call him one of the best ever like everybody else does.” Tuesday afternoon, before hitting the field for practice, the Knights defense watches film on their next opponent. Year two under Bruce Arians has seen the Arizona Cardinals jump out to a 4-1 record, establishing themselves as contenders in the NFC. Sunday, the Knights will play them on their second Sunday Night Football appearance this season. From the back of the room, Coach Harden controls the videos of the Cardinals’ offense. A few good throws by Carson Palmer prompt a rant. “I swear, every goddamn press conference everyone asks me what I think of ‘the resurgence of Carson Palmer’ or some bullshit. I guess no one remembers how good he was a few years back in Cincinnati. What’s the fucking surprise? Anyway, their offensive line is definitely weak, particularly on the interior. Luck, that’s all you, and Anthrax, it’d be nice if you learned how to rush the passer. Might give us a boost. Their receivers are pretty good, but we know Fitzgerald will be shut down. Right, Malik?” Harden looks to where Rose sits but hears no response. He doesn’t look asleep. If he is, this meeting is about to go south really quick. “Malik!” Sitting next to Rose, Flash sees that Rose’s eyes are open as if he’s fixated on the screen. Flash nudges him in the ribs, and he snaps out of it. “Yeah, coach?” “I’m sorry, were we interrupting a fantasy?” Schwinn yells, “I bet it was about Brock’s girlfriend!” Everyone laughs except Brock, Rose, and Harden. “Malik,” Harden says when the laughter dies down, “just do us a favor and pay the fuck attention. If you let Fitzgerald get the best of you, we’re all fucked, because you’re not getting any help over the top.” “That’s all me, coach,” Flash says. “No can do. Need you to keep an eye on this Charlie Brown fucker. Oh, John Brown, my mistake. Fuck it, he’s Charlie. Flash, you’re covering Charlie Brown.” By Friday night, the game plan for Arizona is set. Not long after the team has gone home for the day, Phillips, DeMartine, and Keegan crunch some numbers in Phillips’ office. Keegan rambles about how the media is overrating the Cardinals defense while Schneider walks in, almost unnoticed. He approaches the trio and silences them with his stern facial expression. “We’re less than two weeks away from the trade deadline,” Schneider says. “Anything going on?” Phillips glances at his two assistants nervously. “Paul, Michal, could you guys excuse us for a minute?” “No,” Schneider says. “No. You both stay. They need to hear this too.” Phillips nods, accepting defeat, and Schneider goes on. “Buchanan’s not going to get this team into the playoffs. Not the way I see it. Why aren’t we discussing options?” “We have discussed options,” Phillips says, “and none of them are good.” “Kirk Cousins? Mark Sanchez? At the very least, maybe it’s time to give Clemens a shot?” “These aren’t very inspiring names, Wayne.” “So Max Buchanan inspires you?” “Not just yet, no. But McKenzie’s working with him. We’ve got a second-year quarterback and a first-year coordinator. They’re doing the best they can. And with the defense playing the way it is, that’s enough for us to win games right now. We’ve considered every realistic trade scenario, and in none of those scenarios is shaking things up again going to benefit us. Not in my estimation.” “And if we drop the next two and are 3-4 the week of the deadline, then what?” Phillips doesn’t respond. DeMartine looks just as concerned, and Keegan looks confused. “You’re in a contract year, Chance. I hope you remember that.” “Hard to forget.” “Then understand this: your fate is tied to this season. And if you’re willing to ride out the storm with Buchanan under center, that’s your call. And you’re gonna have to live with it either way.” As Schneider walks out, his footsteps echo through the hallway. Phillips almost feels queasy, preferring not to dwell on the fact that his contract has less than six months left on it, as does DeMartine’s. They’ve talked about this, of course, but they know nothing’s changing at this point. Keegan is under contract for a few years, but if he’s as smart as Phillips thinks he is, he knows his fate is tied to Phillips as well. Phillips gets back to work without saying anything, taking petty solace in the fact that he probably won’t have to talk about this with Melissa again. Not tonight, anyway. Buchanan steps toward the line of scrimmage with Farmers Field roaring. He waves his arms to quiet the fans, but it barely makes a difference. The Knights set up on the Cardinals’ seventeen-yard line courtesy of a fumble, forced by Martin and recovered by Anthrax. Down 7-3 with halftime just 1:28 away, they have a chance to take the lead into the locker room. Buchanan drops back and stares down Johnson. He’s open as he breaks on a hitch, so Buchanan fires. Johnson catches it and goes down with defenders closing for a six-yard gain. Clock ticking, McKenzie radios the next call to Buchanan, the rest of his offensive staff communicating with hand signals. Twenty seconds later, the Knights are lined up in shotgun. Buchanan takes the snap, and pressure comes from his blind side. He rolls right to avoid a sack, doesn’t see anybody open, and throws it away. Third and four. McKenzie sends in four receivers with Banks in the backfield. He realizes Jameson has barely touched the ball this half and makes a mental note for halftime. Buchanan drops back and stares down Wilkes, running to the end zone. A safety runs to meet them in the corner as the pass comes in. Wilkes gets under it with two white jerseys mobbing him. Practically playing defense, Wilkes gets a hand on it and the ball tips into the air past everyone’s reach. The stadium lets out a collective gasp of frustration, and Wilkes gets into a shoving match with Patrick Peterson as the field goal units come out. With 0:43 on the clock, McCabe kicks the twenty-eight-yarder through the uprights, and it’s 7-6, Cardinals. Carson Palmer drops back with a blitz coming and lobs the ball to his left. Michael Floyd leaps over Richard Marshall, grabs the pass, and somehow comes down with it for a deflating conversion on third and eleven. Harden calls the next play, trying his best to avoid screaming, even though this is the start to the second half he warned his defense about in the locker room. He keeps the blitzes coming. Palmer has faced pressure all night save for the game’s opening drive, where Harden decided to take it easy and rely on his secondary, resulting in a ten-play, seventy-nine-yard touchdown drive. It’s been no mercy ever since. Wide right, Rose lines up against Larry Fitzgerald, surprisingly catchless so far today. Fitzgerald runs left for a slant, then cuts back toward the sideline, and Rose loses a step. He panics, three yards behind, but Fitzgerald eases up, the play already over. Rose catches his breath and lines up again. Fitzgerald runs a yard and stops—receiver screen. Rose runs in for an interception, but Fitzgerald takes off, beating Rose again. He sprints to catch up and sees Fitzgerald’s eyes. He knows the pass is coming. As Fitzgerald positions his hands for the catch, Rose jumps and hurls his arms into the air, somehow swatting the pass away toward the sideline. He tackles Fitzgerald for good measure. The crowd cheers for the play, but it was a lucky miracle, and Rose knows it. From the sideline, Harden had a good view, and he knows it too. He shrugs it off, preferring not to think of the ramifications of Rose having an off day. Harden calls every play banking on Rose eliminating his assigned receiver from contributing. And if that were ever to change, so would the entire dynamic of the defense. A few running plays punch through more blitzes, and the Cardinals near field goal range. The defense tightens up, eventually forcing third and ten. Farmers Field gets loud again as the Cardinals line up with five wide receivers, Fitzgerald getting stare down by Rose. Palmer takes the snap. Fitzgerald runs a post route, Rose gives him some room, and Palmer’s pass hits him in stride. Rose wraps his arms around him, slows them both down, and tries to wrangle the receiver down, but he loses his grip and falls, leaving Fitzgerald alone. Schwinn comes out of nowhere and tackles him two yards short of a first down, and the crowd screams in approval. Schwinn extends his arm to Rose and helps his teammate to his feet. “Tryin’ a little too hard there, partner!” Rose doesn’t even look at him. Despite the stop, the eight-yard-gain lets Arizona attempt a fifty-three-yard field goal. Chandler Catanzaro boots it deep enough, curving it just inside the right upright, and the Cardinals extend their lead to 10-6. The Knights take over on their own thirty with 8:35 to go in the fourth quarter. The offense has found some momentum this half, leading two drives into field goal range. McCabe made one kick from thirty-eight yards out but missed from forty-one. In the meantime, the defense has gone on lockdown mode, so the Knights trail, 10-9. McKenzie calls plays aggressively, knowing he still has eight minutes, but he wants to save as much time as possible in case this drive stalls. Buchanan drops back and hits Bishop over the middle for ten yards. He has enjoyed a cleaner pocket this half, mostly thanks to Grodd helping Adams with Calais Campbell. On the right side, Fowler is holding his own, and Penner and Zeitler have been predictably reliable. After a few Jameson carries, it’s third and two near midfield. The clock ticks under six minutes as both teams prepare for the game’s biggest play. In the huddle, Buchanan relays McKenzie’s call: play-action, Watson and Wilkes both running deep posts. “D-Jam,” Bishop says, “if you see that single safety, don’t cut on the post, just go for it.” “Yeah, yeah,” Wilkes says. “I know what to do.” The huddle breaks, and the crowd gets loud. Buchanan doesn’t bother trying to quiet them this time. With the play clock running low, he hurries the snap. He sells a handoff to Jameson and multiple defenders break free. He runs left, escaping their reach, and looks deep. Wilkes is running in single coverage. Buchanan steps up and fires it far downfield. Wilkes keeps running, tracks the pass, and catches it in stride. The crowd cheers in unison as Wilkes applies a firm stiff arm to the Cardinals’ safety, and the stadium booms as Wilkes runs alone into the end zone. Wilkes lets his momentum take him past the goal posts, where he dunks it and runs along the edge of the crowd, egging them on and loving every second of it. What a relief to find the end zone again, after what feels like an eternity. McKenzie keeps his offense on the field, trying for a seven-point lead. The stadium is still in a frenzy as the Knights line up in a goal line formation. Wilkes is isolated wide left with everyone else in the box. Buchanan takes the snap and looks to Wilkes immediately. He throws up a jump ball. Wilkes jukes and gets some separation, but the wobbly pass sails way off target, and Wilkes nearly commits offensive pass interference trying to catch it. It falls incomplete, and the Knights lead, 15-10. On the sideline, McKenzie praises his offense for a good drive, though he has to scream over the crowd noise. Buchanan high-fives his teammates with a goofy smile on his face—until Wilkes finds him. “What the fuck, man? What kinda pass is that?” “Let it go, D-Jam,” Penner says before Buchanan can respond. “Let it go.” “C’mon, D-Jam,” Buchanan says, “you scored the touchdown, dude.” “Man, fuck y’all!” Wilkes sulks off to find a quiet spot on the bench, sporting the only frown on the sideline. The Cardinals get the ball back on their own ten with 2:41 to go. Still up by five, Harden refrains from deviating from his strategy of frequent blitzes. Palmer, however, hits receivers quickly and accurately for decent gains, though the clock runs. Three completions later, the Cardinals are on their forty at the two-minute warning. Palmer drops back against a blitz that gets picked up. He steps up and fires toward the sideline. John Carlson catches the pass and goes out of bounds for a twelve-yard gain. For Harden, that’s enough. He subs in Jamari Price for Brock, hoping for a spark. Brock runs to the sideline, arms extended. “I’m not tired, coach!” “Sit the fuck down,” Harden says, eyes on the field. Price and Grantzinger both rush, and Price gets stuffed. This time, though, Palmer fires deep, hitting Michael Floyd for a twenty-six-yard gain, and a nervous energy swells through the stadium as Harden and other coaches step toward the end zone, following the line of scrimmage. The Cardinals keep passing with the Knights’ pass rush lacking. Palmer hits receivers for short gains, everything to the end zone well covered. Floyd for five yards, Carlson for three, Brown for six. Harden finally sends an all-out blitz, and Palmer hands off to Ellington, somehow finding a seam and reaching the four-yard-line. Arizona calls timeout. First and goal, 0:42 left. Harden makes substitutions, getting his entire first team back in, Brock included. If his starting defense can’t make a stop here, they deserve to lose the game. Ellington takes a carry off-tackle left and runs into a crowd, plowing ahead for two yards. Second and goal from the two. Palmer shouts a play call, hurrying everyone back to the line and preserving Arizona’s final timeout. Palmer fakes a handoff and looks to the end zone. Brock crushes him with a blindside hit, and he hits the grass for a six-yard loss. The crowd comes surging back as Brock performs his sack dance. Palmer calls timeout, and the clock freezes at 0:18. Harden considers his final calls. Do the Cardinals have the balls to run it from eight yards out and no timeouts? No, they don’t. He calls a conservative pass defense to blanket the end zone. Third and goal. The stadium is in an uproar for the dramatic finish under the lights. Palmer drops back behind a clean pocket. He looks all over the field without throwing. Luck breaks through, forcing Palmer to throw it out of the back of the end zone. Fourth and goal. Harden calls a similar play, and the entire stadium prepares for the game’s conclusion. The Cardinals line up in shotgun with four wide receivers, the Knights in their 2-4-5. Palmer takes the snap against a three-man rush. He looks right, looks left—nothing. He shifts around in the pocket with no pressure. Randall moves laterally in the middle of the end zone. He spots a receiver running toward him, about to break open, and picks him up. Then Fitzgerald cuts across, into the middle where Randall should be, wide open. Palmer fires over the middle for Fitzgerald. The bullet pass is caught by the outstretched arms of Grantzinger, diving across the goal line. The linebacker gets mobbed by his teammates as the officials rule a touchback, and the Knights celebrate along with their fans. The team gets back to the MedComm Center with spirits riding high, and plans are put in motion for a club outing. Brock astoundingly turns down an invite, but Grodd, Jameson, Anthrax, Randall, Grantzinger, Flash, and Rose are in. They head to a familiar club, one where they know they can keep a low profile and celebrate comfortably. The Knights are 4-2 now, a record any team will accept after seven weeks. They’ll face a difficult road to the postseason again, with the Broncos 5-1 and Chargers 5-2, but they’ll get their chance in the AFC West, with five of six divisional games still to be played. A few minutes after the first round of drinks arrive, Rose steps away, feeling his phone vibrating. “C’mon, Malik!” Randall says. “Your first time out all year and you’re gonna spend it on the phone?” Rose sees the caller is Eva and answers. “Hello?” “I just saw the car parked outside.” “Parked outside where?” “Right outside our house, Malik. I took one step outside and he drove away.” Malik feels his heartbeat pick up. His eyes dart between the front door to the club and the crowd of his teammates. “Stay inside. Keep the doors locked. I’m gonna call you back in a minute.” “Malik, what—” “I’ll call you back in a minute.” He hangs up and brings up the contact list in his phone, finding a name and a number he hasn’t dialed in a long, long time. “No fucking way!” Grodd yells, standing up. Everyone notices a commotion near the front of the club as a couple strolls through the entrance. The woman turns heads with a low-cut dress showing off a large set of breasts, but it’s her face that’s unmistakable as one of Los Angeles’ most famous porn stars. She smiles and locks arms with Sean Brock, starting linebacker for Los Angeles’ NFL team. “I don’t fucking believe it,” Randall says. Rose pays no attention to the commotion, pressing his phone to his ear closely. “Hey, it’s me…I know…Good, good. You in town?...Good. I need a favor.” Rose drives the Charger into his reserved parking space and walks into the MedComm Center, ready for another week of work. The Knights have a road trip to Baltimore coming up, and Rose is eager to brush off his performance against Arizona. He takes a few steps into the lobby before a security guard approaches him. “Sir, I need you to come with me.” “The fuck? What’s going on?” “Malik!” Rose looks up and sees Harden emerge from the elevator. “It’s okay. Come with me.” “Where to, coach?” “Mr. Schneider’s office.” Rose and Harden take the elevator up to the second floor. Harden seems relaxed, so Rose doesn’t panic. They walk down a hallway lined with pictures Rose has never seen before. When they get to the office, a crowd awaits them: Schneider, the GM, and a few other people Rose doesn’t recognize. Schneider initiates a round of pleasantries, furthering the confusion. “Malik, I’ll get straight to the point,” Schneider says. “We may have a situation. Do you know a man named Javion Torrey?” “I used to. Why?” “He’s at Good Samaritan Hospital right now, being treated for multiple injuries. It appears he was beaten up pretty badly last night by one or more assailants. Doctors say they nearly had to put him in a coma to get him through the night.” “Oh. That’s too bad.” “We need you to help us out on this one, Malik. We just spoke with your agent, and your attorney is on his way.” “What do I need my lawyer for?” “The police have named you a suspect in the Torrey case. They’re on their way here right now.”
  6. Knights of Andreas Part IV Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DarthRaider DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever GA_Eagle JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Fifty-Four – What Happens Next Still sweating from the game, Harden stands before the assembly of journalists, responding quickly and easily to their weak questions. Something feels off. The press is typically unafraid to fire away at coaches and players, especially in fragile post-game pressers like this. But the tension from the field has somehow followed Harden into this conference. The reporters seem scared to ask questions. After a few more monotonous inquiries about the game, one ostensibly brave reporter asks, “Coach, what did you think of the officials tonight?” Harden gazes suspiciously as all eyes in the room look up at him. He takes a breath and tightens his grip on the podium. “I think they were a disgrace,” Harden says. “They failed to keep the game under control from the start. And you guys know me; I’m all about lettin’ ‘em play. But they allowed late hits and dirty play all night. It was bound to escalate at some point. You can’t fault either team, in a rivalry game with the conference on the line. I’m just glad we got through all of it with a win.” “Coach,” Adam Javad says, now comfortable enough to ask the question he’s had on his mind for an hour, “some have suggested the three players who were ejected tonight could be facing a suspension for the Super Bowl. Do you think that’s a possibility?” “Not if the league has common sense. Or any dignity.” The conference continues for a few more minutes, with a few more reporters branching off Javad’s question. Harden keeps deflecting. Unknown to Harden and the Knights, the NFL Players Association is already drafting a formal statement insisting the league not suspend anyone for the Super Bowl. Monday morning, an uneasy sense of victory hangs over the MedComm Center as coaches and front office personnel process the memorable (or infamous) conference championship game, trying to savor celebration amidst fallout. Regardless, the thirteen-day countdown begins, and the sports world analyzes Super Bowl XLIX from every possible angle. The Green Bay Packers are making their sixth Super Bowl appearance, the Los Angeles Knights their second (seventh if you count the Raider Era). Drawing the most intrigue is the matchup between the Packers offense and the Knights defense, one of the league’s most high-powered offenses led by its best quarterback and likely MVP against one of the league’s most dominating all-around defenses. There are no underdog stories this year; the Packers and Knights both went 12-4 en route to a #2 seed and conference win. Consequently, the Super Bowl is widely predicted to be a close game. The spread opens at Green Bay by 1.0, rises to Green Bay by 1.5, then swings down to Los Angeles by 0.5. When Phillips settles into his office, he follows all the news and speculation coming out regarding the AFC Championship Game, trying to assess the odds of any suspensions for the big game. Only minutes pass before the phone beeps. “Chance,” Schneider’s voice says through the phone’s speaker. “Good morning, Wayne.” “Need you in my office right away.” Of course, Schneider’s hysterical about this whole thing. Phillips figured as much. He walks over to the adjacent office, but instead of stressed, Schneider looks composed, focused, determined. Oddly, though, he puts on his coat and moves toward the door. “I’m leaving,” Schneider says. “Possibly for the day. Any meeting that can proceed without me, keep it. Postpone anything else.” “Where are you going?” “To meet with Roger. Privately.” “Goodell?” “We can’t have players suspended for the Super Bowl, Chance.” “I would think we’d get help from the NFLPA, if you read their statement.” “I read it last night. That plus my argument ought to take care of it.” “May I ask what your argument is?” “The league doesn’t want this story dragging on leading up to Super Sunday. It’s in their best interests to turn the page. I welcome hefty fines for whoever Roger wants, promise we won’t fight back, the matter is resolved by week’s end, and everyone forgets about it come media week. The focus will be on the Super Bowl, as it should be.” Impressed, Phillips thinks of nothing else to say and watches Schneider leave. Minutes later, he phones downstairs to Coach Harden, saying he can confidently game plan for the Packers anticipating no suspensions. Downstairs, Harden studies tape of the league’s soon-to-be Most Valuable Player, remembering the last time he faced Aaron Rodgers: the Earthquake Reception. His strategy now is the same as three years ago. The Knights will blitz Rodgers into oblivion, hitting him more than he’s been hit all year. Rodgers escaping the pocket is Harden’s biggest concern, but he trusts his linebackers to keep the quarterback contained. Just to up the ante a bit (it is the Super Bowl, after all), Harden goes back to the drawing board with the exotic blitzes he originally drew up for week 17 against Peyton Manning. He adjusts a few of them specifically for Green Bay’s offensive line, and for Rodgers, planning to practice them throughout the next two weeks. In terms of coverage, the Packers have a formidable receiving duo in Jordy Nelson and Randall Cobb, but the Knights have their own one-two punch at corner. Harden assigns Rose to Nelson and Marshall to Cobb without much consideration. Flash can handle Davante Adams, and his front seven can handle Eddie Lacy. McKenzie has the easier task this time, he feels. Green Bay has gotten this far on the proficiency of their offense. Their defense is middle of the road, statistically, and relies on the production of its impressive pass-rushing tandem in Clay Matthews and Julius Peppers. Stopping those two will be McKenzie’s primary concern. He doesn’t anticipate a major headache, though; both Tristan Adams and Evan Fowler, the Knights’ rookie offensive tackles, have shown tremendous growth over the course of the season. On paper, the Packers have a very impressive secondary, so McKenzie will use the same initial plan as San Diego: establish the run to set up the pass. He’s confident in Wilkes and Johnson against Sam Shields and Tramon Williams, and with the talented but inexperienced Ha Ha Clinton-Dix at free safety, McKenzie plans on multiple deep shots to Watson. The coaches assemble the game plan and form a practice schedule, holding various meetings throughout the day to finalize logistic details of the next two weeks. Phillips and Schneider can see the players practicing from Schneider’s office, their first of many practices for the season’s final game, but they focus instead on the five binders in front of them. Five names, five resumes. “So,” Phillips says, “do we dig a little deeper, interview some more candidates?” “Actually,” Schneider says, “I’ve done some thinking. I believe we should initiate a second round of interviews with two or three of the five we’ve already spoken with. One, in particular.” “Who?” “Stein.” Allan Stein, assistant director of pro personnel, San Francisco 49ers. Forty-three years old, Bachelor’s in Business Management from Stanford. Joined Stanford’s football program as a recruiting assistant before leaving the football world, then reentering five years later. Worked in front offices for the Seahawks and Texans before joining the 49ers. “What about him?” Phillips asks, not partial to Stein but wanting to hear what Schneider has to say first. “While I concede that he’s far from polished, I think he’s exactly what we’re looking for. Ambitious, well rounded, extremely knowledgeable.” “Lack of experience is a concern.” “Yes, it is. Which is why he’s a perfect fit.” “I don’t follow.” “You said it yourself, Chance. We can afford to find someone with high potential. I think Allan fits that description. Let him get the feel of a stable franchise and he could develop into an outstanding assistant GM. He’s already got the knowledge, which you and I agree is most important.” To Phillips, Michal Keegan fits that description perfectly, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “One thing ultimately does it for me, though,” Schneider continues. “Remember how I told you not to look for the next Paul DeMartine?” Phillips nods. “Well, let’s not forget DeMartine was not especially qualified when you hired him five years ago. He sat, he listened, he learned, and he developed into a great asset to this organization. I see the same potential in Stein.” “Okay, so should we schedule him for a second interview?” “Unless you think it’s a bad idea.” “No, not at all. At this point, what other options do we have?” Schneider’s phone rings, and he hesitates, looking concerned. “Could be about the suspensions,” he says, picking up. “This is Wayne Schneider.” On his way out for the day, McKenzie stops by Harden’s office, surprised to see him there at all, and even more surprised to see him hammering nails into the wall. McKenzie knows better than to ask questions. “Not often I beat you out the door, Merle.” “I’m about to head out.” Harden stays focused on hammering the second nail in place so that it’s level. “Want to grab a drink?” McKenzie says nothing. Harden doesn’t have to turn around to see his face. “I’m kidding, Mac. Lighten up.” “They phoned from upstairs. No suspensions.” “Thank Christ.” “Shitload of fines across the board, though. Brian, Sean, Flash…you, too.” “The hell did I do?” “Apparently there was an infraction somewhere between shoving the opposing head coach and disparaging the refs on national TV.” “People are too fucking sensitive, Mac.” Content with the nail position, Harden lifts a large framed picture, taken two days ago, from his desk and hangs it on the wall: Phillip Rivers’ irritated face, walking off the field. Harden looks pleased with himself, studying Rivers’ position among his collection, and finally turns toward McKenzie, though his mind is elsewhere. “I gotta say, I miss the Devil’s Lake days.” “Here we go…” “I told coaches to go fuck themselves, parents to go fuck themselves, boosters to go fuck themselves…think I even told the mascot to go fuck himself at one point.” A vibrating sound on the desk draws both men’s attention. It’s Harden’s phone, which shows an incoming call from Caden Daniel. “That’s the fourth time he’s called since Sunday.” “Not gonna answer?” Harden smiles. “He can go fuck himself.” Javad throws one last pair of pants in his suitcase, thankful he doesn’t have to pack for cold weather this year. He considers cleaning his apartment since he’s already packed up half his clothes, but decides against it, wanting to write one more article tonight about the state of professional sports in Los Angeles. When the Knights moved to L.A. in 2010, fan expectations varied. Predicting a Super Bowl within a decade was optimistic. A competently run franchise was considered the best fans could hope for. Many feared (or anticipated) an eventual return to Oakland. Over the last five years, the beloved Lakers have begun their descent in the twilight of Kobe Bryant’s career, the Blake Griffin-era Clippers have yet to get past the conference semifinals, and the Dodgers are under new ownership after filing for bankruptcy. In the meantime, the Kings have won two Stanley Cups and the Knights have become an NFL powerhouse. The idea of Los Angeles as a football or hockey city—as an anything city, really—is an odd one, but it makes for good discussion, and it’s as fresh a topic as Javad has to write about given the exhaustive nature of Super Bowl journalism. His phone buzzes on his laptop keyboard, nearly sliding off the desk before he catches it. He almost drops it again when he sees who’s calling. “Hello,” he says, answering. “Something breaking? Hire an assistant GM?” “No,” Phillips says. “Just checking in while I had a minute.” “Oh.” “We’ve got a big offseason on the horizon.” “Yeah, speaking of that, I’ve been meaning to ask…what’s up with the Rose interview? Is it dead now that he’s been cleared?” “No. I promised you the interview and I plan on delivering. Schneider will still want to turn public opinion around. I admit it’s no longer as juicy as it once was, but in the middle of a long offseason, it could be a stand-out piece.” Javad still loves the idea of a humanizing, emotional, one-on-one interview. And Phillips is right; in the middle of a season, something like that could get swept under the rug, but in the offseason, it could be a top story for days. “Sounds great,” Javad says. “Anything coming in the near future?” “Nothing before the Super Bowl. Still exchanging figures with agents.” “Anything I can print?” “No.” “Anything off the record?” “Yes. I’m much more optimistic about an extension for Flash Johnson than I was a few weeks ago, and I’d expect big numbers for Wilkes’ new deal. North of seventy million.” “Okay, okay. Keep me updated.” “You finalize travel arrangements to Glendale?” “Yep. Gonna save a few bucks and drive Sunday night, pulling an all-nighter.” He hears Phillips laugh on the other end of the line. “Let me put it this way: I’m looking forward to Super Bowl 50 in Los Angeles.” “Well, I’ll say this Adam: this offseason goes as planned, I’ll put you in a five-star hotel myself next year, whether we’re there or not.” “That’s a deal. I’ll let you know when I’m in Glendale. We can do an interview.” “Sounds great. One last thing.” “Yes?” “Assistant GM. Allan Stein. You can report it Sunday morning.” Phillips hangs up, alone in his office while the last of daylight beams in through the windows. He thinks about what he said to Javad, about the offseason going as planned. How exactly is that going to happen? He steps toward the white board listing contract projections in purple marker, projections that keep increasing as Phillips has more and more dialogue with agents. His assertion that he could retain all the team’s key free agents is a fantasy. Always was. He studies the figures one at a time, player by player, trying to remember the principles he has always tried to follow. Long-term thinking, he tells himself. Don’t worry what the best decision is today. What’s the best decision three years from now? Nothing else to do, he grabs the eraser for some more simulations, deducing how good the team will be without certain players, what their strengths and weaknesses are, how the identity of the team changes, etc. On the top row is “QB Maverick” and his $13-million cap hit for this season, written in black. Over the next five columns are gargantuan cap hits based on Phillips’ latest guess at the new contract for his franchise quarterback: five years, one hundred million dollars. Phillips gets an idea. He spins around, listening for anyone in the hallway, though everyone else has gone home, he thinks. Satisfied, he focuses back on the top row of the white board, lifts the eraser, and, with a clean stroke, removes the eight-figure amounts in purple ink from the top row. He does some quick math, calculating the cap space he just freed and distributing it to other players. A few extra million to Wilkes and Randall for their extensions. Some padding in a free agency budget for 2016. There’s enough money. There’s more than enough. His eyes return to the top of the board, to the row that says “QB Buchanan,” with modest, six-figure cap hits through 2016. If Phillips wanted to consider a bold, outside-the-box alternative, this certainly fits. But he can’t openly suggest something like this, can’t just throw it out during a meeting. This is something he normally would have spoken to DeMartine about, privately. Now, is there anyone he can trust to fill that void? The flight lifts off from Los Angeles on schedule, just after 2pm, headed due east towards Phoenix International Airport. The plane reaches cruising altitude about thirty minutes later. “So, who’s going to the Pro Bowl tonight?” Maverick asks, looking around the cabin for responses. “I got a couple field passes.” Wilkes: “Oh, count me in.” Flash: “Me too.” Brock: “You’re going to the game, Mav? Thought you’d be up for hitting town, checking out the scenery.” Maverick: “The scenery…in Phoenix? Yeah, I’m not super excited about that. It certainly isn’t New York.” Wilkes: “Man, New York was cold as hell. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Grodd: “That’s really shit luck for us, guys. Two Super Bowls in a row, but they’re in cold ass New York and Phoenix. Why couldn’t we get Miami?” Grantzinger: “I think Brock’s just jealous he wouldn’t have made the Pro Bowl even though they got down to nine pass rushers.” Martin: “It was ten, last I checked.” Brock: “Fuck you guys. Just wait ‘till next Sunday. The Closer is going out in style this season. It’s gonna be fourth and goal, five seconds left…” Rose: “Jesus Christ, Zack, why do you have to get him started?” Brock: “…Packers on the five-yard-line, need a touchdown to win. Rodgers drops back, tries to roll out for one last throw, but is tripped up by yours truly! The Closer wins it for the Knights of Andreas. Book it, boys. Knights 20, Packers 14. Then we all ride into the sunset with our bonus checks. Yo, Marlon, what were the numbers again?” Martin: “Ninety-seven thousand for the winner, forty-nine thousand for the loser.” Randall: “Not a bad sum either way.” Brock: “Man, I need every dollar I can get.” Rose: “What’s the matter, Sean? Spending too much money on strippers?” Grodd: “Yeah, what’s the big deal? Don’t you have a cap spike next year?” Conversation halts. Players can hear the 35,000-foot air glide past the plane’s wings. Grodd lowers himself into his seat, aware of his sin. Players can talk about money they have, cars they’ve bought, tabs they’ve racked up—but front office talk of contracts, salaries, and negotiations is not kosher. Over half the team’s starters now contemplate their financial future, a future that includes an expiring contract either this year or next. A familiar ding breaks everyone’s concentration, and the pilot announces the plane’s descent. Wilkes: “What the fuck? Already? I thought we were going to Phoenix.” Brock: “Holy shit, D-Jam, Arizona borders California. Read a fucking map.” A quiet day comes and goes at the MedComm Center, with the first floor vacant of all personnel except custodians. Schneider has already left for Phoenix, and Phillips has to catch a late flight for Media Day tomorrow. He has one thing to take care of first, though. He’s in the middle of reading a report from the scouting department when Keegan appears in the doorway. “Shut the door,” Phillips instructs, even though nobody else is still here. Keegan does so, looking confused, and steps toward the GM’s desk. “I have a private assignment for you.” “Okay,” Keegan says. “It’s private.” “You just said that.” “I’m saying it again, Michal. This is completely off the book.” “Okay…” Phillips pauses, part of him still torn on whether he should go through with this. “I want you to investigate all possible trade scenarios for Jonathan Maverick.” Phillips studies Keegan’s reaction carefully, but there isn’t much of one. He doesn’t appear shocked at all. Curious, if anything. “Every aspect,” Phillips continues. “Teams who would be interested, likely draft pick or player compensation, everything.” “Should I assume a Maverick trade would make Buchanan the starting quarterback?” “Unless we could get a better option in return, either directly by trade or through the draft. As I said, consider all angles.” “No problem.” “You don’t sound as surprised as I thought.” “I’m just guessing you see it as more cost effective.” Good. This is what Phillips wanted, for Keegan to press the football side of this, not just the financial side. “It could be. Think about it, Michal, we went 10-4 with Buchanan this year. Obviously we’re a better team with Maverick, but a hundred million dollars better?” Keegan looks excited now, perhaps about contributing to such a monumental task, perhaps simply about performing complex mathematics. “I’ll get right on it,” Keegan says. “Good. And again—I can’t stress this enough—this is for your eyes only. You pretty much do your own thing anyway, so keep it that way. You don’t tell anyone what you’re doing, and you report all findings to my eyes only. Anyone catches you in the middle of this, you tell them you’re watching porn. Got it?” “Sure.” Tuesday morning, thousands of players, coaches, journalists, and fans attend Media Day at the U.S. Airways Center, the downtown arena most notably home to the Phoenix Suns. Unlike a year ago, the Knights treat the hour-long interviews as a task, not a spectacle. They deflect inquiries about the AFC Championship Game, instead answering stupid questions about overcoming Maverick’s shoulder injury, Harden’s alcohol episode, and making it to their second consecutive Super Bowl. For their part, the Packers act like they’ve been here before too. The day passes without any bulletin board material from either team, and the biggest story Tuesday night is simply that Super Bowl XLIX is five days away. The Knights resume practice Wednesday morning, as they have been since arriving in Phoenix, indoors. (The forecast for Sunday is sunny, temperatures in the high 60’s, and the University of Phoenix Stadium’s retractable roof will likely be open.) Yet, despite the high stakes, the Knights practice with confidence. They know exactly how great a football team the Packers are, but more importantly, they also know how great they are. McKenzie enjoys the extra week to dive deeper into the playbook, allowing the offense multiple reps on all 175 plays, including and especially audibles and hot routes. This is something McKenzie always enjoyed in college, where the season schedule included multiple bye weeks, but the regulations on practice time only let him go so far. Such regulations are lighter and more flexible in the NFL. Harden takes advantage of extra time by having his front seven master his new, crazy blitzes, but even that only takes so long. By Friday, the last full practice day, coaches are nitpicking mechanics more than anything. The game plan is set, and the playbook is perfected. The Knights are ready. Saturday night, the Knights are well represented at the NFL Honors despite Coach Harden encouraging players to get their minds off football the night before the game. Several players are obligated to attend, however, as the team is up for multiple awards. Host Seth Meyers delivers a humorous opening monologue, playfully criticizing players and coaches, Knights included. He gets one of his loudest laughs by saying, “A few players from Los Angeles are running late tonight, but the league surprisingly decided not to suspend the ceremony.” The awards progress, along with the announcement of the newest Pro Football Hall of Fame class. Todd Bowles from Arizona wins Assistant Coach of the Year, an award for which Ron McKenzie drew modest buzz. Sam Luck is considered a favorite for Walter Payton Man of the Year, but Thomas Davis wins. Zack Grantzinger is expected to garner some votes for Defensive Player of the Year, but J.J. Watt becomes the first player to win the award unanimously in NFL history. Near the end of the ceremony, Ray Lewis takes the stage to announce Coach of the Year, during which Merle Harden sits and watches nervously. “The 2014 AP Coach of the Year is…Bruce Arians.” The hall applauds as Arians makes his way to the stage. Harden claps and breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he says to himself. The ceremony concludes predictably as Aaron Rodgers is crowned the league’s Most Valuable Player, and so the Knights finish the night empty handed. Knight’s End opens at 10am with multiple parties ready to be seated. Beers and mimosas are flowing at a full bar by eleven, just the beginning of an all-day event. Part of the allure of Super Bowl Sunday in California is the time; the game starts around 3:30 and is over by 7, leaving Knights fans plenty of time to celebrate—or commiserate. Thousands of fans plan to call in to work Monday morning regardless. Cooper and Sampson arrive later than usual, devastated to see their high top already taken. It looks like the place will be packed even more than last year. Though Cooper insists on leaving, Sampson remains calm, and the two end up in a booth on the opposite side of the bar. “This feels all wrong,” Cooper says. “Bad omen.” “What’s the spread at now?” Sampson asks, trying to change the subject. “Packers by a half, last I saw.” “Surprised you haven’t been talking about it, actually.” “I thought about putting a bet down.” “No way. With what money?” “All I have left. But I didn’t. It’s taken me a year just to get back on my feet. I guess I didn’t want to fuck it all up again.” “I’d praise you for being responsible, but I have personally witnessed you spending hundreds of dollars on beer per month in that time span.” “Priorities, Cassie, priorities.” The Knights sit quietly in the locker room, kickoff only minutes away. All conversations have ended. A few players listen to headphones, but most just sit and stare at the floor, running through their personal pre-game thoughts. This is the silence before a game, and hopefully, there will be no silence after. Harden steps toward the middle of the locker room, and everyone looks up, as if they’re expecting something. Just what he feared; they want an encore. Harden broke character last year to deliver a pre-game sermon, and lot of fucking good it did. “If you think you’re getting a speech two years in a row, you’re full of shit.” The players actually look disappointed, as if they need some pep talk to know how to get up for the Super Bowl. Harden isn’t sure how to respond, so he says what’s on his mind. “We’re not losing two years in a row.” That gets everyone’s attention again. “We’re not walking back into this room with nothing to show for all we’ve gone through this year. We’re winning tonight, men. Believe it. Let’s go.” Both teams take the field at University of Phoenix Stadium, feeling warm, comfortable air. For the Knights, it feels like home, and it’s certainly better than last year. The Packers wear their home green jerseys, yellow pants; the Knights wear their away whites, black pants. In the Knights’ luxury suite, Phillips occupies a front row seat with a glorious view of the field. He has Melissa just to his left, with all three kids next to her. To his right is not Wayne Schneider, but rather Allan Stein. “Not a bad seat for your first game as assistant GM, Allan,” Phillips says. “Not at all,” Stein says. “I just hope this gets to be the beginning of something big that I can be a part of, you know? And not something else.” Phillips nods, not exactly sure what Stein means. Pre-game ceremonies commence on the field. The Packers win the coin toss and defer, giving the Knights the ball first. After the national anthem and flyover, Maverick stands on the edge of the sideline, looking across the field at his opposite #12, league MVP Aaron Rodgers. The last time these two squared off, the game was a back and forth quarterback duel that culminated in a stunning upset with an earthquake somewhere in between. This time, one of them is walking off the field with the Lombardi Trophy.
  7. Knights of Andreas Part IV Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DarthRaider DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Fifty-Two – Versus the World Black Monday in the NFL dominates the news cycle. Hour by hour, information leaks of teams firing or “parting ways” with coaches, launching the affected franchise into a new era. Behind closed doors, they identify head coach candidates to interview, the first step in a long, comprehensive, and critical process. For the twelve teams in the playoffs, the dynamic is entirely different, with fans and analysts trying to choose whom among the twelve is most likely to go to Super Bowl XLIX in Glendale, Arizona. The Wild Card Round matchups are Steelers vs. Chargers and Colts vs. Bengals in the AFC, Cowboys vs. Lions and Panthers vs. Cardinals in the NFC. The Patriots, Knights, Seahawks, and Packers get the first week off. Seahawks/Patriots is an obviously popular prediction, though both conference’s #1 seeds have faced each other in the Super Bowl only three times since the 12-team format was established in 1990. The Packers and Knights get their requisite share of buzz for being #2 seeds. The most popular picks among the Wild Card crowd are the Cowboys and Steelers. Preference polls, as opposed to prediction polls, reveal an interesting dynamic. The Packers seem to be the favorite among neutral fans, while the Patriots, Seahawks, and Knights all draw negative ratings. One particular poll asks fans to rank the playoff teams, one through twelve, based on the question, “Which team do you most want to see win the Super Bowl?” The Knights finish last, behind the Seahawks. A separate poll asks, “What would be the worst Super Bowl XLIX matchup?” It lists only a handful of the thirty-six possible combinations, but Seahawks/Knights wins in a landslide. The only positive recognition the Knights appear to receive comes from the annual AP All-Pro Team, which includes three Knights: Brian Penner, Zack Grantzinger, and Malik Rose. At Coach Harden’s Monday presser, it becomes clear reporters don’t have many quality questions with no set opponent this week, so one journalist decides to take a chance. “Coach, a lot of online polls have shown that the majority of NFL fans are rooting against the Knights. In fact, they appear to be the least liked among the twelve playoff teams. Do you, as a coach, try to use that as motivation, turn it into an ‘us against the world’ thing?” Harden looks confused, as if the reporter speaks a foreign language. Sitting nearby, Adam Javad puts his pen down and waits eagerly for the coach’s response. “You know,” Harden says, “that might be one of the stupidest questions I’ve heard all year.” The reporter sinks into his seat, now forced to brave the storm he created, because Harden’s not done. “First of all, I don’t give a damn what anyone outside of Los Angeles thinks about our team. Second of all, us versus is the world is, um…that’s just how it works. I can’t use that for motivation. Once you get on the field, once you’re out there, you think anyone can help you? The other team is there to stop you. The refs aren’t on your side. There’s no one you can rely on except yourself and your teammates. It’s always you versus the world.” That quote appears to render everyone speechless, so Harden ends the conference and walks out, ready to finalize the practice schedule. Harden’s job this week is to give the players a standard, generic week of practice while laying the foundation for all three potential Divisional Round opponents. The Knights will face the highest advancing seed, meaning they can’t play the sixth-seeded Chargers until the AFC Championship, hypothetically. That leaves the Steelers, Colts, and Bengals as possibilities, three teams the Knights have not played this year. Truth be told, Harden’s not afraid of any of them. Outside of New England, the only teams who scare him are in the NFC. While the players might get a low-stress workweek, things are busy on the second floor. The twenty franchises not in the playoffs are looking to fill coaching and front office positions with candidates from other teams, including those in the playoffs. Thanks to their success, the Knights are a ripe target for interviewees. Their assistant general manager, director of college scouting, and vice president of player personnel get interviews for general manager positions around the league. No assistant coaches get calls because the head coach positions must fill first. Once those happen, however, the wave of new coaches will move to fill their respective staffs with assistants. In the meantime, many informal phone calls occur between coaches, with soon-to-be head coaches promising coordinator positions to assistants should they be hired. Nothing official happens yet, though it certainly seems the Knights’ coaching staff will be targeted more than it has been in the past. Phillips and Schneider take a proactive approach to each position. For every candidate interviewing elsewhere, they initiate a search for possible replacements and compile a priority list of interviewees, doing most of the work in Schneider’s office. They even consider replacements for assistant coaches they suspect might be headed elsewhere. Eventually, they get to DeMartine’s possible departure and the arduous task of finding a new assistant GM. “I would say Greg is a natural in-house replacement,” Schneider suggests, referring to the Knights’ vice president of player personnel, “but he’s taking the first offer he gets, don’t you think?” “Without a doubt,” Phillips says. “He’s qualified and eager for a promotion. Even if we made him assistant GM here, he’d only be around a year before leaving.” “Not a plus in terms of continuity.” “We really don’t have to worry, though. Paul’s not going anywhere.” “You sound confident, considering he’s extremely qualified and has three interviews set up.” “With the Jets, Bears, and Bucs. Paul will be a GM in this league one day, and when he is, it’ll be because he took the right opening. New York, Chicago, and Tampa aren’t it.” “I appreciate your opinion, Chance, but I think we should focus on potential candidates all the same.” “Of course.” Throughout the week, the Knights practice for an unknown opponent with various front office members traveling around the country. Harden enjoys a relatively relaxing week, with his coaching staff intact—for now. McKenzie and Maverick, however, still work long hours trying to get Maverick caught up. Maverick has learned every game’s playbook since being injured and has studied plenty of film. Now that he can throw again, he’s making the most of his time. If the Knights fail to win the Super Bowl again this year, it won’t be because he didn’t work hard enough. Near the end of the week, two dominos fall in the Knights’ front office. Their vice president of player personnel accepts the general manager job in Tampa Bay, as expected, and their director of college scouting has a handshake agreement with Washington as their new president of football operations, to take effect after this year’s draft. Losing two prominent front office members is a significant blow, but Schneider and Phillips are prepared. They go through their list of candidates, scheduling interviews throughout next week. Saturday morning, the staff of hostesses, waiters, bartenders, cooks, and managers arrives to finish setting up for an incredibly busy day. The establishment has even more high definition TVs hanging from its walls than this time last year, plus a new surround sound system. All TVs are tuned to ESPN for Cardinals/Panthers (kickoff is 1:35 Pacific time) and configured to change, with a single click, to NBC for Colts/Bengals. Everything runs on schedule, and by 11am, Knight’s End is open for business. Patrons fill in quickly. Groups occupy scattered tables around the massive restaurant, but the bar is nearly full by noon. Around then, in walk Jay Cooper and Cassie Sampson, taking their usual high top and ordering their usual beers. “Did you eat breakfast?” Sampson asks. “Yeah, I drank a beer on the way,” Cooper says. “I figured.” “Hey, wait a second.” Cooper leans in, squinting at Sampson’s black Knights jersey. “That’s not your Wilkes jersey. It’s not even a road white.” “Was wondering when you’d notice.” Sampson removes the jersey carefully, revealing his familiar, white Jefferspin-Wilkes #81 underneath it. “The fuck were you wearing two jerseys for?” “This one’s yours.” Sampson extends the black jersey. Cooper grabs it instinctively, noticing how fresh and crisp it feels, unfolding the back: Jameson #32. “I already have a jersey,” Cooper says, referring to the tattered black fabric sporting Marcus Allen’s name currently on his back. “Yeah, and it looks like it’s been through two wars. From one badass running back to another. One Marcus to another, too. Merry Christmas.” “The fuck, Cassie? I didn’t—” “I got a good deal on it. Seriously considered getting a Maverick jersey to fuck with you, but I knew you wouldn’t wear it.” “Damn straight I wouldn’t.” Cooper looks around the bar, thinks of removing the Allen jersey, then throws the Jameson jersey on top of it, looking rather pleased with himself. “Thank Christ you didn’t get me one of those godawful purple alternates.” Over the next hour, football fans populate the bar wearing a colorful variety of jerseys. Knight’s End is unofficially a Knights bar, but it draws fans from all over the league, like most attractions in Los Angeles. Cardinals/Panthers kicks off and gets ugly fast. It becomes painfully clear that the Cardinals, forced to turn to Ryan Lindley in the wake of Carson Palmer’s injury, can barely get a first down. The Panthers take advantage with a 49-15 blowout victory, an inauspicious start to the playoffs. By the time the Colts and Bengals kick off, Knight’s End is just as packed, but much more energetic. Both of these teams are potential opponents for the Knights next week. As Knights fans analyze the game, they size up their team versus Cincy and Indy, trying to determine the optimal (or more intriguing) opponent. Cincinnati is particularly interesting because of Tom Everett, their offensive coordinator. Everett’s offseason departure to Cincinnati always struck Knights fans as odd. The two teams appear evenly matched, with each offense trading scores. The game is tied, 13-13, at halftime. Andy Dalton hits A.J. Green for a quick strike to open the third quarter, making it 20-13, and the Colts fail to respond. Early in the fourth quarter, the Bengals reach the red zone, but an errant Dalton pass gets taken the other way, tying the game. Dalton throws another interception on the ensuing drive, and Andrew Luck capitalizes, leading a long drive into the end zone. The Bengals fail to score in the game’s final minutes, and the Colts win, 27-20. The Knights will play the Steelers if they win tomorrow or the Colts if the Chargers win. Sunday morning, Knight’s End opens earlier than it has all year, the first party of the day walking through the front doors at 9:03. Today’s “one o’ clock” game between the Steelers and Chargers starts at 10:05am in Los Angeles, and Knight’s End will graciously accept money from fans who want to watch the game. Cooper and Sampson are among the first Knights fans there, each ordering the infamous Hangover Burger, a half-pound of beef topped with a fried egg and drizzled with maple syrup. The Steelers jump out to a 10-0 lead, and the Chargers appear overmatched. But something clicks on offense, and San Diego soon leads, 14-10. A perfectly executed two-minute drill by Phillip Rivers makes it 21-10 at halftime. The Steelers respond in the second half with a touchdown drive, and the Chargers add a field goal. The score now 24-17, the Chargers defense takes over, putting Roethlisberger under constant pressure and suffocating Pittsburgh’s offense. The Chargers fail to add any points in the fourth quarter, but a last second Hail Mary lands incomplete, and the Chargers win, finalizing the Divisional Round in the AFC: Chargers/Patriots in New England, Colts/Knights in Los Angeles. While the Cowboys and Lions wrap up Wild Card Weekend, Knights fans dissect next week’s matchup with the Colts. Sampson expresses concern about Andrew Luck against the Knights defense but expects a Knights win. Cooper dismisses Luck as overrated and predicts a 45-3 victory. “First playoff game in Farmers Field,” Sampson eventually says. “Place is gonna be pretty hype.” “Don’t remind me,” Cooper says. Sampson looks at him suspiciously. “Don’t worry. I’m over it.” “No you’re not.” “This place will be just as fun, beers are cheaper, parking is incredibly cheaper, and there’s a much smaller risk of security throwing my ass out. So, Cassie, please.” The Knights start another practice week with their opponent officially set. The Divisional Round schedule has them playing this Saturday night, a slight disadvantage. Last week’s bye, however, allowed them to establish a foundational game plan for all three potential opponents, Indianapolis included. Coaches now branch that foundation out into a full game plan, adjusted slightly based on Saturday’s Colts/Bengals game. When he studies the Colts, McKenzie sees a mediocre defense weak in the trenches. He therefore wants to attack early with Jameson, establish the run game, then rely on Maverick to get touchdowns in the red zone. Maverick, however, wants to come out firing, like they did in Denver. The playbook includes a balance of run and pass plays, but McKenzie and Maverick debate the first, scripted, fifteen plays all week. Harden feels more confident. He respects Luck’s ability as a quarterback but considers Indy’s offensive line garbage. The Knights should win that trench battle, allowing them to dominate the game. The Colts do have, however, an impressive array of receivers. T.Y. Hilton is assigned the Rose treatment, leaving Marshall on Reggie Wayne with Flash helping over the top when necessary. Tight end Coby Fleener is slightly concerning; he’s an underachieving player on film, but he’s the sort of tight end Randall and Martin could have trouble covering. Harden decides against a definitive plan, preferring to keep his options open. Meanwhile, the coaching carousel is spinning fast. Four head coaching vacancies have been filled as of Monday morning, and the top priority for those coaches is assembling a staff of coordinators and position coaches. A wave of interviews spreads across the league, some ripples reaching Los Angeles. Throughout the week, the Knights’ quarterbacks coach, offensive line coach, defensive line coach, linebackers coach, and secondary coach get interviews for coordinator positions. Harden tries to manage practice as best he can with coaches occasionally absent, but on Wednesday, two hires are made, and the Knights lose their defensive line coach and secondary coach. Harden promotes the defensive quality control coach to defensive line—how hard can it be to coach three players?—and assumes coaching duties over the secondary himself. The Knights start practice Thursday with a shuffled coaching staff on defense, but the game plan for Indianapolis remains unchanged. Upstairs, Phillips and Schneider interview candidates for the two open front office jobs. Between the two positions, they deliberately target at least one from Denver, San Diego, and Kansas City, to get some inside information on their division rivals. It’s part of the game in the NFL, and the Knights know how to play along. Phillips is in the process of taking multiple phone calls from agents of Knights players, exchanging contract numbers and updating his white board accordingly, when DeMartine knocks on the open door. “Good timing,” Phillips says, hanging up the phone. “Come on in, Paul. I wanted to go over one of our more recent cap projections with you, actually. It’s a good thing you’re here.” Phillips walks toward the white board, eyeing up some purple cap figures he’s recently changed. “Chance, I need to—” “I’ve had some really productive conversations with Alex Johnson’s agent, and I think we can structure a deal that’s easy on our ‘15 and ‘16 cap numbers and has long-term security in the event—” “Chance, I’m out.” Phillips freezes in place, fixated on a $9-million cap figure for Johnson in 2017. His eyes find their way across the room to DeMartine, who looks defeated. Phillips has no idea how stunned he looks. “What do you mean ‘out’?” Phillips says. “I got a call from Chicago this morning. They offered me the GM job and I took it.” This doesn’t feel right, that such a huge decision can be relayed in a casual conversation on a Thursday afternoon. This doesn’t feel real. “Forgive me, Paul,” Phillips says. “I thought you’d be sticking around for another Super Bowl run.” “You know it’s nothing personal. I decided a while ago I would take a GM job if one came up.” Phillips was wrong the whole time. He felt, so confidently, that DeMartine would wait for a good situation before taking the big job. How could his read be so far off? Phillips, shocked, finds a way to subdue all those thoughts and extend his hand. “Congratulations, Paul. You deserve it.” “I can’t thank you enough, Chance.” “Make sure you buy some new coats,” is all Phillips thinks to say, realizing how cheesy it sounds. “Well, we play the AFC West next season, so I’m sure I’ll see you then.” He’s already saying “we” to describe Chicago. How did this happen so soon? Seconds later, DeMartine is gone. Phillips stands alone in the hallway, suddenly stressed about all the challenges the organization faces, including and especially its newest top priority: finding an assistant general manager. The Knights, in all black, stare across the field at the Colts, in all white, as the crowd amps up, kickoff moments away. The sun will set over the course of the game, but for now, it’s a clear and sunny 68 degrees, perfect football weather. As the kickoff sails out of bounds, McKenzie looks at his laminated play sheet one last time before commencing with the scripted calls. The crowd tempers its noise, but the energy around the stadium is palpable. Maverick lines up under center, sizes up the defense, and takes the snap. He sells a handoff to Jameson and rolls right. Looking deep, he sees what he wants and bombs it for Wilkes, half a step behind the defense. The pass sails through the air and hits him in stride. Fans jump to their feet as Wilkes accelerates away from a diving Colt and runs into the end zone, dunking the ball on the goal posts. Farmers Field rocks with the intensity of an earthquake as the Knights celebrate their first touchdown of the postseason. Players and coaches have to scream on the sideline to hear each other. The offense enjoys a leisurely rest—there’s only one play to study from the drive, and it went perfectly—while the AFC’s best defense takes the field. Farmers Field roars again, most fans standing and pelting the field with noise. Andrew Luck calls out adjustments with hand signals. Luck drops back and hits receivers quickly for short yards. This brings up third and three, which Luck converts by hitting Ahmad Bradford out of the backfield. Harden watches closely. He’s holding back on blitzes for now, hoping four-man rushes can get the best of Indy’s offensive line. So far, it hasn’t. The Colts reach midfield without running the ball, then hand off to Dan Herron a few times. The home crowd maintains the noise, but at increasingly smaller levels with every Colts first down. From the edge of field goal range, Luck drops back against a blitz. He steps up, avoids the rush, looks downfield, and fires toward the sideline. Fleener runs open toward the end zone, Martin a step behind him. The pass drops in Fleener’s hands, and Farmers Field goes quiet. As the extra point ties the game, 7-7, Harden makes two decisions: no more Martin covering Fleener (Randall only), and more blitzes. McKenzie prepares for what he expects to be a longer drive this time, though he certainly wouldn’t object to a quick score. Per the arranged script, the Knights throw more than they run. Maverick hits receivers for solid gains, finding holes in the Colts’ coverage. Johnson for twelve yards, Bishop for ten, Wilkes for ten, Johnson for thirteen. The Knights reach field goal range, slowly bringing the crowd back into the game. Maverick lines up under center for first and ten, then audibles to a shotgun formation. Seeing a defense he recognizes from film, he suspects a safety blitz. With the play clock running low, he waves his arm diagonally, looking toward his receivers. Nobody does anything to indicate they understand. Maverick takes the snap and drops back. Wilkes abandons his sideline route and runs a post toward the end zone, beating the corner. Maverick steps up and fires over the middle, taking a big blindside hit. From the grass, he looks downfield and sees Wilkes catch the pass in stride, hearing a wave of cheers around the stadium. Grodd helps him up to celebrate. Farmers Field has never been louder. The Knights take a 14-7 lead, and the energy carries through the commercial break. Harden watches as his defense retakes the field. They’ve given up their share of touchdowns this year, of course, but they’ve always responded on the following drive. Harden isn’t worried. Luck deals with immense crowd noise but finds receivers anyway, chipping away at the vaunted Knights defense with short gains. When he hands off, Colts running backs find holes up the middle, running right through blitzes. Harden is so perplexed he avoids getting angry. The Colts cross midfield, in the process of crushing the home team’s momentum again. Harden concentrates on personnel as multiple Colts receivers shift in motion. When the chaos settles, he identifies multiple problems. Why is Marshall on Hilton? Why isn’t Schwinn stacking the box? He runs toward the nearest official to call timeout, but the ball gets snapped first. Luck drops back and throws downfield as he gets hit. Hilton runs a few yards ahead of Marshall, who waves as if he was supposed to get help over the top, and jogs into the end zone. Silence falls over the stadium again, and Harden walks up to McKenzie, lowering his voice. “Keep doing what you’re doing, Mac,” Harden says. “No need to panic. This one’s on me.” The entire team returns to the sideline with the game tied 14-14. Harden summons the defense and gathers them as closely as he can, about to give a familiar speech in the worst possible game. “It’s been a good year, men. We stuck to our guns, we played defense the right way, and we had a hell of a season. Now, look at us. Two touchdowns on two drives. I swear to almighty Jesus, if you fucks have come all this way just to choke in the first game of the playoffs, I will unleash a fury you have never seen. Whatever’s going on out there, fix it. Now.” Harden walks away, ending the gathering on a deliberately unceremonious note. As his defense tries to pick up the pieces, the offense picks up where it left off, though the Colts appear to be shading more towards deep coverage, leery of another big play. This allows the Knights to get Jameson involved, and they reach Colts territory just as the quarter ends. The second quarter opens with some more runs, getting the Knights into field goal range. On third and six, Maverick throws over the middle for Bishop, and the pass is nearly intercepted. McCabe comes on for a long field goal and drills it, giving the Knights the lead, 17-14. The defense goes back to work on orders from Harden: blitz like hell, don’t switch up assignments on formation shifts, don’t change the play too radically no matter the circumstances. In short, blitz like hell and don’t fuck up. The strategy appears to work. Luck throws more incompletions under greater pressure, and the Colts initiate the game’s first punt. McKenzie calls more runs now, his game plan working to perfection. They established the pass game and spread the Colts out; now it’s time to wear them down. Jameson pounds away, running through lanes and fighting for every yard. As the Knights cross midfield with the second quarter ticking, fans can feel momentum swinging back to their side. The Knights soon face third and six from the thirty-two, and McKenzie makes an unusual call. Maverick lines up in shotgun with Banks next to him, and Banks motions right, leaving Maverick alone. He takes the snap and rolls right, looking downfield, then hands off to Watson, running the opposite direction. Watson evades a few linemen and has plenty of green grass in front of him. The crowd comes to its feet as the speedster turns the corner towards the end zone. He gets a great downfield block from Wilkes, runs along the sideline with defenders closing, and leaps over the pylon. Touchdown, Knights. Maverick celebrate with his teammates and coaches, soaking in the moment. The Knights never scored more than 24 points all season; now they have 24 in the first half. The Colts take over, and Harden’s defense goes back to work. Five-man rushes get penetration, downfield coverage is excellent, and Luck’s accuracy becomes erratic. It appears the crisis is over. The Knights get the ball back with four minutes left. They lead another balanced drive, in position to take a commanding lead into halftime. Maverick drops back around midfield. Pressure forces him to step up. He fires to Wilkes on a comeback route, but the pass sails off-target and is intercepted by a white jersey. Fans absorb the first turnover of the day as Maverick and Wilkes try to figure out what went wrong. The mood on the Knights sideline is mostly relaxed, however, thanks to a 24-14 lead they maintain as the Colts run out the first half. The Knights take their first second half drive into the red zone with sunset nearly complete, the stadium lights illuminating the field. The score is still 24-14, with 8:48 left in the third quarter. Maverick drops back, looking to Banks on a screen. The blocking develops, and Maverick lofts the pass, but it sails too high and into the arms of Greg Toler, who takes it the other way. The Colts sideline comes to life as Toler runs free toward the end zone, several Knights in pursuit. One black jersey emerges from the pack and gains ground. It’s Watson, who reaches Toler as he passes the fifteen-yard-line and trips him up, sending him to the ground eight yards from the end zone. The Knights defense trots on the field in an unenviable position as Maverick curses himself on the sideline. Two interceptions in a playoff game is completely unacceptable. The Colts line up on offense with Farmers Field reaching peak volume again. Luck calls no audibles as he takes the snap and fires toward the sideline for Reggie Wayne, who catches it and gets tackled for a three-yard gain. Second and goal from the five. Luck hands off to Herron, who finds some space before being swarmed by four defenders at once, going down at the three. Knights fans rise from their seats for third and goal. Maverick does the same on the sideline. “Let’s go!” he screams. “Hold ‘em to three here and we’re good, let’s go!” Randall shouts out adjustments, standing in the middle of the red zone. Grantzinger and Brock are blitzing to break up a pass attempt to the end zone; Randall, Martin, and Schwinn have the middle of the field covered. Luck takes the snap and drops back to pass. Schwinn blitzes as Randall moves laterally, waiting for Fleener to break on a route. Fleener cuts to Randall’s right, and just as Randall goes with him, Luck takes off from the pocket. Randall changes direction, but he knows he’s too late. Luck runs across the goal line without being touched. The stadium’s energy fades into an awkward stillness as the Colts narrow the score to 24-21. Fans inevitably begin to consider the possibility that this is the Knights’ final game, that after a remarkable 12-4 season, they are about to choke it all away. As the Knights offense waits for the commercial break to end, Maverick takes charge, trying to fire everybody up for another scoring drive. Based on everything he’s seen from the Colts defense, both on the field and on the sideline, they’re giving the most respect to Wilkes and Watson. So this drive will feature heavy doses of Johnson and Bishop. The strategy works immediately. Maverick hits his receiver and tight end for short gains, showing off his arm strength. Neither target is getting swarmed in coverage, so the Knights move the chains with ease. McKenzie thinks this would be a perfect time for a no-huddle offense, but Maverick simply hasn’t gotten enough reps with it yet. The idea will have to wait until next season. For now, the Knights eat up plenty of the clock, entering field goal range with another balanced drive. Maverick drops back, tracking Johnson on a deep route. As he breaks on a post, Maverick fires for the corner of the end zone. Johnson cuts back, getting separation and tracking the pass. He turns around, catches it, and gets tackled inside the five-yard line. Farmers Field roars back to life as the Knights set up shop four yards from the end zone, but whistles blow everything dead, the third quarter over. Players traverse the field, and when the Knights line up for first and goal, the crowd resumes cheering. Maverick, per his style, eggs them on further, knowing he’s not changing this play. He hands off to Jameson, who runs into a wall, keeps his feet moving, and somehow churns ahead for two yards. Second and goal from the two. Maverick fakes a handoff and rolls left. A defender closes in. Maverick spins, but the Colt gets his arms around Maverick’s feet. He looks into the end zone for a desperation pass, sees no one, and smacks against the grass. He gets up slowly on the ten-yard-line as the crowd noise tempers. McKenzie does something neither Maverick nor Harden will like, calling a conservative play on third and goal, not wanting to risk an interception. The Knights line up with four receivers spread wide, and the Colts back off, ready for a shot to the end zone. Maverick hands off to Jameson, who bolts through the line of the scrimmage into open grass. He jukes a linebacker, lowers his shoulders, and barrels through two more white jerseys, falling into the end zone. Fans enjoy a prolonged celebration as McCabe’s extra point makes it 31-21 with 13:25 to go. Victory is within reach now. Harden knows the Colts will have to air it out and has his blitzes ready. One interception and this baby’s over. Luck does indeed come out throwing, hitting the short, safe routes first. Harden orders everyone super tight on coverage, desperate for a turnover. On the next play, the Colts pick up a blitz beautifully, and Luck hits Fleener over the middle for a seventeen-yard gain. The Colts are across midfield, and in the middle of their most impressive drive since the first quarter. A few running plays get another first down, and Harden grows frustrated, screaming the play calls through his headset and into Randall’s ear. Another nice pass by Luck brings the Colts to the thirty-five. After an incompletion and a short run, Harden decides on an all-out blitz. Luck takes the snap, backpedals, and throws over the middle. The wobbly pass sails right into Flash’s hands—he drops it. Knights fans recoil in shock, and Harden slams his headset to the ground. As Flash looks at his hands, trying to figure out what happened, the Colts send Adam Vinatieri on for what will be a fifty-yard field goal. Vinatieri boots it low, definitely deep enough. The ball sails toward the uprights and bangs off a goal post, landing in the end zone. A surge in crowd noise booms throughout the stadium, and the Knights offense frantically prepares on the sideline. Harden sizes up the situation: Knights up 31-21, 7:56 to play. He walks up to McKenzie and Maverick, who are skimming the playbook. They notice Harden’s presence and stop. “Finish it,” Harden says, and walks away. The Knights take over on their own thirty-eight, the crowd behind them. McKenzie assumes his first quarter game plan, going for the kill this time. Maverick spreads the ball around, hitting receivers accurately. Bishop for six yards, Wilkes for eight, Watson for five, Johnson for ten. The offense has already reached field goal range with 5:20 and counting to go, every second valuable now. Even the aggressive Harden would be content with three points in this spot. There’s no way Indianapolis is overcoming a thirteen-point deficit in five minutes or less. Maverick drops back, senses pressure from his left, and rolls out on a broken play. The only receiver he sees is Wilkes, covered tightly on the sideline. Hell with it. He fires a laser downfield. Wilkes spins at the last second, extends his left arm, and catches the pass one-handed, tapping his feet in bounds. The nearest official spots him at the three-yard line with Farmers Field entering hysteria. The entire Knights sideline stands as the offense lines up in a goal line formation. Maverick pumps up the crowd some more and takes the snap. Jameson gets the handoff up the middle, accelerates, and leaps as high as he can, hurdling most of the crowd, spinning in midair and landing in the end zone. Touchdown, Knights. All tension and worry in the stadium fades. McCabe knocks the extra point through, and it’s high fives all around on the sideline, courtesy of a 38-point performance. In the executive suites, the celebratory handshakes commence amidst a similarly festive mood. The Denver game two weeks ago may have been Maverick announcing his return, but today, the entire Knights offense has announced its dominance. A high-powered offense coupled with an all-time great defense, the Los Angeles Knights will be difficult to beat. Monday morning, Phillips is among the first in the building, a frustrating and important day ahead. The football world looks toward conference championship week, which features a marquee matchup in the NFC, as the Packers and Seahawks will do battle in Seattle. The AFC, however, has turned out differently than most expected, thanks to San Diego’s upset win in New England. It’s Knights/Chargers for the AFC Championship at Farmers Field, a second straight AFC West battle to decide the conference, with a Knights/Seahawks Super Bowl rematch still very possible. This is an obviously exciting time for the Knights, but not for Chance Phillips. The last two weeks have seen his front office and coaching staff purged of multiple contributors, the most devastating of which was Paul DeMartine’s departure to Chicago. Phillips sets up shop in his office and gets to work, researching potential replacements for the assistant GM position. He works quietly until hearing his secretary arrive in the adjacent office. “Jennifer,” he says, calling her office, “please hold all calls for me this morning. I’ll be busy.” “No problem, Mr. Phillips.” Phillips types away, skimming through multiple front office candidates around the league. He finds it difficult to focus, however, still processing why DeMartine left—and how Phillips is going to handle the next few months without him. With so many contract issues about to surface, this offseason will require Phillips to walk a narrow tightrope, a challenge for any general manager, and he always expected Paul to be there with him. In hindsight, DeMartine is extremely qualified and his taking a GM job elsewhere shouldn’t have come as a shock. The NFL is unpredictable, but that’s no excuse. Phillips must never be surprised like this again. His phone beeps, breaking his focus yet again. Phillips throws his pen against the desk as he hears Jennifer’s voice through the phone. “Mr. Phillips, I have a call from—” “Jennifer, I told you I didn’t want any calls!” “I’m sorry, Mr. Phillips, but I felt you’d want to take this one.” “You felt—what? Why, who is it?” “Chet Ripka.”
  8. Knights of Andreas Part IV Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DarthRaider DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Forty-Seven – Plays Gone By Every win on a team’s record counts the same in the standings, but they don’t all feel the same. At the halfway mark of their season, the Knights are 6-2 and have won three straight. But everyone in the MedComm Center knows what a win this Sunday would mean for the organization. The Super Bowl loss ten months ago is still a painful memory for everyone, and probably will be forever. For now, the Broncos win fills the second floor offices with satisfaction and hope. The AFC West is an unprecedented logjam of good teams, but the Knights are currently on top. San Diego’s 5-4 record, however, places them last. One loss for any team could drop them drastically within the division. Phillips stops by Keegan’s office to see if his statistical analysis has produced anything noteworthy thus far. It apparently hasn’t, and the two discuss the team as if they’re casual fans. Eventually, Phillips says, “Hey, as long as we have Mad Max, we’ll be okay,” half joking. Keegan spins his chair around and looks bewildered, as if Phillips has just made a religious insult. “Mad Max?” he says incredulously. “The Mad Max with 6.2 yards per attempt and 7.3 yards per target? Don’t kid yourself, Chance, we’re winning in spite of Buchanan, not because of him.” “But we are winning,” Phillips says, walking out of the room. “Keep working. Let’s meet after lunch.” Phillips takes a few steps into the hallway before hearing the voice of Jennifer, his secretary. “Mr. Phillips?” “Good morning, Jennifer.” “Adam Javad is on the line for you.” That’s strange. Javad usually sends a text first. Phillips checks his cell phone—no new messages. “I’ll take it in my office,” Phillips says, closing the door behind him and picking up the phone. “Good morning, Adam. Is something up?” “You gotta give me details,” Javad says. “An exclusive story on Rose? Talk to me.” “It’s coming from the top. Schneider wants to counter all the negative media attention on Rose with a humanizing interview. So you can’t go after the guy. Your job is to make him look good, like it or not.” “Oh, I don’t care. The opportunity is enough, doesn’t matter what the spin is. Timetable?” “Not soon, I don’t think. Rose won’t go for it, to begin with.” “Neither will Harden, will he?” “Probably not, but he’ll come around. When orders come from the top, things get done.” “Now that I think about it, I can’t see Harden liking this at all.” “Relax, Adam. Like I said, he’ll come around. It just won’t happen soon.” Merle gets home later than expected Monday night. As soon as he opens the front door, the stench hits him. “Goddamn it,” he says. He’s not sure if it’s unwashed dishes or food he left sitting out or something else. Whatever it is, he decides it’s too late to bother, grabs some whiskey, and sits on the porch. Life as an NFL head coach doesn’t leave much time at home, though it’s not as if Merle has anyone at home to see anyway. On that note, he looks at his phone and notices that Melinda still hasn’t returned his calls or texts. “Fuck it.” He tosses the phone aside, turns on the radio, and takes a big gulp from his glass. The words from the recording fade in. “Brad Neeman here, for Firebirds Radio. It’s game night, folks! We got the Firebirds of Devil’s Lake High School versus the Roughriders of Red River High School. Both teams come in undefeated, with a 7-0 record…” That was the 1983 season, Merle’s fourth at Devil’s Lake. The Firebirds finished 10-0 and went on a run that ended in the state semifinals, but the game against Red River was the biggest win of the regular season. Merle drinks and listens, reliving each snap as if he were right back on the sidelines, a thirtysomething-year-old coach again. “Jensen, back to pass. Fires deep, looking for King, he’s got him! Touchdown, Firebirds!” Jeremy King. A lanky, 6’3” receiver who towered over defenders and took over games. He carried the offense that year. “Is Coach Harden sending an all-out blitz? He is! But the pass gets away, and it’s a screen. Look out! Blockers ahead, and they will take this one all the way for a touchdown, and this game is about to be tied. A bit of a risky blitz called by Merle Harden there.” “Fuck you, Neeman.” The game ends about forty minutes later (what a great get these edited recordings were), and Merle tops off the whiskey for the next game. When that game ends, Merle stumbles and hits his head on the doorway trying to get another glass. “Time to slow down, Merle.” He puts a few cubes of ice in the glass this time. He wakes up in his bed upstairs with a headache. He grabs his flask of whiskey on the way out, gets an iced coffee at a drive-thru, and gets to the MedComm Center just in time. With practice wrapped up, reporters flood the locker room, and the usual crowds gather around the usual players. Only a few Knights are not available for comment, Rose included. Max Buchanan, however, has been drawing a larger audience each week, and today continues that trend. Passing by, Maverick notices the crowd and eventually enters the locker room with a football in hand. He’s happy to show off the latest progress of his rehab—moving his arm fluidly below the neck—and he soon garners a crowd of his own, with questions flying. “How’s the shoulder?” four reporters ask simultaneously. “It feels good,” Maverick says. “I feel good, you know? You just gotta let the doctors do their thing in these situations, but I’m feeling better every day and I can’t wait to get back out there.” “Mav, some have suggested, with the way Max has been playing, that there could be some controversy—” Maverick laughs, and a few reporters scoff. “—not a full-blown quarterback controversy itself, just that with the way Max is playing, the team should be conservative with your rehab and not let you come back until you’re fully healthy. What do you think about that?” “Listen, Max has done a good job, I’m not gonna debate that. But there is no controversy. Whatsoever. On any level. Once I get the green light from the doctors, I’m playing. Max is back there, doing the best he can, but he can’t do for this offense what I can. So you’re gonna see me back as soon as I can be back. There’s no doubt about that.” Friday afternoon, the Knights are in the middle of their final practice day for Seattle, running plays straight from the game’s playbook. Suddenly, Coach Harden’s whistle rings throughout the practice field, and everyone stops. “Everybody shower, change, and meet in the auditorium in thirty minutes,” Harden instructs. Nobody needs to be told twice. Players jog back indoors, some of them sprinting. A few speculate as to what Harden is up to. “Coach cutting practice short? That’s a first,” Randall says. “He said meet in the auditorium, though,” Martin says. “So, movie?” “Probably making us watch Remember the Titans or some shit,” Wilkes says. Half an hour later, players fill most seats in the auditorium with the coaching staff in the first two rows. Harden gets everyone’s attention as the projector screen fades in to something nobody can recognize yet. “We’ve had a good week of practice, but there’s been an elephant in every fucking room, and I’m sick of it. So we’re gonna say fuck the elephant.” The screen materializes, and the audio kicks in. “…as we welcome you back,” the voice of Joe Buck says, “for the start of Super Bowl XLVIII, the Seattle Seahawks and the Los Angeles Knights…” Players groan and sulk back in their seats. A few start booing. “Cut that shit out right now!” Harden says, silencing the crowd. “Yes, we lost the goddamn Super Bowl, and yes we’re gonna be thinking about it on Sunday. It’s time to get the fuck over it. We’re gonna watch every snap of this fucking game, and if anybody so much as yawns, I’m dragging each and every one of you back on that practice field and making you run suicides until we have to catch our flight tomorrow afternoon.” The lights dim, and the commentary of Buck and Troy Aikman fills the auditorium. Harden takes a seat next to McKenzie and looks down—his iced coffee isn’t there. “Oops,” Luck says, “I think I took yours. Jesus, what’s in this, coach? Tastes like shit.” “Give me my fucking coffee!” Harden grabs it back, almost dropping it. “What’s the matter with you, Sam?” “Sorry, thought it was mine.” Harden drinks from the cup as McKenzie shoots him a suspicious look. After a few minutes, the players get into it, cheering and clapping for each positive play as if they’re fans watching the game themselves. After every negative play, no one makes a sound. The first half goes quickly, just like it did at the time. Before long, it’s 7-3 Seahawks, just before halftime. Buck: “Lynch gets another carry, picks up about four, and it’s third and eleven. Clock continues to tick, now inside a minute, and neither team calling timeout.” Aikman: “Yeah, Joe, Seattle’s gonna get the ball to start the second half, so they appear content to just run this thing out and take a 7-3 lead into halftime, and the Knights don’t seem like they want to force anything either.” Flash wants to bury his face in his hands, knowing the play coming next. Buck: “Here’s a play fake. Wilson rolls out, looking downfield, he fires deep, looking for Harvin, and he’s got him! Harvin to the twenty! The ten! Touchdown, Seattle! Percy Harvin gets behind Griswold Johnson and the Seahawks get a big strike just before halftime!” Aikman: “This is a deflating play if you’re the Knights. Here you see, here’s Johnson in coverage, he bites as Harvin breaks toward the sideline and gets beat. He recovers nicely, but Harvin just has too much speed, and Russell Wilson hits him in stride.” Flash closes his eyes, unable to watch a play he’s relieved in his head a hundred times. Rose and Schwinn, sitting nearby, pat him on the back. The second half begins, and the mood in the auditorium improves, reaching a high point when Maverick finds Johnson for the Knights’ first touchdown. Aikman: “Looks like the Knights are gonna go for two here, Joe, after scoring the touchdown. They’re down 14-12, only a few seconds left in the third quarter, and Merle Harden’s gonna try to tie the game right here.” This time, it’s Bishop who doesn’t want to watch. He adjusts his position uncomfortably. Buck: “They line up in a goal line set, Wilkes and Johnson each out wide, Maverick under center. Maverick fakes a handoff. Blitz. Maverick’s under pressure, he fires. Bishop bobbles it. Still bobbling around, and now it lands incomplete. The try is no good after a hurried pass that hit Logan Bishop in the hands.” Aikman: “We’re gonna see here on the replay if that was a catchable ball or not. Maverick had to rush the throw, as you said, Joe, with Seattle blitzing up the middle. Bishop breaks on his route, he’s open, and the ball does indeed hit him in the hands. Would have been a really tough catch, but I bet if you ask Logan Bishop, he’ll say he should have had that one, and the Knights miss an opportunity to tie this football game.” Bishop tries to shake it off. You’re right about that, Troy. Intensity builds as the Seahawks add a field goal in the fourth quarter, and the Knights mount a potential go-ahead drive. Buck: “They’re gonna mark Jaxson one yard short, so it’ll be second and one. Under eleven minutes to go in the fourth, Knights trailing, 17-12. Maverick drops back, pumps, throws, for Wilkes, and Sherman knocks it away! Wilkes, it looked like, was open by a step, but Richard Sherman makes a great play.” Aikman: “Wilkes did get a step, he beats Sherman on a double move, and Maverick underthrows the pass, very slightly, but it’s just enough for Sherman to get his hands on it.” Buck: “Naturally, Wilkes and Sherman chirping to each other after that play. And now you’ve got Wilkes and Maverick talking. Maverick trying to get everybody set in formation here. It’s third and one. Wilkes still not set, now he’s finally ready with the play clock running low, and Maverick’s gonna have to call timeout! Maverick is visibly angry, screaming at his wide receiver as the Knights burn a timeout with 10:17 left.” A few players start hissing, glaring at Wilkes, who shakes his head. Aikman: “Just inexcusable there by Wilkes, and you see Merle Harden talking to him on the sideline. But the Knights, trailing by five points, are going to need all the time they can get, so that is a big timeout wasted right there.” “Get ‘em, Troy!” someone says. “Fuck y’all!” Wilkes says, rising from his seat. “I don’t see anyone busting Maverick’s balls for the shitty pass!” “Sit down, D-Jam,” McKenzie says. Tempers cool, but just minutes later, everyone relives the intensity of the game’s final drive. Buck: “Watson catches it and runs out of bounds at the forty-six-yard line. The clock stops with 1:14 to go.” Aikman: “That’s a small gain, but an important one, because the Knights now are, if nothing else, close enough for a Hail Mary down by five points.” Buck: “Maverick drops back, under pressure, steps up, throws it up. Oh, what a catch by Wilkes! He one-hands it, jumping over Byron Maxwell, and goes down at the thirty-eight!” “That’s right!” Wilkes says. “Y’all see that? Oh, didn’t think so!” Buck: “Maverick hurrying the offense back to the line as the clock ticks. We’re under a minute now. Maverick, getting everyone set, takes the snap from shotgun with 49 to go. Under pressure, and he’s sacked! Michael Bennett making a big play as the clock continues to run.” Aikman: “Maverick’s looking to the sideline, but it looks like the Knights want to preserve their last timeout, so they’re gonna spike it.” Buck: “And Maverick does spike it. The clock stops at 32 seconds, and it’s gonna be third and sixteen after the huge sack by Bennett.” Aikman: “You’re gonna see the replay here, there’s Bennett, and he just beats Brian Penner right off the line and has a free rush at Maverick. That’s a terrific play by Bennett. Penner is not an easy guy to get around like that.” Penner studies the replay closely, as he has multiple times this offseason. “It was my feet,” he says to Grodd and other linemen sitting nearby. “Watch, look how I get twisted up there. Inexcusable. Never again.” The drive continues until all conversations die, and the entire auditorium goes silent for the most painful memory of all: the season’s final play. Buck: “Maverick takes the snap, pumps, rolls to his left, throws for the end zone…into a crowd, the ball is tipped! In the air, tipped again! And it is intercepted by Seattle! Richard Sherman! He takes it out of the end zone, goes down, and the Seattle Seahawks are Super Bowl champions!” Nobody speaks. They just sit in silence, in wonder, as they did when the play happened. The screen shuts off, the lights fade back on, and Harden gets in front of the team. “This may seem strange, but do me a favor,” he says. “Whatever you get from watching this game—anger, frustration, disgust, determination—bring it with you to Seattle.” The Knights offense takes the field to start the game, CenturyLink Field booming with crowd noise. Buchanan steps to the line, ready to initiate a silent snap count. Jameson takes a carry off-tackle left for three yards, then Buchanan throws a quick slant to Johnson for six yards. Seattle stacks the box for third and one. Buchanan tries calling a fake audible, but his own linemen can’t even hear him. He hands off to Jameson, who runs into a pile for no gain. Fourth and one. The punt teams come on as Seahawks fans scream, raising the noise on the field to impressive levels. The Knights play at Arrowhead Stadium annually, and this is louder. As McKenzie and his offensive line look at pictures, trying to find a way through Seattle’s front seven, the noise dampens for the Seahawks offense taking the field. Marshawn Lynch gets the bulk of the carries, and the Knights bottle him up. Luck and Anthrax get penetration and prevent Lynch from hitting the hole with speed. Russell Wilson, however, moves the chains by finding receivers over the middle. Rose removes Doug Baldwin from the game, but Wilson hits other receivers for short gains. Kearse for six, Richardson for seven, Kearse for five. From the sidelines, Harden identifies the problem: Flash is playing way too soft in coverage. Following a surprising trade, the Seahawks no longer have Percy Harvin as a downfield threat, so there’s no reason for Flash to be tentative. Forced into a one-dimensional offense, the Seahawks reach field goal range, soon facing third and five. Wilson drops back to pass, looking deep, but everyone’s covered. Brock breaks off the edge and swats at the football. It drops from Wilson’s hand, but he covers it, resulting in an eight-yard loss. Still in field goal range, Steven Hauschka comes on for a fifty-yard attempt. He kicks it between the uprights and, just like in the Super Bowl, Seattle strikes first. McKenzie walks from the edge of the sideline to his position coaches, huddled together. “We need something, ladies,” he says. “Two three-and-outs ain’t gonna cut it. I want a first down before the quarter’s over, for Christ’s sake.” As the Seahawks get ready to punt, the coaches discuss a few aggressive options, and McKenzie picks one. After a commercial break, Buchanan breaks the huddle with the play already called. He fakes a handoff and rolls out to his right. Blue jerseys swarm all the receivers breaking toward the sideline, as expected. Buchanan plants his right foot and fires across the field, toward Watson, who is open. Downfield, Wilkes, who just ran a pointless route against Sherman, lowers his shoulders and plows the cornerback to the ground. Watson streaks down the field, blue jerseys in pursuit. He reaches the eighteen before being tripped up, and the Knights are in business. An off-tackle run by Jameson and toss to Banks get six yards, bringing up third and four. In the huddle, Bishop hears the call, a play-action rollout designed for him on a corner. He eagerly gets in formation and studies the defense. He’s not gonna drop it this time. He breaks off the line, runs down the middle, then cuts toward the end zone, open. He looks back for the pass, but the play is over, thanks to a sack. The Seattle crowd roars as McCabe comes on to attempt a thirty-six-yard field goal. The kick goes right down the middle, and the game is tied, 3-3. The opening jitters subside, and it’s the Super Bowl all over again, with two great defenses stymying the opposing offenses. Neither team turns the ball over, so the game becomes a field position battle with first downs hard to come by. Both offenses stay committed to running the ball despite not gaining much yardage, so the game passes quickly, and before long, the Knights have the ball with 2:43 to go in the first half, backed up on their own fifteen. McKenzie knows Harden won’t accept running the clock out, so he operates the two-minute offense, pretending it’s not Buchanan under center. Buchanan finds Johnson over the middle for twelve yards and a first down. The Knights hurry back to the line. Wilkes hears the play call, which has him running a go route. Great, now he’ll have to tire himself out while being ignored. Maybe he can just run a quick slant and pretend it was a miscommunication. He breaks off the line and sprints downfield, Sherman all over him at every step. Eventually he turns to see if the play’s over, and a bullet pass zips straight for him. Wilkes puts up his hands at the last second and catches it. Sherman brings him down, ball still in hand, and the twenty-six-yard gain silences the crowd and sets up the Knights at midfield. A bug-eyed Wilkes gets back in formation, unable to restrain himself from complimenting his quarterback. “Hell of a throw, Max! Mav couldn’t have hit that shit.” On the sidelines, McKenzie is also impressed, and he decides to feed the hot hand. Buchanan fires quick strikes, looking more poised than ever. Inside the two-minute warning, the Knights are positioned for a strike before halftime. McKenzie calls a draw to Jameson that catches Seattle off-guard. Jameson surges through the middle of the defense and reaches the twenty-five with the clock ticking. Buchanan finds Bishop over the middle, bringing the Knights inside the red zone. The clock ticks: 0:45, 0:44… Harden jogs toward McKenzie, yelling, “Mac! You want a timeout?” McKenzie shakes his head. “Don’t want to mess up the rhythm.” Buchanan shouts the next play call, the crowd noise still high. He takes a snap in shotgun, scans the field, and gets crushed by a blindside hit. Harden runs onto the field to call timeout, and the clock freezes at 0:28, the Knights now back to the twenty-five. The energy in the stadium tilts back to the home team as McKenzie calls a screen to get some yardage back. Buchanan takes the snap and almost throws it, but pulls back. He rolls out, trying to avoid pressure, gets tripped up, and falls for another sack. Harden walks up to an official, eyes on the clock, and calls timeout with 0:05 left. No choice, he sends out the field goal unit to attempt a fifty-five yarder. He laments the loss of Sebastian Janikowski, who was damn near automatic from this range. With the crowd screaming, McCabe lines up and boots it. The kick sails high and deep, splitting the uprights perfectly with about five yards of distance to spare. The stadium goes quiet, save for the celebrating white jerseys on the visitors’ sideline, jogging to the locker room with a 6-3 lead. Among them, McKenzie races to catch up to Harden. “This what a playoff game feels like?” McKenzie asks. “Yeah, this is about it,” Harden says. “Not like last year, though. Feels like we’re gonna win this one.” The back-and-forth continues in the second half, both offenses still trying to establish a run game, and still finding no traction. Harden has an easy day from a play calling standpoint, with Luck and Anthrax stuffing Lynch at every turn while Grantzinger and Brock penetrate the backfield every passing down. Seattle’s receivers aren’t getting separation, so the Knights shouldn’t give up any more points today. Meanwhile, McKenzie remembers the New England game, where the Patriots honed in on Jameson and forced the Knights to make plays elsewhere. McKenzie utilizes a similar strategy, leaning on Banks and NesSmith in the backfield, but believes an improved Buchanan can get the team yardage this time. Despite a lack of offense, plenty of big hits and post-whistle jawing keeps the tension high as the third quarter ticks away. With 1:19 on the clock, the Knights start a possession on their own nineteen. Buchanan has looked more shaky this half, and the Seahawks are doing a better job in pass coverage, especially against Bishop. McKenzie has no idea whose number to call. A few quick throws to Watson and Johnson bring up third and two. McKenzie calls on Jameson to power through and get a first down. Jameson takes a handoff up the middle, gets the two yards, then bounces outside, finding running room. He stiff-arms a defender, trying to fight him off, and gets hit from behind. The ball pops loose. It bounces around and into a pile of Seahawks, and the home team takes over. An openly apologetic Jameson returns to the sideline, repeatedly saying, “That’s on me.” It’s hard to fault a back for his first fumble of the year, but Seattle is already in field goal range. A tired Knights defense goes back to work. After a Lynch carry gets two yards, Grantzinger breaks through on second down and sacks Wilson for a five-yard loss. That ticks the clock to zero, and the teams switch sides for the fourth quarter. Third and thirteen. Wilson drops back to pass, then dumps it off to Lynch on a screen, but Randall has it sniffed out. He sneaks between blockers, gets a piece of Lynch, and reinforcements arrive, bringing him down for no gain. Hauschka comes on for the forty-one-yard attempt and boots it through. The game is tied, 6-6, with 14:13 to play. After gaining two first downs, the Knights have to punt again, and Harden prepares his defense for a crucial drive. “Need a turnover!” he shouts. “Let’s win this game right now!” Harden has no other choice; his offense is stagnant, and without a significant momentum shift, either Seattle will take the lead or the game will end in a stupid fucking tie. Ramping up the aggression, Harden sends blitzes on every play, resulting in a run of no gain and a rushed incompletion by Wilson, bringing up third and ten. Harden calls an all-out blitz as Wilson lines up in shotgun. On the snap, everybody runs. Randall gets blocked, but Martin has a free shot at the quarterback. Wilson ducks, avoids Martin’s reach, and takes off up the middle, green grass in front of him. He runs to the left with safeties closing, headed for the sideline. Flash narrows the gap and extends his arm, wanting to strip the ball out. He swats, grabbing for the ball, but gets Wilson’s facemask instead. The two fall down a few yards away from the yellow flag. The scramble plus the personal foul puts the Seahawks at midfield and the Knights defense on its heels. After containing Wilson all day, a run like that makes Harden rethink his strategy. He backs off from blitzing a bit, and Wilson finds open receivers. Seattle methodically moves the ball into field goal range with the clock moving. Stacking the box, the Knights contain the run game and eventually bring up fourth down. Hauschka comes on for a potential go-ahead field goal from thirty-nine yards out. The field goes quiet, and the kick sails high, down the middle, and good. Harden looks at the scoreboard: Seahawks 9, Knights 6, 3:53 to go. His team will get the ball back for the last minute, potential game winning drive. “Just like last year!” an assistant coach says. “Yeah, déjà fucking vu,” Harden says. “I hate this game sometimes, I swear to God.” McKenzie doesn’t fully trust Buchanan in a two-minute drill, but he doesn’t have a choice. Besides, he’s played exceptionally well today and only needs to get in field goal range. With a good amount of time and all three timeouts, the Knights operate no-huddle at a moderate pace. Buchanan hits receivers over the middle on safe routes, sitting behind a clean pocket. Penner is most focused of all, concentrating on his footwork and sticking his man every time, not allowing any defenders past him. A completion to Bishop gets a first down to the thirty-two, and the clock ticks inside three minutes. Buchanan gets everybody lined up, drops back, looks right, and gets blindsided. The ball pops loose, but he falls on top of it. Harden calls timeout, and the clock freezes at 2:43. Second and eighteen. A screen pass gets the eight yards back, then Watson catches a sideline pass and goes out of bounds, bringing up fourth and five. The stadium reaches peak volume again, and McKenzie calls a simple play, knowing Buchanan won’t be able to audible. He takes the snap in shotgun and looks to Wilkes, blanketed by Sherman. Bishop breaks open over the middle, but Buchanan can’t see him, forced to roll left, escaping pressure. Johnson is covered, but he sees Buchanan running and runs toward the sideline. The pass comes in low, and Johnson dives, extending his entire body and catching it inches above the grass. The refs rule a completion, and the Knights have a first down at the two-minute warning. During the commercial, McKenzie finalizes his plan. Two minutes, two timeouts, the Knights are on their forty-seven, about fifteen to twenty yards from McCabe’s range. Both teams line up, and the crowd gets loud again. Buchanan drops back with extra protection this time and lets the routes develop. He steps up, tracking Johnson over the middle. Defenders close in, and he fires for Johnson, who comes back for the ball, but a blue jersey undercuts the route. It’s Earl Thomas, making the catch and running ahead for an extra ten yards before being brought down. The stadium enters a state of bedlam while the Knights sideline is stagnant. Despite having two timeouts and stacking the box, the Knights can’t stop Lynch from getting a first down, and Seattle runs out the clock. With the stadium around them celebrating, the Knights march somberly back to the locker room, heads down, not saying a word. One by one, the Knights walk into the locker room, pieces of confetti falling off some of their jerseys. Players and coaches find a spot and sit down. Everyone keeps to themselves, trying to process everything mentally. Silence fills the locker room, save for cleats clicking against the floor that bears the Super Bowl XLVIII logo and muted cheers from the celebration occurring on the field. Each player relives parts of the game, thinking back to every mistake, wondering what if. If Flash doesn’t let Harvin behind him, it’s only 7-3 at halftime and maybe the Knights take the lead in the second half. If Bishop catches the two-point conversion, it’s 17-14 on the final drive, and maybe both teams are playing in overtime right now. If Wilkes doesn’t force the timeout, maybe the Knights have time to get closer for Maverick’s final throw. If Penner doesn’t miss a block, maybe the Knights have time to score the Super Bowl winning touchdown. Maybe the Knights are hoisting the Lombardi Trophy right now instead of the Seahawks. There are plenty of hypotheticals in football, countless what-ifs, should-haves, and could-have-beens. But there is only one winner, and one loser. The Knights will carry this silence with them for months because there’s no game next week. No game next month. Nothing but an entire offseason to think about this Super Bowl—and about how hard it’s going to be to get back.
  9. Knights of Andreas Part IV Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DarthRaider DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Forty-Six – The Shield Security is notified that Rose’s attorney has arrived, and Rose leaves Schneider’s office. Harden goes with him, happy to know measures are being taken to ensure minimal interference with the practice schedule. The last man in the crowd shuts the door behind him, leaving two men alone in the office, and Phillips sees what he thought he’d see: Schneider’s half-disappointed, half-empathetic face melt into downright disgust. “This is unbelievable,” he says, crouching over and squeezing the top of his chair with both fists. “Unfuckingbelievable.” “I know, Wayne. I’m sorry.” For once, Phillips shares Schneider’s frustration. This is an ugly situation that will affect everyone equally—as long as Schneider doesn’t try to turn this back on him. “You know, I hold a meeting specifically about team image, and this happens. We’ve had some help, of course…that Adam Javad column, which I assume was your doing…” Phillips is taken aback, caught off-guard. He always assumed his connection with Javad was unknown to Schneider, but suddenly, that seems foolish. Of course Schneider would have figured it out by now. “…and yet here we find ourselves,” Schneider continues. “This is messy, Chance. We can’t just play defense here. We need to take action.” “I don’t disagree, but how?” Schneider purses his lips, deep in thought, then relaxes his face, as if the solution to everything has occurred to him. He props his body up straight. “I want every inch of Malik Rose’s past investigated.” “It’s been investigated.” “Then it’s going to be investigated again! How long until this story breaks? The second it does—the second a rumor reaches the right people—the entire journalism world is going to be all over Rose, digging up everything they can find. They’re going to be bringing up a lot of dark shit, shit we have deflected over the years because of Rose’s talent. But we have to be ready to deflect it again.” “Is that all?” “No. Rose is a well-documented mystery in the eyes of the sports world. He might as well be a fucking recluse.” “So what?” “I want him interviewed. I want him on camera. I want him humanized. The media is going to create an image of Malik Rose. They’re going to show people the Malik Rose who’s a thug, a gangster, a punk ass kid from the streets who somehow lucked his way into the NFL. We need to show them the Malik Rose who’s a loving father, teammate, and iconic football player.” Phillips holds back a smile, relaxing more and more with every word. Not only does this sound like an excellent idea, it brings up the perfect opportunity: this is Javad’s moment. Or, it will be when the time comes. “I’ll take care of it, Wayne.” “Thank you, Chance. In the meantime, as I said, let’s stay away from the television this week, eh?” Phillips nods. He certainly will, though all the shielding in the world can’t make stories like this go away. Ultimately, only football can put the focus back where it needs to be. As the hours pass and players arrive and practice begins, the Knights focus on the 5-2 Ravens, an extremely tough matchup that will test exactly how legitimate the Knights are without Jonathan Maverick. Unfortunately, and predictably, the media’s coverage of the game hardly dwells on those implications at all. Anyone associated with the Knights avoids media coverage entirely, figuring the stories about Rose will be unpleasant, probably offensive, and quite possibly unprofessional. They have no idea how much worse it actually is. The police interview Rose, along with two other suspects, and it doesn’t take long for the media to gather information and connect the dots: the two suspects are former gang associates of Rose’s, going back to his high school days in Atlanta. Speculation builds, and the consensus seems to be that the two suspects could be charged with assault, while Rose would be charged with conspiracy. Thus, the public narrative becomes clear: a couple of thugs assaulted Torrey on Rose’s orders. Commissioner Goodell releases a statement. He says the league is monitoring the investigation closely and maintaining communication with the Knights organization. He assures fans “the NFL will take every action necessary to protect the integrity of the shield,” referring to the league’s logo. Amidst all this, the 4:25 Knights/Ravens game is declared CBS’ Game of the Week, televised in almost the entire country. The Knights converge on the running back as he hits a wall, runs toward the edge, turns a corner, and goes down. Throughout the stadium rings the voice of the PA announcer: “Justin Forsett runs for a gain of two yards, tackled by Malik Rose.” Vicious boos fill M&T Bank Stadium, as they have every time Rose has gotten near the football. The Javion Torrey story is the talk of the NFL this week, and Ravens fans are happy to communicate their thoughts on it. Though he hasn’t looked up into the crowd to see them, Ravens fans display plenty of signs taking aim at Rose, calling him a “gangster,” “thug,” and other similar terms. Rose is matched up against Steve Smith, a physical receiver who will bump, shove, fight, do anything to make a catch—and Rose loves it. The boos don’t affect him at all when he’s in coverage with Smith. All he hears is their pads brushing up with each other. All he sees is the patches of grass their cleats dig up. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he misses times like these, when there was so much shit going on in his life, and all it took to silence it was to step on the field. Joe Flacco finds a receiver for a first down, but on the next play, he tries for Smith. Rose swats the pass away, a lot of contact between he and Smith, and no flag. Fans boo again. Ravens fans have multiple reasons to boo; their team is down 10-0, and their offense is being completely suffocated. This is an unsettling performance for a team with Super Bowl aspirations. The media’s build-up of this game centered on the pivotal trench battle between Baltimore’s offensive line and Los Angeles’ defensive line, but the battle has been one-sided thus far. Los Angeles is dominating. Anthrax is wreaking havoc at the point of attack, engaging with Jeremy Zuttah and winning more than losing. He still comes off the field for third and long, but he’s made so many big plays, it bothers him less than usual. The pass defense has been just as impressive. Rose has prevented Smith from a single reception, and every time Flacco has taken a deep shot to Torrey Smith, Flash has been all over him. Harden watches with pride as the Ravens fail to gain another yard, punt the ball away, and the game goes to commercial with 6:45 left in the first half. He’s satisfied with this performance, of course, but he’s giddy in particular about his new duo at strong safety. Sebastian Stevenson is back in the lineup this week, but out of respect for the way Bobby Schwinn has been playing, he’s only part of a rotation. Schwinn is far from polished in coverage—Harden has work to do there—but he’s already a more forceful run stopper than Stevenson. He hits the hole faster and tackles harder. So, Harden wants to establish a rotation where Schwinn comes on for short-yard running situations and some red zone plays. The commercial ends, and the Knights offense takes the field. McKenzie keeps it simple, content to keep putting the ball in the hands of his breakout star. Marcus Jameson bounces off, spins around, and powers through countless defenders, breaking an insane number of tackles and moving the chains by himself. The Ravens are stacking the box, but it doesn’t matter. McKenzie feeds his new workhorse back play after play. Buchanan makes a few easy throws here and there, finding open receivers for short gains. The Knights offense centers on the third-year running back from USC now, not the second-year quarterback from Washington State. This is welcome news to everyone, except perhaps Wilkes, who runs his routes in solitude, left to reminisce about what could have been. Two years ago in this stadium, he led a legendary fourth quarter comeback with three touchdowns and over 200 yards. Today, he’ll be lucky to get three receptions. A twelve-yard catch by Bishop puts the Knights in the red zone. Buchannan lines up in shotgun, sells a quick throw, and hands off to Jameson. He surges through a hole and makes a beeline for the end zone. Two Ravens meet him there, they collide, and Jameson lands in the purple grass for a touchdown. Surrounded by family, extended family, and fellow Trojans, Marcus Jameson watches pick by pick as the 2012 NFL Draft enters the seventh round. Minute by minute, hour by hour, the mood in the Jameson house turns somber as the realization sets in that Marcus may not get drafted. The festivities that started two nights ago in the first round may be for nothing. While his USC teammates insist he’s a first-round talent, Marcus’ agent told him a few weeks ago he was likely to go between rounds four and six. He mentioned concerns some teams have, apparently, about things like durability, playing style, and combine performance. Marcus started every game four years in a row at USC. How does that translate to durability concerns? If his power running style made him prone to injuries, wouldn’t it have happened by now? It’s not his business to tell NFL teams how to operate, but he can’t figure out how menial factors like this and disappointing combine numbers can outweigh a career with so many yards and touchdowns, including his junior campaign that nearly broke Marcus Allen’s single-season rushing record at USC. Marcus has been telling himself these concerns exist for every prospect. And yet, here he is in the seventh round. Sixteen running backs have gone already. It’s pick number 217. A loud, buzzing sound fills the room. Marcus leans forward to look at his phone, vibrating on the coffee table. “It’s a Los Angeles area code,” Marcus says. That could be anyone from around here. He’s got so many numbers he’s never actually put into his phone. “The Knights are on the clock!” someone says from behind. The entire household comes back to life as Marcus answers the phone. “Hello?” “Hello, is this Marcus Jameson?” “Yes, it is.” “Marcus, this is Caden Daniel. How are you?” “I’m good, coach. I’m good.” Nearby friends see the smile on Marcus’ face, and the whole house soon realizes what’s happening. They hold their congratulations for when the phone call ends. A few minutes later, Jameson’s name appears on the television, and the house erupts in celebration. Marcus embraces as many people as he can. At first, he’s just relieved to be drafted, to end all this tension. But he starts thinking, sizing up the situation. He’s staying in Los Angeles, close to USC, close to home. He knows the Knights have Jerome Jaxson, a speedy, shifty back, one who Jameson can complement beautifully. After all this doubt about where he’d end up, what a perfect landing spot this is. Backed up on their own two-yard line, the Knights line up in a bunch formation with the crowd louder than it’s been since kickoff. It’s 17-0, Knights, 12:25 left in the fourth quarter, but the Ravens have an opportunity to ignite a comeback. Buchanan fakes a handoff to Jameson and drops back into the end zone. He throws off his back foot, and a wobbly pass sails into the arms of a purple jersey. The stadium booms as Will Hill runs into a crowd and goes down on the six. The Knights defense lumbers back onto the field, still winded from the last drive. Forsett takes a carry up the middle. The Knights hold their ground, allowing only a two-yard gain. Second and goal from the four. Flacco drops back to pass. Brock breaks off the edge and sees Flacco winding up to throw. He dives for the ball and punches it out of the quarterback’s hands. The pigskin bounces laterally, out of the reach of linemen and linebackers. A sprinting Rose picks it up in stride and runs along the Knights’ sideline, now in chaos and cheering him toward the end zone. He turns around at midfield and sees a few purple jerseys closing in. He keeps running. Forty, thirty, twenty, ten— Someone trips him up and he tumbles down at the five. Completely gassed, he tosses the ball to an official and walks through the sideline, high-fives and handshakes all around. The Knights line up on offense with no energy left in the stadium. Jameson takes a tackle up the middle, runs into a crowd, spins out of it, and accelerates into the end zone. Boos are heard as McCabe knocks the extra point through, and it’s 24-0, Knights. The league reacts to week 8, reassessing the standings, already looking ahead to the playoffs, and creating headlines from another weekend of games. In the wake of their dominance on national television, the Los Angeles Knights take plenty of airtime. While their 5-2 record speaks for itself, particularly with Maverick still hurt, the Knights defense receives loads of accolades for its performance, against Baltimore and the season as a whole. Between every analyst and ex-player breakdown, fans around the league get the message: it’s time to take the Knights defense seriously. Very seriously. They are compared to the Seahawks, and even the more conservative pundits don’t object to throwing the Knights in the ring with the century’s best defenses. The Knights offense may be limited without Maverick (Sunday was the first time they scored more than 20 points this year), but with the defense playing at such a high level, they’re undoubtedly contenders in the AFC. During his press conference Monday afternoon, Harden receives plenty of questions about his defense. They’re all terrible questions, of course, but he’s more than happy to give his defense the recognition they deserve. One reporter asks, “Coach, there’s been some speculation that Zack Grantzinger has put himself in the conversation for Defensive Player of the Year. What do you make of that?” “I think he’s earned it,” Harden says. “He’s a hell of a football player. He does it all. So yeah, I think that’s fair. So far, though. We still have half a season to play. But as long as we’re throwing Defensive Player of the Year nominations out there, Malik Rose is in the discussion too. I know cornerbacks don’t get the stats everybody loves like linebackers do, but you turn on the tape of any game, and you’ll see what makes Rose so special. He’s a big part of our defense and a big reason we’re 5-2.” A few reporters perk up in their seats at the mention of Rose’s name. Harden has, since the Javion Torrey story broke, angrily refused to take any questions on Rose whatsoever. Now that he voluntarily brought up the cornerback’s name, is it open season? “Coach,” a reporter asks with big eyes, “on that note regarding Malik, what have—” “Don’t even think about it,” Harden says. “Next question.” Upstairs, the Knights’ win lifts spirits and creates an energy that carries over into Tuesday. The Knights are now second in the AFC West, with the Chargers right behind at 5-3, and the Chiefs have pulled a few wins together to reach 4-3. It’s shaping up to be another super competitive AFC West, and this week, a huge divisional matchup looms with the 6-1 Broncos. Phillips is on his way out of Schneider’s office when Keegan appears, paper in hand. “Ah, Michal, come in,” Schneider says. Phillips stays in the room to see what this is about, not used to Schneider calling on Keegan in any way. “What’s that?” Phillips asks. “Pro Bowl voting,” Keegan says. “Current votes, trends, projected totals based on those trends.” “Hoping for some good news,” Schneider says. “Everything I’ve been saying, about team image? Here’s another example. Fans don’t like voting for Knights, unfortunately.” Schneider scans the paper. “Ah, looks like we’ve gotten a nice boost the last forty-eight hours.” He continues scanning and reads a few names aloud, starting with the highlights. Brian Penner is first among centers, Briggs Randall third among inside linebackers, and Zack Grantzinger fourth among outside linebackers. “Surprised Grantzinger’s not higher, with the season he’s having,” Keegan says. “His snappy comebacks with the media on a weekly basis don’t do him any good,” Schneider says. Several other starters place in the top ten: Malik Rose (fourth among cornerbacks), Griswold Johnson (fifth among free safeties), Sean Brock (seventh among outside linebackers), Sam Luck (ninth among defensive ends), and Chase Grodd (ninth among offensive guards). “Recognition, gentlemen,” Schneider says. “It’s good to be recognized.” This is an area where Schneider and Phillips will always disagree. For Schneider, recognition brings value, value increases worth, and worth makes money. For Phillips, recognition boosts resumes, and resumes cost money. If he had his way, no one would make the Pro Bowl. There’s a reason the Knights have one of the league’s best teams with one of the league’s smallest payrolls. That will change this offseason, however, and Phillips would rather not think of all the money the Knights will be spending. Based on projections he and DeMartine have been going over, the team will have an unprecedented increase in salary from 2014 to 2015. On the practice field and in the locker room, the wave of buzz from the Ravens game reaches the players too. As usual, some are louder about it than others are. Players dress and file out with the first day of practice in the books. Martin is about to leave when he sees Brock taping a cutout from what looks like a newspaper to the inside of his locker. “The hell is that?” Martin asks. “I’m glad you asked,” Brock says. “Oh no,” Grantzinger says. “Fellas, listen to this.” Brock reads from the newspaper clipping. “‘The Knights’ defense has come up big this year, particularly in several close games, where they’ve needed to defend small leads in the fourth quarter. No player has been more instrumental in those games than the defense’s closer, Sean Brock, who notched clutch fourth quarter sacks against Jacksonville, Arizona, and had the game-clinching fumble yesterday in Baltimore.’ You all hear that? You are in the presence of greatness. Everybody bow before The Closer.” “Live it up, Sean,” Grantzinger says. “Must be nice to be revered for only producing in one quarter.” Grantzinger gets the usual response of oh’s and ah’s as more teammates take notice in the back-and-forth developing. Brock is about to respond— “That’s enough!” Harden bellows, silencing the entire locker room. “Enough of the bullshit. What did I say earlier? Everyone’s too happy, too fucking proud of a game that’s forty-eight hours old. And I know we’re all looking ahead, too. We all know what’s coming up on the schedule next. Knock that shit off right now, or we’re gonna lose a game the easy way. I shouldn’t have to say ‘one game at a time’ to you guys but I’m going to anyway. We’ve gotta beat Denver first. We’re 0-1 in the division, in case nobody fucking noticed.” His frown gives way to hints of a smirk. “And you all know me. I love playing Peyton Manning.” Malik drives home after Saturday’s walkthrough, his showdown with Demaryius Thomas just a day away. As he turns through the neighborhood and into his driveway, he sees no cars, no sign of anything suspicious whatsoever. He walks through the foyer and into a quiet house. He doesn’t announce his arrival in case Tatyiana is sleeping, instead walking down a long hallway to Jasmin’s room. He finds her playing with dolls around an elaborate toy mansion, holding all her focus. “Jasmin!” “Hi, daddy!” she says, not breaking her concentration from the dolls, something Malik always found funny. “Mommy told me you went to Jessica’s house today.” “Mhmm.” “Did you have fun?” “We played with Legos! We had lots of fun.” “That’s great, baby.” “Jessica’s dad was talking about you.” “He was?” Malik crouches down beside his daughter, not wanting Eva to hear—even though she probably already has. “What’d he say?” “He told Jessica she’s not allowed to come to my house anymore. They were in the kitchen, but I heard them. He said something about ‘Mr. Rose,’ and I said, ‘He’s not Mr. Rose, he’s my daddy!’” “That’s right, I am,” is all Malik can think to say. Harden soaks in the pre-game hype in Farmers Field and does his best to make his players feed off it. He can’t stop his players from thinking about next Sunday, but this week’s game is just as important. Falling to 5-3 wouldn’t be awful, but a loss today makes the Knights 0-2 in the AFC West and propels the Broncos to 7-1, much more problematic. The Knights win the coin toss, defer, and Peyton Manning takes the field. The Broncos come out throwing, and Manning has a first down in two plays. No problem, Harden tells himself. Can’t stop every first down. But Manning finds more receivers, hitting them in stride, and the vaunted Knights defense crumbles before Harden’s eyes. Too disappointed to get angry (for now), Harden calls play after play that fails, and Manning leads a surgical drive that ends with a Julius Thomas touchdown. Harden waits for every defensive starter to get within earshot, then unloads. “What the fuck have I been saying?! All fucking week. Don’t look ahead, don’t look ahead. We put our heads up our asses and Peyton marches right down the field and scores a fucking touchdown. You want to be embarrassed in front of your own fans? If not, wake the fuck up!” Not considering a single adjustment, Harden watches the offense respond. McKenzie sticks to last week’s strategy, pounding the rock with Jameson, but Buchanan steals the spotlight this time. His first throw of the day is a twenty-yard strike to Johnson over the middle. Then a seventeen-yard throw to Bishop. Buchanan looks poised, and his arm strength appears to have improved. On the edge of the red zone, Buchanan fakes a handoff to Jameson. An all-out blitz comes, and he throws it toward the end zone, absorbing a crushing hit. Watson runs in coverage, half a step ahead, and the pass drops right in his hands. He drags his toe to get a second foot in bounds and falls down. The nearby official nods his head, signals touchdown, and Farmers Field comes back to life. “That’s good play calling, Mac,” Harden says to McKenzie before high-fiving Buchanan, who gets praise from just about everyone on the sideline, including the teammate wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and sneakers. “Nice throw, Max,” Maverick says, patting him on the shoulder with his left hand. This is the first home game where Maverick feels like being on the sidelines instead of in a press box. He wants to be on the field, of course, taking hits and throwing touchdowns himself. Soon enough, or so the doctors say. When the Broncos offense retakes the field, Harden studies his players closely. Manning still finds receivers, but coverage appears tighter, and some Knights actually manage a few plays, deflecting passes in coverage and batting them down at the line of scrimmage. About fucking time. The Broncos get the run game going, but the drive stalls near midfield. The Knights take over, and Buchanan can’t find any receivers for big gains. Jameson still manages a few first downs, but the drive eventually ends in a punt. Excitement fades as the game turns into a field position battle, both offenses unable to get more than five yards at a time. Knights fans experience a moment of terror when Manning fires deep for a wide-open Emmanuel Sanders, but the pass is overthrown. Several punts later, the Knights take over on their own twenty with 3:22 to go in the half. A series of stuffed runs and penalties brings up third and sixteen. “Don’t you dare run the ball,” Harden instructs McKenzie. “Show me some fucking balls, Mac.” McKenzie figured that was coming and has his play ready. Buchanan lines up in shotgun with NesSmith to his left. He takes the snap, and a screen develops. Buchanan fakes a throw, as Denver has the screen bottled up. Buchanan rolls right, escaping some pressure, steps up, and throws deep. Watson runs stride for stride with Rahim Moore as the two sprint past midfield, but Watson accelerates and gets some separation as the pass hits him in stride. Moore dives, and Watson keeps his feet moving, staggering a bit but escaping the tackle and running free for an eighty-five-yard score. Watson catches his breath in the end zone, seemingly about to hand the ball off to an official. Suddenly, he spikes the ball and pumps his fists, screaming along with the rest of the stadium. He jumps around and celebrates with his teammates in the end zone before walking back to the sideline, where he sees Coach Harden and McKenzie. All three throw the horns up, a gesture that looks like a two-handed rock and roll symbol to anyone who didn’t go to North Dakota State University. Uncertainty fills the crowded locker room as players deliberately take their time dressing after practice. Today is the last day the team consists of 75 players. Monday morning, they will return as a final roster of 53 and start preparing for the 2013 season’s first game in Indianapolis. Over the next few hours, 22 people are about to lose their jobs. While the surefire starters leave freely, their roster spots secured, the guys on the fringe have no choice but to wait. Some will be given an opportunity, more time to prove themselves. Others will be told this is the beginning of their next life. For Joseph Watson, this is a day he has long feared. In the months since the Knights drafted him in the seventh round, he has done everything to earn a roster spot. At the moment, however, all he can do is relive each mistake he’s made since May. Every drop, every poor route, every mistimed jump. He goes through the team’s final preseason game two nights ago, where he had six receptions for 82 yards. He could have done more, but it didn’t help that the quarterbacks throwing to him, Max Buchanan and Nathan Stanley, were both rookies. But all Watson can think of is the would-be seventh reception that went right through his hands. Eventually, his time comes. An assistant coach walks up to his locker and says, “Coach needs to see you.” Watson tries to compose himself as he walks to Coach Harden’s office. The first thing he sees when he walks in is a North Dakota State pennant, a reminder that Harden coached at his alma mater. That has to mean something, right? Watson takes a seat and looks across at Coach Harden, and Coach Everett, who stands. Everett speaks first. “I’ll get to it, Joe,” he says. “You made the team. Congratulations.” “W-What?” He barely has breath to mutter anything, his heart still racing. “You, Joe,” Harden says, “have the distinct honor of being number fifty-three. Last man who made the cut. So from here on out, you earn that spot. Understood?” “Y-Yes, coach. Yes, sir.” Harden grimaces into what Watson guesses is a smile and throws the horns up. Watson does the same, smiling as he is guided out of the office and back to the locker that now permanently belongs to him. The third quarter sees the game revert to a field position battle, though Denver scores with a forty-nine-yard field goal by Connor Barth, making it 14-10, Knights. Fans in attendance prepare for yet another close fourth quarter finish. Denver starts a possession with 10:24 on the clock and goes no-huddle. The Knights are ready for it, but Manning finds receivers anyway. Harden doesn’t panic yet; the Broncos need to reach the red zone, and his defense is capable of holding them off. Near midfield, Manning drops back against a blitz, steps up, and fires deep. In coverage, Rose receives a shove from Demaryius Thomas, who breaks back on a deep hitch route. Rose stumbles, leaving Thomas open, but Flash comes out of nowhere and catches it. White jerseys force him toward the sideline, and he runs out of bounds at the forty. The Knights take over with 8:45 to go, sixty yards from the end zone. “Finish it, Mac,” Harden says. “I don’t want a field goal to extend the lead. I want the game over on this drive.” “You got it, coach,” McKenzie says, more eager than ever to call the plays. He may still have a limited quarterback, but the last two weeks have given birth to a workhorse running back and legitimate deep threat receiver. He’s got plenty to work with. He starts out conservative, letting Jameson chew through defenders up the middle and letting the clock tick. Jameson converts on a third and two, crossing midfield with less than seven minutes to go. Buchanan hits Wilkes and Johnson on some short passes, getting another first down with 5:30 and counting on the clock. The Knights are on the edge of McCabe’s range, but Harden sure as hell isn’t about to put the game on his kicker. Jameson gets stuffed on first down, and Buchanan throws an errant pass on second down, bringing up third and ten with 4:16 to go. Buchanan drops back behind a clean pocket and fires over the middle. Watson breaks open on a post and dives for the overthrown pass. He hauls it in, gets up, and runs ahead for six more yards before being tackled on the ten-yard line. The clock ticks. McKenzie calls two running plays, and Jameson gets the Knights down to the three. Denver calls timeout, and the clock stops at 2:35. Third and goal. McKenzie wants to call a pass, knowing Denver will be anticipating a run. He considers the usual plays, then gets an idea. “Coach,” he says to Harden. “What about that formation we practiced?” Harden thinks; it seems like a strange idea, like they’re trying to overthink the situation. “Hell with it,” Harden says. “Why the fuck not? Zack!” Grantzinger rises from the bench, helmet in hand. “You’re in. Let’s go.” Grantzinger reports as an eligible receiver and lines up at fullback with the Knights in a goal line formation. Grantzinger tries to ignore the oddity of being on the opposite side of the line of scrimmage, something he hasn’t done since high school. Buchanan sells a handoff to Jameson with the defense converging and rolls right. Johnson is covered. Bishop breaks on his route, but too many white jerseys are around. Near the sideline with defenders closing, Buchanan plants his feet and lobs the ball across the field, toward the opposite corner of the end zone. Grantzinger runs with nobody within five yards of him and catches it. Touchdown, Knights. Farmers Field goes into celebration mode for their star linebacker catching a touchdown pass, for an upset against a divisional opponent, for their football team being 6-2 without their starting quarterback. On the edge of the sideline, Harden finally relaxes a bit as he watches Denver mount another no-huddle drive that reaches midfield before being stopped on fourth down. The Knights offense comes out for some kneeldowns, and Harden manages to crack a smile. Cameramen with microphones circulate the chaotic locker room, players celebrating and waiting for their coach. Harden eventually enters, finds his usual spot, and things calm down slightly. The cameramen inch closer in the hopes that a Merle Harden sound bite is clean enough to TV. “Alright, listen up, faggots!” There goes that. “That’s a great win. A great fucking win. Be proud of yourselves, enjoy this tonight, then it’s on to next week. For now…” An assistant hands him a football, and he hoists it into the air. “…game ball!” The players cheer at the cheesy ritual they’ll never get tired of. “I could give this to a number of guys, I really could, but it’s not every day a linebacker catches a touchdown pass. Zack!” Grantzinger navigates through the crowd and accepts the ball from Harden, embracing in celebration. The locker room stays fired up, but Grantzinger treks through it, looking for Maverick. When he finds him, the two get close to speak over the noise. “Get your ass back here, motherfucker,” Grantzinger says, “because we’re going on another run this year. Once you come back, nobody’s touching us.” “Damn right,” Maverick says. “I’m working on it.” Harden shakes hands with the entire coaching staff, extremely proud of an impressive victory. It was a rocky, inexcusable start, but his team tightened up and finished the right way. Now, as they celebrate, they can finally think about next week’s game, a destination they’ve had circled on the calendar for months: Seattle.
  10. Knights of Andreas Part IV Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DarthRaider DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Fifty-One – Shining Through Clouds Pressure forces Buchanan out of the pocket, rolling right. He escapes the rush and finds Johnson on a sideline route for a first down. The home crowd cheers as the Knights get a new set of downs in field goal range. Knights 16, Bills 10, 10:29 to go in the fourth quarter. While fans at Farmers Field, enjoying the last home game on the schedule, occasionally glance up at the scoreboard, they more frequently look toward the sideline, specifically at #12. Maverick watches Buchanan lead the Knights further into field goal range, standing close to the field, in full pads and uniform. Through his headset, he hears Coach McKenzie call more running plays, and he watches Jameson chew through the supposedly impressive Bills defense, reaching the red zone. Even though it was heavily reported and thus not much of a surprise, the changing of Maverick’s status from “doubtful” to “questionable” sent shockwaves of excitement through the Knights’ fan base. Their dreams of returning to the Super Bowl riding a healthy Maverick’s shoulder now seem legitimate. Fans were only slightly disappointed to learn Buchanan would start against Buffalo. Maverick will get his time. The drive stalls, and McCabe comes on to attempt a twenty-seven-yarder. The kick wobbles diagonally as if shanked, but it somehow curves through the uprights, and the Knights extend their lead to 19-10 with 7:30 to go. In their executive suite, Phillips, Schneider, and prominent front office members keep an eye on the nearest TV, showing the Broncos/Bengals game, which the Broncos currently lead, 28-23. The Knights are one game ahead in the AFC West, but as long as the Broncos win, the division comes down to week 17 in Denver. In fact, barring an unlikely collection of week 16 outcomes, the Knights aren’t even guaranteed a playoff berth with a win today. The Knights defense retakes the field and resumes their dominance. Led by Kyle Orton, the Bills offense has managed only three points today (the other seven came from a Buchanan pick six), turning it over three times and crossing midfield only twice. Knights fans eagerly await Maverick’s return, but they are just as giddy to enter the playoffs with the conference’s best defense, if not the league’s. Phillips and the suite, looking up at the TV screen, cheer as Andy Dalton finds A.J. Green in the back of the end zone for a touchdown, but the two-point conversion fails, and the Broncos are about to get the ball back, down 29-28 with two minutes left. The Bills eventually face fourth and five near midfield, and Coach Marrone decides to go for it. Harden calls a blitz. Orton drops back in shotgun, under pressure, and lobs it over the middle. Martin has an easy interception, but he swats it down, happy to take the turnover on downs and field position instead. Farmers Field celebrates with victory in hand. On the sideline, Maverick takes off his headset and jogs up to McKenzie. “Coach!” he says. “Let me get a few snaps!” “I don’t think so, Mav,” McKenzie says, waving Harden over. “C’mon, just a few handoffs. No throws, I promise.” “No,” Harden says. “No sense risking anything now, Mav.” Fans seated nearby notice the conversation and are disappointed to see Buchanan trot back out with the offense, but they can’t argue with the greater picture. The Knights are about to be 11-4, their best record since coming to Los Angeles, and they’ll enter week 17 with much more favorable odds than last year. Phillips watches Banks and NesSmith split carries, chewing through the clock. A wave of cheers to his right breaks his concentration. He spins his head toward the television but can’t see it behind so many extended arms. “What happened? What happened?” he says, clamoring for a better view. Nobody tells him, but he sees it on replay: Manning threw an interception, and the Bengals have possession with only seconds left. He sizes up the game situation and quickly realizes it’s over; the Bengals win, dropping Denver to 9-6. He looks down to the field below him as Buchanan takes a knee. The Bills don’t call timeout, admitting defeat, and the Knights are two kneeldowns away from 11-4. “Division champions!” Schneider yells. “Where’s the damn PA operator?” Schneider disappears beyond the suite, and minutes later, players and coaches swarm the field with the home crowd applauding. The Knights have now gone 6-2 at home in consecutive seasons. Just as most of the players are about to head into the locker room, an announcement booms throughout the stadium. “Ladies and gentlemen, with today’s win and Denver’s loss to Cincinnati, the Los Angeles Knights have clinched the AFC West!” The entire stadium booms with a wave of cheers, the players and coaches as surprised as the fans are. Everyone figured next week’s trip to Denver would be the divisional showdown. Instead, it’s all locked up now. The Knights have the division won, which means their first playoff opponent has to come to Los Angeles. The Knights have not yet played their last home game of the season. A bright graphic displays on the high-definition widescreens above each end zone, showing the words, “Los Angeles Knights, 2014 AFC West Champions.” In the locker room, stadium employees prepare to hand out t-shirts and hats bearing the same phrase. In the suite, Phillips works his way down the line, savoring the celebration with DeMartine, Keegan, and others. Much remains to be decided in week 17, but they can worry about that tomorrow. He sees Schneider reappear at the top of box, talking on the phone, waving Phillips over. Phillips’ smile fades as he walks up the stairs, out of the line of sight of TV cameras. Schneider hangs up. “That was your agent,” Schneider says. “My agent?” Schneider leans down and grabs a stat sheet. He takes out a pen and scribbles something on the blank side of the paper. “He’ll be calling you in about ten minutes. I wanted to be the one to break the news.” Schneider hands him the paper, and Phillips reads it: a number of years, and a handsome dollar figure. “You are now the highest paid general manager in the NFL,” Schneider says. “Congratulations.” Phillips tries to process the numbers, but he can’t string multiple thoughts together. He’s not sure how much time passes before he finally sees Schneider’s extended hand, and he shakes it firmer than he has in some time. “Thank you, Wayne. Thank you.” “You’ve more than earned it, Chance.” Schneider puts his left arm on Phillips’ shoulder and turns them toward the celebration in the suite. “Playoff football at Farmers Field,” Schneider says. “I can’t wait.” That certainly is an exciting proposition, and just the latest in a long list of accomplishments that have happened over the last five years. Phillips finds himself reflecting on all the team has achieved in half a decade: dramatic comeback wins, multiple wins in rivalry games, multiple Pro Bowlers, a playoff berth, a division championship, and an AFC championship. Under Phillips, the Knights have checked off just about every feat an NFL franchise seeks. Except one. After a long night of intermittent sleep, Phillips beats the traffic and gets to the MedComm Center early, dissecting the standings, trying to calculate every playoff possibility himself. New England (12-3) leads the AFC and, thanks to their week 3 win against the Knights, has clinched home-field advantage. The Knights (11-4) lead other division leaders Cincinnati (10-4-1) and Indianapolis (10-5), who has already clinched the South. Pittsburgh (10-5) has a shot at the North and leads the wild card chase, with Denver, San Diego, and Baltimore all 9-6. Too excited at the prospect of winning the #2 seed and earning a first-round bye, Phillips waits for Keegan before making any conclusions. “Yes, Chance?” Keegan says, walking into the office seconds after arriving. “My head’s still spinning from everything,” Phillips says. “I know records. I know where everyone is right now. I need to know possibilities. I’m assuming you’ve run every algorithm, permutation, and what not?” “Twice.” “Then let’s hear it. Start with the #2 seed.” “If we win, we clinch. If we lose, the Bengals take it with a win. If the Colts or Steelers—with a Bengals loss—win, we could still win or lose a tiebreaker, depending on week 17 results.” “So, seeding-wise, we could be anywhere from two to four?” “Yes.” “What about the wild cards?” “Steelers and Broncos win and they’re in. Chargers need help. Ravens need lots of help.” Phillips pauses, deliberately waiting to ask his next question. He looks up to see Keegan’s look of confusion and gives him a warm smile. “You don’t have predictions for any of this?” “Oh! Sorry. Most likely for us is the #2 seed. Cincinnati has a tough game this week against Pittsburgh, so I think our biggest fear is a loss plus a tiebreaker going against us. Based on most likely Wild Card Round seeding and results, and this is close, our most likely Divisional Round opponent is Cincinnati.” “Great. Anything else?” “No, I think that covers it.” “Then I’ll see you at nine for free agent projections.” “Plus teams likely to be in pursuit and their respective salary cap figures. See you then.” Keegan leaves, and Phillips contemplates the prediction, a Knights/Bengals game, Merle Harden’s defense against Tom Everett’s offense. But the matchup doesn’t hold his attention for long. He stands up, facing the gigantic white board full of players’ names and contract figures. The board actually contains two charts of the fifty-two-man roster. Salary cap hits dating back to 2010 are written in black marker on both, but the “Projections” chart includes more numbers, written in purple, reaching as far as the 2020 season, during which Phillips is now under contract. The purple numbers reflect the Knights’ best guess at contract extensions for various players, projecting, with limited accuracy, the team’s salary cap situation in the coming years. Every look toward the board reminds Phillips how quickly the franchise’s cap space is about to evaporate. Phillips sizes up the looming wave again. The list of free agents to be includes Jonathan Maverick, Alex Johnson, Marlon Martin, Richard Marshall, and Sebastian Stevenson. Maverick will be franchise tagged without an agreement, so it’s not necessarily a scary list. The list of players entering contract years in 2015, however, includes Marcus Jameson, Da’Jamiroquai Jefferspin-Wilkes, Kevin Zeitler, Damian Jones, Gregory Vance, Briggs Randall, Griswold Johnson, and Shane Lechler. For now, Phillips knows he wants to re-sign Alex Johnson, despite his injury concerns. Keegan’s metrics have shown Johnson to be among the most precise route-runners in the game. He’ll be one of the league’s most productive receivers when healthy. Phillips wants to consider other names on the list, but thinking of Keegan leads him to another subject. Phillips knows Keegan’s contributions to the team aren’t being appreciated by many in the front office, but he expects that to change. He looks forward to keeping this roster intact over the next several years, years where Keegan will play an increasingly key role. The kid has enormous potential in an NFL front office, and he turns 28 next month. He’s got plenty of time to realize it. For today, however, the team has a higher priority. Phillips checks the clock—he’s probably here by now—and heads downstairs toward the head coach’s office. He finds Harden doodling on a dry erase board, X’s and O’s forming what look like blitz packages. “Getting creative for a week 17 game we don’t need to win?” Phillips asks. “No such thing as a game we don’t need to win,” Harden says, concentrating on the board, still drawing arrows in every direction. “Besides, this could be the last time I coach against Peyton Manning. Gonna take every shot I can.” “Understood. What’s the story with Maverick?” “Can’t say until I talk to Mac. I’ll have an answer by this afternoon, though.” “Great, Merle. We should—wait, what is this?” Phillips steps toward the farthest wall, lined with four framed pictures of prominent NFL quarterbacks, in uniform, with expressions ranging from frustration to bewilderment. It’s an odd collection. Harden puts down the marker. “Oh, that,” he says, standing up. “Adam, the cokehead you all set me up with—don’t know where the hell you found him, by the way—told me I should…how did he put it…surround my living environment with people and objects that make me happy.” “No disrespect, Merle, but I’m still looking for some context here.” “Of course. This…” He points at the leftmost picture. “…is Aaron Rodgers after the Earthquake Reception in 2011. This is Joe Flacco after the 20-point, fourth quarter comeback in 2012. This is Tom Brady after being outdueled by Mav in the snow last year. And this is Peyton Manning after we destroyed his ass in the AFC Championship the following week.” Phillips is genuinely speechless. After the wave of shock fades, he does his best to look impressed. “Strangely,” Harden says, “I think it’s working. Every time I walk in here, I can’t help but smile.” The usual press gathers for another Merle Harden Monday afternoon presser. They’ll chew through the usual business today, but there’s one particular item on the top of everyone’s list, and Harden isn’t about to waste anybody’s time. He sits down, gets clearance to begin, and speaks into the microphone. “As much as I’d like to be mysterious in the hopes of confusing Denver, Jonathan Maverick is starting this week. We may or may not have him on a pitch count, depending on how crappy our pass protection is.” The media room goes silent, save for a few camera clicks, with most reporters taking their spot in the first wave of Tweets breaking the news. “Any questions?” Harden takes a few, then leaves for one of the film rooms. He finds McKenzie and Maverick there, as expected, two copies of the Denver playbook on the table in front of them. Ever since doctors gave Maverick the green light last week, McKenzie and Maverick in separate rooms has been a rare sight. “Keep up the work, men,” Harden says. “I expect you both to sleep here tonight and be ready for practice tomorrow.” “Not sure my wife will appreciate that, coach,” McKenzie says. “At least yours still lives at home. Don’t give me any shit, Mac.” Maverick stares nervously before realizing the two coaches are busting each other’s balls. Harden contorts his lips into what Maverick thinks might be considered a smile, then leaves. The two get back to work. Knights players dress for practice, energized by a freedom they’ve never had before, preparing for week 17 knowing they’re already in the playoffs. Still, no one needs Coach Harden to say how important it is to show up against Peyton Manning. Besides, the Knights could knock Denver out of the playoffs with a win. Maverick is the first player in full pads, talking to Coach McKenzie about the playbook, schemes, and certain plays he thinks should be altered. He can’t wait to get out on the field and start slinging it around to his receivers. Their meeting, however, is interrupted when the offensive line coach approaches with a clipboard, showing McKenzie something on paper Maverick can’t see. “I’ll talk to him,” McKenzie says, grabbing the clipboard. “Meet you on the practice field, Mav.” “Sure, coach.” McKenzie heads for the weight room, where the offensive line has just weighed in for the week. He catches them on their way out. “Chase, stay behind a second.” Grodd does so without a word, and McKenzie waits for the crowd to close the locker room door, leaving him and Grodd alone in the hallway. “You’re 294?” McKenzie asks angrily. “What, my weight?” Grodd says. “No, your IQ. Of course your weight, asshole! You were 301 when you got drafted, beefed up to 305 and have been steady there ever since, and that’s where you were after the Seattle game. Now you’re down eleven pounds in six weeks? What the fuck? You haven’t been 294 since your freshman year at Iowa.” “How do you know that?” “Stop deflecting the goddamn conversation, Chase. You need to tell me what’s going on, or I’m not letting you on that practice field.” Grodd slumps his body against the nearby wall, making his six-foot-three frame as unintimidating as possible. “Okay,” McKenzie says, calming down. “I’m not trying to get you to run suicides here. Just tell me what’s going on.” “It started after Seattle for a reason,” Grodd says. “I gave up four sacks that game.” “That’s Seattle’s pass rush for you. And I told everyone after the game that we, the coaches, did a piss poor job helping you guys pick up blitzes.” “I’ve never been a good pass blocker, coach. Not here, anyway. I remember what all the scouts said when I entered the draft. ‘He’s a mauler, he’s a run blocker, but he’s weak in pass protection.’ ‘He’ll struggle against pass rush at the NFL level.’ And they were right. I’ve worked on my technique, my strength…I’ve worked on everything I could for three years now. So I figure I gotta be more athletic. Thus the weight loss. I’ve been better, though, these last few weeks. You haven’t noticed?” “In this league, and in this life, you are what you are, Chase. I’m not gonna inflate your ego and tell you you’re John Hannah. You know what I’ve noticed?” Grodd shakes his head. “Let me put it this way. Remember all those scouts who said you had the potential to be a mauler in the run game? They were right. Until the Seattle game. You may have lost weight, but you’ve also lost strength. If you watch film of us in short yardage, you can really see it when you get low. You just can’t get the same push. Hell, last week you got schooled by a backup nose tackle.” Grodd looks visibly upset now, and McKenzie decides it’s time to end this discussion. Practice starts in a few minutes anyway. “For the future, you want to try something to change your game, you let your coaches know. Understood?” “Yes, sir.” “Good. And for the near future, I don’t care if it’s fat, muscle, or plastic surgery. Get back up to 300 by our first playoff game and I’ll make sure you don’t hear about it from Coach Harden.” “Yes, sir.” Merle turns into the long driveway and almost slams on his brakes when he sees another car parked there. He eases off when he recognizes Adam, slouched against the driver’s seat, arms crossed. Merle realizes he’s almost an hour late. “Coaches’ meeting ran late,” Merle says after parking and getting out. “We can’t make these types of things habitual,” Adam says. “It’s important for you to establish some consistency.” “Hard to do in the NFL.” Merle walks past Adam, hoping he somehow won’t follow him inside. “Are you sleeping better?” Adam asks. “Not really,” Merle says, half lying. He turns the key and opens the door, taking a few steps in— “What the fuck?” “What’s the matter?” “You don’t smell that?” “Oh…oh, boy.” Merle turns a corner toward the living room and sees Bowser trot across the rug, his paws coming dangerously close to a pile of feces. He stops at Merle’s feet and sits, tail wagging. “Dammit, Bowser,” Merle says. “I’ve used the term ‘dog shit’ to describe this house on multiple occasions, but this really puts a cap on it.” Bowser’s face has a strange look, as if he’s trying to comprehend his master’s words but doesn’t really care at the same time, the type of face only a dog can make. “Okay, let’s go outside, you fucker.” The Rose household living room is littered with an array of toy princesses, castles, animals, and more. Malik and Eva sit on the rug with their daughters, doing more watching than participating. They both love nights like this, of course, but it’s especially rewarding to see the way Tatyiana looks up to her older sister, follows what she does, loves her. It’s going to be fun watching her and Jasmin grow up together. The television is on in the background, just loud enough for Malik and Eva to hear. Malik catches a glimpse of a large, red graphic, one he recognizes as either “Breaking News,” “This Just In,” or something similar. He thinks nothing of it until hearing an anchor’s voice. “…We’re going live to Los Angeles, where the Los Angeles County district attorney is about to make a statement regarding Knights cornerback Malik Rose and the Javion Torrey case…” Malik stays seated where he is, blocking out the TV, focusing on his girls. “Jasmin, Tatyiana,” Eva says, inching forward, “why don’t we go play in Jasmin’s bedroom?” “No, no,” Malik says, reaching for the remote. “…The DA is already prosecuting two of Rose’s known associates and is now expected to announce—” He clicks off the TV. “It’s okay, girls. Keep going.” Eva shoots him an “Are you sure?” look, and Malik nods. He focuses back on his daughters with no problem, not even thinking of the TV. Unknown to him, every member of the Knights’ front office, most of the coaching staff, and some of the players are watching from their respective homes, and they don’t intend on changing the channel. Malik’s phone buzzes on the couch behind them, signaling a new text message. He ignores it. Then another buzz. Then another. Multiple buzzes string together, and eventually Malik notices his wife staring at him. He grabs the phone and realizes he has texts from at least seven people, all sent within the last minute. He scrolls down to one from his attorney, sent first, and opens it. “No charges. Lack of evidence. Congratulations.” Malik turns the phone on silent and throws it back on the couch. “Well?” Eva says. “No charges.” “Like you’ve been saying the whole time.” “I told you.” “But what about…” “They’ll go to trial, probably. But that’s on them now. Either they get off, or they don’t. It doesn’t concern us.” “I don’t fucking believe it,” Randall says. He and the other Knights at the club marvel at the sight of their starting linebacker arm in arm with one of the world’s most famous porn stars. The entire club seems to notice, except for Rose, standing away from his teammates, phone pressed to his ear. It rings a few times before he gets an answer. “Hello?” says the voice on the other end of the line. “Hey, it’s me,” Rose says. “Damn, Malik, it’s been a minute. How you been?” “Good, good. You in town?” “Yeah, seeing some family.” “Good. I need a favor.” “What’s up?” “Javion Torrey. He’s in town too.” “Yeah, I know. We heard. You want us to do something about it?” “Yes. I want you to leave it alone.” “Leave it alone? What the fuck? Malik—” “I’m serious.” “I heard a rumor his car was parked outside your house. That true?” “It doesn’t matter. Let it go. Alright?” “Man, if you say so.” “Are we good?” “Yeah. Yeah, we’re good.” The Knights and Broncos kick off with a playoff atmosphere at Sports Authority Field. With San Diego’s 19-7 win over Kansas City, Denver’s situation is simple: win, and they’re in the playoffs; lose, and they’re out. This is a playoff game for them. After a touchback, the Knights start with the ball, and Jonathan Maverick takes the field for the first time since September. He’s been listed as “probable” all week, but the media left little doubt he would start. McKenzie radios the play call, the first in a series he and Maverick have been rehearsing for days. Maverick fakes a hand off, drops back, and fires a bullet over the middle to Bishop for nine yards. He goes play-action again on second and one, rolling out and hitting Johnson for twelve yards. Broncos fans watch in horror as Maverick announces his return to the league, connecting on one bullet pass after another. The Knights sideline watches in pride and awe as Maverick puts on a clinic, zipping the ball to his receivers with velocity that makes everyone realize how weak Buchanan’s arm is by comparison. His mechanics are perfect, he gets rid of the ball before falling victim to any pass rush, and spectators watching on television can feel his confidence. The Knights reach the red zone without attempting a running play. Maverick drops back behind a clean pocket, steps up, and fires toward Wilkes into double coverage. The pass splits the corner and safety perfectly, and Wilkes catches the touchdown pass. As McCabe knocks the extra point through, all Broncos fans can do is wonder why the hell Maverick was on the injury report in the first place. The Broncos take the field already down 7-0, and Harden fires away with his usual blitzes, saving the complex ones for later. Manning is under pressure on almost every play, forcing rushed, inaccurate throws that lead to a three and out. When the Knights take over, Maverick looks just as impressive, and McKenzie mixes in some runs this time. The Broncos defense seems on its heels, but Maverick’s first incompletion of the day leads to a punt. The Knights control the rest of the first half, with Denver’s offensive ineptitude prompting boos from the crowd. On plays where they pick up a Knights blitz, Manning can only lob wobbly passes that linger in the air. “Jesus, he looks terrible,” Harden says at one point. “I almost feel bad.” “No you don’t,” an assistant coach says. “You’re right.” Both teams add a field goal, making it 10-3, and the Knights lead one final drive before halftime. They reach midfield with under a minute to go. Maverick fakes a handoff and looks deep. He spots a blitzer a half second late and takes a crushing hit right to the chest, hitting the grass hard. The Knights sideline waits anxiously as Penner walks up to Maverick, on the ground. “That felt good,” Maverick says. “Don’t be a pussy,” Penner says, helping him up. The two smile and get in the huddle for third down. McKenzie calls a simple play: crossing routes over the middle. Maverick drops back, and pressure comes from outside. He steps up into a crowd of orange jerseys, spins, and somehow escapes to his right. He spots Watson downfield and bombs it. Watson tracks the pass, adjusts, and catches it as he crosses the goal line for a touchdown. The Knights sideline celebrates with boos around the stadium, soon going into the locker room with a 17-3 lead, courtesy of Maverick’s gaudy stat line: 14 of 17, 247 yards, 2 TDs, 0 INTs. Players have just settled in the locker room when McKenzie approaches Maverick, a crowd of teammates surrounding him. “You’re out, Mav. Gonna roll with Max in the second half.” His teammates look appalled, but Maverick’s smile doesn’t fade. “Okay. Sounds good, coach.” Maverick happily watches the second half from the sidelines as the Knights maintain control of the game. The offense is predictably limited with Buchanan, but it doesn’t matter. The defense keeps Manning on lockdown the rest of the game. Harden doesn’t even have a need to use the blitzes he drew up. He decides to pocket them for the playoffs. Though the Knights lose some field position battles with Buchanan at the helm, the Broncos only add a pair of field goals. The Knights add one of their own, and a pair of fourth quarter would-be comeback drives fall far short for the home team. The Knights win, 20-6, eliminating Denver from the postseason and clinching the #2 seed for themselves. They finish the 2014 regular season with a 12-4 record, earning them the right to play again—at Farmers Field, in two weeks. The team plane lifts off from Denver International, flying over the Rocky Mountains with the sun setting ahead of them. After the customary silence during takeoff, the Fasten Seatbelt signs blink off, and the cabin turns into a party. Players move around from one group to another, talking and laughing. Maverick draws a large crowd, enjoying the ability to talk to his teammates at length again. He gets a lot of laughs telling tales of the boring shit he was forced to do at home, and, prompted by Brock, the adjustments of left-handed masturbation. Rose and Flash talk, trying to decide on another night for Flash to come over for dinner. Rose tries to sell Flash on the rewards of being a parent, though Flash seems content with his bachelor nightlife. The offensive linemen recount the game, with Penner giving particular praise to Grodd for a key blitz he picked up when Maverick threw his second touchdown. A few rows up, McKenzie overhears and turns around. Grodd sees him, and the two nod at each other, grinning. Wilkes bounces from one circle to another, boasting about his stat line, leading multiple players to thank Maverick for returning Wilkes to his usual, arrogant self. Grantzinger waits patiently until the perfect moment to mention an interesting stat: Brock has zero fourth-quarter sacks over the season’s final three games. This incites another Brock vs. Grantzinger battle that many players happily watch. Buchanan plays spectator to the storytelling and ball busting, but everyone on the plane walks up to him and shakes his hand at some point, each with their own way of saying, “Thanks for holding down the fort, kid. We’ll take it from here.” Harden and McKenzie sit together, silent during much of the flight until Harden suddenly launches into a review of an old game from their time together at North Dakota State. This starts a nostalgic conversation full of football memories that lasts until the plane’s touchdown in Los Angeles.
  11. Knights of Andreas Part IV Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DarthRaider DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Fifty – Our Own Destiny Tuesday morning, the Knights take the practice field with four games left on their schedule. Amidst the strongest four-team division since divisional realignment in 2002, the Knights’ 9-3 record places them on top, and in control of their own destiny to win the AFC West. On Coach Harden’s orders, the team assembles at midfield and takes a knee around their head coach, breaths visible on a crisp, December morning. Warm temperatures stuck around longer than usual this year, but winter has finally come to Southern California, with morning temperatures in the 50’s and afternoon highs in the upper 60’s. “Smell that?” Harden asks when all players and coaches have assembled. He sees strange looks on their faces, as expected. “Cooler air, men. The end of the year. Christmas season. December football. And what comes after December? Playoff football. That’s what we’re facing right now. Three years ago, I would have just started practice for San Francisco because it’s the next game on the schedule. But let’s be honest with ourselves. Back in August, we all decided our goal was the Super Bowl. Hell, that was our goal the second we lost in February. And so far, we’ve put ourselves in a position to accomplish that goal. Even better, if we take care of our business these last four games, not only are we in the playoffs, but other teams have to come here to play. And that’s something we didn’t have last year. That’s what we work towards this week. That’s what we’re playing for from this moment on.” Farmers Field amps up for an all-California game between the Knights and 49ers, the Knights’ penultimate home game of the year. The noise tempers with the Knights taking the field first. Buchanan hits Johnson on a quick out route for an easy completion. Johnson spins awkwardly as he's tackled, stays down, and the stadium’s energy dwindles. Johnson gets to his feet quickly, the injury apparently not serious. McKenzie rolls with the same game plan, hoping Johnson returns quickly, but the Knights go three and out. Harden’s defense goes to work, accomplishing their primary goal of containing Frank Gore but letting Colin Kaepernick loose too often. Harden prepped his defense for Kaepernick the same way he has for Russell Wilson, but it doesn’t seem to be working. The 49ers go down the field and reach the red zone, where the Knights defense generally tightens up, but Gore finds running lanes and reaches the end zone. 7-0, 49ers. The Knights offense can barely get a yard in response, and the 49ers soon get the ball right back. McKenzie receives word that Alex Johnson’s ankle injury will keep him out for the rest of the game. Fans expect the shock from the beginning of the game to wear off, but it doesn’t. Despite San Francisco’s 7-5 record, this is supposed to be a lost season for them, and one that will conclude with the firing of Jim Harbaugh, or so the media says. But now, the 9-3 Knights are flatlining, and this has all the symptoms of a lost game for Los Angeles. Harden draws up ways to contain Kaepernick—slightly—but the 49ers add a field goal to their lead, while the Knights still struggle to get first downs. Buchanan looks shaky despite getting his best pass protection of the season, and Jameson doesn’t get enough blocks at the point of attack to be effective. The 49ers take the first half’s final drive into the red zone, still up 10-0. Kaepernick drops back to pass, steps up to avoid pressure, pumps, and runs ahead, only Randall to beat. Randall goes low and hits the quarterback, but he bounces off and somehow keeps his knees from touching the grass, stumbling into the end zone for the touchdown. Fans start to boo as the Knights go into the locker room down 17-0. The Knights get a jumpstart in the third quarter when Schwinn forces a Kaepernick fumble, bringing the crowd back into it and setting the Knights up in field goal range. Jameson gets a nice run to set up second and four, but Buchanan misses two open receivers in a row, forcing McCabe to kick a field goal for Los Angeles’ first points of the day. Harden finally gets Kaepernick under control thanks to more blitzes and his players actually learning how to tackle. The offense, however, makes sure the improved effort is in vain. On the ensuing Knights possession, an errant pass toward Wilkes ends up in the arms of Chris Culliver, giving San Francisco the ball on the edge of field goal range. The defense somehow prevents a field goal attempt, thanks to a clutch sack by Grantzinger, and the Knights get the ball back. Despite only being down fourteen, McKenzie feels helpless. He can’t find a way to overcome the loss of Johnson, or to give Buchanan some confidence. The pass protection remains solid, Grodd in particular shining against various blitzes. The Knights finally string some first downs together as the third quarter ends, but Buchanan takes a deep shot for Watson that is underthrown and intercepted. Another impressive defensive stand gives the Knights the ball yet again. Buchanan throws toward the sideline for Bishop, but Perrish Cox undercuts it and takes it to the end zone. Fans boo with anger, the offense now in full meltdown mode and the score an embarrassing 24-3. McKenzie considers putting Clemens in at quarterback, but Buchanan successfully lobbies against it on the sideline, seeming upbeat and relatively confident. Though McKenzie wants to establish the run game, the lack of time remaining forces him into an air-it-out strategy. Buchanan hits receivers for a few first downs, then throws over the middle into double coverage. The ball bounces around, eventually landing in the arms of a white jersey for interception number four. McKenzie tells Clemens to take over. Buchanan finds a spot on the sideline and sits catatonically as the game drags on. Teammates offer words of encouragement, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Maverick, standing nearby, keeps his distance, not sure what he could say. With the game lost, the stadium slowly empties, more purple seats visible as the clock approaches zero. Fans who stick around check their phones frequently, monitoring other AFC West games, trying to determine just how costly today’s debacle will be for the Knights. Less than twelve hours later, in Phillip’s office, DeMartine and Keegan digest some of Keegan’s metrics (with Keegan doing more explaining than interpreting) while Phillips analyzes the standings yet again. The Knights have fallen back into a tie with Denver, both teams 9-4. The Knights have the head-to-head tiebreaker now, but both teams face off again in week 17, which could very well be a de facto division championship game. The Chargers and Chiefs both lost Sunday, falling to 7-6, but there’s concern elsewhere. The Ravens and Steelers are both 8-5, so whoever loses the West won’t necessary be granted a wild card. This Sunday’s game in Kansas City will be a huge swing for the Knights. “Hard to believe there’s only three games left,” DeMartine says passively. Phillips knows exactly what he means. “Michal,” Phillips says, “could you give Paul and I a few minutes?” “Sure,” Keegan says. “I need to re-run these calculations anyway. I think the algorithm for Pass Blocking Differential got messed up.” Keegan shuts the door behind him, and DeMartine beats Phillips to it. “Chance, I know we’ve both been circling around this, but—” “I know. Our contracts.” “I don’t know about you, but everything we’re working on now that it’s December—salary cap figures, free agent priorities, draft targets—it’s a little hard to do when we might not even be the ones in charge.” “I feel the same way.” “When my agent talks to me about potential interviews elsewhere, he asks whether I’ll still be employed here, whether I’ll have to explain why I was let go, and I don’t know what to tell him.” “I understand. I need to speak with Wayne about it.” “I’m not saying negotiate. I just want to know, either way.” “You will, Paul. You will. I just have to find the right time to bring it up.” Monday night, Merle gets home late after finalizing the game plan for Kansas City, a suddenly critical game, and is only inside only a couple minutes before he hears a knock on the door. “Shit, I forgot,” Merle says, knowing who it is. He walks toward the door and opens it, seeing a young, straggly looking man with a weird smile on his face. “Good evening, Merle,” the man says. “My name is Adam. Mr. Schneider and Dr. Evans got in touch—” “Yeah, yeah. Come in.” Merle closes the door behind him and they shake hands. He waits for Adam to get started, enduring an awkward moment before he speaks. “We should find a place to sit down,” Adam says. “Uh, sure. Let’s go in the living room.” “It would be best if we sat across from each other.” “Whatever. Dining room, then.” The two take opposite seats at the table, and Merle gets himself a glass of water. “So Adam, you used to be a coke addict, right?” Harden says as he sits down. “Not used to. I am a cocaine addict.” “Oh, so you’re high right now? This should be exciting.” “No, of course not. But addiction isn’t something you ever get rid of. I’ll always be an addict, just like you’ll always be an alcoholic.” “I’m not an alcoholic.” “Merle, the first step—” “Christ, here we go.” “You can’t solve a problem until you’ve identified it. Listen, Merle, as I understand it, these one-on-one meetings are the only type of counseling you’ll agree to, so we need to make them productive.” “In that case, you can get me some sleeping pills.” “Some—I’m sorry?” “I can’t sleep. I’m tired, but all I can do is lay in bed and stare at the goddamn ceiling.” “Your body’s been using alcohol as a sleep agent for a long time. It needs to adjust.” “Terrific.” “You know, Merle, I think this would work best if I got some information from you first. About your history with alcohol.” “Shoot.” A shuffling noise from somewhere else in the house prevents Adam from speaking. He spins around, seeing nothing, hearing a high-pitched, piercing noise that sounds like scratching. “I’m…I’m sorry, Merle, is…is someone else here?” “Kind of.” Adam’s look of concern doesn’t fade. Merle sighs and yells, “BOWSER!” The shuffling gets closer, and from the adjacent hallway emerges a small Doberman puppy. It goes straight for Merle, jumping to put his front paws on Merle’s leg and licking his fingers as he pets him. “Adam, meet Bowser. Found him wandering the streets and figured out he doesn’t belong to anyone else living around here. It’ll be nice when he gets old enough to bark instead of whine like that, but he’s a good pup.” “How old is he?” “Vet says about four months. Always wanted a dog. Never got one because I didn’t think I’d be able to take care of him. NFL doesn’t give you a lot of time at home, of course.” “And, has that situation changed?” “No. But the way I figure it, I’ve thrown up over so much of this place, why can’t Bowser shit himself every now and then?” Adam looks slightly mortified as Bowser trots toward the living room, finding a chew toy and playing with it. “So,” Merle says, “you said you had some questions. Let’s get this over with.” Players arrive at the MedComm Center still feeling a hangover from Sunday’s loss, but it’s their goal to put it behind them as they prepare for their annual trip to Arrowhead Stadium. The players weigh in before suiting up, a routine process for everyone most days. Grodd gets on the scale with the rest of the starting linemen, and the offensive line coach checks everyone’s numbers, one by one, and documents them on his clipboard. He gets to Grodd and studies the scale: 298. “Chase, you’re down again.” “I know. No big deal. I’ll beef up.” “Spend some time with Brian.” “No problem, coach.” Grodd smiles as the coach moves on, soon releasing all linemen to the locker room to dress for practice. Friday afternoon, a solid week of practice concludes and players dress for their last night of freedom before tomorrow’s flight to Kansas City. Brock starts the usual banter, eventually assembling a group for a club outing. Among those not going are Flash and Rose, who talk by their lockers. “Yo, Griz,” Rose says. “You’re still coming over for dinner, right?” “Yeah, no problem,” Flash says. “Figured you wouldn’t want to go out.” “And be in the middle of everybody? No way.” “Any word on when that shit’s gonna be over?” Rose remembers what his attorney has been telling him. “Soon. They’re gonna try my friends, but not me. I did nothing wrong.” “I didn’t ask if you did anything wrong.” Rose grunts as he puts on his shirt, only his shoes to tie before leaving. “Let me get you for a second, though,” Flash says, leaning closer. Rose keeps his head down, focused on his shoelaces. “You did make that phone call, right? I remember, at the club, that night, you stepped away and took a call. Just when Brock and his porno girlfriend walked in.” “So what?” “Hey man, I got no problem either way. Dude was hanging by your house.” “Get to it, Griz.” “If you did, you can tell me. That’s all.” Rose finishes and looks up, straight into his teammate’s eyes. “I did nothing wrong. That’s the end of it. If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate if you didn’t bring this shit up at dinner.” Flash shrugs as if to agree. “You allergic to anything?” “Nah. I mean, I can’t stand mushrooms, though. They taste like ass.” “See you at seven.” As the Friday evening hours tick away, Phillips’ nerves eventually get the best of him. He rises from his desk and walks into the hallway. He studies every detail as if it’s the last time he’ll see it, looking down the hallway on both sides, toward DeMartine’s office, Keegan’s office… “Mr. Phillips, are you leaving?” Jennifer, Phillips’ secretary, calls from her office. “I’ll tell you in a minute,” Phillips says. He walks toward the east end of the hallway and opens Schneider’s door without knocking. Schneider doesn’t appear busy, and he sees the stern look on Phillips’ face. “Something on your mind, Chance?” “Yes, there is,” he says, walking toward the desk but keeping his distance. If this really is the end, he’d prefer to get it over quickly and be done with it. “My contract could expire in three weeks if we miss the playoffs. So then would the contracts of all my leading assistants. On behalf of all of them, I’m here to tell you we cannot adequately prepare the Knights for the offseason with such a burden hanging over us. We pride ourselves on being professional, but this—” Schneider waves a finger, and Phillips stops. Schneider rises from his chair, as if he’s about make a big deal out of whatever he has to say. But instead of meeting Phillips, he walks toward the wall-to-wall windows, staring off into the lights of downtown Los Angeles. “I have no intention of letting you go elsewhere,” Schneider says. “You—you what?” “We lost our quarterback in an era where you can’t win without quarterbacks, you stuck with Buchanan when I wanted you to consider alternatives, we have our third offensive play caller in three years, and we’re 9-4, leading the best division in football. There is no way I am letting my GM leave.” Schneider turns his head and looks straight at Phillips’ stunned face. “We can lose the last three, finish 9-7, and miss the playoffs, but I will not break from that stance. I give you my word. Besides, discussions with your agent have been rather productive lately.” “You’ve been talking to my agent? He didn’t tell me anything.” “For the last month or so, I believe.” “So, you wanted to surprise me? That’s a little sentimental for you, Wayne.” “It is. It was more that I didn’t want the negotiations distracting you. But now you know. I’d expect we get something finalized within a few weeks, and then we can sit down and iron out contracts for your assistants.” “Wayne, I don’t know what to—” “Hang on, Chance. Don’t pop the champagne until you’ve signed on the dotted line.” Phillips nods, in agreement, not overwhelmed with happiness but certainly relieved—for now. Chiefs 6, Knights 0, at the start of the second quarter. As the Knights prepare to punt, the offense regroups on the sideline. “Alex!” McKenzie says, “How’s the ankle?” “A little sore,” Johnson says. “It doesn’t hurt too bad. I just can’t cut the way I want to.” “I’ve noticed.” McKenzie paces the sideline and scans his playbook, scrambling again. His most precise route-runner—Buchanan’s favorite target—won’t be able to get open like normal. That leaves the Knights with one option. “Ladies!” McKenzie yells, approaching Buchanan and Wilkes. “It’s time to figure this out.” “I’m all ears, coach,” Wilkes says, the usual dumb smile on his face. “Forget the game plan, D-Jam. As of now, your name is Alex Johnson. You run the simple, short stuff. Curls, ins, outs, slants. I don’t care how tight the coverage is. Make the catch.” “Okay.” “They’re expecting us to establish the run game, so when we get the ball back, we come out firing.” “Man, this all sounds good, but—” “Stop! Stop! Just stop.” McKenzie looks around, noticing the conversation is drawing a crowd. “You know what, D-Jam? You’re right. Okay? You’re right. I haven’t given you enough chances this year, and that’s on me. That’s why, after Max gets us in the red zone, I’m calling your number on an end zone fade. And if it’s within ten yards of you, it better be a touchdown, or I own your ass this week.” “No problem, coach!” McKenzie walks away, letting his subordinates iron out the finer details. Just before the game resumes, Harden walks over to his offensive coordinator. “What was that all about?” Harden asks. “Just making some adjustments. The usual.” The Chiefs resume their run-heavy attack, bringing up a manageable third and two, but Martin executes a blitz perfectly, bringing Alex Smith down in the backfield for a sack. The Knights take possession and execute McKenzie’s plan. Buchanan comes out throwing to Wilkes, who makes the most of loose coverage, gaining a few first downs. McKenzie doesn’t back off, calling Wilkes’ number repeatedly. In a few minutes, the Knights are on the edge of field goal range thanks to Wilkes racking up an unprecedented four receptions. Where has this been all year? He can’t remember the last time he had more than four receptions in a game. Jameson gets a few carries, finding some holes in the front seven. The Knights enter the red zone with all the momentum on their side, and McKenzie makes his call. Wilkes lines up across from Brandon Flowers, eyeing the end zone. On the snap, he jukes and runs for the pylon, Flowers right with him. Buchanan lobs up a jump ball. Flowers tracks it, but Wilkes times his jump perfectly, spinning and making a beautiful back-shoulder grab. He falls with his feet in the red grass, and the nearest official signals touchdown. The sideline enters typical celebration mode, but Wilkes manages to liven things up, jumping up and down maniacally. “They can’t stop me! They can’t stop me! I’m the best!” “Oh, Christ,” Harden says. “Look who’s back.” He wades through the chaos and finds McKenzie. “That’s good coaching, Mac.” Knights 7, Chiefs 6, 0:28 before halftime. The Knights set up on the Chiefs’ thirty, the edge of McCabe’s range, wanting to add points but out of timeouts. McKenzie dials up an end zone shot for Wilkes again. Buchanan takes the snap in shotgun. Multiple linebackers come free on a blitz, so he lofts it for his checkdown target in the flat. Bishop turns half a second late, and Derrick Johnson catches it, running the other way with no one to stop him. Fans around Arrowhead rise from their seats and scream as the Chiefs retake the lead. McKenzie doesn’t say anything, knowing the halftime conversation now has to be about how much Buchanan can be trusted to not repeat last week’s four-interception performance. The Knights open the second half with balance on offense. McKenzie knows the Chiefs have to respect Wilkes, and that should open things up for Bishop and Watson. Johnson’s ankle proves increasingly painful, and Larkhill ends up taking his place entirely. Buchanan doesn’t turn the ball over, but he can’t find the big throws needed to take a drive into field goal range. The story is the same on the other side of the ball. Harden’s defense is as aggressive as it has been all season; Rose and Marshall play press coverage and multiple linebackers blitz on every play. Alex Smith appears incapable of completing anything beyond five yards, and Harden’s not changing his plan until Smith proves otherwise. The defensive battle enters the final frame after a scoreless third quarter, and the Chiefs cling to a 13-7 lead. The field position, however, tilts in Los Angeles’ favor, and Watson eventually breaks free on a bubble screen for a thirty-two-yard gain, putting the Knights in the red zone. Jameson pounds away, setting up first and goal on the six. McKenzie wants Wilkes on another jump ball, but the Chiefs double him. Buchanan throws incomplete on first down, and Jameson gets stuffed on second. Third and goal from the five. McKenzie calls for an unusual formation, and Grantzinger takes the field, checking in as an eligible receiver again at fullback. The Chiefs appear ready for him, screaming and pointing in his direction. Buchanan lines up under center in a bunch formation, takes the snap, and tosses it wide to Jameson. Grantzinger sweeps with him, and Wilkes sets a perfect block on the edge. One defender closes in. Grantzinger lowers his shoulders and delivers a devastating block, breaking Jameson free to dive into the end zone. Touchdown, Knights. The Chiefs take over for what could be their make-or-break drive, 7:13 left on the clock. Only up 14-13, Harden retains his aggressive strategy. It appears to work, the Chiefs soon facing third and nine, but Smith rolls out and finds Travis Kelce downfield for a twenty-yard completion, Kansas City’s longest play of the day. “Fuck you, Alex Smith,” Harden says to himself, calling another blitz. The defense stays tight, but Smith somehow finds receivers, threading the needle through incredibly small windows. “This fucking defense is gonna make me drink again,” Harden says, thankful no one hears that comment. Some well-timed runs to Jamaal Charles put the Chiefs in field goal range. The Knights offense prepares for a make-or-break drive of their own as the Chiefs line up for third and four from the twenty-six. It would be a forty-three-yard kick from here. Smith drops back and goes through his progressions. Pressure forces him back, moving right, then back to the middle. A blitzing Schwinn comes out of nowhere and wrangles him to the ground for a ten-yard loss. “Yeehaw!” Schwinn yells, getting some added congratulations from teammates for his first career sack. More importantly, the Chiefs line up for what is now a fifty-three-yard attempt. Cairo Santos comes on and boots the kick high, definitely deep enough. It hooks to the left, bangs off the goal post, and lands beyond the goal line. Both officials raise their arms vertically, and Arrowhead goes into a state of madness. Reality sets in on the deflated Knights’ sideline. Two weeks ago, they were in line to win the division; if they can’t find a way to score now, they’re staring down missing the playoffs entirely. McKenzie tries to rally the offense, down 16-14 with 4:45 left and all three timeouts. McCabe starts practicing for a potential game-winning kick. Jameson gets the ball first, finding little space to run in the front seven. The Knights’ run blocking has been lacking today, and it’s probably too late to fix it. Buchanan misses for Watson, bringing up third and eight. He drops back behind a clean pocket and throws for Wilkes on a comeback route. Wilkes catches it, absorbs a hit, and has a first down. The chains move. Seconds tick away as McKenzie runs a clinic on clock management, letting just enough time run between plays, planning to score the winning field goal with no time left for Kansas City. A big catch in traffic by Bishop gets the Knights in McCabe’s range, though Harden is not comfortable kicking a fifty-yarder for the win. The two-minute warning arrives, and McKenzie calls a screen to NesSmith. The play catches the Chiefs off guard, and NesSmith runs through open grass all the way to the six. The clock ticks, and the Knights call their first timeout with 1:20 left. McKenzie plots how to get Wilkes isolated while watching Jameson take a carry up the middle for two yards. Second and goal from the four. 1:15, 1:14… Buchanan lines up in shotgun with Wilkes wide left, but a safety inches his way. Double coverage again. Buchanan audibles to a run, and Jameson takes a carry up the middle, stuffed for no gain. The clock ticks until Harden calls timeout with 0:30 left. Third and goal. “Coach,” McKenzie says into his headset. “You want a run to tick the clock down, or can I take a shot into the end zone?” “Make the right call, Mac,” Harden says. “Forget everything else.” McKenzie finds his play and radios it to Buchanan, adding, “No mistakes. If it’s not there, throw it away and we’ll take the field goal.” Buchanan calls the play, and the Knights line up in the same formation as the previous play. This time, however, Bishop motions to Wilkes’ side. No corners go with him, and McKenzie gets what he wants: the safety has to either cover Bishop and leave Wilkes singled or stay with Wilkes and leave Bishop open. Buchanan takes the snap and looks left. Bishop breaks toward the pylon and the safety follows. Bishop is open, but Buchanan hesitates. Wilkes stops in the corner of the end zone, Flowers all over him. Pressure comes for Buchanan, and he heaves it up. Wilkes realizes he’s not throwing it away, jostles for position with Flowers, and they jump. Wilkes and Flowers both tip the pass. Wilkes plants his feet back in bounds and catches the falling ball as Flowers grabs it. They wrestle all the way to the ground. Officials run in, digging through other players to see who has the ball. The wrestling match continues, and they declare simultaneous possession, touchdown by rule. The crowd boos the decision while Wilkes sprints to the Knights sideline, still holding the football. “THEY CAN’T STOP ME! THEY CAN’T STOP ME!” The Knights consider requesting security to get Wilkes calmed down as McCabe knocks the extra point through, and it’s 21-16, Knights, 0:21 to go. With one timeout, the Chiefs only manage a seven-yard completion before throwing a hook and ladder. Three laterals later, the ball pops loose and bounces out of bounds, ending the game. The Knights celebrate, relived to be escaping with a win, the franchise’s first at Arrowhead Stadium. Unknown to players and coaches is more good news: the Broncos have lost to the Chargers, meaning the Knights, at 10-4, now lead the AFC West by one game. Monday morning, four men stand alone on the practice field: two coaches, one trainer, and one quarterback. They watch the quarterback closely as he drops back and throws to imaginary receivers. In between a set number of throws, the trainer enters and examines the quarterback’s throwing shoulder. “How’s it feel?” the trainer asks. “Fine,” Maverick says. “Stiff? Sore?” “Nope.” “Okay, keep going?” The nearest coach nods, and Maverick resumes the route tree, throwing all over the field. The coach doesn’t say anything, but Maverick’s timing and footwork are perfect. “Depth practice with targets,” the other coach instructs. Maverick nods and gets ready, staring down the motionless targets strategically placed downfield. “Twenty.” He takes a three-step drop and fires a twenty-yard pass over the middle of the field, hitting the target square. “Forty.” He takes a five-step drop and does the same, missing the target by inches. “Sixty.” He takes a deep drop and fires as far as he can, feeling, for the first time in months, his arm releasing a pass at full strength. The ball soars over the target by a few yards. “Twenty.” Another on-target pass. Footwork still perfect. “Forty.” Just misses. Excellent velocity. “Sixty.” An absolute laser that bangs off the top of the target. “Doc?” The trainer steps in, performing the same physical exam on the shoulder and checking Maverick’s heartbeat. He steps away awkwardly, looking at the coach. “Well?” Maverick asks. The trainer looks at the quarterback, the coaches, then back to the quarterback. “You’re ready.”
  12. Knights of Andreas Part IV Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DarthRaider DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Forty-Eight – Coaches Anonymous The fourth quarter begins with the Edward Jones Dome atmosphere akin to a library. Tonight’s Thursday Night Football game between the 3-6 Rams and 6-3 Knights has been ripe with turnovers, poor execution, sloppy play, and a lack of excitement. From the edge of the sideline, Coach Harden crosses his arms with a stern look on his face, not hiding how disgusted he is with his team. By the mercy of how awful the Rams are, they cling to a 12-10 lead. The Rams have the ball, and the usual bullshit continues. Third string quarterback Shaun Hill, making his second start of the year, looks terrible initially, then finds an open receiver on third down thanks to a coverage breakdown. Harden doesn’t know what St. Louis’ third down percentage is tonight, but it feels like they’ve converted every time. The Rams reach midfield, facing third and nine. Out of pure frustration, Harden calls an all-out blitz, which Hill nearly escapes before being tripped up by Randall. In his ear, Harden hears assistants upstairs tell him two receivers were open on that play. He doesn’t care. The Knights take the field pinned deep in their own territory. The offense has found ways to move the ball, mostly in the first half, but red zone ineptitude capped their production at four field goals, something Harden is getting tired of. This is two weeks in a row without finding the end zone. He knows they’re limited with Buchanan, but fuck McKenzie. He needs to make something happen. The Knights get a few first downs, escaping their own red zone, but are soon forced to punt when Buchanan overthrows a covered receiver. The Rams get the ball back but only manage one first down, so the Knights take over with 7:18 to go. McKenzie finally starts running the ball out of the shotgun (“About time, Mac,” Harden says.) and Jameson finds open lanes for the first time tonight. The Knights move the ball and milk the clock, reaching field goal range with under four minutes left. The Rams tighten up, forcing third and eight. McKenzie goes for the win, calling a shot to the end zone, but Buchanan’s pass sails over Wilkes’ head. The field goal unit comes on for a forty-yard attempt with 2:45 to go. McCabe lines up the kick and shanks it wide left. McKenzie throws down his headset, bouncing off the grass awkwardly. He catches a glance of Harden, who looks beyond pissed. It’s not McKenzie’s fault McCabe missed, but he knows better than to defend himself. Harden goes back to his defense in the two-minute drill, left to defend only a two-point lead. The Rams, naturally, find rhythm on offense, leaving the Knights to face, with every first down, the increasing possibility of back-to-back losses. The Rams burn both remaining timeouts, reaching the Knights’ forty-three with 0:28 to go. Consecutive deflections by Rose and Flash bring up fourth and ten with 0:18 left, a potential sixty-yard kick. The Rams leave the field goal unit on the sideline, so the Knights prepare for a Hail Mary. Hill takes the snap and rolls right. Everybody is covered deep. Hill runs back toward the middle, defenders closing in, and flips the ball to Tavon Austin, nine yards from a first down. Austin accelerates, running sideways, and jukes multiple defenders into open space. He spins around a few more and dives ahead, getting the first down at the thirty-yard line. Harden watches in utter shock as Hill hurries everyone to the line and spikes the ball with one second left. He removes his headset, ready to yell at every human on his side of the field. The Rams line up for a forty-seven-yard kick, and Harden refrains from using a timeout, finding the concept of icing the kicker useless. The kick sails high, clearly long enough, and bangs off the upright. The ball lands in the end zone, and the officials signal no good. With no flags, the game ends, and the Knights win. The small amount of relief Harden feels is instantly eradicated by the team celebrating around him, as if they just won the fucking Super Bowl. Harden shakes hands with Coach Fisher and suffers through multiple post-game interviews before finally reaching the locker room. He enters a jubilant atmosphere filled with lots of cameras and microphones, his first target. He shoos them away, trying to make it clear they won’t be capturing any post-game speeches tonight. The cameramen hesitate, and Harden doesn’t have any patience. “OUT!” he screams. “GET THE FUCK OUT!” The journalists run for cover and the locker room goes dead quiet. Harden paces through the center, staring at his players menacingly. “Wipe those fucking smiles off your faces. We don’t deserve victory tonight. That may well have been our worst game of the year, men. And I don’t want to hear any fucking excuses. ‘Well, we had a short week.’ ‘Well, it was two road trips in a row.’ Fuck you! You know which teams make excuses? The one who don’t win Super Bowls.” He pauses, trying to see if his message is resonating. He’s not sure, so he goes ahead with his plan. “So guess what? Tomorrow’s off day? Practice. Eight am.” Players groan, and a few helmets hit the floor. “I swear to God I hear any bitching, and I’ll make it seven. Anybody goes to the union and complains, I’ll fine your ass. Let me make myself clear: each and every one of you owes big time after the shitstorm I just watched.” Harden walks off, not intending on spending any more time around anyone associated with the Knights. After the bus ride to the airport, flight to Los Angeles, and drive home, Merle walks through the front door just after midnight California time. He ignores everything in the house except a dirty glass on the kitchen counter, fills it with whiskey, and heads to the porch. He takes a few good swigs to get things started and fires up the radio. He wants to forget about the terrible performance in St. Louis, and the crushing loss in Seattle four days ago, but he does not want to forget football altogether. “Brad Neeman here, for Firebirds Radio, and it’s the night we’ve all been waiting for, folks! The North Dakota AA State Championship Game, between our Firebirds of Devil’s Lake High School and the Blue Jays of Jamestown High School.” 1986. It all came together that year. Merle had a strong senior class, decent quarterback, and a defense that could execute his scheme to damn near perfection. The Firebirds annihilated most of the teams they played and entered the state championship with a 13-0 record. “…He’s back to pass, the Firebirds blitz, he’s under pressure, down he goes! The Blue Jays open the game by going three and out, and this Devil’s Lake defense picks up right where it left off…” “…Parker drops back, looking, looking, throws to the end zone…caught! Touchdown, Firebirds! They score first and this crowd is absolutely insane!…” That was a hell of a first quarter. The Firebirds came out in control, and the Devil’s Lake fans were screaming right behind the sideline. Merle’s never experienced anything like it since. “…Blue Jays still trailing, 14-7. Here’s a play-action pass, he’s under pressure, dumps it off to the running back. He is hit immediately! What a hit! Oh, folks, that was a monster tackle!...” Come to think of it, that ’86 Firebirds team reminds Merle of this year’s Knights team, with a defense that beat the hell out of opponents and a quarterback who was just good enough. “…So this is it! The Blue Jays need a forty-yard Hail Mary to force overtime, or this one’s a wrap. Here’s the snap, the Firebirds blitz, he’s rolling out, gets off a pass, headed toward the end zone…incomplete! Incomplete! That’s it! That’s it! It’s over! The Firebirds have won the state championship!” Merle can remember every detail: walking to midfield, the quick handshake, linemen carrying him on their shoulders…then meeting Melinda on the field, hugging and kissing her. Celebrating together. He’s not sure where he is or what he’s doing, and his eyes struggle adjusting to the brightness. Figures start clearing up, and daylight surrounds him on the porch. “Shit, what time is it?” Merle staggers up, head piercing with pain, and glances at the nearest clock: 7:28. “Fuck me.” It’ll take a miracle to get to MedComm by eight, and there’s no time for coffee. Only one solution, Merle hobbles to the kitchen, grabs the flask of whiskey, and downs a good shot and a half, straining every muscle in his body to prevent himself from puking. He speeds down the highway, darting through as many cars as possible, trying to cut time. The headache doesn’t go away, forcing Merle to rummage through the car at stoplights, desperate for anything liquid. The only thing he finds is an empty water bottle, months (maybe years) old. He gets off the highway, turns a corner, and can already see players on the field. He checks the time: 8:02. He slams on the brakes in his parking spot and jogs through the main lobby, thankfully empty. He races through the locker room and onto the field, happy to see the entire team already mid-workout. A few players catch glances of him but don’t break from their sprints. As soon as McKenzie sees him, he beelines for the coach, looking frantic. “Merle, what the fuck?” McKenzie says, muting his voice. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted them to do, so I went with suicides. You don’t answer your phone?” Harden feels his pockets, finding only keys and a wallet. “Must have left it at home.” “So we—wait, are those the same clothes you wore at the game last night?” “Fuck off, Mac.” McKenzie wants to say more, but he catches a whiff of a pungent odor he recognizes immediately, and lets it go. Harden assumes control of the practice field and makes players continue running suicides. He is told that all players are in attendance and were on time. He can tell the players want to ask why he’s late, but he knows they won’t. It’s an unusually hot Friday for November, and Harden starts sweating as much as his players, even though he’s not running suicides. Soon, the team breaks off into positional groups, working on specific drills handpicked by Harden. He references poor play from last night as each group gets going. As Harden watches over the linebackers, he eyes up tables being set up on the sideline with water coolers on top of them. “Dammit, Sean, keep your goddamn hips square!” Harden yells. “Keep going, men, I’ll be right back. Briggs, take charge.” The coach heads for the sideline as the linebackers keep working. “Man, this is total bullshit,” Brock says. “We deserve it,” Randall says. “Just keep going.” “Speak for yourself.” “Ok guys, stop for a second.” Everybody rests, and Randall looks toward the water coolers. “If we didn’t play so shitty last night we wouldn’t be in this—whoa, coach! Coach!” Harden appears to go limp on the edge of the field and falls sideways. His body contorts awkwardly as he hits the grass, and everybody runs toward him. A few players get him sitting upright, his face pale as a ghost. Others fill a cup with cold water and put it in his hands. “Get back to work, you pussies,” Harden says, clearly out of breath. Randall turns to a few other teammates and whispers, “Anybody else smell that?” A few players nod. “Come with us, coach,” Phillips says, wading through the crowd with Dr. Evans close behind. “Let’s check you out.” “I’m fine, goddamn it,” Harden says. “Coach McKenzie, take over practice, please.” Harden realizes Phillips isn’t backing down, and he doesn’t have the energy to spar with him, so he goes along. The scene returns to relative normalcy and players resume drills. During breaks, however, conversations pop up and chatter spreads throughout the team. After an hour, with Harden still inside the facility, McKenzie announces a ten-minute break, and everyone grabs a drink of water. Of the many congregations that form, one includes most of the starting defense. Randall: “You guys smelled it, right?” Brock: “Whiskey or bourbon, I’d say.” Bishop: “So what do you guys think?” Brock: “Man, if coach drank a little before practice, who cares? Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s done it.” Martin: “That’s shocking, coming from you.” Grantzinger: “I’m actually with Brock on this one. So the coach is having a bad day. No big deal if it’s a one-time thing.” Luck: “It’s not a one-time thing.” Everyone freezes and faces Luck, who explains how he accidentally tasted Harden’s iced coffee a week ago, in the auditorium, and it tasted spiked with something. At this point, McKenzie is close enough to hear most of the conversation. He works his way closer without being conspicuous. Brock: “Okay, so it’s a two-time thing?” Randall: “I’ve never noticed him like this on game day, has anyone else?” Bishop: “So how regular a thing is it, then? We know—” McKenzie becomes visible amongst the congregation, and everything goes quiet. “I hear you talking to each other,” he says. “Now talk to me.” “You first, coach,” Randall says. Everyone looks wide-eyed at Randall’s unprecedented subordination. “No disrespect, but you’ve known him longer than us, right? If there’s something we deserve to know here…” McKenzie looks at the players, genuinely not sure how to respond, eventually noticing that the entire team is now listening. Harden sits in a chair in the second floor hallway, just outside Schneider’s office. It’s a little before noon now, and the players are still resting through what has been a disaster of a practice day so far. Harden feels better, feels energy returning to him, but he still can’t shake the headache. He needs a cold shower and some aspirin. “Merle, come in,” Phillips says, opening the doorway. Harden walks in and sees a small crowd: Phillips, Schneider, Evans, McKenzie. He crosses his arms. “So, what’s the deal?” “You know what the deal is, Merle,” Phillips says. “Dr. Evans says you’re dehydrated, and we don’t need him to tell us your breath smells like alcohol.” “I had a few drinks last night when I got home. Wasn’t exactly a comforting football game, which is why I’m trying to—” “Did you have any drinks this morning?” Harden pauses and looks around. “I don’t appreciate being cornered like this. If something needs to be said here, let’s get it over with.” Phillips and Schneider look at McKenzie, and Harden sizes up the situation, figuring he’s told them everything. “Never figured you for a rat, Mac. You told them?” “He didn’t have to,” Schneider says. “With all due respect, coach, you’ve got a reputation. A reputation that has gone unchecked because it’s never caused problems. Until now. So we’re going to be proactive about this and not let it linger.” “When I get stressed, I like to have a drink just as much as the next guy. You’re all overreacting. There’s no problem here.” Schneider steps forward. “Acceptance is the first—” “Don’t give me twelve fucking steps, goddamn it! Let me make this easy for you. I’m not an alcoholic. I don’t have a problem with booze, but I do have a problem with this bullshit distracting me from my football team. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a practice to run.” Harden ignores Phillips’ beckoning and struts down the hallway. He pushes the button for the elevator, gets tired of waiting, and staggers down the stairs. He cuts through the locker room toward the field and— The sight freezes him. The entire football team stands in the locker room, facing their head coach, still in pads, helmets off. “What in the holy fuck is this?” Harden says. “Something we have to do, coach,” Penner says. He stands at the front of the crowd next to the lead captains, Randall and Maverick, dressed in street clothes. “That’s right,” Randall says. “We’re a team. That means we look out for each other, players and coaches.” “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Harden says. “You’ve all gone fucking soft. Alright then. Get ready for the worst day of your lives. Get back on that field and—” “We’re not going, coach,” Randall says. Harden struggles to find the words, confounded at the situation. He’s never been challenged by his players like this, not ever, not on any level. “I don’t believe this,” Harden says. “I don’t know what Coach McKenzie told you—” “Enough to know there’s a problem,” Randall says. “It’s like you say in the film room, coach,” Flash says. “When we see a problem, we fix it. We don’t wait for it to fix itself.” “Exactly, like last year,” Maverick says. “I was being selfish, putting myself first, with Everett and shit. You sat me in this locker room and set me straight, made me put the team ahead of myself. That’s what you preach to us all the time, coach, and that’s what we’re doing right now.” Harden tries to think about his players, about what they’re doing, about what he should do to them—but he can only think of himself, of his life, his mistakes, his wife and daughter living a thousand miles away. “We’re not backing down, coach,” Grantzinger says. Phillips, Schneider, and McKenzie come in, having been alerted to the situation. Harden feels the pressure and stress from all of it hitting him at once. He backs toward a locker with a chair and slowly sinks into it. The room is quiet for a few minutes as nobody moves or speaks. “Okay,” Harden eventually says in a soft, hushed tone that no one has ever heard from Merle Harden’s mouth. “Okay. One thing, non-negotiable. I’m not going to any goddamn meetings.” Saturday morning, the MedComm Center opens for unusual business. Just after arriving, Phillips shoots a text to Javad: “Press conf at 11. Harden taking leave of absence.” Within seconds, Javad replies: “Because?” Phillips: “Personal reasons.” Javad: “What kind?” Phillips knew Javad would ask, and he knows his response: “Can’t say.” Everything sets up on time, with the media room arranged by 10:30 and reporters allowed in shortly after. Then, right on schedule, Phillips sends Javad another message: “Alcohol trouble.” The way Phillips figures, it’ll be a lot easier for fans to process the news if they gradually hear reports from multiple sources, as opposed to hearing the head coach stun them with a bombshell at the start of an impromptu press conference. Just before eleven, Harden arrives, looking miles different from yesterday. His clothes look clean and he smells like deodorant, though he still looks stressed. On the edge of the stage, out of sight from the crowd, he and Phillips talk. “One last request, Merle,” Phillips says. “Wayne really wants some Q&A.” “No questions. I’m sorry.” Harden walks toward the podium, a sheet of paper there with his statement printed on it. He presses both palms against the podium and leans forward. “I’m gonna keep this short and sweet, and I won’t be taking any questions after. Effective immediately, I am taking a personal leave of absence from the team. This is due to some recent struggles I have personally had…with regard to alcohol. I think, for the best of the team, and the organization, I need to take some time to get my head straight, more or less. I don’t expect this will be a particularly long leave of absence, but in my place, Ron McKenzie will take over head coach duties, and Mike Ellerbe will assume play calling duties on the defensive side. I’ve already spoken with the players, and we’re all on the same page.” He’s about to walk off, but he remembers the last sentence, one the team insisted he end with. “The team will be holding another press conference in the coming days for questions. Thanks.” He walks off, a barrage of inquiries shouted his way as he scurries through the door as quickly as possible. Phillips, Schneider, and McKenzie are there to greet him, warm smiles on their faces as they shake his hand firmly, like this is some sort of congratulations. It should never have come to this. Harden leaves for home, windows down, taking his time with the drive. His car is still messy as hell, but that will be fixed later. He gets home and walks into the usual: a quiet, cluttered, smelly house. He turns on some college football for background noise and gets to work. He goes through every cabinet and drawer, searches under every table and couch. One at a time, each bottle of liquor gets drained and thrown in the garbage. He thought about gathering them all together and pitching them at once, but that’s way too cheesy. Everything’s gotta go; might as well toss it right away. Eventually, when most of the bottles have gone, he starts throwing out cups and glasses that have liquor in them as well. He’ll buy a new set of everything, hell with it. Tuesday, players enter the MedComm Center under slightly new leadership. Coach McKenzie follows the procedures Harden has put in place, wanting things to seem as routine as possible, desperate for a normal week of practice without any issues. Unfortunately, the Knights have a tall task this Sunday: a divisional home game against the 6-3 Chiefs. Despite his desire to avoid conflict, McKenzie gets his offense in the film room with one ugly item at the top of his agenda. He plays footage from the St. Louis game of Wilkes, clearly dogging it on his routes and—on a few occasions—avoiding running entirely. McKenzie pauses the film and stares down his receiver. “Well, D-Jam? Got anything to say for yourself?” “Nope! Not a thing,” Wilkes says, slouched back in his chair, looking relaxed. McKenzie studies the players around the table; he’ll need their support to win this fight, and he’ll need to win the fight to maintain the team’s trust. “You don’t see a problem with taking plays off? You think that’s the way we play the game?” “Man, it ain’t taking plays off if I’m not gonna get the ball anyway. What am I missing?” “Hey,” Buchanan says, “if I don’t look you’re way enough, that’s on me to—” “Don’t, kid,” Penner says. “Don’t fucking apologize. D-Jam, cut this shit out.” “What?” D-Jam says. “What’d I do? You feed me the ball, and I’ll run whatever route you want.” “D-Jam,” McKenzie says, “the goal here is to—” “Show me the plays where I’m supposed to get the ball.” “Like I said—” “Hold up, hold up, hold up! Show me the plays where I’m supposed to get the ball!” Chaos unfolds with frustration reaching peak levels, and McKenzie screams over the clamor to get everyone’s attention. When it finally quiets, Wilkes gets up from his chair and throws his playbook back on the table. McKenzie sighs, decides to bench Wilkes later, and moves on to other film. So much for an easy week of practice. Tuesday night, Maverick pours through tape as well as the playbook for Kansas City, even though he won’t be playing. His range of motion is almost back to normal, and the doctors say he’s weeks away, but he’s not satisfied. He can only throw a pass ten yards with weak velocity. After reaching a sufficient stopping point, he heads upstairs to his room for bed. It takes a while to fall asleep. It doesn’t help that he’s been dreaming of football lately, itching to get back on the field more than ever, especially with the Knights’ thinning playoff chances. He has to get back before the team runs out of time. Unable to sleep, he slides out of bed and gets ready to do some push-ups. He goes slow, trying to balance between both sides of his body but pay attention to the right side. Everything feels fine. In fact, he feels normal, strong, able. He picks up the pace, going a little lower to the floor, and his shoulder buckles. “Motherfucker!” He rolls over in pain, flailing around with his good arm. It touches his cell phone, and he throws it across the room. Phillips stands next to Evans in his office, rubbing his temples as he looks out toward the practice field. “Setback?” he asks. “What exactly does that mean at this point?” “The shoulder just can’t support as much weight as it should,” Evans says. “This sort of thing is typical for AC joint separations.” “That makes me feel a lot better. Did something happen during his workout?” “Nothing that I oversaw.” “Anything at home?” “Not that he mentioned.” “Terrific.” Minutes later, Evans heads downstairs to give Maverick a more thorough examination, eventually deciding to put the arm in a sling. “This damn thing again?” Maverick says. “Only for today, just as a precaution. Twenty-four hours, you can take it off tomorrow morning.” “Okay, cool.” Maverick’s focus shifts to the adjacent hallway, where a few coaches are talking about an apparent incident in the film room yesterday. “Hey, doc, give me a minute?” “Sure.” On the practice field, the team is split into offense and defense, each running plays from the playbook against the scout team. McKenzie watches his offense closely, especially his receivers. With Wilkes benched, Watson takes the number two spot, but he’ll still operate out of the slot in three-receiver sets, with Ben Larkhill playing outside in Wilkes’ place. As the offense runs a few play-action plays, with Buchanan hitting most receivers, a few coaches notice Maverick walking across the field, arm in a sling again, toward the sideline where some offensive backups stand. They say hello, but he seems not to notice them. Maverick heads straight for Wilkes, who looks strangely happy for a guy who has just been benched. “What the fuck’s your problem?” Maverick asks, about ten feet away. “Man, not you too!” Maverick gets close and shoves Wilkes hard with his left hand. “You bitch and moan in the film room because you’re not getting enough passes? You take plays off? Are you fucking serious?” The commotion gets everyone’s attention, and practice halts. Wilkes backtracks, staying on his feet as Maverick keeps shoving him. “Yo, Mav, leave it alone, man…” “We need every win we can get and you revert back to the same old shit? Trying to tell coaches what to do?” Maverick gets a good shove in just below the neck that knocks Wilkes down, and a few players get between them. “You want me to kick your ass with one fucking arm?!” He raises his left arm in the air, but that’s the end of it. Multiple teammates hold him back as Wilkes scurries to his feet, visibly shaken. His point made, a red-faced Maverick walks off the field, high-fiving multiple teammates on the way. Friday morning, players dress for the last full practice of the week. With most of the players ready to hit the field, McKenzie gets their attention. “Okay, we’ve had a good week so far. Let’s make sure by the time we leave today, we’ve got that playbook mastered. On both sides of—” He looks away, and the players turn their heads to see Coach Harden stroll back into the locker room. “You all didn’t think I’d be away too long, did you?” Nobody responds, but the players don’t hide their smiles. “I feel good, men. I feel fresh. So, I get to yell at you with a renewed sense of energy. Let’s go.” Word of Harden’s return reaches the second floor (and the media) and Phillips watches the team practice from his office. Eventually, he winds up in Schneider’s office and asks about the media’s reaction to everything. “It’s been rather positive, actually,” Schneider says. “It’s not an unprecedented situation in the sports world, and we’re getting Merle the help he needs.” “Agreed,” Phillips says. “I’m actually glad we got everything on the table and straightened out, so we won’t have any long-term problems.” “And it’s given us a chance, albeit a brief one, to evaluate McKenzie’s leadership, just in case something else happened, and we’d need to—” “Stop right there.” Phillips puts his hands on Schneider’s desk and leans in. “I will not fire Merle Harden. As long as I’m here, he’s my head coach. You want to pull another Daniel, you go ahead and fire me too.” “Relax, Chance. I didn’t mean to insinuate I was considering anything. I’m not. I’m glad Merle is our head coach too, though there’s obviously something about him you see that I don’t.” Phillips has an argument ready. “Last week. He sits everyone down in the auditorium, makes them watch the Super Bowl before the Seattle game. What other coach would think of something like that?” “And then we went to Seattle and lost.” Growing frustrated, Phillips looks around, trying to think of another angle. His eyes focus on the practice field, then back on Schneider. “Take a walk with me.” They head downstairs and onto the field, monitoring practice from a safe distance. They watch the defense run blitz drills against the scout offense, Harden prowling nearby and blowing his whistle after every play. “Sean! I’m tired of telling you to square up, it’s no wonder you get stoned on the rush so often. Zack! Stop dragging that fucking shoulder, it’s an embarrassment to me as a coach. Anthrax! What the fuck are you putting your head down for? The game’s not being played by ants.” Phillips and Schneider watch the bickering continue endlessly, and Phillips hopes Schneider sees his point: the players aren’t bothered, they’re motivated. They love Harden’s coaching style, his passion, his energy. And they feed off it. Schneider eventually retreats inside, but Phillips decides to stay on the field and observe, getting a surprising amount of enjoyment (and entertainment) out of it. Hours pass until the final whistle blows. Players run back toward the locker room, eventually leaving Harden and Phillips alone on the field. “Hell of a practice, coach,” Phillips says. “Trying to keep tabs on me?” “Not exactly. In a hurry to leave?” “No, why?” The two take a couple spots on the bleachers with the sun setting beyond the city skyline. Harden makes a sarcastic comment about the scene being romantic, but the conversation soon turns serious, with Phillips inquiring about Harden’s history with alcohol. “I managed it better last year,” Harden eventually says. “When Melinda and Trisha left, it really burned me. I got by with two things: getting to coach this team every day, and the thought that they’d come back. I knew Melinda was capable of leaving, but I never thought she’d stay gone. I thought my family would come back. And then this year…they didn’t. They didn’t. And so it’s just me.” “Have you talked to them lately?” Phillips asks. “Yep. They’re both doing really well, and they’re both proud of me for owning up to my mistakes, whatever that means. Maybe if we win the Super Bowl it’ll impress them enough to come home.” “I’m on board with that plan.” Minutes of silence pass, and the conversation appears over. Phillips decides to leave him alone and head out for the day. “It’s good to have you back, Merle.” They shake hands. “Thanks, Chance. Good to be back.” The Knights take the field against the Chiefs, and Harden roams the sidelines feeling energetic, fresh. Not quite as fresh as when he was in his thirties coaching at Devil’s Lake, but close. The Knights come out dominating. The defense completely shuts Kansas City down, not allowing a first down in the first quarter. Offensively, Buchanan plays competent enough to move the chains, coupled with a strong run game from Jameson. The Knights take an early 10-0 lead and don’t look back. The defense forces multiple turnovers, continuing to set the offense up in great field position, which is enough to maintain the lead. The one-sided affair continues into the second half, with Merle Harden in his prime. He privately admires the defensive dominance but chastises them at every little mistake, especially when they finally yield a field goal and lose the shutout. But they never lose control. They take a 23-3 lead into the game’s final minutes, Kansas City adds a garbage time field goal, and the Knights win, 23-6. For Harden, all the post-game festivities feel a little extra special today. Even the press conference is somewhat tolerable. Merle gets home, planning on another nostalgic evening reliving the Devil’s Lake glory days. He walks into a clean home that finally smells good and is nearly alcohol free. He’s thrown away an exuberant amount of booze over the last week, but per his arrangement with the team, that’s not the end of it. In lieu of stupid meetings and an official program, the Knights will find someone to visit Merle’s home and have weekly one-on-one visits. He doesn’t see how that’s going to help, but it’ll keep the guys upstairs happy. Only one bottle of alcohol remains: a prestigious bottle of whiskey Merle once received from his father. “Save it for a special occasion,” he said. Merle always intended to save it for a Super Bowl victory, should he get one. He can’t just throw it out, can he? Then again, if he’s going to say clean as long as possible, the bottle’s gotta go, one way or the other. He ignores it, filling a glass with water and ice instead. Just before he gets to the porch, he turns back, looking at the cabinet containing the whiskey… He sits on the porch, glass in hand, listening to highlights of the 1989 season.
  13. Knights of Andreas Part IV Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DarthRaider DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Forty-Three – Next Man Up Chance Phillips stands just outside the door labeled “MEDIA ROOM,” savoring the silence of the hallway before entering the chaos on the other side. The Knights have not publicly commented since Harden’s post-game press conference last night, when he simply used the phrase “shoulder injury.” In the thirteen hours since, the media has reported the exact nature of the injury, and they’ve gotten it right. Phillips is about to tell the sports world what it already knows. He opens the door, and the entire crowd comes to its feet, phones and cameras pointed at the podium. Phillips looks out into the audience, the fullest it’s been in some time, and feels the heat from camera lights on his face. He raises the microphone and clears his throat. “I’d like to make a brief statement. Jonathan Maverick has an AC joint separation in his right shoulder. As of now, he is out indefinitely. Unfortunately, this is one of those medical situations where we just can’t put a number on it. Now, let me answer a few questions that I’m sure you all have. Surgery is not planned at this time. Jonathan will not be going on injured reserve because we believe he might return this season. Having said that, we’re dealing with an injury to his throwing shoulder, so we’re going to take every precaution possible. As for our roster, Max Buchanan is our starting quarterback.” With the Knights’ next pick in the 2013 draft approaching and no trade intentions, the war room gets as anxious as it can for a sixth-round pick. Among a big board containing hundreds of names, the prospect currently at the top is a quarterback. “Let’s hear the scouting report one more time,” Phillips says. The head offensive scout flips through his binder. “Max Buchanan, Washington State. Six-foot-three, 212 pounds. Slightly below average arm strength, average but inconsistent accuracy. Looks his best when his first read is open. Struggles going through progressions and often locks onto receivers. Solid fundamentals, good footwork. No off the field concerns whatsoever. Very passive on the field, doesn’t show many leadership qualities. No medical red flags.” “Tom,” Phillips says, looking at Coach Everett. “Based on the tape, what do you think?” “I think,” Everett says, “at this point in the draft, he’s a good developmental pick.” “So, any objections, then?” Nobody appears to have any. The next few picks pass, Buchanan stays on the board, and when the Knights go on the clock, they draft their first quarterback since taking Jonathan Maverick third overall in 2010. Phillips crams into one of many chairs surrounding the table in Wayne Schneider’s office. Flanked by two men he trusts, Paul DeMartine (assistant general manager) and Michal Keegan (special assistant to the general manager), Phillips sees plenty of unwelcome faces representing the business end of football, along with the team’s head doctors, led by Dr. Evans. Coach Harden and most of the offensive coaching staff sit in chairs creating a makeshift outer ring around the table. As far as Phillips can recall, he’s never seen the office this packed. Schneider calls the meeting to order, and Evans rises from the end of the table, adjusting his tie. Evans in a suit is a rare sight, but like everyone else, he is fully aware of this meeting’s importance. “Jonathan has a grade 3 AC joint separation,” Evans says. “While these injuries are commonly known as separated shoulders, what it technically means is ligament damage. The ligament connecting his clavicle and acromion bones is damaged, and the two bones have become displaced.” “Okay, doc,” Schneider says, seeing the uncomfortable looks around the table. “Let’s talk treatment and recovery.” “Yes, sir. Jonathan’s shoulder has already been immobilized and iced, which it will be for some time. Now, I want to emphasize something. As I said, Jonathan’s injury is a grade 3, but it’s very close to a grade 4. The grade of an AC joint injury is not definitive, in the same way a category 3 hurricane can vary in severity. What’s important to understand here is that grade 3 separations are tricky. Most of the time, we continue treating it conservatively, and the shoulder responds, in which case I’m cautiously optimistic he could return by the end of the season. Possibly even before December.” “And if it doesn’t respond to treatment?” Phillips asks. “Surgery.” There’s an audible sound in the room as people shift in their chairs and rub their temples. They don’t need Dr. Evans to tell them surgery would be the end of Maverick’s season, and probably the team’s as well. Tuesday morning, the most popular man in the locker room is the only one not dressing for practice. Maverick moves from locker to locker with his right arm in a sling and a wad of crushed ice pressed against his shoulder. He appreciates the support he gets from teammates, though he ends up having the same conversations over and over. “I’ll be back,” he says to just about everyone. “Hold the fort for a little while.” When he gets to Brock, they have a longer, more pleasant conversation. “Guess this ends our club adventures for a while,” Brock says. “I guess so. It’s all good. We had fun this offseason.” “We did, we did. Heal up soon, Mav.” They bump fists and Maverick moves on to the next locker. After he’s far enough away, Brock says, “Poor guy’s gotta masturbate left handed. Sucks.” “Shut the fuck up, Sean,” Grantzinger says. Around the five lockers occupied by the team’s starting offensive linemen, the mood is somber. Led by a dejected Penner, the linemen apologize to Maverick and wish him a speedy recovery. Adams is extra apologetic, having allowed the pressure that got Maverick hurt. “Never again,” Penner tells his quarterback. “We’ll get it fixed. Heal up, and we’ll make sure you don’t touch the grass.” “I sure hope so,” Maverick says, shaking hands with his center. Penner actually pancaked his defender to the ground on the play where Maverick got injured, but that doesn’t matter. A hit on the quarterback given up by anyone is a hit given up by the offensive line, and they, as a unit, need to do better. Maverick eventually comes to a young, light-brown-haired kid, already in full uniform, studying the playbook as if he’s about to take an exam on it. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, Max,” Maverick says. “Trying not to,” Buchanan says. “You’ll be here for practice, right?” “Most days. When I don’t have some bullshit rehab thing to do.” Players and coaches step onto the practice field with all eyes on Buchanan. McKenzie begins what will surely be a turbulent week; the playbook for Jacksonville is very much subject to change and probably won’t be finalized until Friday. He’s spent an entire offseason with Buchanan, of course, but with so little playing experience, it’s hard to know what to expect. McKenzie has his receiving corps and new quarterback start with all the simple route trees, three-step drops with quick throws. He watches Buchanan’s every movement: footwork, shoulders, release point. The kid looks good. He throws accurate passes with decent velocity. McKenzie moves the routes progressively further down the field. Once beyond ten yards, the throws up the middle begin to look much better than the ones toward the sideline. At ease from the relief that Buchanan shouldn’t be a total disaster, McKenzie calls on the scout defense. It doesn’t take long for Buchanan to start throwing interceptions, and the scouting report rings in McKenzie’s head. Looks best when his first read is open, often stares down receivers. As soon as players get a break, McKenzie pounces. “Max! Don’t grab a drink, get over here.” Buchanan jogs toward his offensive coordinator while everyone else drinks some water. “Yeah, coach?” “When that first read is covered, don’t throw the fucking ball. Understand?” Buchanan nods. “Always know your second guy before the snap. Know where you’re going if you don’t get the coverage you want. And if all else fails, a sack is better than an interception. I don’t give a damn how much it hurts, I don’t give a damn how hard you get hit, I don’t give a damn if you break twelve bones and end your career. A sack is always better than an interception. Got it?” Visibly shaken, Buchanan nods again. McKenzie steps toward the sideline. “Alright, ladies, let’s get back to it!” Practice concludes, and Harden staggers to his stupid press conference, not looking forward to a barrage of the same questions about his quarterback situation. He gets situated at the podium and the first question is, of course, about Maverick’s health. Anything new? “No.” What about Buchanan? How does he look so far? “Couldn’t tell you. I coach the defense, not the offense.” But you’re the head coach, Merle. “I trust Mac’s input when it comes to the offense.” Okay, so what does McKenzie say? “Good things so far.” So what about the overall dynamic of the team with such a huge injury? Less than a minute in, and Harden has already had enough. “Listen, I’m not gonna sit here and give you guys the ‘woe is us’ routine. Injuries happen in football. It’s a tough game. People get hurt. You deal with it. You move on. This team got to the Super Bowl last year for a reason. We win football games because we’re not dependent on any one player, quarterback or otherwise. So, honestly, I’m not worried about it. Will we have our struggles? Of course we will. But every guy in that locker room knows what they have to do.” That quote renders the rest of the press conference useless. The Knights head coach’s defiant statement becomes its own headline over the next few hours: “Harden ‘not worried’ about Maverick injury.” The fan reaction on sports radio is vicious. “Not worried? This Buchanan kid better be special, then, or else that’s an incredibly dumb thing to say.” “I know we’ve seen Harden be cavalier about a lot of things, but he’s not worried? Not worried about an injury to his starting quarterback? Is he aware of what’s going on? C’mon, Merle.” “So he’s just gonna focus on defense while the offense crashes and burns, taking our whole season along with it? Yeah, that sounds like a great plan.” “That’s just another example of why Harden should be a defensive coordinator, not a head coach.” “He better be doing a hell of a job coaching that defense, because they’re gonna be on the field a lot this year.” For the first time in 2014, Knights fans pack Farmers Field to see their home team play, though the quarterback situation fills the air with uncertainty. At least their opponent today is the 0-1 Jaguars. On the other hand, if the Knights can’t beat Jacksonville without Maverick, their season is probably over already. Among the crowd of black, plenty of spectators sport #12 jerseys with “Maverick” on the back. Nobody wears Buchanan’s #6. This game was supposed to be marketed as a battle between two quarterbacks drafted third overall in their respective drafts. Instead, the Knights huddle around Max Buchanan, the 2013 draft’s 184th selection. On the sidelines, Coach McKenzie holds a large sheet of laminated paper. With Buchanan’s limited knowledge and experience, only half of the playbook is fair game today, and that’s not even considering his no-huddle ideas, which can probably be shelved for this year. For key situations today, McKenzie will give Buchanan two plays (one run, one pass) to choose from at the line of scrimmage. Freedom to audible is out of the question, but McKenzie can only simplify things so much. This is the NFL. Buchanan opens his career with multiple handoffs. The Knights dominate the point of attack, and Jameson chews through decent chunks of yardage. Three runs and seventeen yards later, it’s second and four, a favorable down and distance for Buchanan’s first pass, McKenzie decides. Buchanan fakes a handoff, drops back, and fires over the middle. Bishop catches it, tackled immediately for five yards and a first down. The home crowd cheers for Buchanan’s first career completion. The rest of the drive is more of the same: Jameson chewing up yardage with a few safe throws mixed in. The Knights reach field goal range, Buchanan overthrows an end zone shot for Watson on third down, and they settle for a 3-0 lead. Blake Bortles and the Jaguars take over, and the Knights immediately expose their weak offensive line. They get penetration on every snap and force a quick three-and-out. The Knights continue the same strategy on offense, letting Jameson lead the way with Buchanan making easy throws here and there. They reach field goal range again, and a draw play to Jameson catches the defense off guard. Jameson accelerates through open grass, meets a defender inside the five-yard line, and carries him to the end zone with him. Touchdown, Knights. The Jaguars offense gets suffocated again, and uneasiness subsides as fans gradually realize the Jaguars aren’t very good, and the Knights have this game in the bag as long as they don’t mess it up. McKenzie realizes this too, holding his play calls to simple throws that don’t call on Buchanan to take any chances. The score remains 10-0 until just before halftime, when the Jags finally string a few first downs together, reaching midfield. Bortles drops back to pass, and a screen develops to his right. He lofts it up, but Grantzinger is right there. He grabs it out of midair and breaks for the end zone. None of the nearby linemen has a shot to run him down. Touchdown, Knights. Grantzinger receives praise from every player and coach on the sideline, and the Knights take a 17-0 lead into halftime. The second half brings more of the same, though Buchanan’s shortcomings start to show, limiting the offense and making the game downright boring. Buchanan eventually throws an interception that leads to a Jaguars field goal, but the Knights get a field goal of their own on the ensuing series. The Jaguars eventually take over with decent field position, down 20-3 with 10:22 to go in the fourth quarter—gut-check time for them. Harden watches a blitz converge on Bortles. Stevenson gets there first, but Bortles steps up, avoiding him. Grantzinger is next, and he brings the quarterback to the ground. The stadium cheers for the sack, but Harden sees a Knight hobbling away from the pile. It’s Stevenson, favoring his left leg. “Goddamn it,” Harden says as trainers surround Stevenson on the sideline. “Bobby! Go!” From the bench, second-year strong safety Robert Schwinn rises. “Yes, sir!” he says with a Texas accent as he runs onto the field and takes Stevenson’s spot. Harden doesn’t alter his play calling strategy, wanting another big play to end the game. Bortles lines up in shotgun with four wide receivers as Farmers Field gets loud. The Knights back off the line, then blitz on the snap. Bortles sees the pressure and fires toward the sideline. Grantzinger gets his arm up and tips it. It bounces off a helmet and into Luck’s arms for the interception. The defense celebrates the play, and the imminent victory. Monday morning brings relief for Knights fans. Despite the demoralizing Super Bowl loss, this offseason was filled with optimism for a rising team, and Maverick’s injury crushed all of it. Now, at the very least, the Knights have proven all is not lost with Buchanan. The quarterback’s debut featured an unimpressive stat line—20 of 36 for 212 yards, 0 TDs, 1 INT—but he looked relatively comfortable and faced little pressure. The Knights’ rookie offensive tackles looked much better (albeit against a weak Jaguars defense), only beaten by defenders on long dropbacks. Ultimately, and most importantly, Buchanan played well enough to give the Knights a chance to win. Their 2-0 record ties the Knights with Denver for first in the AFC West, while San Diego is 1-1 and Kansas City is 0-2. Next week’s game, however, will likely be their toughest test yet, as the Knights return to Foxborough for a Sunday Night Football match against the Patriots. Not long after the coaches have gotten to work, Phillips heads downstairs to deliver news to his head coach, accompanied by Keegan. They find Harden in a film room, studying tape of the Patriots and drinking iced coffee. They barely break his concentration. “What?” Harden finally says. “In case it wasn’t obvious,” Phillips says, “no Maverick this week. Officially.” “Unbelievable. Didn’t think it would take him this long to learn how to throw left-handed.” “The overall timeline is still unclear, but from the sound of things, I’d guess at least eight weeks.” “Terrific. Any more good news?” “Yes, actually. Got Stevenson’s MRI results. Slight MCL tear. We’re looking at four to six weeks.” “That’s fucking fantastic.” “I’m guessing Schwinn gets the start?” “Who the hell else?” Harden sips more coffee and takes more notes, clearly disinterested in further conversation. Phillips and Keegan leave without another word. “He seems grumpier than usual,” Keegan says. “Yes, he does.” As day three of the 2013 NFL Draft begins, a few of the Knights’ top targets come off the board. Phillips won’t be trading up, though; patience has been a priority this year, and that will continue here in the fourth round. With two picks to go, the top prospect on the board is someone new head coach Merle Harden likes. As usual, he and the scouts disagree over the prospect’s value. “Scouting report,” Phillips instructs. The head defensive scout reads as Harden listens intently. “Robert Schwinn, Texas State. Six-foot-two, 215 pounds. In-the-box safety. Excellent in run support, rarely misses tackles. Very suspect in coverage. Experience is a concern, only started 13 games.” “That all sounds right,” Harden says, turning to Phillips. “If he pans out, he’s basically a post-prime Chet Ripka. He stacks the box while Flash plays centerfield.” “Any off-the-field red flags?” Schneider asks the scout. “No health concerns. Known as a bit of a joker in the locker room, though.” “That sound like your type of player, coach?” Phillips asks Harden. “If he can play, he’s my type,” Harden says. That shuts everyone up until the Knights go on the clock. Phillips has already addressed the strong safety position in the wake of Ripka’s retirement by signing Sebastian Stevenson, but he’s essentially a stopgap. No harm in getting some depth in the fourth round, and if Schwinn turns into a starter down the line, that’s even better. Phillips waits a few minutes for trade offers, then phones in Schwinn’s name to New York. Players dress in the locker room Tuesday morning, excited for multiple reasons. It’s always good to start 2-0, no matter the circumstances, and this week’s trip to New England brings back fond memories of the Knights’ iconic victory there last January. Of course, this time there will be no Maverick, and (barring something unprecedented) no snow. One of the least excited players, however, is the team’s leading receiver, Logan Bishop. The tight end has 15 receptions and was Buchanan’s go-to receiver last Sunday, piling up 16 targets, almost half of Buchanan’s pass attempts. And yet, things aren’t as good as they could be. Everything happened so fast this offseason, Bishop never got a chance to reflect on it all: Everett’s sudden departure, McKenzie’s hiring, and then the wedding. He never realized it before, but if he had a chance, Bishop probably would have left Los Angeles. McKenzie’s in your face, authoritarian style represents everything Bishop dislikes about coaches, everything he hated about New England. His experience with McKenzie has been positive so far, but he knows not to take that too seriously. But what does it matter at this point? Bishop’s new contract binds him to the team through 2018, by which point he will (if everything goes according to plan) have a family to take care of, making moving very difficult. Did he make a mistake re-signing with the Knights in the first place? “Logan!” a voice calls. Bishop looks up and sees his offensive coordinator staring him down. The surprise leaves him too frozen to respond. “Can I see you in my office for a second?” McKenzie asks. Bishop nods and heads toward the end of the locker room, leaving his helmet behind. He realizes immediately that the coach isn’t about to yell at him for anything. “I’ll get straight to it, Logan,” McKenzie says. “As long as Mav is out, I want you to be a leader in the huddle.” “Okay, coach,” Bishop says, not really understanding what he means by that. “I think Max can be a good quarterback, but he’s not a good leader. From what I saw over the summer and from what I’ve heard, this offense doesn’t thrive just because Maverick is a good quarterback. It feeds off his presence, his energy. Buchanan doesn’t have that.” “All due respect, coach, but I’ve never seen myself as a rah-rah guy on the field.” “You’re not. And that’s fine. I’m talking more about X’s and O’s. Adding instructions in the huddle, telling receivers how to adjust their route if they see certain coverage, all the subtle things that experienced players can make in the huddle. If you can do that, I think we’re a much better football team.” “That sounds good. But what about the...energy, as you called it?” “I think Brian will bring more than enough.” McKenzie smiles, and Bishop does too. “He definitely will.” The sound from the television in the living room reaches the kitchen, but Maverick focuses on the eggs frying on the stove. While his right arm hangs in a sling, he grips the spatula with his left hand and slides it under the first egg. He lifts, rotates, and the egg falls back onto the pan, sizzling. Some yellow yolk leaks out from the bottom. “Motherfucker,” Maverick says. He tries again on the other egg, deliberately rotating more slowly. It hits the pan—no yellow. Relieved, he goes through the process of getting the eggs from the pan to a plate, one of many household chores now infinitely more complicated. The doctors said he would continue “activities of daily living” after only a few days, and they were full of shit. No activity is easy with your dominant arm rendered useless. Reaching for plates requires lifting the bowls on top of them, a seemingly routine activity—that requires two hands. His arm has to stay in this damn sling for a few more weeks, the doctors say, though all Maverick keeps asking them is when he can throw a football again. They don’t know. He takes his meal with him to the couch, switching back and forth between NFL Network and the Penn State game. The Nittany Lions are up 20-0 on measly Massachusetts, so Maverick eagerly waits for NFLN to get to the Knights. When they do, they analyze Buchanan’s performance against Jacksonville. Maverick sees the same mistakes they do: spotty mechanics, erratic accuracy, bad decisions caused by staring down receivers. He also can’t help but notice the improvement in pass protection from last week. They couldn’t have done that against New York? He looks down at his right shoulder and decides to test it. He moves it back and forth, very, very slowly. Nothing. No pain. It feels a little tight, but that’s it. He moves his arm around in a small circular pattern. He feels more tightness, and then a flash of pain when he stretches it too far. He goes back to eating his eggs. The Knights take the field under the lights of Gillette Stadium with a great opportunity before them. Denver’s 26-20 loss to Seattle drops them to 2-1, so the Knights can take first place with a win tonight. Harden’s defense takes the field first, and he watches helplessly as Tom Brady goes down the field with ease. The pass rush is lacking, and Brady hits checkdown after checkdown, reaching the red zone quickly. Once there, he throws toward the sideline for Brandon LaFell, who beats Marshall in coverage and walks into the end zone. McKenzie ignores the 7-0 deficit and sticks to his game plan. Jameson gets stuffed twice, Buchanan rushes an incompletion on third down, and the Knights defense has to come right back onto the field. Brady continues gashing the Knights, using slot receivers and a heavy dose of Rob Gronkowski. The Knights tighten up in the red zone, however, allowing the Patriots to add only a pair of field goals in the first half. It takes until the second quarter for the Knights to cross midfield on offense. McKenzie realizes the Patriots are treating Jameson as the key offensive threat, taking him out of the game with eight- and nine-man boxes. Jameson manages only 2.8 yards per carry in the first half. A helpless feeling hangs over the Knights’ sideline, unlike the excitement of the past two weeks. There’s no way around it; they’re being dominated. The Knights finally get on the board before halftime when Buchanan throws into double coverage, but the ball tips around and miraculously ends up in Watson’s hands, and he sprints to the end zone for Buchanan’s first career touchdown pass. The Knights come out of the locker room down 13-7, and another New England field goal makes it 16-7. Unable to lean on a steady run game, McKenzie decides to rest Jameson and get his two backups, Darren Banks and Jeremy NesSmith, in the game. This stops the stacked defensive fronts, but neither runner is able to chew through defenders like Jameson, and the Knights’ running attack improves only slightly, though the Knights do add a field goal. Near the end of the third quarter, Grantzinger forces a fumble on a Stevan Ridley carry that he recovers himself, giving the Knights the ball in field goal range. With New England’s pass rush lacking, Buchanan hits open receivers quickly, but the drive stalls on the two-yard line after three consecutive stuffed running plays. Harden opts not to go for it, and the chip shot field goal makes it 16-13, Patriots. Brady responds with another methodical drive resulting in another field goal. The Knights get the ball back with 9:52 left, but Buchanan stares down Wilkes on a crossing route and throws an interception. A few plays later, the Patriots are in the red zone. A defensive miscommunication leaves Gronkowski wide open, and Brady doesn’t miss him. As Gronk crosses the goal line, Flash decks him with a helmet-to-helmet hit that draws a personal foul and almost starts a fight. Down 26-13, the Knights have no choice but to air it out. Buchanan, surprisingly, looks poised out of the shotgun and hits his receivers for multiple first downs. After surrendering a sack, however, the Knights face third and nine from midfield. The stadium gets loud with screaming fans and the incessant boom of the Boston Bruins’ goal horn. Buchanan lines up in shotgun and takes the snap. Pressure comes from his right, flushing him left. More pressure comes, and Buchanan throws off his back foot over the middle. The pass wobbles through the air and into the arms of Devin McCourty. He takes it the other way and outruns everyone for a pick six. The extra point makes it 33-13. The Knights’ sideline is the only quiet spot in the stadium as players and coaches try to shake off the twenty-point thrashing, their first blowout loss in almost a year and largest defeat since 2012.
  14. Knights of Andreas Part IV Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DarthRaider DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Forty-Two – Against All Odds “…It is a tougher Monday than usual today, as Knights fans wake up this morning, for the first time since November, after a loss. The Knights’ magical run ends with a Super Bowl defeat at the hands of the Seahawks…” “…Fans may still be moping around, but the Knights are getting busy. The team announced today they have re-signed center Brian Penner to a three-year, $21 million contract. That’s a nice start to the offseason, locking down veteran leadership before Penner could reach free agency…” “…Surprising news today, as the Cincinnati Bengals have hired Tom Everett to be their offensive coordinator. It was speculated but not really expected that the Knights would lose their head offensive coach, whose contract expired, and now, they have a significant position to fill very late in the coaching carousel…” “…Some more contract news, as we’re only a few days away from free agency: the Knights have re-signed Logan Bishop to a five-year deal worth $29 million. Bishop was set to be under contract in 2014 but was not due any guaranteed money, per the deal he signed last offseason. Of course, there were rumors that Bishop was hesitant about re-joining the team after the firing of Caden Daniel, but those certainly seem a moot point now. Bishop is locked up through 2018, his age-33 season…” “…The Knights have found their offensive coordinator, and it’s a name no one expected. The team announced today the hiring of Ronald McKenzie, head coach at North Dakota State University. McKenzie was North Dakota State’s offensive coordinator during Merle Harden’s three-year head coaching tenure there…” “…We have our first big deal of free agency. Left tackle Jared Veldheer has signed with the Arizona Cardinals for five years, $35 million. So, the Knights let their starting left tackle walk, the contract numbers presumably too rich for them despite so much cap room…” “…Jerome Jaxson is reuniting with his old head coach. The former UConn running back has signed a three-year, $14 million contract with the San Diego Chargers, joining Caden Daniel, who coached Jaxson both in college and with the Los Angeles Knights…” “…Here’s something of an odd surprise: Sebastian Janikowski has signed a four-year deal with the Detroit Lions. Janikowski was, rather famously, drafted by the Raiders in the first round of the 2000 draft, and had been with the franchise ever since. The Knights will presumably be looking for a kicker in this year’s draft…” “…Finally, some good free agent news for the Knights: they have signed Sam Luck to a four-year deal, reportedly worth $31 million. According to sources, Luck had larger offers on the table, so this looks like a win for both sides. The Knights lock up a key defensive player at a small discount, and Luck can hit free agency again while he’s still in his prime…” “…Due to the departure of both Jared Veldheer and Khalif Barnes, the Knights find themselves with holes at both offensive tackle spots. GM Chance Phillips says the team will be aggressive to fill those holes via the draft…” “…The Knights have hired Michal Keegan to an unspecified front office role. A 27-year-old Cornell graduate, Keegan is a statistics guru unknown in league circles, though he was interviewing with several NFL teams…” “…No surprise here: the Knights have exercised Briggs Randall’s fifth-year option for 2015. Both Randall’s agent and the team say they are optimistic about hammering down a long-term extension this summer…” “…The first round of the 2014 NFL Draft is over, and, as promised, the Knights were aggressive, trading up thirteen spots for Virginia Tech offensive tackle Tristan Adams…” “…Chance Phillips’ aggressive draft strategy continued last night, as the Knights packaged both 2014 and 2015 draft picks to move up and select Boise State offensive tackle Evan Fowler. The Knights have now drafted two rookies to fill their holes at offensive tackle…” “…OTAs have begun, and the Knights have two absent players: Da’Jamiroquai Jefferspin-Wilkes and Malik Rose, who are holding out for new contracts. Both players are currently on deals signed in 2012. Wilkes has two years left on an incentive-based deal that can pay as high as $9 million annually. Rose, meanwhile, is entering year three of a five-year deal that averages $6.5 million per season…” “…The Knights announced a new contract for head coach Merle Harden today, extending the man who was a Coach of the Year candidate in 2013. Financial details were not released, but it is a four-year extension, making Harden L.A.’s head coach through the 2018 season…” “…As the first day of training camp nears, the Los Angeles Knights have still not reached an extension agreement with Jonathan Maverick, who enters the final year of his rookie contract this season. The two sides are reportedly still millions of dollars apart in negotiations…” “…Both Da’Jamiroquai Jefferspin-Wilkes and Malik Rose attended training camp today in Valencia. While Jefferspin-Wilkes refused to comment, Rose answered questions and defiantly proclaimed, ‘They didn’t pay me, but I’m still the best corner in the game. I’ll play another season to show that, and they’ll have to pay me even more’...” “…So, no new contract for Jonathan Maverick. The 25-year-old signal caller will play through the final year of the $60-million rookie deal he signed in 2010. GM Chance Phillips said the team is comfortable using the non-exclusive franchise tag on Maverick next offseason, if necessary, and that the quarterback remains very much a part of their long-term plans…” “…While the Knights enter the 2014 season with high expectations, they face a historically difficult task. The last team to win it all after losing the Super Bowl the previous year? The famous 14-0 Miami Dolphins team that won Super Bowl VII back in 1973. In fact, over the last decade, only five of ten Super Bowl runner-ups even made the playoffs the following year…” The visitors take up most of the narrow tunnel, inching toward the light at its end that leads to the field. Everyone stands shoulder to shoulder, pads touching, until a stadium employee at the front of the crowd gives them the go-ahead, and the reigning AFC champions take the field. Players run out of the tunnel into brightness and look around at a familiar sight. Thanks to either coincidence or a dark sense of humor by the schedule makers, the Knights start their new season where the last one ended: MetLife Stadium. Now, of course, it’s lacking a Super Bowl atmosphere, packed instead with a partisan crowd of Jets fans. The pre-game festivities end quickly, and the Knights get the ball first. After a touchback, the offense takes the field, and quarterback Jonathan Maverick presses his hand against his helmet. The play call comes into his ear, spoken by a rasp, husky voice. From the sidelines, Ronald McKenzie watches the huddle break into formation for the first play of the season, his first play call as Los Angeles Knights offensive coordinator, and his first play in the NFL. Maverick lines up under center behind a familiar interior offensive line: left guard Chase Grodd, center Brian Penner, right guard Kevin Zeitler. Maverick takes the snap and throws laterally to his left. Da’Jamiroquai Jefferspin-Wilkes catches it and lines up the corner across from him. Wilkes runs through the five yards he’s given and uses his 6’4” frame to get another three, tackled for an eight-yard gain. Quick plays like that are a new addition to the offensive repertoire, courtesy of Coach McKenzie. As he has said throughout the offseason, “If the defense gives us five yards, we’re gonna take it, then fight for five more.” Wilkes lines up in various places over the next few plays, happy to showcase his versatility. After failing to get a new contract in the offseason, he looks forward to a big season and a huge payday next spring. Across the field, wide receiver Alex Johnson is ready for what must be a big year. In in the final season of his rookie contract, Johnson is a free agent to be, and he has already proved his value on the field; it’s just a question of how often he can stay on the field. The injury problems that have nagged him throughout his life are now the biggest blotch on his resume. His agent had some contract discussions with the Knights during the offseason, but the organization made their intentions clear: they want to see Johnson play a full season before paying him big money. Johnson runs into the flat, wide open, and Maverick throws it. He catches the pass, runs forward into space, and goes down. Unlike Wilkes, Johnson has been coached to hit the grass with defenders closing in. The extra two yards, Coach McKenzie says, are not worth the injury risk. Operating a quick throw, pass first offense, the Knights reach midfield on the season’s opening drive, soon facing third and four. Maverick fakes a handoff and drops back. Pressure comes outside. He steps up, looking for Wilkes, and bombs it. In double coverage, Wilkes tries to separate, running as fast as he can, but the pass goes over everyone’s head. Wilkes jogs back to the sideline, happy the offense is already taking shots downfield. It won’t be long before they connect. “Listen up, ladies!” McKenzie barks on the sideline. “That’s a terrible start to the season. Everything we’ve rehearsed for months and we can only get to midfield? Unacceptable. We execute and get into field goal range next time.” Nearby, Merle Harden keeps an eye on his friend, confident but tentative about McKenzie’s first year in the NFL. He’s no brilliant football mind, but he doesn’t have to resurrect a middling offense devoid of talent. Whenever McKenzie asked for advice throughout the offseason, Harden simply said, “Just don’t fuck it up.” Harden, meanwhile, watches his defense take the field, a defense returning all eleven starters from last year. Jets quarterback Geno Smith lines up for New York’s first offensive snap of the season, staring down a three-man defensive line: left end Sam Luck, nose tackle Damian Jones, right end Gregory Vance. Smith hands off to Chris Ivory. Luck breaks off the edge and brings him down for a one-yard gain, making the defense’s first tackle of the year. That’s a fine start to the next four years for Luck, whose new contract includes $16 million guaranteed. He left some money on the table, but he’d rather be in California. It’s home. In four years, he can take the money and cash in, but there’s a lot of football between then and now. And after going from a rookie unsure he’d be able to play in a 3-4 to one of the best 3-4 defensive ends in the league, he sees no limit to his potential. On second down, Luck breaks through again towards Ivory, but Smith has the ball after a play-action fake. He finds a receiver downfield, and the home crowd cheers for the first down. The Jets line up in a bunch formation, and Damian “Anthrax” Jones lines up right on top of the ball. The third-year tackle opens this season like last year: the victor of a preseason position battle. Coach Harden labeled it a position battle, anyway, between him and Wesley Mann. But Anthrax has held the top depth chart spot since April. He’s entrenched as the starter now. Jones accelerates and battles with Nick Mangold, one of the league’s better centers. He gains no leverage as Smith drops back to pass, finding a receiver again. Another first down puts the Jets in field goal range, and Harden’s screams reach the field. On second and four, Anthrax gets around Mangold and crushes Ivory for a two-yard loss, silencing the crowd. Anthrax enjoys the celebration but knows it’s brief; he looks to the sideline and sees a familiar signal: nickel package, sub out. He jogs off the field while cornerback Ken Lucas takes his place in the Knights’ 2-4-5 formation. Hands on his hips, Anthrax watches from the sideline as his teammates cover the third down play beautifully, forcing Smith to roll out and throw it away. Nick Folk comes on for a fifty-one-yard field goal and boots it through for the season’s first points. The Knights take over with awful field position, pinned on their own four. The game is tied, 3-3, with 10:52 left in the second quarter. McKenzie isn’t about to invite a safety, so he runs the ball. Marcus Jameson takes multiple carries up the middle, pounding away for a first down. With Jaxson gone, two undrafted free agents are behind Jameson on the depth chart, one of whom is hurt. It looks like Jameson is the Knights’ feature back now, something he has no problem with. McKenzie keeps the running plays coming, to the delight of his interior offensive line. Penner pummels his opposite nose tackle, occasionally reaching the linebackers to kick their asses too. He especially enjoys the youth that now surrounds him on the line, bookended by two more high draft picks. With the team’s commitment to the trenches, the Knights will soon have the most feared offensive front in football. And Penner, playing on a new contract, will be happy to experience it before retiring as a Knight. Jameson surges through a huge hole for another first down. On his way back to the huddle, he high-fives Grodd, the creator of that hole. Grodd’s focus is the same as last year—improve in pass protection—but now he knows better than to dwell on that during a game. He lines up for first and ten. Now with plenty of room to breathe, McKenzie decides to open things up. Maverick takes a deep drop, looking for Wilkes, but pressure comes from his blind side, and he hurries a throw out of bounds. A nearby receiver prevents an intentional grounding call, a lucky break. Adams, the guilty lineman, helps Maverick to his feet. “That’s on me,” the rookie left tackle says. “Forget it.” Maverick fakes a handoff and rolls out on second and ten, but a defender is right in his face. He throws it away and gets hit, rolling onto the grass. That one was on Fowler, the right tackle, who remains silent as the offense huddles up. Third and ten. Maverick lines up in shotgun as the crowd gets loud. He drops back and tracks Johnson over the middle. Maverick throws just as he breaks open, but he gets hit as he releases it, falling to the ground as another white jersey lands on top of him. On the ground, he hears the crowd roar, knowing it’s worse than an incompletion. He gets up, and his fears are confirmed: interception, Jets ball. Maverick glares at his left tackle as they leave the field. Second and ten, Jets ball from the Knights’ thirty. With only 0:36 left in the first half, the Jets line up in shotgun, trying to extend their 10-3 lead. In the secondary, cornerback Malik Rose lines up against Eric Decker, a pathetic excuse for a number one receiver, and a waste of Rose’s time. Smith has spent most of his time attacking Richard Marshall, wisely staying away from Rose. Decker runs along the sideline and Rose goes with him. He looks up, surprised to see a pass headed their way, but it sails over everyone’s head and out of bounds. Too bad; a more accurate pass and Rose might have been able to intercept it. Third and ten. Strong safety Sebastian Stevenson cheats toward the box to blitz, leaving free safety Griswold “Flash” Johnson alone over the top. Flash has had a quiet day so far, unafraid of New York’s receivers and waiting for Smith to throw up a jump ball. Flash backs up and sees a short pass go over the middle. Jeff Cumberland catches it in traffic and multiple defenders get their hands on him. Flash picks up speed and rams the tight end, sending him into the grass with force. “Get some, bitch,” Flash says, strutting away as the officials signal fourth down. The Jets tick the clock down, call timeout, and send the field goal unit out. Folk hits another kick, and everyone heads to the locker rooms for halftime. From an executive suite atop the stadium, general manager Chance Phillips watches nervously, the home crowd abuzz from the Jets’ 13-3 lead. He tallies a few stats for his offensive line and arrives at an unpleasant conclusion: the Knights have surrendered six QB hurries, and all six have come from the pair of rookies Phillips acquired so aggressively. The Knights traded a first- and third-round pick plus a second rounder in 2015 to get Adams, a physical freak with elite potential who was inconsistent in college. The Knights then traded a second, fourth, and 2015 fourth rounder to move up for Fowler, one of the more pro-ready tackles in the entire draft albeit with a limited ceiling. The Knights’ offensive line now includes two first-round picks, two second-round picks, and some undrafted guy named Brian Penner. But all that potential isn’t helping their current situation. In fairness, facing the duo of Sheldon Richardson and Muhammad Wilkerson is an unfair starting point for rookie tackles. Besides, Phillips is confident both tackles will pan out into decent rookies. He’s secretly more worried about the first season of the team’s offensive coordinator. Front office personnel, head coaches, and Wayne Schneider sit around the table in Phillips’ office, endless packets of paper in front of them. “Okay, let’s get into it,” Phillips says. “We need to find an offensive coordinator. Should we talk about what we’re looking for?” “Obviously, we need a coach who gels with the players we have,” Schneider says. “It’s a little late in the game to renovate the entire offense.” “The offense is pretty balanced, though,” DeMartine says. “I imagine that would appeal to just about any coach.” “You know what,” Phillips says, sensing the conversation becoming counterproductive, “let’s just go through some names.” There aren’t many. Just about every high profile offensive coach was hired in January. Gary Kubiak, Scott Linehan, Kyle Shanahan, Norv Turner—all off the market. Tom Everett’s departure to Cincinnati has left the Knights in a difficult spot. Over the next few minutes, only two names are discussed: Jim Caldwell and Hue Jackson. Caldwell brings a much different coaching style than Harden, a possible complication, as well as the possibility of becoming a head coach candidate in a year or two, not a plus regarding continuity. Jackson seems a better option in that regard, but his skill as an offensive coordinator is debated, and it becomes clear the Knights simply don’t think highly of him. “As long as we’re willing to think outside the box,” Harden says, “I have a suggestion.” “By all means, coach,” Phillips says. “Ronald McKenzie.” The room goes quiet. Hardly anyone knows of McKenzie beyond his title as head coach at North Dakota State University. “I worked with him for three years,” Harden says. “If we want someone who gels with my coaching style, who will make the transition as painless as possible, he’s your guy.” “What about from an X’s and O’s standpoint?” Schneider asks. “He’s known for being flexible. He’ll work with whatever offense he has. When I was there, he ran a run-and-gun with a lot of double tight end sets, bunch formations, things like that. In the years since, they’ve recruited some good receivers and transitioned to more of a pass-first attack.” Everyone looks impressed. “How do you think he’ll approach our offense?” Phillips asks. “You’ll have to ask him.” “Zero NFL experience,” Schneider says. “He’s still as good an option as we have right now,” Phillips says. “Let’s schedule an interview.” The Knights defense takes the field with Coach Harden’s message ringing loud in their ears: “Make a fucking play.” Outside linebacker Sean Brock hangs over the line of scrimmage, ready to take off and plant Smith to the ground. He times his jump perfectly, gets around the left tackle, and hits Smith just after he throws it. The pass lands incomplete, and Brock prepares to do the same thing on second and ten. On the opposite side, Zack Grantzinger gets set to blitz after dropping back in coverage the previous play. Moving around is nothing new for Grantzinger, but he’s desperate for a big play. The Jets offense is garbage; the Knights should be dominating. Grantzinger and Brock both get pressure off the edge, forcing Smith to step up and hurry a throw that lands incomplete. Inside linebacker and defensive captain Briggs Randall calls the next play, an inside blitz. Like Grantzinger, Randall has extremely high expectations for the defense this year, and today’s performance is totally unacceptable. Randall blitzes on third and ten, sidestepping a lineman and chasing after Smith. Randall dives, grabs Smith by the legs, but can’t pull him down. Smith looks ready to launch a pass before being leveled by Marlon Martin. One of the few veterans on this defense, 32-year-old Martin soaks up praise for the key sack as the Knights defense heads back to the sidelines. With Dan Connor’s offseason departure, Martin is finally a full-time starter. His contract expires after this season, but he doesn’t foresee any problems re-signing, mostly due to his tendency to avoid the spotlight. Martin is probably the fourth best linebacker on the team, but there’s no shame in that with this roster. The field position battle tilts in favor of the Knights, and the offense manages a field goal before the third quarter ends, cutting the deficit to 13-6. It seems the Jets are about to strike back, getting a couple first downs with the run game, but Smith lofts an inaccurate pass that Flash intercepts, and the Knights take over near midfield. McKenzie deliberately keeps his calls balanced. From his study of the Knights before taking the job, he knows the offense operates at its best when both the run and pass game are effective. Neither aspect of the offense can carry the team by itself—something he hopes to change. Maverick drops back and, yet again, rolls out due to pressure. On the run, he spots tight end Logan Bishop break open and hits him for an eight-yard gain. Though he’d obviously prefer better protection, Maverick doesn’t mind all the running around. In fact, he thrives in it. He hopes to incorporate more rollouts and bootlegs into the playbook this year. The recipient of that catch, Bishop gets back in the huddle, slightly disappointed to hear the call, which has him in pass protection instead of running a route. He understands, of course, and will never argue with doing what he can to help the team. After all, Bishop is living the good life (whatever that means) after an offseason where he received a $29-million contract and got married. Maverick hands off to Jameson, thankful to rest a few seconds and watch his running back do all the hard work. A few yards later, the Knights have a first down in Jets’ territory. In the huddle, Maverick isn’t the only one who’s tired. Wide receiver Joseph Watson lines up in the slot, ready to run yet another deep route. He likes that Coach McKenzie wants to maximize his talent, but so many forty- and fifty-yard sprints are starting to catch up to him. He shouldn’t complain, though; a year ago, Watson just barely made the roster after being a seventh-round draft pick. Now, he has solidified a role as the team’s slot receiver. Maverick takes the snap in shotgun and looks right. A screen develops in front of Watson and Maverick fakes a throw, trying to sell a broken play. As he rolls left to escape pressure, Watson takes off. Maverick stops, plants his feet, and bombs it toward the end zone. Watson, open by two steps, catches the pass in stride just as he crosses the goal line. Touchdown, Knights. Maverick and Watson smile together on the sideline and enjoy some praise from their offensive coordinator. That fake bubble screen is a favorite of McKenzie’s, and they executed it to perfection. The score remains tied, 13-13, as the fourth quarter begins. The Jets offense appears to find momentum before Smith tries to beat Rose on a deep throw. Rose makes the interception near the end zone and falls out of bounds, pinning the Knights on their own four-yard line. Then, something happens. The Knights move the ball with ruthless efficiency. Every one of McKenzie’s calls is spot on. Jameson finds holes on every run, and Maverick sits behind clean protection, able to go through his progressions and find open receivers. Adams and Fowler finally hold their own against the Jets’ pass rush, with Bishop swinging back and forth to help. The fourth quarter ticks away as the Knights get one first down after another, reaching the red zone with ten minutes left. Johnson makes a diving grab near the sidelines to set up first and goal on the eight. McKenzie calls his “isolation formation,” with Wilkes lined up wide left. The Jets play along, putting a single cornerback on Wilkes. McKenzie doesn’t need to tell Maverick what to do. Wilkes runs along the sideline toward the end zone. The cornerback is right in his face, but it doesn’t matter. Maverick lofts it up, and Wilkes launches himself into the air, easily outreaching the defender. He catches the ball and plants his feet well in bounds for the touchdown. Wanting to dunk the ball on the goal posts (and probably draw a penalty), Wilkes decides they’re too far away, spikes the football as hard as he can, and gets mobbed by his teammates. On the sideline, McKenzie is all smiles. He lavishes his players with praise for a damn near perfect drive, and that was barely scratching the surface of his playbook. In an effort to ease the transition, the Knights will slowly expand the offensive playbook each week, culminating in some no-huddle in December, if all goes according to plan. The celebration dies down and McKenzie looks down the sideline, seeing his head coach and friend Merle Harden sporting a rare, reassuring smile. “Welcome to the NFL, Mac,” Harden says. Everett grabs the last box out of his office and walks out through the empty locker room, Harden right next to him. “I wish you luck in Cincinnati, Tom,” Harden says. “But I gotta say I wish you would have stayed.” “It’s business, Merle,” Everett says, eyes still on the walk ahead of him. “Just business.” “I understand. Just, with the timing and all, you left us in a tough spot.” Everett stops. He adjusts the box in his arms and faces his former colleague. “You know something? I resent that. Is it my fault we didn’t finish the season until February? If so, excuse me for doing my part to get this team to a goddamn Super Bowl. You’ve got an immature quarterback who thinks he’s God’s gift to football, and I straightened him out. So, with all due respect, you’re welcome.” Harden considers a haymaker straight to Everett’s jaw. Instead, he crosses his arms and seethes. “You know something? The reality is, Tom, this offense didn’t take off until Maverick started calling plays. The reality is the kid brought everything together when you couldn’t. And because of that, you’re taking your master plans and brilliant play-calling skills elsewhere. So, with all due respect? Good riddance, coach. Now get the fuck out of my locker room.” Everett seems to be considering a response, but he looks flustered. He opens his mouth to speak, readjusts his grip on the box, and strolls out of the MedComm Center for the last time. After the defense forces a punt, the Knights get the ball back on their own thirty-three, up 20-13 with 4:47 to go in the fourth quarter. Jameson pounds away up the middle, getting extra yards where he can and earning a first down on three tough runs. Jets head coach Rex Ryan burns his first timeout with 2:43 on the clock, and the Knights are essentially one first down from victory. Two more Jameson runs and Jets timeouts bring up third and four with 2:31 left. McKenzie calls play-action, hoping to burn the defense and end it here. Maverick fakes a handoff to Jameson and looks over the middle. Pressure forces him to step up into a crowd. He runs forward, ready to try for the first down himself, but spots Bishop over the middle and fires just as he gets hit from behind, falling forward. The pass hits Bishop between the numbers for a ten-yard gain. “Fuck yes!” Harden screams on the sideline as players and coaches celebrate around him. “Nice call, Mac, now let’s—oh, fuck me.” Harden’s eyes fall on Maverick, still lying on the grass, writhing in pain. Trainers sprint toward the Knights’ quarterback as things go very still. Jets fans are exiting the stadium, but they do so quietly, and many can hear Maverick screaming. Maverick stays on the ground, squirming involuntarily. Everything seems to blur as faces appear on top of him. “Talk to me, Mav,” one of the trainers says. “The shoulder, it fucking hurts.” “Which part? Which part hurts?” “The whole fucking thing!” Wobbling around, Maverick feels hands holding him in place as he tries not to move his right shoulder. He has broken a bone before, and this feels different. It feels like the inside of his shoulder has been ripped apart. Over the next few minutes, the pain tempers a bit, though any motion of his arm makes it feel like it’s on fire. The trainers help him to his feet, and it seems the entire team is standing in line to wish him good luck on his way to be examined. Meanwhile, in comes Max Buchanan, the second-year quarterback who beat out free agent Kellen Clemens for the backup job. Today, Buchanan only has to take a few snaps and kneel down, but everyone can’t help but wonder what his role will be in the coming weeks. Players change out of pads slowly and quietly. The locker room is as nervous and tense as it can be following a win. There’s always plenty of uncertainty going into a new season, but after one game, this is the worst a 1-0 record can feel. “Listen up,” Coach Harden says. “I know we’re all worried about our quarterback right now, and we should be, but there’s nothing we can do. The doctors are checking him out. He’s in good hands. I know we all tend to be pessimistic in situations like this, so let’s not forget there’s a good chance Mav is just a little sore and back to being the usual pain in the ass on Tuesday morning. In the meantime, I want you all to remember that we played a good game today, and we got a win. Right now, that’s more important than anything.” The players know their head coach is right, but his words offer them no relief. They find no comfort. Less than an hour later, Phillips, Harden, and Dr. Evans, the Knights’ head doctor, stand in a tunnel underneath the stadium. Measures are taken to make sure no cameras or microphones are around. “Well?” Phillips says. “No bullshit, doc. How bad?” “It’s difficult to say,” Evans says. “X-rays are negative, which is good, but it looks like we’re dealing with a separation of some kind.” “Timetable?” “Right now, he’s out indefinitely.” “Dammit, I don’t want to hear this indefinitely crap. I need a number.” “Chance, I’m sorry, but right now, we can’t—” Feeling his skin flare with anger, Phillips grabs a nearby chair and throws it down the hallway. It bangs off the wall and ground, reverberating throughout the tunnel with a horrible clang. Phillips puts his hands on his hips and catches his breath. Harden and Evans are visibly stunned by his reaction. “I’m sorry,” Phillips says. “I’m sorry, doc. But I need a number. I don’t care if you reevaluate tomorrow morning and change your mind, but right now, I need something concrete.” Phillips and Harden fixate on the doctor as he looks down in thought, pursing his eyebrows, then looks up. “Months. Not weeks.”
  15. Knights of Andreas Part III Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway OAK RazorStar RevisFan81 Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Forty-One – Super Bowl XLVIII Maverick lines up under center with Jameson in the backfield, Bishop to his right, Johnson wide left (on Maxwell), and Wilkes wide right (on Sherman). He has to scream over the crowd noise to motion Watson from right to left. Despite the neutral field, it looks like the crowd will be a factor. He takes the snap and looks for Bishop on a quick slant. He fires over the middle, and Chancellor gets around Bishop to deflect the pass. Jameson takes a carry off-tackle left for three yards, bringing up third and seven. The Knights’ top two receivers switch, with Wilkes lined up against Maxwell. Maverick takes the snap in shotgun. The Seahawks blitz, and pressure comes up the middle. Maverick has to hurry a pass for Wilkes, running down the sideline, and gets crushed as he lets it go. The pass sails out of bounds, and the offense jogs back to the sideline. The ensuing punt forces a fair catch, and the Knights defense takes the field. The crowd maintains high noise levels as Russell Wilson stares down the 3-4 formation of black jerseys. Marshawn Lynch carries up the middle, finds a hole, and gets gang-tackled by Randall and Martin for a four-yard gain. Harden calls a similar play for second down; he’ll be thrilled to hold Lynch to four-yard carries tonight. Lynch runs up the middle for three yards, and it’s third and two. In a bunch formation, Wilson fakes a handoff to Lynch and fires left for Golden Tate. Tate catches it and Marshall tackles him. First down. With Rose blanketing Doug Baldwin, Wilson goes to Tate again on the next set of downs, which leads to third and five. Wilson drops back to pass, and no one’s open. He escapes the pocket, and Randall closes in. Wilson tries to juke, but Randall brings him down for a two-yard loss. Jaxson watches the punt sail over his head and into the end zone, so the Knights take over on the twenty. Maverick hands off to Jameson, who finds little room up the middle, gaining only two yards. Maverick drops back and stares down Wilkes on Sherman. The two jostle and fight, Wilkes not getting separation. Maverick sees Watson crossing the middle and hits him in stride. Chancellor levels him instantly. Watson somehow holds onto the ball but gets up very slowly and heads for the sideline. Third and four. Maverick fakes a handoff to Jaxson and looks deep. Johnson and Wilkes are both covered. Pressure comes up the middle. He slides right, but there’s nowhere to run. No other options, Maverick tucks the ball and goes down for the sack. On the sidelines, Everett finds a spot where he can reach as many offensive players as possible. Once everyone is together, he says, “Two three-and-outs to start? What’s going on, guys?” Nobody says anything, some still catching their breath. “D-Jam, Alex, is this Denver all over again?” “Man, I’m having fun!” Wilkes says, visibly gassed. “Me and Sherm are going at it, man. It’s great.” “This is a first,” Maverick says. “Let the record show that D-Jam, while having zero catches and zero targets, admitted to having fun.” “This is a historic day,” Grodd says. “Hey!” Everett says. “That’s enough cute shit. D-Jam, if you’re enjoying yourself, we’re all very happy for you, but we’d be a lot happier if you could somehow, you know, get open. Alex, any hope for you?” “I’m not sure,” Johnson says honestly. “I’m running routes as good as I can, and he’s just running with me.” Applause from the crowd distracts everyone, and they realize Seattle has already reached midfield. When the applause quiets, the screams of Coach Harden become audible. Harden was enjoying the defensive battle, but Wilson just hit Jermaine Kearse for a twenty-six-yard gain, and his blood pressure is rising. Seattle keeps chipping away. While the Knights prevent Lynch from breaking out the box and Wilson from escaping the pocket, the Seahawks mount an efficient drive that puts them inside the red zone with less than five minutes in the first quarter. After Lynch gets brought down for a four-yard gain, Grantzinger and Luck break through and force Wilson to throw it away, so it’s third and six. Seattle lines up in shotgun and Harden calls a blitz. Wilson hands off to Lynch. Anthrax breaks off a lineman and has the running back lined up—Lynch stiff arms him and spins away into open field. Most blitzing linebackers gone, Lynch runs through open space. Flash and Stevenson defend the goal line, but Lynch splits between them and muscles his way forward, reaching the end zone. Touchdown, Seahawks. Normally, Harden might fault himself for a mistimed blitz, but over the last two weeks, his defense has practiced, practiced, and practiced again blitzing against the run, and keeping Lynch in check. He chews his players out as they return to the bench, trailing, 7-0. Rolling out, Maverick hits Bishop for ten yards, giving the Knights another first down near midfield with 14:21 to go in the second quarter. The Knights offense is finally finding some rhythm, courtesy of the run game. Both Jameson and Jaxson have turned two-yard runs into five yards, propelling the Knights to multiple first downs. In the passing game, Maverick has conceded that he can’t trust whichever receiver is on Sherman, so he looks elsewhere. Johnson seems to be doing well against Maxwell, racking up two receptions already. Maverick drops back and scans the field—nobody open. An outside blitz forces him to step up. He sees open grass and takes off. Wagner has him lined up. Maverick stutter-steps and jukes the linebacker, runs another seven yards, and slides with multiple defenders closing in. The juke jumps the Knights sideline into a frenzy, and the entire stadium reacts in awe at the video screens showing replay. Now in field goal range, the Knights go back to running the ball. Jaxson gets five yards on a sweep, then Jameson gets two yards up the middle. Everett calls a spread formation for third down. Maverick fakes a handoff to Jaxson and looks deep. White jerseys break through, so he has no choice. He lobs it up for Watson, streaking to the end zone. Maverick gets hit and doesn’t see the pass sail slightly off-target. Watson and Earl Thomas both jump for it, but it lands incomplete. Penner helps Maverick up and he eases toward the sideline. “That one hurt,” he admits. The field goal unit comes on, Janikowski boots a fifty-yarder right down the middle, and the Knights are on the board. 7-3, Seahawks. A Super Bowl widely anticipated to be a defensive battle lives up to expectations. The Knights get yards in bursts but can’t seem to put enough together at once. A few drives show promise but get derailed by either pass rush or a stuffed running play. On defense, everything goes as planned. Wilson and Lynch remain contained. The Knights have the ball with 5:24 left in the second quarter. After a holding penalty brings up second and twenty, Maverick takes his first shot at Sherman. He drops back in shotgun and looks over the middle, trying not to stare down Wilkes. He fires as Wilkes breaks at the top of his route. Wilkes jumps for the high pass, gets hit from behind, and bobbles it. The ball hits the ground along with Wilkes, who flails his arms, begging for a flag. He sees that he got one and immediately starts chirping at Sherman, who chirps right back. The defensive pass interference penalty sets the Knights up at their own forty-seven, and Everett instructs his quarterback to run a quick-huddle, something the Knights could add to their game plan courtesy of an extra practice week. Maverick hits Bishop over the middle for five yards. Then Watson in the flat for four. Wilkes (on Maxwell) for six. Bishop for eight. Maverick looks up at the clock. 3:38, 3:37… Ideally, the Knights take this drive all the way to the end zone and go into halftime up 10-7. First and ten on the thirty. The Seahawks show blitz, so Maverick cancels the quick snap to call out adjustments. The crowd is still fired up, but not enough to deter audibles. Maverick drops back. He wants Bishop in the flat, but he’s blanketed. He looks over the middle as Wilkes breaks on a post. Multiple defenders come right up the middle. Maverick backpedals and throws it up, bracing for a hit and rolling onto the grass. Wilkes is open by a step, but the pass sails above his reach and into the arms of Earl Thomas. The safety runs around for fifteen yards before several Knights bring him down. Maverick makes his way to the sideline, patting himself on the chest, fully accepting blame, though he’s no less frustrated. Earl fucking Thomas. Seattle takes over with 2:55 to go and all three timeouts. Things seem ripe for Wilson to enter two-minute drill mode, though backed up, and Harden is happy to send his linebackers after him. Wilson surprisingly hands off to Lynch to start the drive. He gets five yards, and the Seahawks hurry back to the line. Wilson hits Doug Baldwin over the middle, a yard short of a first down. Harden stacks the box for the inevitable Lynch run on third and one, but Wilson keeps it on a quarterback sneak, getting the first down as the clock hits the two-minute warning. After the commercial, Wilson lines up in shotgun, still seventy-two yards away from the end zone. He drops back as Grantzinger and Brock come on a blitz. Grantzinger gets close to the quarterback, forcing him to step up, where Luck is waiting for him. Wilson goes down as the Knights celebrate their first sack of the day. Seattle shows no urgency for the next play, and Harden happily watches the clock tick. 1:30, 1:29… “Coach!” Everett says, running up to Harden. “Call timeout so we can get the ball back?” “Too soon to get greedy, Tom.” A handoff to Lynch gets four yards, bringing up third and eleven. The Seahawks take their time, content to let the first half tick away, and Harden plays along. Wilson fakes a handoff and rolls out. In the secondary, Flash stares down the quarterback, his eyes on Percy Harvin. As the receiver breaks toward the sideline, Flash breaks with him, ready for an interception. But Harvin cuts back, running deep, and Flash is a step behind. He reaches full speed, but he can’t catch the receiver. Wilson’s pass hits Harvin in stride. Flash dives for him, but Harvin is too fast. He runs free into the end zone as MetLife Stadium gets louder than it has all day. Too shocked to yell, Harden tries to take in the touchdown stoically. He keeps a poker face despite a devastating turn of events. The extra point makes it 14-3, Seahawks, and in a game like this, an eleven-point deficit feels almost insurmountable. Knight’s End is depressingly subdued as fans get ready for Bruno Mars’ halftime show, not as excited as they were a few minutes ago. That Harvin touchdown really stung. “Still feel good about your bet?” Sampson asks. “Fuck you,” Cooper says. “Seriously, fuck you.” “Okay, okay, relax. It’s Denver all over again. Offensive explosion in the second half, you watch.” “Yeah, for Seattle. The final score’s gonna be 49-3 or something.” “Remember,” Coach Harden announces to the locker room, “we’ve got a longer rest than usual tonight. So take advantage.” Flash finds a quiet spot and buries his face in his hands. A few players walk over to offer words of comfort, though he doesn’t seem to care. Harden decides against significant adjustments on defense. Harvin doesn’t need to be doubled, he determines, because Flash would have had him covered if he hadn’t bit on the double move. Besides, the front seven is doing its job. Luck, Grantzinger, and Brock are pressuring on Wilson; Anthrax, Randall, and Martin are containing Lynch. Everett and the offensive staff, however, face a difficult task. They scouted and prepared for Seattle’s defense for two weeks and only have three points to show for it. Now, they have less than thirty minutes to find something better. The quick-huddle was a success, everyone agrees, but Seattle is likely preparing adjustments for it right now. “We’ve searched for ideas for two weeks,” Everett eventually says. “We’re not going to find a new one now. Let’s just stick to the plan, try to wear them down. If our guys execute, we’ll break through.” The coaches seem in agreement as Everett looks to the other side of the room, where Maverick and Wilkes are talking. With the field still full of smoke from the halftime show, the Seahawks get the ball to start the second half. Harden keeps an eye on Flash, looking for any signs that he won’t be able to handle things over the top anymore. Seattle, though, comes out passive, running the ball on all three downs and only managing nine yards. The Knights take over. Still wanting more from the run game, Everett calls Jameson’s number twice, getting eight yards and bringing up third and two. The crowd gets loud for the first time in the half as Maverick lines up under center, Jameson and Jaxson in the backfield. He fakes a handoff to Jameson, looks deep, and dumps it off to Jaxson, a screen developing in front of him. Veldheer, Grodd, and Penner set up the blocking beautifully, and Jaxson’s speed takes it from there. He reaches the next level and runs out of bounds as defenders near, totaling a twenty-three-yard play. Maverick celebrates and points to his offensive coordinator. Nice call, coach. Everett looks at his playbook and radios the next call, but is surprised to see the offense not in the huddle. “Damn it, Mav,” he says aloud as the Knights get the quick-huddle going again. This wasn’t part of Everett’s plan, but he’s certainly not about to burn a timeout for it. Maverick hits Johnson on back-to-back plays, beating Maxwell in coverage both times. Johnson seems to do better against Maxwell, so Everett keeps him there. His assistants upstairs remind him that Wilkes isn’t getting open against Sherman. The accelerated pace seems to feed the Knights momentum, and the drive nears field goal range. Maverick slows down, however, when Seattle shows a blitz. He shouts a few audibles, pretending to alter the coverage. He takes the snap, sees the wave of white jerseys coming for him, and fires toward the sideline. Watson catches it with Johnson and Bishop blocking in front of him. His speed gets him a first down before being tackled, and the Knights are on Seattle’s twenty-five. Maverick drops back under pressure and throws for Johnson, but the pass goes wide and out of bounds. He slows things down for second and ten, allowing Everett to change personnel. Jaxson takes a carry off-tackle left and gets five yards, bringing up third and five. Maverick fakes another handoff to the left and rolls right, but Michael Bennett is in his face. He extends his arm, trying to run away, but Bennett grabs him and doesn’t let go, wrangling him down for a seven-yard loss. On the sideline, Wilkes cuts in front of Everett to talk with Maverick. “Yo, man, I swear that time I—” “I didn’t ignore you, D-Jam,” Maverick says. “I got sacked. Couldn’t look for anyone. Pay attention.” That seems to satisfy Wilkes for the time being. Janikowski’s forty-four yarder is good, and it’s 14-6, Seahawks. Seahawks ball, second and seven, 6:10 to go in the third quarter. Wilson lines up in shotgun as Grantzinger and Randall show blitz. On the snap, those two drop back as Martin and Brock blitz. Both come free, forcing Wilson to roll right. Luck is there, and Wilson hurries the throw towards the Knights sideline. Harden looks right in front of him as Rose runs stride for stride with Baldwin, but Rose sees the pass first. He spins, extends his arms for the ball, and plants his toes into the grass, both in bounds by inches. The sideline jolts to life as officials signal it a catch and interception. On the replay screen, Rose’s catch looks even more stellar than it did in real time, and Maverick runs onto the field, desperate to seize the momentum. Rose’s eyes look across the field to Sherman, staring him down as long as he can. Not using the quick-huddle, the Knights run the ball effectively. Seattle’s defense looks a little tired, and the Knights begin to tilt the trench battle in their favor. The Knights reach the red zone with the third quarter almost over. Maverick drops back and sees a blitz, but the Knights pick it up beautifully. He steps up and throws to the end zone for Johnson, who has a step on Maxwell, catches the pass in stride as Maxwell brings him down. They fall to the ground right over the pylon, and the nearby official raises his arms into the air. As the Knights sideline celebrates its first touchdown of the day, both Harden and Everett hold up two fingers, and the Knights hurry the correct personnel on the field, one play away from tying the game. Maverick lines up under center and studies the defense: both Johnson and Wilkes are isolated in one-on-one coverage. Is now a good time to test Sherman again? Probably not. He takes the snap and sells a handoff to Jameson. Pressure comes as he looks to Bishop. Backpedaling, he fires a laser over the middle. Bishop turns around in the end zone and the pass is there. He opens his hands, and the ball hits his fingertips and flutters in the air. He takes a hit from behind, unable to reach for it, and it’s an incompletion. Bishop sulks toward the sideline while Maverick claps, trying to keep everyone fired up. “I should have had that one,” Bishop says. “I had to hurry the throw,” Maverick says. “We’ll hit it next time.” They sit down next to each other to analyze pictures as a commercial begins. 14-12, Seahawks. An end-around to Harvin gets four yards and a first down. A few seconds later, whistles blow everything dead, and the third quarter is over. Players hold up four fingers while both teams traverse the field. Coach Harden encourages his team on the sideline, trying to ease their nerves—and his. He looks forward to a tall glass of whiskey after the game, no matter how the next fifteen minutes turn out. Wilson drops back as Grantzinger and Brock blitz. He steps up and takes off immediately. Harden sees lots of open field, shouting, “Turn around!” to his defense. But Wilson gets to the second level and finds even more room, crossing midfield. Seattle receivers set up decent blocks, and Flash finally brings the quarterback down on the Knights’ thirty-seven-yard line. “Jesus Christ,” Harden says. “We’ve played too well to have a fucking meltdown now.” From thirty yards away, Randall can read the anger on his coach’s face, and tries to inspire his teammates accordingly. “Let’s go! Let’s go!” he yells. “Tighten up now. No more big plays!” The Seahawks go back to Lynch, with the Knights’ run defense still doing its job. Two plays later, it’s third and five from the thirty-two. Wilson lines up in shotgun. Harden calls a blitz, but he sees Randall shouting audibles. Wilson takes the snap. Harden sees Luck break free on the rush, but Wilson bombs it for the end zone. Oh, no. Harvin runs, Flash right with him. The speedsters reach the goal line as the pass comes in, and Flash swats it away, tackling Harvin for good measure. As the two get up, Flash chirps away at the receiver. Harden lets out a huge sigh of relief as field goal units take the field. Good, he’s back to normal. Hauschka lines up for a forty-nine-yard attempt. After a high snap and good hold, the kick sails into the air, clearly long enough, and sneaks inside the uprights. Harden claps as his players come back to the sidelines, giving extra praise to Flash. “It’s within reach, men!” he says. “Keep fighting. Keep giving them everything you have.” The game goes to commercial with 13:02 to go. 17-12, Seahawks. Everett calls plays without considering the game clock. The Knights still have plenty of time, and he’d gladly accept a field goal on this drive to make it a two-point game again. The Knights maintain balance, though Seattle does a slightly better job against the run. On third and four, Maverick hits Bishop in the flat. He breaks a tackle and runs ahead for another nine yards, giving the Knights a fresh set of downs near midfield. Jaxson takes a toss and runs wide. With room to run, he accelerates toward the sideline and dives as if reaching for the pylon. Officials spot the ball a yard short of a first down. Second and one. In the huddle, Maverick relays the play call and looks to Wilkes. “Here we go, D-Jam. Double move, let’s do it.” Wilkes nods. Maverick lines up in shotgun with trips receivers to his left and Wilkes out right, staring down Sherman. Wilkes runs and cuts right toward the sideline, and Maverick pump fakes just as Wilkes cuts back, running deep. Maverick’s eyes light up as Wilkes beats Sherman by a step. Wilkes reaches full speed and tracks the pass, but it’s underthrown. Wilkes comes back for it and gets his arms under the ball, but Sherman extends to knock it away. Sherman comes up chirping and Wilkes considers decking him in the face. “Throw it again!” Sherman screams. “Throw it again!” “So I can beat you again?” Wilkes says. “We will! We will!” The two go back and forth with officials interceding, and Maverick screams for his receiver to get in the huddle for third and one. Everett calls a run up the middle, which Maverick finally relays when Wilkes rejoins them. “You had me, Mav!” Wilkes says. “You fuckin’ had me, man.” “Christ, D-Jam, save it for the sidelines,” Maverick says, trying to call the play over Wilkes’ pleading. As the huddle breaks, the whole stadium sees Maverick screaming at Wilkes to get in formation. By the time Maverick gets under center, there’s only a second on the play clock. He throws his fingers against his palm, calling timeout, obviously irritated. “You fucking happy now?” he screams at Wilkes. On the sideline, Harden walks up to Everett. “Get him over here.” Everett does so, sending out a formation for third and one that doesn’t include his top receiver. Wilkes stands next to his head coach, a goofy smile on his face. Harden grabs his facemask and pulls. “This is the fourth quarter of the goddamn Super Bowl,” Harden says, “and you just cost us a timeout. Any more antics, I don’t care how small, and I swear to almighty Jesus, I will make you run suicides until you retire. Got it?” Wilkes nods, pursing his lips. About to instruct him to retake the field, Harden watches Jameson get stuffed at the line of scrimmage. Fourth and one. “Coach?” Everett says. Harden looks up at the clock and thinks. Under ten minutes to go, ball on their own forty-four. His gut says go for it. “No,” he says. “Too soon.” The punt unit comes on, and the Knights offense returns to the sideline, well aware that time is now just as big an enemy as the Seahawks. The Seahawks take over on their own twenty with a clear strategy: pound the rock with Lynch and run out the clock’s nine minutes and fifteen seconds. Harden hesitates to stack the box, knowing Wilson could still go downfield on any given down. After Lynch gets four yards on first down, Luck makes a fantastic play to penetrate the backfield and bring Lynch down for a loss. Third and seven. Wilson drops back to pass. Anthrax comes free with a clear shot at Wilson but gets juked and falls to the grass. Wilson runs forward but throws as he crosses the line of scrimmage, hitting Harvin over the middle for a first down. Harden lobbies for an illegal forward pass call, but the chain gang sets up first and ten. 7:36, 7:35… Lynch keeps hammering away, bouncing off tackles and creating extra yardage, gaining twelve yards in three plays and getting another set of downs. 5:20, 5:19… Robert Turbin enters the game and takes a few carries up the middle, gaining six yards and bringing up third and four. Wilson lines up in shotgun, takes the snap, and extends the ball for Turbin. Wilson stares down Brock on the read-option, keeps the ball, and jukes Brock, cutting forward and diving, extending the ball just long enough for a first down. 3:15, 3:14… Maverick and the offense huddle together on the sideline, going over plays and rehearsing for a two-minute drill. They just need to get the ball back. Lynch comes back in and puts together two fantastic runs that result in third and one near midfield. Harden lets the clock tick down to the two-minute warning and calls Randall over to the sideline. “Can you stop Lynch from getting a yard?” Harden asks. “Or Wilson on a sneak?” “I don’t know, coach.” “Exactly. So, if you have a read on Wilsons’ cadence, now’s the time to take a chance.” Randall nods and jogs back onto the field. Officials wind the play clock, and the players line up with both sidelines and most of the stadium standing, the game potentially about to be decided. A stop here, and the Knights can call timeout and get the ball back with about 1:50 to go. If Seattle gets a first down, it’s over. Randall and Grantzinger inch close to the line of scrimmage as Wilson calls out his cadence under center. Both linebackers get closer, trying to anticipate the exact moment, and go for it. Wilson takes the snap just as Randall and Grantzinger leap over linemen and get their hands on the quarterback. Wilson clutches the ball and gets thrown backwards. Harden runs out onto the field to call timeout, and the clock stops at 1:53. Randall and Grantzinger mob each other in celebration and enjoy even more praise on the sideline from their head coach. “Great job,” Harden says. “That’s the kind of play that wins you a Super Bowl. Great fucking job.” Everyone inside Knight’s End stands up, nervous and jittery, as the punt goes out of bounds at the twelve, and the Knights offense takes the field. “Eighty-eight yards,” Sampson says, “about two minutes, and only one timeout. Yikes.” “I can barely watch,” Cooper says. “Of course it’s a five-point lead. Of course it is.” “No worries, Coop. It’s New England, Act II.” Everyone in the huddle leans in and directs their eyes at the quarterback. “Okay, guys,” Maverick says. “I’m not gonna scream or yell or anything, so here it is. Remember what coach said before the game. We were on pace for a shitty ass season. I don’t know who I could count on, who I could trust, who I could go to in games like this. But now, I know I can trust you all. I know when I throw the ball your way—anyone’s way—you’re gonna make a play. We’re in the Super Bowl, fellas. And I’ll be damned if we’re gonna come all this way just to blow it. Let’s go.” Whistles start the play clock, and the Knights get in formation, eighty-eight yards from a Super Bowl, 1:47 to go. Maverick drops back and hits Johnson on a sideline route. He catches it and goes out of bounds for eight yards. 1:42. Maverick looks to the sideline again—covered. He looks up the middle—Bishop is open. He throws and hits Bishop between the numbers. Bishop spins with Chancellor closing. He lowers his shoulders and plows through the safety, running ahead. Two Seahawks bring him down ten yards later. 1:30, 1:29… Maverick hurries to the line, calling the play quickly and getting everyone set. He drops back and fires to Watson in the flat. He catches it and goes out of bounds for a four-yard gain. 1:14. Second and six from the Knights’ forty-six, inside Hail Mary range. Maverick drops back as pressure comes on the outside. He steps up, sees no room to run, and throws it up for Wilkes on a post. Maxwell blankets Wilkes but doesn’t see the pass. Wilkes leaps for it at the last second, extending his right arm. He catches it with one hand and falls to the ground at the Seahawks’ thirty-eight. 1:03, 1:02… Maverick shouts the play call with the entire stadium in a frenzy and precious seconds ticking away. Maverick looks to Johnson on a sideline route. A Seahawk comes free over the middle, and Maverick has nowhere to go. He goes down, then looks up at the lineman who blew the block—Penner, who looks just as stunned. 0:44, 0:43… Maverick looks to Everett: call timeout? Everett shakes his head and signals for a spike. Receivers sprint back to formation as more clock fades away. 0:35, 0:34, 0:33… Maverick clocks it and catches his breath. It’s third and sixteen from the forty-four, 0:32 to go, one timeout left. Penner snaps the ball and sticks his man this time as Maverick sits behind a clean pocket. No one’s open, so he rolls out left to throw it away. At the last second, he sees Watson downfield. He throws it up, trying to thread a tight needle. A Seahawk jumps for the interception, but it’s too high. Watson catches it in stride and runs out of bounds at the twenty-four. 0:20. Maverick pumps his fist and jogs back to huddle up. The Knights are close now, close enough for a good throw into the end zone if nothing else. A few seconds later, Seattle calls timeout, apparently to regroup, and Maverick runs to the sideline. He returns to the huddle a moment later, saying, “Listen up. It’s gonna get really cramped now, so we’re gonna crawl our way toward the end zone and then take our shot. Ready?” Maverick takes the snap, rolls right, and hits Watson in the flat. He runs out of bounds for a four-yard gain. 0:14. Maverick drops back, glances to Johnson running to the end zone—covered. He fires over the middle for Bishop, but a linebacker tips the pass. It bounces over Bishop’s head, hovers in midair, and lands between defenders in the grass. Disaster averted. Maverick looks up at the clock: 0:06. This is it. Maverick calls timeout to talk over the final play with the coaches. “Most pressure’s been coming from the middle or right,” Maverick says. “I think I should throw to my left.” “Okay,” Everett says. “Johnson and Wilkes both line up left, then.” They go through plays fitting that description and settle on one, with adjustments. Maverick returns to the huddle, explains the play, and gets everyone set up. The stadium reaches peak volume for the season’s final play. Maverick lines up in shotgun with Jaxson next to him and all receivers out left except Watson. Maverick takes the snap. Clean pocket. He looks for a quick opportunity to fire a pass through, but he doesn’t see it. He pumps, then rolls left. He sees everyone converging in the end zone, with a linebacker coming for him. Wilkes is in position, so he lobs up the jump ball to the end zone as the clock hits zero. Wilkes tries to track the ball in the center of a massive congregation. He times his jump and leaps as high as he can. About nine players jump for the pass, which lands somewhere in the pile, touching Wilkes’ hands, and bounces back toward the middle of the field. Running toward the pile, Watson sees the ball flutter towards him a second late, extends, and his arm tips it in the air behind him. He stops to turn around for it, but it hits a white jersey. It’s Sherman. He runs out of the end zone with the ball and slides down near the five-yard line. He raises his arms, and teammates swarm him. There are no flags on the field. The game is over. The television audio is the only sound in Knight’s End, with every Knights fan left in silence, unable to find any words. Cooper and Sampson lean against the high top, neither intending to say anything for quite a while. Cooper is torn between the team loss in the Super Bowl and his personal loss of twenty thousand dollars, unsure which is worse. What a terrible way to end the season. Chance hugs his children as people in the suite start to leave. He looks down the row at Schneider, who looks more sad than displeased. Confetti shoots out from the sidelines and showers everyone on the field. The handshakes commence without anything noteworthy, and the Knights head for the locker room. Maverick leads a group of players, helmet in hand. Just before he gets to the tunnel, he throws his helmet down. It bounces off the grass, rolls around, and lands facing up. Over the next few hours, as the Seahawks celebrate, waves of paper continue to fall, and eventually, the black helmet is completely obscured in confetti.
  16. Knights of Andreas Part III Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway OAK RazorStar RevisFan81 Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Forty – Here We Are A thousand miles northwest of the Knights’ celebration in Denver, the Seahawks and 49ers play a close, intense game befitting of their divisional rivalry. While the Knights fly at 38,000 feet on their way home, the 49ers mount a drive in the game’s final minutes, trailing 23-17. With less than thirty seconds left, a Colin Kaepernick pass to the end zone is tipped by Richard Sherman and intercepted by Malcolm Smith. The game is over, and the biggest football game of the year is set. Super Bowl XLVIII, from MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey: Seattle Seahawks vs. Los Angeles Knights. Monday morning, the two-week countdown begins as the sports world analyzes the Super Bowl matchup from every possible angle. Seahawks vs. Knights. NFC’s #1 seed vs. AFC’s #6 seed. Elite defense vs. elite defense. NFC West vs. AFC West. Wilson vs. Maverick. Sherman vs. Wilkes, or Sherman vs. Johnson. Lynch vs. Knights’ front seven. Maverick vs. Seahawks’ secondary. Carroll vs. Harden. The Legion of Boom vs. the Knights of Andreas. Meanwhile, Las Vegas is open for business. The spread opens at Seattle by 4.5, and most bets are for Los Angeles. The line comes down to 4.0, then 3.5, and bets start going the other direction. At the MedComm Center, the Knights’ coaching staff prepares for its final game of the season. The team will conduct a normal practice week in Los Angeles, fly to Newark Sunday, then get another week of practice, albeit interrupted by near constant media events, simply part of the territory with the Super Bowl, for better or worse. Upstairs, the Knights front office finalizes its offseason plan, finally knowing it will start in two weeks. And while the franchise’s most important decisions should involve free agency, the current focus is on the draft. All of Los Angeles’ scouts will fly to Mobile, Alabama tonight for Senior Bowl practice Tuesday through Thursday. Phillips himself will be there Saturday for the game, and he dissects scouting reports in the meantime. He has been reading up on first-round prospects the last month or so, and every time DeMartine gives him a new report, the top targets change due to the Knights’ evolving draft position. The first report had the Knights picking in the 12-20 range (due to their 6-6 record at the time). Now that they’ve reached the Super Bowl, they’re guaranteed to be picking 31st or 32nd. Downstairs, the coaching staff breaks off into groups, and the offensive coaches turn on the tape of Seattle’s vaunted secondary, starting with Richard Sherman. It only takes a few minutes to confirm what Everett already suspected. “I’m as confident in our receivers as anyone,” he says. “But whoever we put on this guy…we can’t count on them for production. Just assume whoever we pick, they get zero receptions, zero targets.” “So we have to take one of our top two receivers out of the game?” the wide receivers coach asks. “Not necessarily. Whoever we line up out left gets Maxwell.” “He’s not an ideal matchup for a number-two corner.” “But he’s not Richard Sherman. We’ll alternate D-Jam and Johnson, keep switching sides of the field, and ride the hot hand. Whoever does better on Maxwell keeps getting targets. And if either one manages to do something against Sherman, that’s just a bonus.” The subject of tape eventually transitions to Seattle’s safety duo of Earl Thomas and Kam Chancellor. “Hell of an outfield,” an assistant coach says. “Anywhere you try to go with the ball, you’re throwing into danger.” “Elite safeties have always been a problem for Mav,” Everett says, thinking. “We all think it’s going to be a low scoring game, right? Let’s embrace that. I want lots of short passes, very West Coast style.” “Appropriate, for this game.” “Quick passes counter their pass rush, as well. Let’s add in some receiver screens too.” Across the hall, Harden and his defensive subordinates work on a much easier task. To start with, Harden considers Seattle’s receiving corps the worst his defense has faced all postseason. Rose will alternate between Doug Baldwin and Golden Tate as needed, with single coverage filling in the rest. Percy Harvin’s health is still a question mark, and a wait-and-see situation for now. Priority number one for the Knights defense is controlling the line of scrimmage, thereby controlling Marshawn Lynch. Los Angeles’ front seven has a huge advantage over Seattle’s offensive line, so Harden is confident. Russell Wilson, however, presents a unique challenge. Athletic and mobile enough to run any time he drops back, he is a brand of quarterback the Knights have not faced this year. Harden initially feels blitzes will keep Wilson contained, but the more tape he watches, the more he fears a big play. The Knights will take advantage of the extra practice time and go through multiple ways of blitzing designed to keep Wilson in the pocket. Tuesday morning, players take the practice field for an address from their head coach. Instead of kneeling at midfield, they stand up in straight lines, almost military style. “A few things to take care of before we get started,” Harden says, prowling through his players line by line. “First order of business: Gatorade. Let me be clear: Gatorade is for college, men. There are no liquid baths for head coaches at this level, with one very big exception: the Super Bowl. Other than that game, don’t ever dump Gatorade on me again. So for our two offenders…Briggs? Sam?” Randall and Luck straighten their posture as their head coach stands next to them. “Suicides.” “Yes, sir,” they say simultaneously. Harden continues walking around, intending to continue but noticing something. “Sean?” “Yeah, coach,” Brock says. “What’s the matter with your eyes? You look stoned.” “No way, coach. Just a little tired.” Harden can tell that’s the truth, though it’s not enough to save him. “We’re preparing for the biggest football game of our careers, and you show up on day one tired? What time did you go to sleep last night?” “Um…” “Suicides, Sean.” “Fuck.” Brock jogs off to join Randall and Luck. “Hang on, coach,” Jaxson says. “Just to be sure, you’re saying if we win this game, we can dump Gatorade on you?” “Men,” Harden says, “if we beat the Seahawks, you can dump a gallon of dog shit on me for all I care.” “Wait,” Martin says. “I don’t think dog shit would be measured in gallons, coach.” “Suicides, Marlon.” “Yes, sir.” Sampson gets to Knight’s End first, claims the high top, and waits. He’s not used to being here on a Thursday, so it’s good to be in the usual spot. Before long, Cooper arrives, visibly giddy about something, though he looks distressed when he sees only menus on the table. “What’s the matter?” he asks, taking his seat. “Haven’t gotten a drink yet? Strange.” “Being here mid-week for happy hour is strange. I wanted to wait for you. And to see what the hell you were so excited about.” Cooper flags down a waitress, orders two beers, and takes out his phone. “Okay. The line bottomed out at three-and-a-half. It’s at four now.” “Oh, no, here we go.” “If it goes up to four-and-a-half, I’m betting twenty thousand.” “Listen, I don’t think—holy shit, you have twenty large lying around?” “Don’t ask.” Sampson pauses, trying to process Cooper’s madness, and the beers arrive. Sampson takes a few deep gulps. “Shit, man, there’s so much you could do with that besides blow it.” “Stop being a pussy, Cassie. Think about it. The Knights at plus-4.5 is a steal. If they lose, which I readily admit as a possibility, I see them losing by three or four. And so do you, you son of a bitch.” “Why don’t you just bet five and stash the rest?” “What did I just say about being a pussy?” Sampson sighs and drinks more beer. Cooper hasn’t touched his, yet another sign that this situation is fucked up. “Let’s just be clear about something,” Sampson says. “What?” “If you bet it and lose, feel free to complain about being broke all you want. I buy you one sympathy beer. One. No more.” “Fair enough.” In between some fan interaction on Twitter Friday afternoon, Adam Javad finalizes his travel plans. His red eye flight is supposed to be five-and-a-half hours, but with the time difference, he’s scheduled to depart Los Angeles at 10:25 tomorrow night and arrive in Newark at 6:52 Sunday morning. More importantly, his hotel reservations have been booked and confirmed. He’s staying in an unimpressive looking place not far from the airport, but it still costs a Super Bowl premium. Even worse, chalking it up to a work-related, tax-deductible expense is the limit of compensation he’ll get. Working for the L.A. Mobile has its disadvantages, and paying for Javad’s airplane ticket is as far as his editor-in-chief is willing to go. Javad could, theoretically, cover the Super Bowl from home and save a ton of money, but he never seriously considered that option. It’s the Super Bowl. Media week. Radio row. He has to go. It’s an incredible opportunity to further his career, specifically to a more prominent newspaper. With any luck, the next time the Knights make the Super Bowl, Javad will be working for a company that covers all his travel expenses. Whatever the case, he looks forward to 2016, when the Super Bowl will be at Farmers Field. Media outlets track the flight as it crosses the country, and cameras are positioned at Newark Liberty International Airport to watch it land, touching down at 3:36 Eastern time, eleven minutes late. Footage captures every moment of the Knights’ arrival in northern New Jersey, where they will stay for a week. Hours after landing, players and coaches have barely gotten settled in hotel rooms when five of them head out for an introductory press conference. Chosen for this are the team’s head coach, quarterback, and three Pro Bowlers. Rose refuses to participate, however, so Randall takes his place. The conference is deliberately brief, an unofficial kickoff to media week, seven days of anticipation that includes interviews, concerts, endless media events, and various fan activities. Monday, the Knights enjoy a mostly media-free day of practice. Harden faces the challenge of keeping his defense fresh when they’re close to running out of things to practice. If it were up to him, the Super Bowl would be played one week after the conference championships. Tuesday morning arrives, and every athlete, coach, executive, journalist, fan, and celebrity within a hundred miles heads for the Prudential Center, primarily the home of the New Jersey Devils, for Media Day. Booths are set up all over the floor for players and coaches from both teams. Phillips settles into his spot, not used to this much media attention and thankful he’s no longer suffering from jet lag after traveling from Alabama to California to New Jersey in a 48-hour span. Harden doesn’t hide his grumpy face from the cameras, looking forward to ending this spectacle and getting back to football as quickly as possible. Players have mixed feelings on the event. Some either enjoy the media attention or know how to handle it, while others just want to answer the questions and move on. Javad circulates the floor, deciding which interview to listen in on first. His coverage ability is limited, but if any player for either team provides a noteworthy sound bite, he has to report it along with everyone else. So, he refreshes his phone about every minute, knowing any buzzworthy comments will hit Twitter within seconds. He passes a few interviews in progress and eventually decides on Malik Rose, one of the Knights’ most reclusive players and something of a target for Javad. He relishes the idea of a one-on-one interview with him, but has been unable to pull the right strings to make it happen. Fittingly, one of the first questions Rose faces is about his quiet lifestyle. Javad only hears the end of the question. “…how you choose to conduct yourself, compared with a guy like Marshawn Lynch, one of the players you’ll face this week?” “I think I, and everybody else, gets paid for what they do on the field,” Rose says. “Who you want to be away from the field, that’s your business. So, as for Marshawn, we obviously have very similar views there, and I give the guy all the respect I have for him.” Phillips finds himself in the middle of a rather pleasant interview, with more questions directed to the past four years than the game on Sunday. It takes longer than he thought for last offseason’s monumental decision to come up. “At the end of last season,” one reporter asks, “you guys made a very controversial decision to fire Caden Daniel. A year later, here you are in the Super Bowl, and Merle Harden is a candidate for Coach of the Year. How does that feel?” That sounds more like a compliment than a question. “Well, let me repeat something I said at the time: it wasn’t an easy decision. But we felt very strongly that it was the correct one, and you look at where we are right now, and you look at where Caden is in San Diego and what he’s accomplishing there…I think it ended up working out for everyone involved.” Alex Johnson fields a few questions about his health, specifically the hyperextension he suffered in December. “It was sort of a slow recovery,” Johnson says, “but I think after the Patriots game I felt back to 100%, physically and mentally.” A few questions later, the topic transitions to the X’s and O’s of the Super Bowl matchup, and one reporter asks him point blank: “Are you going to be lining up on Sherman?” Johnson laughs and smiles. “No comment.” A few booths down, Wilkes faces the same question about Sherman. “I sure hope so,” Wilkes says. “I mean, I can’t tell you guys our game plan, sorry, but I’d love to line up against him. You play this game to be the best, and to do that, you’ve gotta beat the best.” “Is this a sentimental matchup for you, considering you started your career in Seattle?” That catches Wilkes off guard a little bit, and he takes his time in responding. “Not really,” he lies. “Los Angeles is my home now.” “Is there any, or…do you still feel any ill will about Seattle cutting you?” “They did what they had to do. Now I’m doing what I gotta do.” After sidestepping a bunch of nonsense questions, Harden finally hears one he likes, asking about the prospects of a Super Bowl that pits two elite defenses against each other. “I’m a defensive guy,” Harden says. “A real low-scoring, 10-7 or 13-10 type football game is right up my alley. And Lord knows we’ve played enough close games this year, so our players are comfortable with that kind of football game too.” Grantzinger maintains a straight face through his entire interview, usually providing either a long, thoughtful response or a two-word comeback. “Zack, you guys didn’t start the season particularly well.” No shit. “2-4 at the bye week, 3-5 at one point. So considering all that, how does it feel to be here, now, playing in the Super Bowl?” “It’s pretty depressing,” Grantzinger says. “You know, we’re pretty bummed about it. It’s the Super Bowl. How do you think it feels?” Maverick is asked, in multiple ways, how his offense is going to conquer Seattle’s defense. “Anyone who wants to know what this offense is capable of can turn on the New England tape. I’ll take my chances against any defense in the league, Seattle included.” Luck faces multiple questions about free agency, which he expected. “I said at the beginning of the season that I would deal with my contract when it was appropriate. Right now, my focus is entirely on Sunday’s game.” “But Sam, with a player like you, highly talented and young, free agency is something where millions of dollars are involved. Doesn’t that enter your head at least a little bit?” “Not at all. To play in the NFL, you need an incredible amount of focus, and you have to direct it at the right places and time. I pride myself on that.” “Sam, what has been your approach to the weather forecast, predicting cold temperatures?” “Well, considering we beat the Patriots in the snow to get here, I don’t think anyone is afraid of the weather. So, if it’s gonna rain, snow, be cold, whatever. Bring it on.” Nearby, Brock also hears the cold weather question, one everybody will be asked at some point today. “Football is meant to be played in the elements,” Brock says. “I mean, a few weeks ago we beat Tom Brady in the snow, so I don’t think we’ll have any trouble with the weather. And who can argue with New York City? Any big city is perfect for the Super Bowl. Weather doesn’t matter.” “Sean, what’s it been like so far preparing to play a quarterback like Russell Wilson?” “With Wilson, we have to make sure we don’t let him get outside the pocket, so that’s the focus for a lot of guys, myself included.” “Are you saying you don’t have one person who will be shadowing Wilson?” “No, I—I said it was a team effort.” Across the floor, players and coaches from Seattle answer questions too, with the same pattern: some brush off questions, some give thoughtful responses, and some are eager to provide bulletin board material. Russell Wilson, on facing the Knights’ defense: “Their defense is very good, very well coached. On any given play, all four linebackers could be blitzing, so that’s something that, as a quarterback, you have to prepare for.” Richard Sherman, asked if he is a superior corner to Rose. “Oh, there’s no doubt. No doubt in my mind. I’m the better corner, we’re the better defense, we’re the better team. And the game is gonna prove that.” Pete Carroll, on coaching against Merle Harden. “We’re not looking forward to calling plays against him, I can tell you that. It’s kind of a beautiful simplicity, what they have on defense. Their play calling isn’t super complicated, but they just execute so well. So, we’re gonna have to bring our A-game and come together to compete with those guys.” Hours of interviews, hundreds of people, and thousands of quotes all come with the event. But the media is desperate for a sound bite, something controversial. Something newsworthy. Something that can add to the pre-game discussion. Towards the end of Rose’s presser, they get it. Questions comparing Rose to Sherman pop up periodically, but one reporter finally asks, “Who’s better, you or Sherman?” “My goal is to be the best corner in the game,” Rose says, “so that’s what I consider myself.” “So you’re saying you are the best corner in the league.” Rose makes a gesture that is half shrug, half nod. “In what way are you better than Sherman?” “You know, I think Sherman has a lot more help around him. You look at that secondary with Thomas and Chancellor; they give him a lot of support. He’s surrounded by elite players, so he doesn’t have to do as much.” Every reporter in the crowd whips out their phones and presses away, understanding the implications of that quote. Among them, Javad hurriedly sums up the comment enough to put on Twitter: “Interesting: Rose says he’s better than Sherman because Sherman has better defense around him.” Javad’s tweet is mild compared to other reporters, with several openly criticizing Rose for discrediting his teammates. Wednesday, the Knights resume practice with the circus over. In the locker room, Rose puts his pads on and dresses quietly, like usual, but notices some looks from his defensive teammates. Whatever. He’s not apologizing for anything. On the field, as players stretch and warm up for drills, Rose is visibly isolated from his teammates, nobody coming within ten yards of him. Eventually, Coach Harden walks over to his cornerback. “Stand up,” Harden says. Rose rises to his feet but keeps his head down, pointed at his head coach’s feet. “I’ll say this much. You want to talk about your teammates? That’s fine. You deal with them. You say you’re better than Sherman?” Rose looks up. “You better fucking prove it on Sunday.” After a brief round of defensive drills, Harden focuses on blitz practice with his front seven and Rose goes off to assist the offense, standing in as their Sherman clone as Wilkes and Johnson take turns running routes against him. Each receiver provides a different dynamic. With Johnson, it’s a clinic of precision and timing. He makes crisp breaks and Maverick tries to hit him in the hands where Rose can’t get it. With Wilkes, it’s a physical battle of muscle and leverage. Maverick usually just lofts it in the air and lets his receiver fight for it. Wilkes relishes his reps against Rose, both looking forward to lining up against Sherman and playing his part in retribution for Rose’s comments. He has noticed, of course, the shouldering Rose is getting from his defensive teammates, but Wilkes is in a unique position to do something about it. He gets extra physical on top of his routes, sometimes blatantly shoving him down in what would obviously be offensive pass interference. Eventually, Rose has had enough. The coaches declare this is Wilkes’ last rep before switching with Johnson. A whistle blows, and Wilkes takes off. Rose gets his hands up in his facemask, and Wilkes does the same. Maverick fires the ball, which goes past both of them as they shove each other. They stop, and their facemasks touch. Neither says anything. Though coaches and players run towards them to break it up, they mutually separate first. They’ve both expressed themselves; there will be no fights this week. With decreasing media attention, the days go by quicker, and the Knights finish preparing for their Super Bowl opponent. Saturday, the calendar turns to February, and the league hosts the third annual NFL Honors at Radio City Music Hall. A few Knights players go despite their lack of contention for major awards. Schneider, Phillips, and Harden get seats near the front. While Harden would be honored to be named Coach of the Year, he dreads the possibility of giving a speech. The ceremony progresses without surprise. Peyton Manning cleans up, winning FedEx Air Player of the Year, Offensive Player of the Year, and MVP. Mercifully, Ron Rivera wins Coach of the Year, sparing Harden. After the ceremony, Schneider wanders off, leaving Phillips and Harden together, and Phillips takes advantage. “Listen, Merle, a heads up. No matter what happens tomorrow, we’re gonna work on a contract extension right away.” “Chance, I appreciate that, but like I told you before—” “Let’s not go back and forth over this. It came from Wayne, not me. He doesn’t want a Super Bowl coach playing on a one-year contract.” Harden nods and sighs. So be it. February 2, 2014. Super Bowl Sunday. The 2013-14 NFL season reaches its climax, as fans count the hours to kickoff for one last game. Players warm up on the field in relatively mild weather, the temperature in the low 50’s and dropping, about ten degrees warmer than projected. Before long, the Knights find themselves in the locker room, almost ready to jog onto the field. The team, as a whole, is comfortable and composed, but some players realize the offseason is just a few hours away, and nerves inevitably set in. Coach Harden stands before the team he inherited a little over a year ago. Instinctively, of course, he wants to get on the field as soon as possible. But he can sense the uneasiness in the locker room, the inevitable gravity that comes with playing in the Super Bowl. “I want you all to think about where we were the first game of the year.” A few players look up, surprised at Harden indulging into a pre-game speech. “Do you remember? We were in Indianapolis, in a locker room not too much unlike this one. But we were a group of individuals. We were not a football team. Not yet. “To my defense, let me speak to you guys for a second. Think back to that day. We played a piss-poor game, and Andrew Luck made us look like shit. That was then. The last two games, we’ve beaten Tom Brady and Peyton Manning, and here we are. “Offense, your turn. We were all over the place. Didn’t know who we were, didn’t know how we wanted to score points, didn’t know who our go-to guys were. We left a lot of points on the field, in all four quarters. Now, we may struggle in the first half, but if the game’s on the line and we need a touchdown, you can bet we’re reaching the end zone.” Harden finds himself at the head of the room again, ready to march onto the field, but another thought occurs to him. “You know what one of the worst parts of this game is? Anybody?” A few players look like they’re thinking but nobody speaks. “One of the worst parts of this game, and it’s a great game, men, is that great players don’t always win championships. You can be the best at your position, break as many records as you want, and make the Hall of Fame. But if the fifty other guys on your team aren’t good enough, you are guaranteed nothing. We can go down the list for hours of Hall of Famers who retired without any rings. “Tonight, we have a chance to make sure none of us are ever one of them. Tonight, we have a chance to make sure no matter what happens to any of us the rest of our careers, the rest of our lives, we will forever be known as Super Bowl champions, and no one will be able to take that away from us.” He looks around at his players’ faces, and he can feel his words connecting. He can feel their urge to run out onto the field, just as strong as his. It’s time. “Okay, Knights. Let’s give these fuckers everything we have.” Knight’s End is packed, as it has been for hours, with an incredible amount of fans that surely violates fire code. It’s only 3:30 in Los Angeles, and it’s going to be a long night of drinking—in either celebration or sorrow. Cooper and Sampson proudly occupy their high top, secured by their presence at ten this morning (and they’ve been drinking ever since). “Oh, I forgot to ask,” Sampson says. “Did you do it?” “Yep,” Cooper says proudly. “Twenty thousand on the Knights, plus-4.5. So if we win, I’m rich. If we lose by three or four, I’m rich.” “And if we lose by five or more?” Cooper looks at his fifth beer of the day (or is it his sixth?). “Then I’m drinking myself into oblivion.” “I’ll drink to that.” They clink glasses as the commercial ends, and the game comes back for pre-game ceremonies. Chance takes his seat in a crowded suite near the middle of the stadium, a perfect view of the field. On either side of him sit Melissa, Jack, Max, and Kimmy. The presence of his family fills him with a sense of calm, which will undoubtedly come in handy during the intensity of the next few hours. And none of the three children will argue with a day off from school tomorrow. The Seahawks, the designated road team, take the field in white jerseys and navy pants to thunderous applause. A moment later, the Knights run onto the field in black jerseys and pants, meeting cheers just as loud. Both sidelines fill, and the presentation of colors begins. A crowd of 80,000-plus rises to its feet for the national anthem. Applause fills the stadium as officials prepare for the coin toss. Maverick, Penner, and Randall walk to midfield. The Seahawks win the toss and defer, and the captains return to their sidelines. As Steven Hauschka and Seattle’s kickoff unit line up, the Knights look across the field to their opponent. Harden, instead of looking at the opposite sideline, turns and looks into the crowd, spotting Melinda and Trisha. He wonders if this will be the last time experiencing this, looking up and seeing their faces just before the game starts. It’s a tradition he certainly missed this year. Crowd noise mounts toward a crescendo. Both special teams units are in position. Hauschka raises his arm, jogs, boots the ball into the air with countless flashes in the background, and Super Bowl XLVIII begins.
  17. Knights of Andreas Part III Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway OAK RazorStar RevisFan81 Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Thirty-Nine – Third Round Knockout The plane ride back to Los Angeles is always much more enjoyable after a victory, but the flight from Boston is the best yet. After takeoff, players excitedly move around the plane, reliving memorable plays just a few hours old. Maverick and Johnson try to convince everyone that the game-winning touchdown pass really was a non-verbal hot route. Grantzinger, in an unprecedented move, thanks Brock for bailing him out when he lost Amendola in coverage on that crucial fourth quarter red zone stop. Randall and Flash relive the horrors of covering Gronkowski (“Piece of cake,” Rose says.). And everyone looks forward to the weather in Los Angeles, where it is definitely not snowing. The victory over New England is one players will remember for a long time. Harden, meanwhile, enjoys a peaceful ride home. The activity around the plane prevents him from sleeping, and he doesn’t mind. A playoff win in Foxborough is about as prized as it gets in the NFL, and the Knights will gladly take that momentum into next week. At this point, there is no team they will fear. They’ve proven to the league—and to themselves—they can contend with anyone. The seat next to him is occupied by Phillips, who decided at the last moment to fly with the team and not on Schneider’s private jet. He hoped to talk with Harden most of the flight, but he has no problem relaxing, savoring the reality of this dream that somehow hasn’t ended yet. One more loss somewhere on the schedule, or one more win by the Chiefs down the stretch, and the Knights wouldn’t have made the playoffs at all. But here they are. What happened to the team that lost its composure in the final minutes of a loss to the Chargers? What happened to the defense that gave up six passing touchdowns to Nick Foles? What happened to the quarterback who openly cursed out his offensive coordinator? Phillips can only think of Harden’s words after the Chiefs game in December, when the Knights were 8-6. “We’re not losing. That’s it. Not this team. Not this year. We’re not losing another game.” A few minutes after 1pm, the MedComm Center auditorium is set up for viewing. The Knights coaching staff, along with a few players, watches the final minutes of San Francisco’s 23-10 win in Carolina (setting up a 49ers/Seahawks NFC Championship Game), then waits for the Colts and Broncos to kick off. By 4:40, about half the team has assembled, including most of the starters. The game goes back and forth, a duel between evenly matched teams centered on two premiere quarterbacks. The Broncos take a 14-10 lead into halftime, during which players start debating which team they’d rather face. Offensive players are split, while most of the defense (including its head coach) would prefer another chance to play Peyton Manning. A quick Denver touchdown makes it 21-10, and it appears the Broncos will run away with the game, but Andrew Luck responds early in the 4th quarter, narrowing the score to 21-17. The Broncos add a field goal to make it 24-17, and Luck gets the ball back with four minutes left. The Colts get a few first downs, and it looks like a classic playoff drive in the making, but Luck overthrows a receiver, and the ball is intercepted. The Broncos run off what is left of the clock, and the Knights/Broncos AFC Championship Game is set. Two days later, the entire football team kneels around its head coach on the practice field, eager to prepare for a familiar opponent. “I’m gonna be honest with you all,” Harden says. “I think we got lucky. We get our third chance at a team we know very well. But they know us well. Do not forget that. Never underestimate your opponent.” Players nod in agreement, both contests against Denver still fresh in their minds. Round one, week 3: both teams played a back-and-forth game on Monday Night Football, but a fourth quarter interception by Maverick sealed defeat, and the Broncos won, 23-18. Round two, week 17: with Denver resting its starters, the Knights came out flat and fell behind, but pulled away in the second half to win, 30-13. “We made our push late this year,” Harden continues. “And I know a lot of us feel—myself included—that if we could do the whole thing over again, we could be a hell of a lot better. I know you all want to prove we’re more than just a wild-card team. I know you want to prove that we’re the best team in this division. Well, guess what? This is our chance.” Over 76,000 fans get on their feet and scream on an uncharacteristically warm January day in Denver, with clear skies and temperatures in the low 60’s, as the road team takes the field for the first plays of the 2014 AFC Championship Game. The Knights open with balance. Coach Everett isn’t going to emphasize the run game when he’s got Maverick, a quarterback who announced his presence to the league last week. Denver has to respect his ability, and he intends to show everyone why. Jameson and Jaxson find little room to work with in the box, limited to three- or four-yard runs. Maverick completes a few passes to Bishop and Watson, but the drive stalls near midfield. Out comes Peyton Manning, the 37-year-old quarterback whose record-shattering season ended with 55 passing touchdowns and over 5,400 yards. Some say it was the greatest regular season performance by a quarterback in NFL history, and Manning is the heavy favorite to win MVP. Harden watches carefully as the Broncos come out firing, with Manning hitting receivers quickly, especially those quick sideline routes he loves. It’s New England all over, with Manning moving the chains by himself one short pass at a time. Julius Thomas for four yards. Eric Decker for five. Wes Welker for four. Decker for six. Manning drops back and waits, no pressure in front of him. He fires over the middle and hits Decker for sixteen yards and a first down near midfield. It appears Manning intends to take advantage of Marshall covering Decker. That’s a matchup Harden doesn’t like, but there’s little he can do about it other than have Flash double him on certain plays, provided Rose doesn’t need any help with Demaryius Thomas (which is unlikely). Near midfield, the Broncos finally run the ball. Knowshon Moreno takes a carry up the middle, and Anthrax breaks through, stuffing Moreno for no gain. Manning looks for Julius Thomas on the next play and finds him for nine yards, tackled by Randall, who has the tough task of covering the tight end today. After dealing with Gronkowski last week, however, the assignment doesn’t scare him. Third and one. Manning takes the snap in shotgun and hands off to Moreno. Anthrax gets around Manuel Ramirez and crushes the running back for a two-yard loss. Coach Harden praises his nose tackle on the sidelines, knowing this is a totally different match if Denver has no run game. After the commercial break, the Knights retake the field and promptly go three and out, with Maverick forced to throw the ball away twice. On the sidelines, Everett quickly identifies a problem: no receptions by his top two receivers. Pictures from the previous series reveal the reason: Dominique Rodgers-Cromartie and Chris Harris are blanketing the Knights’ receivers in coverage. Everett gathers his receivers together on the bench. “D-Jam! Alex! What’s going on, guys?” he says. “They’re doing their jobs, coach,” Maverick says, walking over to interject. “I just think it’s too soon to throw into tight coverage.” “Was I talking to you, Mav?” Maverick looks livid for half a second before walking away. “Okay. Now, want to explain yourselves?” Wilkes and Johnson look at each other, then back up at their offensive coordinator. “Man, I’m getting interfered with on every play,” Wilkes says. “DRC is dirty, dude.” “Harris is good,” Johnson says. “I can beat him, but not by much. And I agree with Mav, it’s too soon—” “I didn’t ask you what Mav thinks, I asked you what you think. I don’t care how good Denver’s corners are. Get open.” Everett walks away, ignoring the continuing protests of Wilkes behind his back. With field position sliding towards Denver as the first quarter winds down, the Broncos eventually start a drive near midfield, and Manning lobs a sideline pass for Decker that puts them in field goal range. The Knights tighten up, still suffocating the running game thanks mostly to Anthrax, and bring up fourth down. Matt Prater kicks the forty-yarder right down the middle, and it’s 3-0, Broncos, after one quarter. Frustration continues on offense. Without a stable running game, Maverick struggles to carry the offense. Wilkes and Johnson are still bottled up on most plays, and Von Miller has nearly sacked him several times. He eventually throws to Wilkes on a hitch, partially for the sake of it, and Wilkes catches a pass that Rodgers-Cromartie nearly intercepts. The drive, however, ends a few plays later. The defensive battle that was supposed to be an offensive showcase goes on. Denver’s offense looks more impressive, though, with the Knights offense more stagnant than it has been in months. After Randall swats away a pass intended for Julius Thomas, the Broncos send out the punt team. On the sideline, Everett preps his offense. “It’s time to wake up, people!” he says. “No more bullshit. We’re gonna execute on this drive, and we’re—” Everett pauses, noticing commotion around him. The same players he was addressing rise, eyes on the stadium’s video screen. Everett turns to the field and sees Jaxson, who jukes the punter and runs free into the end zone for the game’s first touchdown. The Knights’ sideline celebrates a much-needed break. Jaxson catches his breath and enjoys praise on the sideline, with Coach Everett eventually wrapping his arm around him. “Remember in training camp when I said I wanted you to return more punts this year?” Too tired to say anything back, Jaxson smiles, and they both laugh as the extra point goes through. 7-3, Knights. The offense finds itself on the bench after another unproductive drive. Maverick and Wilkes sit next to each other, both looking miserable. They’ve already seen all the pictures and gone over all the plays; the offense simply has no answers right now. “You gotta call the plays, Mav,” Wilkes says. “What?” “You gotta call the plays! Everett’s yelling at us, but he ain’t doing shit. He just keeps calling stupid routes. Out, in, out, in, hitch. I’m not gonna get open unless you do it.” “We’re not going through this again, D-Jam.” “We got to! If we want to win.” “If you think you should be running different routes, go tell him.” “Nah man, you tell him.” “I have to do all your shit for you now?” A rise in crowd noise halts the banter as Manning takes his first deep shot of the day, looking for Demaryius Thomas. Rose is right on him, though, and he tips the pass out of bounds as both jump for it. Rose waves his finger at Thomas, drawing boos from the crowd and verbal retaliation from the Broncos’ sideline. An official runs up to Harden as the punt teams take the field. “Let’s ease up on the trash, okay, coach?” “Excuse me?” Harden says. “Trash? Please. That’s making a play on the ball, nothing more.” Rose walks by and takes his helmet off, looking at his head coach. “Malik, next time wave your middle finger.” Maverick lines up under center, the crowd noise blaring behind him, much too close as the Knights are backed up on their own five-yard line. Studying the defense, Maverick notices Wilkes trying, conspicuously, to get his attention. The play call has him running an out, which Rodgers-Cromartie will surely cover. There’s no sign of a blitz, so there’s probably coverage over the top. Fine, D-Jam. We’ll try it your way. Maverick uses hand signals to adjust the routes, making Wilkes run deep with Watson on a deep post. This route combination has been a go-to play for the Knights, and Maverick isn’t sure why Everett hasn’t used it yet. Maybe he intends to save it for the second half, but with no offense to speak of, it’s time to spice it up. He takes the snap and drops back. Bishop breaks open for a second, but Maverick hesitates, and he’s covered. He looks deep, and the safeties aren’t following Wilkes. He rushes the throw just as an orange jersey hammers him to the grass. Wilkes dives for it, but the off-target pass hits the ground. Second and ten. Maverick fakes a handoff to Jameson and hits Bishop on a quick slant. He’s tackled instantly, two yards shy of a first down. Third and two. The crowd gets loud yet again as the Knights line up in a bunch formation. Maverick hands off to Jameson, who barely reaches the line of scrimmage before a mob of orange jerseys wrestles him backwards. All five offensive linemen sulk back to the sideline, and Penner doesn’t wait for the O-line coach to show up. “We’re not doing our jobs!” he says. “Like coach said, that’s enough bullshit. We need to come together right now. Stop letting these pricks walk all over us. Next drive, go out there and stick ‘em in the mouth!” The four linemen nod as they drink water and catch their breath. Penner has been doing his job, of course, but Denver’s run defense is the best they have faced in a while, and right now, Los Angeles is losing the battle. Grodd eagerly waits for pictures to analyze the last few plays. He has been responsible for a few failed run attempts, but more because of missed assignments than him simply getting beat. A good punt return gives Denver excellent field position to start the drive. Manning hits Welker over the middle for five yards, then hands off to Moreno. He surges through an opening, cuts left, and Randall barely brings him down seven yards later. After he calls the next play, Harden barks into his headset to his colleagues upstairs. “What the hell happened there?” “They doubled Jones on that one, coach,” a voice says. Harden’s worries are erased. If Anthrax is going to command double teams on running plays, that’s good news. A few plays later, Denver doubles him again, Moreno gets five yards, and Harden adds some commentary when he radios the play to Randall’s helmet: “Get aggressive against the run. They’re doubling Anthrax.” Already in field goal range, the Broncos line up with five wide receivers, an apparent mismatch. Randall doesn’t need Harden to tell him what to do. He calls an adjustment: all-out blitz, hands up. Manning takes the snap, and a mob of white jerseys converges on him. He fires to his right. Grantzinger tips the ball into the air, and Martin catches it. Orange jerseys swarm him and bring him down, but he hangs on, and the Knights take over with 2:10 to go in the first half. Maverick trots onto the field, ready for another two-minute drill, last week still fresh in his mind. He tries to get everyone fired up in the huddle, to an extent; it’s only the second quarter. “Alex, D-Jam, this drive is gonna be on you guys. Let’s hit ‘em for some big throws, make them think things over during the half.” Seventy-five yards from the end zone, Maverick drops back to pass. Wilkes—covered. Bishop—open. He fires over the middle and gets five yards. The clock reaches the two-minute warning. After pass rush forces an incompletion, Maverick looks for Johnson on third down, running a post-corner. He drops back, waits for Johnson to break on the post, and throws it up. But Johnson keeps running toward the middle of the field, leaving Harris all alone near the sideline. He leaps and makes a spectacular grab, planting both toes onto the grass before hitting the ground. The nearby officials discuss for a moment, then signal a catch. First down, Broncos, just outside field goal range. Maverick keeps to himself on the long walk back to the bench, not bothering to discuss the miscommunication with Johnson, and he hopes Everett doesn’t show up with pictures right away. At this point, they can talk about it at halftime. He notices, however, a delay in Denver taking over. “Los Angeles is challenging the ruling on the field,” says the referee, his voice carrying throughout the stadium. Even if the call is overturned, the Knights are still punting, but it would be a huge shift in field position. During the review, everyone looks up at the video screen for multiple angles of Harris’ catch. His right foot comes down in pounds, conclusively, but it sure looks like his left foot is out of bounds by half an inch. There isn’t a definitive angle, but the Knights sideline thinks they’ve got this one. Three minutes later, referee Tony Corrente walks back onto the field to deliver the verdict. “After reviewing the play, the defender maintained possession of the ball, but his left foot came down out of bounds…” Thank God. The reaction around Maverick blocks out the rest of the referee’s explanation, and he doesn’t care. “Rest up, men,” Harden says to his team in the locker room. “We’re fighting hard but only halfway there.” He limits his comments to that, in a difficult spot. He’s proud as hell of his defense for their effort and execution in the first half, holding Denver to only three points. The offense, on the other hand, has been abysmal. As a head coach, he takes responsibility for that, but what can he do? Everett runs the offense. Situations like this make Harden wish he were still a defensive coordinator. Everett and the offensive coaches furiously scan pictures and go through the playbook, desperate to find a button to push. “Let me say this,” Everett says to his assistants, “we’re not going one-dimensional. I know the run game isn’t working, but we’re sticking with it.” Not far away, Maverick drinks water by his locker, savoring the rest. He sees Wilkes approaching and frowns. “Not now, D-Jam. Jesus.” “What?” “How many fucking times—” “Do you want to win?” “Could you have asked me a dumber question?” “You know I’m right, don’t you?” Maverick looks up at his receiver, trying not to give anything away. The staring contest continues until Maverick stands up and heads for the coaches’ room. Maverick lines up in shotgun and studies the defense as fans raise the noise level. This could be the most uncomfortable he’s ever been starting a second half with the lead. He takes the snap and watches Von Miller, who gets doubled by Khalif Barnes and Bishop. Once he’s contained, Maverick rolls to his right, looks downfield, and fires. Wilkes breaks open, dives, and catches it, coming down for an eighteen-yard gain, the Knights’ biggest offensive play so far. Jameson takes a carry off-tackle left, hits the hole, and plunges forward for a five-yard gain. Coach Everett excitedly calls the next play, thrilled with the start of the drive so far. Maverick fakes a handoff and drops back, hoping for a clean pocket, but Miller comes free on the rush. He fakes a quick pass and makes Miller jump. Stepping up for more time, he spots Watson downfield. Got it. He fires deep and gets hit from behind. Watson sprints past Mike Adams but has to slow down for the pass. He catches it and accelerates for one last burst that avoids Adams’ diving attempt. He runs through the end zone, and the crowd is silenced. 14-3, Knights. “There we go!” Everett says on the sideline, clapping. “There we go! That’ll get ‘em spaced out a bit. Now we can execute like we want to.” Manning hits Julius Thomas over the middle. Martin brings him down immediately, but he has enough for the first down. Denver lines up in shotgun again, accelerating the pace. Harden is surprised they didn’t hurry things sooner. Grantzinger and Brock blitz. Facing pressure, Manning steps up and fires over the middle. Randall reads the play, cuts across the field, and catches it. He runs forward, seeing blocking in front of him, but someone trips him up from behind. The Knights still have the ball, and they’re already on the edge of field goal range. Maverick goes to his quick reads, hitting Bishop and Watson for a first down. After a screen to Jaxson gets twelve yards, the Knights are in the red zone. Maverick drops back with a blitz coming. He throws it up for Wilkes in single coverage. Wilkes fights with Rodgers-Cromartie for leverage, crosses the goal line, and leaps for the ball. He catches it, Rodgers-Cromartie shoves him, and he plants his two feet onto the ground. He comes up with the ball, clearly maintaining possession, but unsure where his feet came down. Before he can inspect the grass, the two nearby officials come to a consensus: two feet in bounds, touchdown. The Denver crowd starts booing. Though some want a challenge, replay makes it clear the refs got it right, and the extra point makes it 21-3, Knights, with 8:52 to go in the third quarter. Harden watches Manning throw one pass after another, increasingly frustrated but still content. Thanks to Anthrax’s breakout performance and the offense’s hot start to the half, Denver has abandoned the run game and become one-dimensional. He happily calls more blitzes, eager for a sack or interception. Second and five from midfield, 6:27 left in the third quarter. Manning takes the snap. Three linebackers blitz, Grantzinger the exception. Under immediate pressure, Manning throws it up for Welker. He’s open, but Flash comes from out of nowhere, snatches the ball, and takes off. In a blur, he’s past the orange jerseys and running free to the end zone. Harden cracks his first smile of the day, astounded at both Flash’s incredible interception and the lopsided score. The reality of everything hits, fueling an uncharacteristically energetic celebration on the sideline. 28-3, Knights. Broncos ball, third and goal from the ten, 2:23 to go in the third quarter. Everyone in the stadium knows it’s four-down territory, including Harden, who calls a relatively passive play. Manning drops back. Brock and Grantzinger blitz. The secondary has everything covered. Luck almost breaks through on a stunt, pushing Manning back. Grantzinger, being blatantly held, gets a hand on Manning’s jersey. The quarterback tries to roll right, but Brock finishes the job, bringing him down on the twenty. The stadium fills with boos as Brock and Grantzinger celebrate together, and the boos get louder when Denver’s field goal unit comes onto the field. The energy on the Knights’ sideline doesn’t fade, even as Prater’s kick splits the uprights. 28-6, Knights. Everett calls the plays and admires his offense at work. Finally, they put together a solid, consistent drive. The running game is still underachieving, but Maverick finds an open receiver on almost every play. He gets Johnson and Wilkes a few catches, though he still has to thread incredibly tight needles to do so. The drive ends the third quarter and shaves a few minutes off the fourth. After a nine-yard catch by Johnson puts them in the red zone, Maverick drops back for first and ten. Denver sends a three-man rush, leaving Maverick an eternity in the pocket. He scans the field from left to right—nothing. He pumps, steps up—nothing. He signals to Jaxson, who runs out of the backfield toward the flat. He pumps again, and a few defenders move toward Jaxson, creating an opening over the middle. Maverick fires through it, and standing at the goal line is Bishop. The pass hits him in the chest, and he falls backward into the end zone without being touched. 35-6, Knights. “Not bad, eh, coach?” Everett says once the sideline frenzy calms down. “Not bad?” Harden says. “It’s a goddamn massacre. Someone tell the refs to start counting to ten.” The blowout continues. Denver’s next possession gets one first down before stalling, though the Knights are unable to force a turnover. (Manning does hit Brock in the back with an errant pass, and Harden lays into him for not having his head turned.) The Knights take over, finally able to emphasize the run game. It still seems futile until Jaxson takes a harmless carry up the middle, finds a seam, cuts toward the sideline to avoid defenders, cuts back upfield, and runs free for a sixty-four-yard touchdown. He performs an elaborate dance routine in the end zone that officials deem worthy of a personal foul. As the extra point unit comes on for the sixth time, the Knights’ running backs coach walks up to Harden. “Want me to set him straight for that, coach?” Harden shakes his head. “Oh, who gives a flying fuck? It’s over.” And it is. The extra point makes it 42-6, Knights, and the Broncos are not scoring five touchdowns in nine minutes. Denver does reach the end zone eventually. Harden plays cover two, and with Flash and Stevenson playing deep, Manning eats up short and intermediate routes over the middle, reaching the end zone but using a lot of clock. After the touchdown, the Broncos don’t bother with an onside kick. The Knights try to run out the clock with the score 42-13, and while the energy would normally die down due to lack of excitement, the players slowly realize they’re about to be crowned American Football Conference champions, and anticipation builds. The final seconds tick off the clock. One last Jameson run for a first down seals it with less than thirty seconds to go, and it’s over. Harden takes off his headset, ready to hand it off and meet Fox on the field. He sees it at the last second. The bright orange container comes straight for him. He ducks, and the cold liquid splashes all over his back. He hears players scream around him but identifies the two main culprits: Luck and Randall. His shirt sticks to his skin courtesy of the yellow liquid; they didn’t even have the courtesy to use water. He makes a mental note for later, smiles, and heads to midfield. The congregation of players, coaches, security, staff, cameramen, and other personnel nearly takes up the entire field. Eventually, everyone is cleared from the center of the grass and a stage goes up. Players and coaches have been briefed on protocols for the ceremony and act accordingly, staying close to the stage and gladly accepting the white hats being passed around that bear their team’s logo and say, “Los Angeles Knights, 2013-14 AFC Champions.” Phillips and Schneider, who look somewhat awkward with their suits and AFC Champion hats, make their way through the crowd, congratulating players along the way. Per his personal policy, Phillips keeps remarks to his players brief, but he eventually finds one comment he repeats: “One more game.” CBS announcer Jim Nantz takes the podium and starts the ceremony with Schneider, Phillips, and Harden on stage with him. He delivers his prepared monologue, then hands the Lamar Hunt Trophy to Schneider. The team owner thanks the fans back in Los Angeles, gives credit to his front office and coaching staff, and hands the trophy to Phillips. He basically repeats Schneider’s comments, thanking the fans and personnel he has around him, and throws in extra praise for Coach Harden and “the tremendous job he’s done in his first year as an NFL head coach.” Phillips hands the trophy off to Harden. After thanking Phillips and Schneider, he first comments on how the Knights still have another game to play. Amongst the crowd of players, “one more game” becomes the refrain, as they enjoy the celebration but start looking ahead to the next two weeks, which will finally decide how their season will end. One more game.
  18. Knights of Andreas Part III Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway OAK RazorStar RevisFan81 Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Thirty-Eight – Foxborough Snow The Wild Card Round ends when a last-second field goal lifts the 49ers past the Packers, 23-20, and only eight football teams are still alive. Hours later, the full Divisional Round schedule is released. The Knights/Patriots game is scheduled for Saturday night, an unlucky break that abbreviates an already critical practice week. Monday morning, Merle Harden and the coaching staff finalize a practice schedule and get to work on the game plan. Harden soon finds himself watching film on Tom Brady with his defensive coaches. All of America, beyond the football world, knows Brady’s name and his business. Everyone in the MedComm Center appreciates the challenge that lies before them this week, trying to beat a team with four Super Bowls in the modern era, one of the greatest quarterback/head coach tandems in league history, in their own house, where forecasts predict sub-freezing temperatures and a 50% chance of snow. Brady’s film inspires comments of awe from the coaches, irritating Harden instantly. “That’s enough,” he says, commanding the entire room’s attention. “We’re not gonna play this game when it comes to Brady. Know why?” A few coaches shake their head. Nobody speaks. “February 1, 2004. Patriots vs. Panthers for the Super Bowl. The memory’s too damn strong in my mind. Of course, when everyone else thinks about that game, they see Brady leading the game-winning drive in the final seconds, one pass at a time, setting up the field goal as time expired. Well, imagine you’re the defensive coordinator he beats. Imagine screaming one play after another, trying to get the coverage right, trying to make a stop, and it doesn’t work. Defeat doesn’t get worse than that, gentlemen.” “That was only your first year in Carolina, right, coach?” “My first year in the league. And afterwards, I felt sorry for myself, thought I had let my players down, all that bullshit. But that game taught me something very important, and in the years since, I’ve learned not to fear defeat. Not against the other team, not against anyone. Certainly not against Tom fucking Brady. I don’t give a damn how many rings he has. Every quarterback in this league is beatable. So, let’s get to work. We’re not here to suck this guy’s dick; we’re here to chop it off.” And so begins preparation for the Patriots. Harden doesn’t waver from simplicity, of course, so the defensive game plan doesn’t take long to construct. Tuesday morning, players march into the MedComm Center, the offseason still at least a week away. And while the gravity of Saturday’s game—and the uneasiness of being underdogs—hangs over the players, they don’t lose their confidence. The Knights endure three days of practice, slightly longer than usual (the coaching staff makes use of every minute the CBA allows), followed by a Friday that is part film review, part final walkthrough, and a late flight to Boston. Saturday, a few hours after noon, temperatures reach 36 degrees Fahrenheit at Gillette Stadium in Foxborough under mostly cloudy conditions. Hours later, when the Saints and Seahawks kick off the first game of the Divisional Round, the temperature is down to 33, with clouds rolling in. Players take the field for practice, all 68,000-plus seats empty. Most wear long sleeves, some wear gloves. Gates open, and fans take their seats in the cold air. Just after 8pm, the Seahawks beat the Saints, 23-15, and both teams run onto the field for kickoff in Foxborough. The temperature is now 27, with crisp, frigid air, dark skies, and no precipitation. The Knights win the coin toss and defer to the second half. After a touchback, the partisan crowd applauds as #12 jogs onto the field, facing off against the Knights’ 3-4 formation. The Patriots come out throwing. Brady hits his receivers on short routes, moving the chains. Kenbrell Thompkins for four yards, Danny Amendola for five, Thompkins for three, Aaron Dobson for six. These short completions don’t worry Harden; the Patriots’ receiving corps is unimpressive, and Julian Edelman will receive the Rose treatment whether he lines up outside or in the slot. Harden’s biggest concern is not, technically, a wide receiver. LeGarrette Blount takes a few carries up the middle, fighting his way through small openings and getting decent yardage. The Patriots eventually face third and three near midfield. Brady fakes a handoff to Blount, looks up the middle, and fires for Rob Gronkowski, who catches it in space. Flash runs in and hits him, but Gronkowski keeps his legs moving, muscling his way for an extra five yards before three Knights finally bring him down. The twenty-three-yard completion puts the Patriots on the edge of field goal range and draws the crowd’s largest applause so far. Gronkowski is the Patriots’ biggest offensive weapon (in multiple ways), and Harden doesn’t have a concrete plan for covering him. The current strategy is a combination of Randall and Flash, but if it becomes necessary, he’s not unwilling to put Rose on him, a tactic he has used before against elite tight ends. Brady drops back to pass on consecutive plays, a clean pocket in front of him. Brock is getting stuffed by Nate Solder, so Brady faces zero pressure from his blind side. Luck and Grantzinger occasionally beat the duo of Dan Connolly and Marcus Cannon, but Brady gets rid of the ball before they can get their hands on him. The drive reaches the nineteen-yard line. An incompletion brings up second and ten. Brady hands off to Blount, and Randall comes surging through a gap, driving Blount to the grass for a two-yard loss. Brady lines up in shotgun on third and twelve while the Knights stay in formation, showing blitz. On the snap, all four linebackers rush, and Brady dumps it off to Dobson in the flat. There’s grass around him, but Knights quickly close in, bringing him down for a six-yard gain. Field goal units take the field, and Stephen Gostkowski nails the thirty-two yarder. 3-0, Patriots. Gillette Stadium cheers, but so does Coach Harden. He claps emphatically on the sideline, directing praise toward his defense. “Good stop, men, good stop!” he says. “How many times did we say it this week? This game is about field goals and touchdowns. The team that settles for field goals is gonna lose. That’s a good stop, and a good way to start.” A commercial and kickoff later, the stadium gets loud as the other #12 takes the field. The Knights start with the run game, Jameson taking multiple carries up the middle for about five yards at a time. The crowd grows quieter with every play as the Knights march down the field without a passing attempt. Though content with the rushing productivity, Maverick looks forward to his first pass of the day. As long as he stays away from Devin McCourty, he likes his matchup on New England’s corners. He especially would love to take advantage of Johnson against Alfonzo Dennard, but only if Johnson breaks out of his recent funk. Maverick stares down Wilkes against Aqib Talib and hits him on a hitch for eight yards. A toss to Jaxson gets the Knights another first down, across midfield. Maverick fakes a handoff and looks over the middle. Pressure makes him step up as Bishop breaks open. He lobs it over the middle—Jerod Mayo gets in front of Bishop and intercepts it. The stadium roars as Mayo cuts to his left. Knights linemen and receivers run him down quickly, but the Patriots still take over on the Knights’ forty-five. Maverick keeps his poker face on the sideline, apologizes to his teammates, and looks at pictures with Coach Everett. “He was open,” Everett says, pointing to one picture snapped just before Maverick released the ball. “Just too much air under the ball. You gotta fire that in there. Is it the cold?” “Maybe,” Maverick says. “I just tried to throw it, normal speed. Should have zipped it, you’re right.” The conversation continues, with other players and coaches chiming in, as the defense yields one first down but forces another field goal attempt, which Gostkowski makes. 6-0, Patriots. The Knights continue to run the ball effectively, and Maverick avoids more errant passes, rarely throwing downfield, but the Patriots step up on a key third down and force a punt. Brady takes over and resumes his dip-and-dunk strategy with no pass rush to bother him. Knights corners and safeties, however, cover closely enough to force a few incompletions, eventually making the Patriots punt. The game becomes a battle of field position with both defenses settling in. Neither team seems bothered by the cold, though neither offense appears willing to be aggressive. The field position tilts in New England’s favor early in the second quarter, with another big play by Gronkowski putting the Patriots in field goal range. The defense holds, forcing Gostkowski to attempt a forty-six yard kick that sails wide right. The Knights offense comes back on the field, feeling some momentum on their side. Coach Everett calls a pass play to start the drive, and Maverick hits Wilkes on a post for thirteen yards. Grodd and Penner continue dominating the heart of the Patriots’ run defense, and Jameson and Jaxson take advantage. Maverick distributes the ball to everyone except Johnson, who can’t get separation on his routes. Still, Maverick finds himself on a tear, throwing five straight completions and reaching the red zone. First and ten. Maverick takes a snap in shotgun and goes through his reads. Everyone is covered, but he has plenty of time against a three-man rush. Pressure eventually comes up the middle, so Maverick rolls left. With most receivers running right, the field is wide open, and Watson emerges from the crowd on a crossing route. Maverick hits him in stride. Watson bolts for the corner of the end zone, diving for the pylon but coming up a yard short. First and goal. After getting stuffed on his first attempt, Jameson takes the ball up the middle and punches it through, silencing the Foxborough crowd. 7-6, Knights. As the second quarter clock crosses the five-minute mark, Brady connects to Amendola over the middle for an eight-yard pass, a first down that puts the Patriots on the edge of field goal range. The home team is in the middle of a firm response to Los Angeles’ touchdown, while the Knights defense is on its heels. After calling the next play, Harden sees Gronkowski line up on the left side of the formation. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to remind his linebackers what to do: Brock and Grantzinger flip, with Grantzinger covering Gronkowski and Brock rushing from Brady’s right. Brady drops back to pass. Grantzinger has the 6’6” tight end covered, but Brock can’t get around Cannon. Brady hits Amendola again, who spins around Martin’s would-be tackle and accelerates into the secondary for another first down. The cheers grow louder as Harden screams the next call into his headset. Brady hands off to Blount, who finds a hole up the middle for six yards, putting the Patriots inside the red zone. The Knights show an all-out blitz, though only Martin is coming. Brady drops back and stares down Gronkowski. Flash runs to cover him as he runs a corner route into the end zone. Brady lofts the pass and Flash makes a break for it. Both jump for the ball, but Gronkowski outreaches Flash, comes down with the pass, and spikes the ball into the cold grass with the crowd in full celebration. 13-7, Patriots. The Knights offense responds with its continued rhythm and effectiveness until a missed block leads to a sack on second down, bringing up third and sixteen. Everett calls a screen to Jaxson that nets seven yards, and the Knights punt it away. The Patriots get the ball back with 2:18 to go, but prospects of a two-minute drive end when Luck breaks through and brings down Brady, notching the Knights’ first sack of the day. The Knights ultimately get the ball back deep in their own territory with no time left. Maverick takes a knee to end the first half. The sudden warmth of the locker room reminds players how cold it is outside. They savor the temporary comfort while coaches get to work. The mood is much different from last week; though trailing by six could be considered exceeding expectations, the Knights need to make a lot of adjustments. “What do you want to do about Gronk, coach?” the secondary coach asks Harden, unsurprisingly the first decision he must make. “We’ll stick to it for now, but tell Malik we might call on him at any time.” “I’m sure he knows that, coach.” “Tell him anyway. Now,” he says, turning to his defensive line coach, “the lack of pass rush is unacceptable. That’s priority number one.” The minutes pass quickly, and before long, players put their black helmets back on and march back out the tunnel toward the field. One by one, they catch sight of a hazy fog on the field. A few steps closer, and there’s no fog at all. It’s snowing. A thin layer of soft ice covers the field, still a dirty, faded shade of green, markers still visible, but flurries fall from the sky in what meteorologists would categorize as “light snow.” The air feels colder than it did in the first half, but perhaps that’s just because everyone has just spent twenty minutes indoors. During the kickoff, Maverick waits to take the field as an equipment manager approaches, two gloves in his hand. “Need these for the snow, Mav?” “I don’t think so. Maybe for my left hand, but I’ll let you know after the first series.” After a few runs, Maverick fires a bullet pass with a perfect spiral that hits Bishop in the hands, and he decides he doesn’t need gloves. A few plays later, however, pressure rushes a pass into coverage that gets deflected out of bounds, and the Knights punt. The Patriots take the field. Linebackers bottle up Blount on first down, and the secondary covers everyone on second, leaving Brady to settle for a two-yard pass to Dobson. Brady drops back on third and eight. Harden watches Grantzinger break off the edge, but Brady steps up and fires downfield. Gronkowski runs through a seam, splitting Randall and Flash. He leaps to catch the pass, Flash misses the tight end on his dive, clipping Randall instead, and Gronkowski runs free with the ball. Rose runs him down, reaching him at midfield and wrangling him to the snowy grass at the forty-four. The crowd, which has been quiet since halftime, cheers. “That didn’t take long,” Harden says, more disappointed than angry. With Randall and Flash essentially doubling Gronkowski on every play, Brady finds other receivers (except Edelman, of course, still trapped by Rose) for short gains. A few more runs by Blount put New England on the twenty. First and ten. Randall relay’s Harden’s call—outside blitz—and prepares to cover Gronkowski alone. The tight end runs forward on the snap, then cuts to Brady’s right. Randall cuts with him, a step behind. The pass comes in on target, and Gronkowski catches it at the ten. Randall aims low for a tackle, but a firm stiff arm cripples him to the ground, forcing him to watch through his snow-covered facemask as Gronkowski runs into the end zone and spikes the ball dramatically. Fans in Gillette Stadium toss snow into the air for the touchdown. From Chance Phillips’ executive suite, it’s a remarkable sight—and one he’d admire if it were a celebration in his own team’s favor. The first half had made Phillips confident, but now, down 20-7, Phillips wonders if this is the end of the line for the Knights. He subconsciously thinks of the expiring contracts of Luck, Veldheer, Penner, Jaxson, and others—of an offseason that could be hours away. On the sideline, Harden deliberates his options about how to limit the Patriots’ seemingly unstoppable weapon. He doesn’t need his assistant coaches to ask before he decides. “Ah, fuck it, Edelman doesn’t scare me. Malik!” “Yeah, coach?” Rose says, looking up from the bench. “You’re on Gronk duty. Shut that goofy-faced motherfucker down.” Maverick’s pass finds Wilkes on a wheel route for twenty yards, taking the Knights across midfield. The next, play, Jaxson takes a toss, accelerates into open space, and surges for eighteen yards. Jameson spells Jaxson and runs up the middle, jukes Brandon Spikes, and hits the secondary. McCourty lowers his shoulders, but Jameson runs him over, falling forward for an extra five yards. Coach Everett hurriedly calls the next play, ecstatic at his offense’s response. The Knights have gone nearly fifty yards in three plays. Maverick drops back to pass with a clean pocket. He surveys his options, but the Patriots have everyone covered. He rolls right and shovels the ball to Jaxson, emerging out of the backfield. Three Patriots converge to the goal line where Jaxson aims, but he leaps as high in the air as he can, gets hit in the legs, and spirals into the end zone. He jumps up from the ground and spikes the football. 20-14, Patriots. On the ensuing Patriots possession, all eyes focus on #87, especially Harden’s. He watches both his defense and Brady as Gronkowski lines up in the slot, covered by #25. Brady doesn’t look Gronkowski’s way during the drive, which gets only one first down before a punt. The Knights’ next drive is no better. Everett calls three consecutive pass plays, wanting to keep Maverick in rhythm, but a combination of overthrows and a deflected pass yields three incompletions. The Patriots take over and go back to the run game, but the Knights run defense is in top form, and on third and nine, Luck and Randall break through on a blitz, forcing Brady to throw it away. Maverick retakes the field with his eyes on #80. If the Knights are going to win this game, Johnson will have to get involved. Lining up to Maverick’s left most plays, Johnson stares down Dennard, the corner he has been unable to beat. He runs routes like normal, gets no separation, and Maverick looks elsewhere. Second and seven. Johnson and Wilkes both line up to the right, but Wilkes motions out, leaving Johnson and Dennard isolated. Johnson breaks on the snap, cuts left as if running a post, then cuts back toward the sideline. He looks to his quarterback and sees him hurry the pass, under pressure. But Dennard has him covered perfectly and gets in front of the pass. Johnson brings him down as he catches it, and the stadium rocks for the interception. Fully knowing that was on him, Johnson sulks back to the bench, picks a spot, and enjoys the quiet while it lasts. He sees Maverick walking straight for him and braces himself, not looking forward to what is about to happen. Maverick takes a seat next to his receiver, shockingly casual—it seems, at least. “It’s the knee, isn’t it?” Maverick asks. “What?” Johnson says, staggered and confused. “The knee. You hyperextended it a few weeks back and you haven’t been yourself since. Is it still hurt?” “No. Trainers say I’m good to go.” “Then what’s going on, Alex? We’ve hit that play a thousand times. Whatever the problem is, you better figure it the fuck out. We need you to win this game.” At the edge of the sideline, Harden watches in fear as Brady sets up shop at midfield. The Patriots get a few first downs easily, continuing to move the chains one short pass or run at a time. This, Harden decides, is why playing New England is so frustrating. He can stop them from getting large chunks of yardage, but they always get some. And for them, some is always enough. With Rose holding Gronkowski out of the game (for now), the drive stalls at the twenty-six. Gostkowski comes out for the forty-three yarder, a difficult kick in this weather, and knocks it through. 23-14, Patriots. During the Knights’ next drive, players are both surprised and scared when the third quarter ends. They hold four fingers in the air, looking defiant but secretly worried this could be their last quarter of the season. Johnson refocuses one play at a time. With each route, he tries to plant his leg harder into the ground. He feels he’s getting something back, especially on routes where he plants with the good knee, and Maverick eventually hits him on an out for his first completion of the day. A few plays later, the Knights face third and four. Maverick fakes a handoff to Jameson and looks deep—Chandler Jones drives him to the ground. As the punt team trots on, many players and coaches look up at the scoreboard: 11:35 and counting. The Patriots go to a run heavy offense, declaring their intention to milk the clock. Brady lets the play clock tick under five seconds before every snap. A Blount run sets up a first down with the clock still ticking. Randall calls the defense’s next play and notices the Patriots’ formation: four wide receivers, Gronkowski next to the right tackle. This is a play where he and Flash cover the tight end, not Rose. Brady takes the snap, and Gronkowski runs into the flat. Randall keeps his distance. Brady fires a pass, and Gronkowski turns upfield. He runs to avoid Rose, in pursuit, and Randall lowers his shoulders. He drives his helmet forward, spiking the ball out of Gronkowski’s hands. The pigskin bounces in the snow, goes through the hands of multiple players on both sides, eventually resting, visible for a brief moment before countless players pile on, desperate for possession. Somehow, Grantzinger emerges from the pile while everyone else is still jostling, football in hand, and the Knights take over. As the Knights line up, Coach Everett calls a pass, well aware he has been too one-sided with his play-calling lately, but there’s no time to correct it; the Knights trail by two scores with less than nine minutes to go. Johnson lines up in the slot with Watson next to him, ready to run a wheel. Maverick snaps the ball from shotgun. Johnson runs to the flat, looks back as if to catch the pass, digs his right cleat into the wet grass, and cuts upfield. He concentrates on his running for a second, then looks back. He barely has time to register that he’s beaten Dennard before a perfect pass flies into his hands. He focuses on running again, sprinting in a straight line down the sideline, difficult to make out against the snow. McCourty runs him down eventually, and he looks up, genuinely unsure where on the field he is. He gets mobbed in celebration before he realizes the Knights are on the fifteen-yard-line. While Johnson gasps for air on the sideline, Maverick drops back to pass again. A blitz comes—just what he wanted. He floats the ball to the corner of the end zone, where Bishop catches it in stride. Touchdown, Knights. Confidence is restored to the visitors’ sideline. It’s 23-21, Patriots, 7:46 to play. New England comes out firing. Rose may have Gronkowski covered now, but Brady gets Edelman involved with two passes for seventeen yards and a first down. Harden calls more unique blitzes and bump-and-run coverage, desperate for a sack. The pass rush improves, but Brady still realizes the ball too quickly for it to matter. Brady gets one first down after another with precision passing, taking the clock with him. Harden looks up after every play, watching the numbers pass six minutes, then five, then four. Continued balance and effectiveness puts the Patriots at the twenty-one with 3:57 and counting left on the clock. Seeing a formation he doesn’t like, Harden calls timeout. Randall jogs toward the sideline, and Harden meets him on the field. “We need a stop here,” Harden says. “Our offense needs time. Keeping them out of the end zone on the next series isn’t good enough. The stand has to be now. Got it?” “Yes, sir.” Randall jogs back onto the field, where a huddle has formed. “Okay. This is it. No more first downs. Whatever happens, they do not cross that first down marker. Understood?” Everyone nods. “This is our season, guys. We fail tonight, we’re cleaning out lockers on Monday. Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.” First and ten. Blount takes a carry up the middle, met by both Randall and Martin after only one yard. Second and nine. Brady fires to Edelman on a receiver screen. Edelman gets past one defender, but Flash brings him down five yards later. Third and three. Harden calls a blitz, ready for a run or pass. The Patriots line up in an I-formation. Brady lets the clock wind and snaps the ball with 2:04 left. Blitzing linebackers converge on Blount, but he doesn’t have the ball—play-action. In the secondary, Rose battles with Gronkowski while Grantzinger somehow ends up on Amendola. The receiver beats Grantzinger, running free toward the end zone. Brady steps up, looking there, but Brock blindsides him, plowing him to the grass. Officials signal the two-minute warning and freeze the clock at 1:56. During the commercial break, Harden showers his defense with praise. They got a stop when they needed to. Now, the offense will get its chance. Even if Gostkowski makes the field goal, a touchdown wins the game. The Knights play passive, leery of a fake, and Gostkowski’s thirty-seven yarder goes down the middle. 26-21, Patriots. The snow lets up a degree, though flurries still fall from the sky, and the field is as white and slippery as it’s been all day. Maverick gathers everyone in the huddle. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, would we? We got 1:52 to go, two timeouts, and a touchdown wins. This is what we play for, fellas. Everyone relax. Just do your job. One first down at a time.” The crowd comes to its feet for one of the most dramatic situations in football: the two-minute drill, a do-or-die scenario to decide a playoff game. Maverick takes advantage of loose coverage and works the sidelines, looking up at the clock after every play. Wilkes for five yards. 1:47. Johnson for six. 1:42. Bishop for six. 1:36. Maverick looks to Wilkes again, but the sideline is covered. He looks over the middle, steps up, and hits Bishop on a crossing route for twelve yards, signaling timeout to the nearest official before Bishop hits the ground. The clock stops at 1:27, the Knights at midfield. Coach Everett calls a play Maverick finds odd: a screen to Jaxson. The formation sets, and Maverick doesn’t like what he sees. He audibles, screaming the call against the rising crowd noise. He takes the snap as pressure comes up the middle. He rolls right and stares down Johnson, running for the end zone but covered. He fires toward the sideline just as Johnson breaks, and the pass hits him in the chest. He dives for the sideline, but Dennard brings him down. 1:16, 1:15… Maverick hurries to the line, wanting to save his last timeout. He calls the play and gets everyone lined up on the thirty-yard line. He takes the snap. Nobody looks open, and more pass rush comes over the edge. Maverick rolls left, still not finding anyone open, and lofts it out of bounds. 0:52. After Everett radios the next call, he adds, “Coverage was a little soft on that play, so we’re gonna work the sidelines again.” That’s fine for Maverick. He drops back and hits Bishop in the flat. He runs upfield a few yards, jogging out of bounds. 0:45. He goes back to Wilkes, still reliable on his out routes, gaining seven yards and a first down. Only 0:37 left, but the Knights are sixteen yards away from the end zone. No one on the Knights sideline is sitting. Everyone tries to get the best view possible, though Coach Everett and the offensive staff have plenty of room to work. The home crowd plays its part, making noise on every play. Maverick drops back and stares down Wilkes. He looks open, but McCourty lurks over the top. He fires it anyway. Wilkes and McCourty converge in the end zone, but Wilkes jumps higher. The ball hits his hands, bobbles, and falls to the grass. Maverick and his teammates nearly fall over in disappointment while the home crowd enjoys a moment of relief. “Right in your hands, D-Jam,” Maverick says in the huddle. “This fucking snow, man.” “The snow? Really? Anyone else want to blame the snow?” Maverick looks around the huddle. His anger fades, and he wonders if calling out D-Jam in front of everyone was the best move, but it’s too late now. “I got you next time, Mav.” “You better.” Maverick lines up in shotgun with three receivers to his right. He takes the snap and fakes a throw as if a screen is developing. The Patriots don’t bite and have everything covered. With space in front of him, Maverick runs forward. Linebackers converge, and he slides through the snow after a five-yard gain. 0:24, 0:23… Whistles blow everything dead as both Everett and Harden scream for the timeout. As Maverick jogs toward the sideline, he sizes up the situation: eleven yards away, twenty-three seconds, third and five. Four-down territory. No timeouts. Everett and Maverick agree on a quick play designed to either reach the end zone or go out of bounds. Maverick returns to the huddle and relays the call. He lines up under center with Wilkes wide left, Johnson and Watson right. Wilkes looks doubled, so Maverick calls for Bishop to switch to the left side, putting the Knights’ best receivers on one side of the field. The defense shifts accordingly. Seeing the play clock low, Maverick starts the cadence and motions Watson to the left. A corner goes with him, leaving Johnson and Dennard isolated on the right side of the field. It clicks immediately. One hot route and the Knights have a touchdown. But the play clock is at 0:02. Maverick doesn’t have time to shout the audible, so he calls it with his eyes. Please understand this, Alex. He looks at the corner, then Johnson, and takes the snap. Johnson cuts across the field on a slant, per the play call, looking at his quarterback. He hopes he and Maverick are on the same page. He cuts right, toward the end zone, separating from Dennard. Maverick throws it up at the same time. He absorbs a big hit and falls back, sliding on the snow, watching the pass drift, slightly underthrown. Johnson leaps, gets both hands on it, and falls to the ground. Dennard tries to wrestle the ball loose, but Johnson doesn’t let go. Officials run in to check for possession and make their call. Touchdown, Knights. Chaos unfolds on the sideline as coaches try to set up the two-point conversion. The Knights eventually get in formation, and Maverick drops back, seeing nobody covered. He tries a lob to Wilkes that sails out of the back of the end zone, and the score remains 27-26, Knights. As he returns to the sidelines, Maverick receives relentless praise from his teammates and coaches. He feels like he’s back at Penn State for a moment, unable to register everything that has happened. Eventually, Coach Harden makes his way to the bench to see the quarterback. “That was some Tom Brady shit, Mav,” Harden says. “You’re something else. Great fucking job.” “Thanks, coach,” Maverick says, shaking hands with the head coach. The kickoff return brings the clock to 0:17, with which the Patriots can only manage a few short catches and a Hail Mary attempt that lands ten yards short of the end zone. Fans head up snow-covered stairs for the exits, forced to deal with the anguish of their team going one and done. The Knights, meanwhile, storm the field. Coach Harden, normally a walker, jogs to midfield to shake hands with Belichick, unknowingly avoiding a Gatorade bath in the process. Plenty of cameras capture the quick handshake, as well as the meeting of both men wearing #12. Similar exchanges take place between players, but the dark blue jerseys make their way off the field, leaving the Knights to celebrate in the snow.
  19. Knights of Andreas Part III Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway OAK RazorStar RevisFan81 Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Thirty-Seven – January Monday morning, ESPN tapes the day’s show of Around the Horn, with, predictably, most airtime covering the NFL: who made the playoffs, who missed them, which teams are Super Bowl favorites, which coaches should get fired. After two rounds of discussion, they get to a topic titled “AFC West.” Tony Reali, show host: “Some chaos in the AFC for the final wild-card spot. The Kansas City Chiefs, after starting 9-0, are out. The Los Angeles Knights, who were 3-5 at one point, are in. So which is a bigger story, Cowlishaw: the Chiefs’ collapse or the Knights’ hot streak?” Tim Cowlishaw, in Dallas: “It’s gotta be the Chiefs, and you said it, Reali. From 9-0 to 10-6, they lost six of their last seven. That’s the definition of the word ‘collapse.’ Listen, I don’t want to take away from the Knights, because they had to do their part or K.C. still would have gotten in, but when you start a football season 9-0, you gotta make the playoffs. If you don’t end up with the #1 seed, fine. You don’t win your division and have to settle for a wild card, that’s okay. But missing the playoffs entirely? That can’t happen. Chiefs fans have to be sick to their stomachs right now.” Reali: “Israel, agree or disagree?” Israel Gutierrez, in Miami: “Disagree all the way. The Chiefs have been overrated all year. Look at their schedule. Nobody should be surprised they piled some losses on at the end of the season when they started playing tough opponents, and nobody should be surprised to see Andy Reid in a situation like this. The story here is Los Angeles. They went 7-1 the second half of the season, a stretch during which their defense is giving up 13 points per game, Cowlishaw. You know who else did that during the second half of the year? Seattle! That defense we love to hype up so much. So, when you look at the Knights, they’re a team that took some time to come together under the leadership of a new head coach. They’re playing as good football as anyone in the league and should be considered very dangerous in the AFC.” Chance Phillips walks into the MedComm Center like a king. This time last year, he was weathering the aftermath of Caden Daniel’s firing. In keeping up with the league, Phillips surveys the list of Black Monday casualties this year: Rob Chudzinski in Cleveland, Leslie Frazier in Minnesota, Greg Schiano in Tampa Bay, Jim Schwartz in Detroit, and Mike Shanahan in Washington. Those five franchises now enter a tumultuous and critical period Phillips knows all too well, a period he has finally escaped. In a sport where reputation depends so heavily on concrete achievements—wins, Pro Bowls, division titles, championships—Phillips has gotten the greatest insurance policy of all: his team has made the playoffs in his fourth year. Instead of holding front office meetings to determine possible head coaching candidates, Phillips sits in on coaching staff meetings aimed at designing a game plan to beat the Bengals this Sunday. Tuesday morning, players pack in the MedComm Center auditorium for an address from their head coach, happily knowing this is not a year-end speech, and they will not be clearing out their lockers when it’s over. “Congratulations, men,” Coach Harden says once the team has assembled, everyone on time. “Twelve out of thirty-two teams in the playoffs, and we’re one of them. In case the shock of that hasn’t gotten out of anyone’s system, please take a moment and get it over with.” Harden pauses, and the auditorium remains silent. A few players look around at each other with puzzled faces. “Good. Then let’s get on with it. Most players on this team, and most coaches, have never been to the playoffs until now. And that doesn’t worry me one damn bit. For those of you who have actually had the privilege of playing football in January, go ahead and think back to those games. Because the rest of the team wants to know what the big secret is, and I want all of us to give them a good answer.” Malik Rose thinks of the Super Bowl XLIII ring locked in a safe at home, a ring he did almost nothing to earn during his rookie season with the Steelers. Two years later, he got a little more action in nickel and dime situations but still played a minor role as the Steelers reached the Super Bowl and lost. Marlon Martin also thinks about a ring he won with Pittsburgh, from Super Bowl XL. His services were limited, as they were for too long, to special teams. In the eight years and four teams that have followed, he’s only seen the playoffs once, going one-and-done his last year with the Falcons. Logan Bishop has been to a Super Bowl, part of the infamous 18-1 Patriots team that lost to the Giants, but as a rookie buried on the depth chart, he hardly saw the field. The Patriots played one playoff game each of his final two years in New England, but as the team’s third tight end, playing time was still hard to come by. Da’Jamiroquai Jefferspin-Wilkes purses his lips, preferring not to relive his second year in the league. The Seahawks, despite a 7-9 record, won the NFC West and beat the Saints in dramatic fashion before being eliminated in the Divisional Round. But Wilkes never experienced any of it. After week 16, his eight-game suspension was over and the Seahawks promptly released him. Many players look to Brian Penner when the topic of experience is brought up, but Penner, the oldest veteran starter on the team, never reached the postseason during his time with the Vikings and Bills. “The answer is: there is no answer,” Harden says. “I’ve been to the playoffs three times, one Super Bowl included. You want to know how playoff football is different? It’s more intense. Big surprise. Intense. In the same way the fourth quarter is more intense than the first. There’s no secret formula to winning in the playoffs except winning. It’s another football game. I know you’ve all heard that before, but you really have to believe it. It’s a battle between two teams that only one will win. And if we do too much damn thinking, that’s not gonna be us. Remember that as you prepare this week. We played these guys a few months ago and beat ‘em good. We’re gonna beat ‘em again.” Players nod, confident and ready for the game plan. “Oh, one more thing before you all break off into positional groups. Tonight, as we all know, is New Year’s Eve, and I don’t want any partying. You want to celebrate a new year? Let’s have a good week of practice and be ready for Sunday. Anyone comes in tomorrow morning too tired, and we’ll really see some balls drop.” Game tape of the Cincinnati Bengals defense shows in one of the larger meeting rooms in the MedComm Center as Coach Everett guides his entire offense through an introductory presentation. “We’ve caught something of a break,” Everett says. “As you all remember from playing these guys last time, Geno Atkins is a monster. Well, you may not remember because Penner handled him pretty good. This Sunday, he’ll be nursing a torn ACL, so they have a big weakness at defensive tackle. Grodd? Penner? Zeitler?” The team’s two guards and center smile. “We’ll take care of it, coach,” Chase Grodd says. “Our pleasure,” Penner says. “Good,” Everett says. “I know we came out firing last time and it worked, but this time we’re gonna be a bit more balanced. We’ve had a lot of success lately by using the run to set up the pass, and this week will be no different.” A small group of linebackers sits in a tiny room with game tape projected onto one of the walls. The four starters sit in the front row, with Coach Harden running the projector in the back. Knights linebackers are the position group that sees the most of their head coach throughout the week; Harden simultaneously holds titles of head coach, defensive coordinator, and linebackers coach. “I want us, as a team, to keep an eye on this Bernard fucker,” Harden says, showing tape of running back Giovani Bernard, catching passes out of the backfield. “As a runner he’s nothing special but in space, on the outside—well, just think of him as Jaxson. In fact, we’re gonna use Jaxson as our Bernard clone this week. Whoever’s on him in coverage, make sure you don’t cheat in looking for a sack, bite on play-action, or anything stupid. If you’re supposed to cover Bernard, you cover Bernard. No bullshit. Everyone clear?” “Yes, sir,” the linebackers murmur. Harden looks at the small crowd and notices one in the front row slumped over in his chair. “Sean! Are you paying attention?” “Yeah,” Brock says, sitting up suddenly. “Zack,” Harden says, “do me a favor.” “Yeah, coach?” “Hit him.” Grantzinger smacks the back of Brock’s head, launching him into an even taller sitting position. A smaller group of larger men goes through a similar presentation in an adjacent room. “Now look here,” the defensive line coach says. “As you all can see, we’re up against a pretty good O-line this week. Last time, we jumped out to a big lead and forced them to get away from the run a little bit. We may not have that advantage this time.” Sam Luck focuses on Cincinnati’s right tackle, Andre Smith. He got the better of Smith a few months ago and looks forward to doing so again. “If there’s a weak link, it’s at center,” coach says, highlighting Kyle Cook. “Especially weak in pass protection. Anthrax, that’s on you.” Damian “Anthrax” Jones, the team’s solidified starting nose tackle, nods. He hasn’t had a respectable season rushing the passer, but he’s definitely confident about shutting down the run. “I don’t have to tell any of you about A.J. Green,” the secondary coach says, looking at Malik Rose. “He won’t be a problem,” Rose says. “I’m sure he won’t. For the rest of you, Marvin Jones has turned into a pretty solid receiver. Ten touchdowns this year. He concerns me a lot more than Sanu. Richard, you’ve got whoever’s outside, obviously, but Flash, whenever Jones is in the slot running downfield, he’s yours.” Griswold “Flash” Johnson nods, looking forward to shutting down the 6’2” receiver. January 1, 2014. A new year, and a new era for the Knights as the media’s NFL focus shifts completely to the twelve teams in the playoffs, Los Angeles among them. As the #6 seed, a win this weekend would mean they travel to New England in the Divisional Round, a fate every AFC team would prefer to avoid. The Knights have gone from irrelevant to dark horse to talk of the league. Many analysts pick them to beat the Bengals, citing their recent hot streak as well as a lack of confidence in Andy Dalton. To those who make projections for the entire postseason, however, very few have them getting past New England. Saturday, a few hours after the Knights land in Cincinnati, the Colts and Chargers play an exciting, high-scoring game. The Colts end up with the ball last, Andrew Luck leads a fourth quarter touchdown drive, and the Colts win, 35-34, eliminating the Chargers, along with the intriguing possibility of the Knights playing their old coach in January. In primetime, the Saints and Eagles play a close, back-and-forth game culminating in a last-second field goal attempt that Shayne Graham makes, and the Saints win, 26-24. Sunday afternoon, the Knights and Bengals take the field at Paul Brown Stadium. The weather is cloudy and cool, 42 degrees Fahrenheit at kickoff, the coldest weather the Knights have seen all season by far. Many players and coaches wear long sleeves, a season first. The atmosphere for the players is, just as Coach Harden predicted, intense. A higher sense of gravity surrounds the pre-game rituals, and the national anthem sounds a little more dramatic than usual. Before long, the Bengals win the coin toss, defer to the second half, and the Knights start their first playoff drive. Under center, Jonathan Maverick hands off to Jerome Jaxson. He runs through a hole and jukes a linebacker en route to an eight-yard gain. Jaxson takes another carry, speeding through the middle for an easy first down. On the sidelines, Coach Everett keeps the run plays coming, happy his offense’s game plan is already working. The Knights’ interior offensive line dominates, opening up lanes for Jaxson and Marcus Jameson. Everett mixes in a few quick passing plays, Maverick hits his receivers for short gains, and the Knights cross midfield with ease. The home crowd gets quieter as the Knights’ impressive drive continues, anchored by the run game. A few runs later, including a Jaxson sweep that gets seventeen yards, the Knights enter the red zone. Maverick fakes a handoff to Jameson and looks to Wilkes on a wheel route. Wilkes gets a little separation and sees the pass come his way. He leaps, catches it, and comes down, falling between the end zone and sideline. He raises his arms for a touchdown, but the official signals complete pass, down at the one-yard-line. Everyone looks up to the replay screen, and it looks like Wilkes may have gotten the ball over before his knee came down out of bounds. “Want to challenge it, coach?” Everett asks. “Not worth risking a timeout,” Harden says. “Punch it in, Tom.” The Knights send in their goal line offense, with Jameson in the backfield. He takes the carry up the middle and powers through easily. 7-0, Knights. The Knights defense takes the field against Andy Dalton and the Bengals offense. BenJarvus Green-Ellis gets an early workload, attacking the right side of the Knights’ run defense. This manages a first down, and it appears both offenses are employing the same strategy. Anticipating another run on first and ten, the Knights are caught off guard by a quick pass to Jermaine Gresham, who runs through the seam to midfield before being tackled. The Bengals balance run and pass, gaining yards steadily, as the Knights prevent any big plays. This eventually leads to third and three from the Knights’ thirty-one. Dalton takes a snap from shotgun. Bernard runs into the flat and Grantzinger picks him up. Behind a clean pocket, Dalton surveys other options and throws for Tyler Eifert. Briggs Randall dives and swats the ball away, bringing up fourth down. The field goal units take the field, and Mike Nugent knocks the forty-eight yarder through. 7-3, Knights. “Not bad, not bad,” Harden says to his defense on the sideline during the ensuing commercial. “Need more pass rush, though. We start giving Dalton too much time and he will pick us apart. I don’t care how red his hair is.” The Grodd/Penner tandem continues attacking Cincinnati’s interior defense, with the Jaxson/Jameson duo reaping the rewards. This strategy keeps the clock moving, and players are surprised to look up after a first down to see the first quarter nearly over. After an incompletion and a stuffed running attempt, it’s third and nine. Maverick sees Watson break open on an out route but overthrows him, and the punt team makes its first appearance of the day. The Bengals’ ensuing drive carries over into the second quarter. Their stick to a run-first offense, with Jones doing his best against center Kyle Cook. He wins some battles and loses others, but Randall and Marlon Martin hold their own behind him, preventing big runs. After a first down, Luck gets penetration and brings down Bernard for a two-yard loss. Dalton drops back to pass on second and third down, misfiring for open receivers both times, and the Bengals punt. With good field position, the Knights stick with the run, but Maverick is eager to attack a matchup he has identified: Bishop against Rey Maualuga. Bishop doesn’t have a lot of speed, but Maualuga is liable in coverage, and Maverick likes his chances of exploiting this. After a three-yard carry by Jameson, Maverick drops back and hits Bishop over the middle for a first down, crossing midfield. Eager to keep attacking, Maverick reluctantly hands off on consecutive plays. Jameson gets four yards up the middle, then Jaxson takes a toss play all the way to the sideline for another four yards, and it’s third and two from the Bengals’ forty. “Before I call it, coach,” Everett says to Harden, “are we going on fourth if we don’t get anything?” “Bet your ass we are,” Harden says. “The whole playbook’s open.” Everett radios a play-action call to Maverick as the Cincinnati crowd rises to its feet. Maverick shouts the call in the huddle and the Knights set up in a bunch formation with only one receiver, Wilkes out right. The Bengals stack the box, honing in on Jameson in the backfield. Maverick takes the snap and sells the handoff. Rushers come free, forcing him to roll right. Wilkes is doubled over the top, so Maverick prepares to throw it away—he sees Bishop on the opposite sideline, running free. He fires the ball across his body, sending a bullet pass over the field and hitting Bishop in stride. He runs inside the twenty with a defender closing in, inside the ten, and gets tripped up from behind, his elbow touching out of bounds around the three-yard line. The crowd goes silent, the Knights sideline’s celebration becoming audible. The offense jogs to the red zone for first and goal as the play clock ticks down. By the time the formation is set, Maverick has to snap the ball without studying the defense. He hands off to Jameson, who hits a hole and runs into the end zone for the touchdown. Coach Harden stands a few feet onto the field, high-fiving every player on the offense as they come back to the sideline. It’s celebrations and high fives all around, with the Knights in full control, up 14-3. Dalton drops back to pass and the Knights send a four-man rush. Jones goes at it with Cook but can’t get around him. Neither can anyone else, as Dalton enjoys a clean pocket and finds Marvin Jones for a twelve-yard completion. Jones lines up, ready for another crack at Cook, but the Bengals’ offensive line slides to his right. Jones tries to slide with them but gets pushed to the ground, opening a massive hole. Bernard runs with the football through the opening, jukes Martin, and reaches the secondary. He jukes Flash, who manages to get a hand on one of his legs, spinning him around, eventually hitting the ground near midfield. As the stadium comes back to life, Harden screams the next play call into his headset, furious that the Knights’ momentum is being taken away so quickly. They’ve already earned themselves a huge advantage in the second quarter, but are in the process of pissing it away. From the edge, Brock gets ready to cover the flat, hoping no one comes his way so he can go after Dalton. The ball is snapped, and Bernard runs out of the backfield straight toward Brock. Wonderful. He stays with the running back as he runs toward the sideline, then cuts back toward the field. Brock cuts with him, but gets turned around. He almost doesn’t see Bernard cut back toward the sideline, sprinting to catch up as Bernard hauls in a pass. Brock dives and misses, left to watch Bernard turn upfield all the way to the twenty-two. “Jesus Christ,” Harden says. “I’m gonna kill these guys.” With the crowd behind them, the Bengals line up for first and ten with Dalton in shotgun. From the goal line, Flash checks out their receivers, noticing Marvin Jones in the slot. Showtime. Dalton takes the snap and drops back as Flash runs down Jones, leaving enough space for Dalton to throw a potential interception. He does, lofting the ball toward the corner of the end zone. Jones runs for it, appearing wide open, but Flash closes the gap and swats the ball away defiantly. “No sir! No fucking sir!” Jones doesn’t say anything, simply jogging back to the huddle. “That’s right! Run away like a baby. Don’t fucking try me again.” Second and ten. Dalton hands off to Bernard, and the Knights manage to collapse the offensive line, bringing him down after only two yards. Still incensed, Harden calls a blitz for third and eight, desperate to end this drive and escape without surrendering a touchdown. The Bengals line up with four receivers while the Knights stay in their 3-4, Grantzinger and Brock ready to go after Dalton. From shotgun, Dalton takes the snap and rolls left. Grantzinger rushes wide, getting pushed back, but runs within reach of Dalton. He extends his arm, grabbing the quarterback’s jersey. He stops, gets both hands on him, and throws him to the ground for a seven-yard loss. Grantzinger accepts praise from his teammates but sees a scowl from his head coach on the edge of the sideline. “Zack and Flash, nice work. The rest of you are playing like shit. Wake the fuck up.” Mike Nugent’s kick carries right but splits the uprights. 14-6, Knights. Things calm down a bit as the second quarter ticks away. The Knights get a first down thanks to Alex Johnson’s first catch of the day but fail to convert a few plays later when a Jaxson toss gets swallowed up on third and two. The Bengals mount an impressive drive, challenging Coach Harden as much as he’s been challenged all year. His opponent, offensive coordinator Jay Gruden, mixes formations and keeps the Knights defense on its toes, getting various players involved and creating high-probability throws for Andy Dalton. It’s a fierce battle, but Harden has Malik Rose on his side. And without A.J. Green, the Bengals offense has limited potential, giving the Knights the upper hand in the game. Cincinnati reaches midfield with third and one and the clock nearing the two-minute warning. Dalton drops back to pass, and Randall sniffs out a screen to Bernard. He gets blocked, but other defenders come rushing in, stuffing Bernard for no gain, bringing up fourth and one. Despite goading from the crowd, the Bengals punt, pinning the Knights on their own ten with 1:53 to go in the first half. “No turnovers,” Everett instructs his offense, looking especially at his running backs. “Let’s just tick it down, go into halftime up by eight.” Maverick hands off to Jaxson on first and ten. He darts through the line and into a crowd, covers the ball, and goes down for a three-yard gain. Maverick relays a play-action bootleg and gets in formation. He fakes a handoff and rolls right, plenty of space in front of him. He has at least ten yards to run, but he fires a back-shoulder fade to Wilkes instead. Wilkes spots the pass at the last second, spins around to haul it in, and stiff arms the corner, green grass in front of him. Running along the sideline, Wilkes hits full speed and leaves everyone else behind, sprinting into the end zone and dunking the football on the cross bar. Wilkes soaks in praise on the sideline while the rest of the stadium recoils in horror. The Bengals mount a futile two-minute offense that ends in a quick punt, and Maverick takes a few knees to end the first half with the Knights leading, 21-6. The locker room is confident and relaxed. Players in white jerseys enjoy the comfort of a fifteen-point lead while their coaches try to figure out how to start the second half. Everett and the offensive coaches are thrilled with 21 points but want more consistency from the run game. “If we can establish the run, we can put this game away.” “More bunch formations, maybe.” “We’re not letting up,” Everett says. “Find ways to run the ball more effectively, but we’re not playing to lose. Maverick’s playing well, so he’s still the focal point of the offense. Once we’re up three touchdowns in the fourth, then we’ll run out the clock.” Harden’s subordinates try to ease his frustration, pointing to Cincinnati’s meager six points on the scoreboard. “They’re making us earn it, but what we’re doing is working.” “We keep this up, maybe get a turnover, and we’re in great shape.” “I agree, coach. I really think we’re fine.” “Yep,” Harden says. “As long as we don’t blow it.” As the Bengals offense takes the field, the game is more relaxed than ever, as many football games are at the start of the third quarter. But for the Bengals, their season is on the line, and Harden expects a sense of urgency. Surprisingly, they start with pedestrian running plays. As they have all day, the Knights bottle things up. Bernard takes a carry up the middle for three yards, then Green-Ellis up the middle for another two. Harden sends a modest blitz on third and five. Dalton takes a snap from shotgun, hurries a pass for Sanu, and it lands incomplete. Faint boos are heard from the crowd as the punt team takes the field. As Maverick drops back to pass on consecutive plays, Everett watches Cincinnati’s secondary closely. As expected, they’re backing off, trying to take away deep passes, just what he wanted. Maverick misses Bishop but connects to Watson for a ten-yard completion and a first down. A handoff to Jameson gets five yards, then Maverick rolls out on play-action and hits Bishop on a corner for twelve yards. Not that Maverick minds, but this is too easy. The Knights cross midfield without facing a third down. Sticking to balanced play-calling, they get another first down before facing third and four from the thirty-five. Maverick drops back as pressure comes over the middle. He hurries a deep throw for Watson that sails out of bounds, and the field goal comes out. Harden watches nervously, knowing a miss would shift the momentum in an unpleasant way. Janikowski lines up for the fifty-two-yarder and kicks it low. It flies left, then hooks right, and goes through the uprights. 24-6, Knights. The Bengals finally show the urgency Harden expected earlier, and it works. Dalton hits receivers on short routes, including a bubble screen to A.J. Green, his first reception of the day. Though Dalton doesn’t hit Green again, the Bengals continue to move the ball into Knights territory. After a screen to Bernard is bottled up, prompting some positive language from Coach Harden, Dalton miraculously hits Jones for a twenty-yard pass, bringing the crowd back into the game and putting the Bengals in the red zone. The Knights tighten up. Dalton throws two incompletions, one nearly intercepted by Randall, to bring up third and ten. Martin, Brock, and Grantzinger all blitz, and Dalton heaves it up, throwing it out of the back of the end zone. The Bengals are forced to settle for another field goal attempt, which Nugent makes. 24-9, Knights. Second and two, Knights ball on their own thirty-nine, start of the fourth quarter. With the Knights still up by fifteen, both sides can feel the game reaching a breaking point. During the commercial, Everett radios the call to Maverick in advance, prompting him to find Watson, his fastest receiver, and say, “Let’s end this right now.” Maverick lines up under center with two tight ends and two receivers, an innocent enough formation, surely for a running play—or so the defense is supposed to think. Maverick takes the snap and sells a handoff to Jameson. He stands idly for a moment as if he’s given the ball away, then runs right, into the flat. Looking deep, Watson is open. Maverick throws it as far as he can. Watson showcases his speed, running away from the defender, hauling in the pass, and sprinting into the end zone. The Knights sideline goes crazy as some Bengals fans head for the exits. After the extra point, it’s Knights 31, Bengals 9, 14:48 to go. Though every player on the Knights sideline is aware of the wrath their head coach will unleash if they ease up in the game’s final minutes, no one worries. The playoff intensity has hidden the fact that they’ve dominated all day, and that’s not about to change. The Bengals mount more fruitless drives as Harden gladly sends blitz after blitz, racking up multiple hits on Dalton and forcing inaccurate throws. When the Knights get the ball back, they run out the clock as best they can. With the clock under four minutes, the Bengals finally reach the end zone courtesy of a wide-open Jones who Dalton almost overthrows. Harden realizes Flash missed his assignment on the play and scolds him on the sideline for everyone to see. The Knights recover the ensuing onside kick, however, and it’s all over. A few more runs plus some kneeldowns take the clock to zero, and the Knights win, 31-16. From an executive suite, Phillips applauds his team’s victory, high-fiving front office members around him, Wayne Schneider included. The Knights’ first playoff victory is obviously a big occasion, but even more importantly, today’s win validates the Knights’ improbable playoff run in December. No one can say they’re a team that got lucky and slipped into the playoffs. No one can say they didn’t deserve to be here. The Los Angeles Knights are a playoff team. Phillips does his best to soak up the moment, not thinking of the looming decisions this offseason—or next weekend’s trip to New England.
  20. Knights of Andreas Part III Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway OAK RazorStar RevisFan81 Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Thirty-Six – The Enemy of My Enemy Chargers fans get loud as Maverick lines up under center for third and goal. The formation and defense are right where he wants them, so he raises his arms, egging on the crowd some more. They gladly scream louder, their team needing a stop in the game’s biggest play so far. It’s 17-6, Knights, 0:28 to go in the first half. Maverick fakes a handoff to Jameson and rolls right. The receivers run with him, but the Chargers have everything covered. Linemen break free on the rush, preventing Maverick from reaching the end zone himself. He throws the ball across his body, back toward the left side of the end zone. Out of nowhere, Bishop emerges open and catches the pass easily, silencing the crowd. Maverick walks back to the sideline and gazes toward the enemy’s side of the field. He finds Phillip Rivers and stares him down. Rivers stares back, eventually shouting something Maverick can’t hear, not that he wants to anyway. He just points up at the scoreboard, which, after the extra point, says Knights 24, Chargers 6. As the Knight’s End televisions show players jogging to the locker room for halftime, Cooper and Sampson push away on their phones, checking for scores around the league, as well as their fantasy football leagues (both have one team in its league’s championship). “What was that Colts/Chiefs score again?” Sampson asks. “23-7,” Cooper says. “That also means Indy clinches the South, right?” Sampson: “Nah, they had it clinched already. Dog shit division.” Cooper: “I never realized until today that the Chiefs are collapsing. Four out of six, they’ve lost.” Sampson: “Thank God. We’d already be out otherwise. Any more good news with Baltimore?” Cooper: “Yes. Patriots up 17-0 at the half.” Sampson: “Outstanding. So everything’s falling into place.” Cooper: “As long as we don’t blow it.” Sampson: “I doubt it. I’m more concerned with how feisty it’s been. Think we’ll get a fight in the second half?” Cooper: “One can only hope.” The Knights come out for the second half with Coach Harden’s halftime message engrained in their heads: discipline, discipline, discipline. The Chargers get the ball first. Harden radios plays for his defense, occasionally looking across the field at Caden Daniel. The two play-callers may have had a back-and-forth, evenly matched battle earlier this year, but Harden is decidedly winning this round. The Knights got a couple good hits on Rivers early, and he’s looked shaky ever since. Daniel displays patience, maintaining balance and keeping things simple. A few key third down passes by Rivers get the drive into field goal range, where it stalls and Nick Novak kicks his third field goal of the day. 24-9, Knights. The Knights take over, facing defensive adjustments to counter a spectacular first half. With a run-first plan, Maverick gets little opportunities to pass, but when he does, he enjoys the presence of new slot receiver Joseph Watson, who Coach Everett says will retain the slot position when Johnson returns next week. Watson is very raw in route running, but he’s probably the Knights’ fastest receiver, and Maverick’s not about to argue with another deep threat. The offense could be unstoppable today with a healthy number two receiver. Instead, Larkhill has been his usual unproductive self. On the sideline, an unpadded Alex Johnson stands amongst his teammates with a brace on his knee, courtesy of last week’s hyperextension. He’s thankful it wasn’t something severe, and the doctors tell him he should start next week for the regular season’s final game. The Knights’ drive stalls and the Chargers get the ball back. The play calls are more aggressive, and Rivers puts together a drive that results in another field goal. The score now narrowed to 24-12, Harden starts screaming up and down the sideline. The offense responds with an efficient drive that takes the game into the fourth quarter and finishes with a twelve-yard Jaxson touchdown catch. On the ensuing Chargers drive, Rose forces a fumble that the Knights recover. A few minutes later, they add a field goal, extending the lead to 34-12 with less than ten minutes remaining and sending many Chargers fans home. With a lopsided score in a divisional rivalry game, things seem ripe for fights, but too much is at stake with week 17 looming and both wild-card spots up for grabs. The Chargers have higher priorities—and so do the Knights. Neither team scores before the clock runs out, and the Knights win, advancing to 9-6, clinching their first winning season in Los Angeles. Harden walks toward midfield to shake hands with Daniel. “Good game, Merle,” Daniel says. “Good game, coach.” “Maybe we’ll see you again in a couple weeks.” “Maybe we will.” With one week to go, the entire playoff picture is finally boiled down to one round of if-then scenarios. And in the AFC, five of six playoff spots have already been taken. New England and Indianapolis had already clinched the East and South, and yesterday, Cincinnati and Denver clinched the North and West, so all four division winners are locked in. San Diego (10-5) also clinched a playoff berth, and Baltimore was eliminated, leaving Kansas City (10-5) and Los Angeles (9-6) to fight for the final wild-card spot. Since all three wild card contenders are in the West, divisional tiebreakers will be used. The Chargers are 4-1 in divisional games; both the Chiefs and Knights are 2-3. So even if the Knights end up tied with San Diego, they lose the tiebreaker. They need to tie with Kansas City, in which case the first tiebreaker is head-to-head (each won a game against each other this season), and the second is divisional record (the Knights would theoretically be 3-3 and the Chiefs 2-4). To make the playoffs, the Knights must beat the Broncos, and the Chargers must beat the Chiefs. Both games are scheduled for 1:25pm Pacific time on Sunday, and neither gets flexed to primetime. In his Monday afternoon press conference, Chargers head coach Caden Daniel insists his team will play all starters this week despite having a playoff berth clinched. When Broncos head coach John Fox is asked about resting his starters if New England wins on Sunday (which would clinch home-field for the Patriots and lock the Broncos into the #2 seed), Fox says, “We’ll consider it.” Monday afternoon, while his positional coaches are watching film and constructing their game plan for the Broncos, Harden heads upstairs for a meeting with the front office. These late-season meetings were always a nuisance unfortunately made tolerable by the Knights’ elimination from the playoffs. But finally, the Knights are fighting for a postseason berth, and Harden can’t wait to head back to the film room. “We’ll keep this brief,” Schneider says, “since I’m sure you’ve got work to do, coach.” Harden nods. “Gentlemen, we’ve put together a hell of a run these last few weeks. Coach Harden, that’s a credit to you. No matter what happens this week, I think we can all agree we’ve made tremendous strides this year, and we have a playoff caliber team. So tell me how we’re going to make it better.” Phillips looks to DeMartine, who passes out bound packets of paper to everyone at the table. “This is a list of all impending free agents on the roster,” DeMartine says. “Obviously, our focus is on starters, so it includes projected contract figures based on market value, dialogue with agents, and which teams would theoretically be interested. Based on conversations we’ve had, our top priorities are Veldheer, Penner, and Luck, in no particular order.” Schneider: “Chance?” Phillips: “Veldheer and Luck have the same story. Their agents haven’t said it directly, but it looks like they want to hit the market to maximize value. I wouldn’t bank on a hometown discount in either case. Penner’s agent, strangely, insists on no dialogue and no numbers exchanged whatsoever until the season’s over. I’m not necessarily worried about that; Penner’s an old school guy, probably just doesn’t want to negotiate in-season.” Schneider: “So what are our chances of keeping all three?” Phillips: “Honestly, I’m a little concerned. Historically, paying elite money to offensive linemen is rarely a good idea, and Veldheer could very well command the league’s largest contract for a left tackle with the year he’s having. I feel the same at center, and Penner’s age comes into play as well. But he’s a loyal guy; if there’s anyone we can re-sign before free agency, it’s him. As for Luck, he’s having a great year, but I don’t know how I feel about investing a ton of money into Luck and Grantzinger, two guys who play right next to each other. I would defer to Merle’s opinion on that.” Schneider: “Okay. Possible contract figures?” DeMartine: “Turn to pages four and five.” Everyone at the table flips a few pages and reads. Schneider: “These all look reasonable to me. Big money, yes, but these are good football players. And we’ve got more cap room than anyone in the league.” Phillips: “At a glance, Wayne, you’re right. But you start handing out thirty-, forty-million-dollar contracts, and that cap space gets eaten up rather quickly. And that’s not even mentioning the biggest cap number of all…” DeMartine: “Maverick.” Phillips: “Whenever he gets his deal, whether it’s this offseason or next, it’s gonna be huge.” DeMartine: “Speaking of Maverick, if you’ll turn to page ten…” Everyone flips through another few pages. Phillips: “That’s our list of free agents after next season. Obviously, there are quite a few guys there we’d like to make Knights for a long time. So this offseason, we’ll be very aggressive in extending players in advance, while we have the money to spend.” Schneider: “I see. Coach, any thoughts on all of this?” Harden: “Well, um…you know, based on my time here, I’ve learned to respect the decisions that come from this front office. Whatever Mr. Phillips and everyone else decides, I’m sure it’ll be in the best interests of the team.” Schneider: “Very well. In that case, continue as you were, gentlemen. Coach, if you’d like to get back to it, you may, seeing as you have a game to win this Sunday.” Adam Javad types frantically on his laptop with modest Christmas decorations around his apartment—not that he notices them. Los Angeles sports is buzzing as it never has since he’s been in town. The Kings have won nine of their last eleven games, giving fans hope of another Stanley Cup. The Clippers have won five in a row and currently sit third in the Western Conference at 20-9, trailing only the Thunder and Spurs. The Lakers’ season, while dismal, prompts plenty of discussion. All of these, of course, take a backseat to the Knights, who, in their fourth season, may finally make the playoffs. Javad writes articles covering every angle of the playoff push: a Broncos/Knights preview, a Chiefs/Chargers preview, mathematical playoff odds based on Vegas’ spreads (the latest has L.A. at 31.8% to make the playoffs), and potential playoff matchups for the Knights beyond the first round (they’re already locked in to Cincinnati should they make it). The activity hasn’t given him much time to work on his editorial, but after hitting a wall on one of his playoff articles, he opens it up again and rereads the opening. “Most workers live in a state of on and off the clock, of clocking in and clocking out. But as a sports reporter, I am always on the clock. If news breaks, no matter what hour, I have to report it.” “Wow,” Javad says aloud. “This is garbage.” It’s redundant, cliché, and doesn’t address the subject of the editorial. What kind of lead is that? His phone vibrates on a nearby table. He checks; it’s Ben, editor-in-chief of the L.A. Mobile, the only boss Javad has. “Hey, chief. Merry Christmas Eve.” “Adam, what’s the story on that editorial of yours? I know you’ve got a lot going on, but it would pair nicely with an article of Carl’s that we’re posting Friday. Could you have it done by then?” “Um…you know, I highly doubt it.” “No big deal. Let’s just table it for another time. And hurry up on the rest of the stuff.” “You got it.” Javad hangs up, content with that result. Another time it is. Tuesday, players are back on the field for what could be their final practice week of the season. It’s Christmas Eve, despite sunny, 67-degree weather. Players look forward to a day off for Christmas, a decision their head coach made awhile ago and hasn’t changed despite this week’s importance. Harden monitors his defense running drills and spots Phillips walking across the field, eventually standing next to him. “Looking forward to playing Peyton again?” Phillips asks. “Always.” They laugh. “Actually, Chance, as long as you’re here, there’s something I didn’t want to mention in front of Schneider the other day, regarding contracts.” “What?” “Penner. I know you talk a lot about ‘positional value’ and all that stuff, but if you seriously think this team would be better off without him…” “I know, coach. I know. I want to bring him back, and like I said the other day, I’m fairly optimistic we’ll get something done.” “Alright, fair enough. Just wanted that on the record. BROCK! What kind of fucking technique is that?” Harden jogs back onto the field, leaving Phillips to think about his starting center. Though he won’t say this to Harden, he considers the odds of re-signing Penner somewhere around fifty-fifty. Given the Knights’ chances to draft a competent starter and the market for elite players at the position, it simply is not economical for the Knights to pay eight or nine million dollars per year to a 33-year-old center. Phillips remembers life in Pittsburgh, where despite a perennial Super Bowl contender on the field, the front office faced difficult decisions every year. Perhaps that’s the new standard he’ll experience in Los Angeles over the next few years. Merle pours himself another glass of Bailey’s with Bing Crosby playing in the background. He walks past the Christmas tree and onto the back porch, Melissa and Melinda where he left them. This is the first time they’ve been back in this house since summer, prompting Merle to spend hours cleaning the place. He enjoys seeing everyone together in Los Angeles again, or maybe he just enjoys being with his family regardless of location. His mind inevitably returns to football, and he thinks about what could come of a playoff run for his team. It’s still a long shot that they make the playoffs at all, but if they do, they’d be in position for a fantastic run, which makes him wonder. Is this the last hurrah Merle wanted last year? He’s still under contract another season, but that wouldn’t prevent him from retiring. He tables the thought for later, enjoying Christmas with his wife and daughter. Friday afternoon, what could be the Knights’ final day of practice finishes, and players change in the locker room. A few lockers down from Maverick, Jaxson sees his quarterback remove his helmet, revealing hair that has gotten considerably longer. “Mav, what’s up with your hair?” Jaxson asks. Maverick looks stunned by the question and hesitates. Wilkes: “No kidding. Get a haircut, dude.” Maverick: “It’s playoff hair. Fuck you guys.” Penner: “Playoff hair? What kind of middle school bullshit is that? Be a real man and get a playoff beard.” Jaxson: “Yeah, Mav, you’d look good with a beard.” Penner: “Maybe once you hit puberty you can give it a try.” Players react to Penner’s zinger, Maverick even managing a smile. “Calm down, calm down!” Coach Harden yells, entering the locker room. “Brief announcement: the league announced Pro Bowl rosters a few hours ago. They’ve got some new format, unconferenced or some shit, but I’m proud to say we have three representatives: Brian Penner, Malik Rose, Zack Grantzinger.” Everyone claps and cheers for the three honored Knights. “Congratulations to you three Pro Bowlers. Of course, if all goes according to plan, you won’t get a chance to play in the game.” Farmers Field counts down to kickoff for the final time this season. Even if the Knights make the playoffs, they will do so as the #6 seed, unable to host a playoff game, but fans have no intention of complaining if that happens. Phillips, Schneider, and the rest of the Knights front office take seats in their luxury suite. With kickoff minutes away, everyone watches a nearby television screen, showing the final seconds of the Patriots/Bills game. The Patriots win, 34-20, clinching home-field advantage in the AFC. Everyone looks down to the field at the Broncos, the Knights’ opponent. Now locked into the #2 seed, will they rest their starters? Have the Knights caught a break? The Broncos receive the opening kickoff. After a touchback, fans cheer unusually loud as second-year quarterback Brock Osweiler jogs onto the field while Peyton Manning sits on the bench, along with Demaryius Thomas and Julius Thomas. Coach Harden stares across the field in disgust. “Pussies,” he says. “No balls. No respect for the game.” While most TV screens at Knight’s End show Knights/Broncos, and the bar’s audio does as well, Cooper and Sampson watch Chiefs/Chargers. Victory against Denver’s backups is imminent, but it won’t matter if the Chargers fail to win. The Chiefs take their first drive of the game down the field, leaning on Jamaal Charles like they have in both games against Los Angeles this year. Into the red zone, Charles takes a carry up the middle, sidesteps a few linebackers, and runs into the end zone. 7-0, Chiefs. “Christ,” Cooper says. “If the Chargers can’t stop him, we’re fucked.” Coach Harden screams another play into his headset. The Broncos, already up 3-0, are in the middle of an impressive drive, across midfield. Osweiler drops back, scans the field, and hits Eric Decker on a crossing route. Decker runs downfield, tackled just inside the Knights’ twenty. Stunned, Harden calls a more conservative play, needing only to hold Denver to another field goal. Osweiler fakes a handoff to Knowshon Moreno and looks to the end zone. He throws up a pass that hits Jacob Tamme in stride, splitting two defenders. 10-0, Broncos. Once the defense has returned to the sideline, they drink water and watch their head coach, knowing exactly what they’re about to hear. “Brock Osweiler?” Harden says. Nobody responds. “Brock. Osweiler. Are you fucking kidding me?” “We might as well be playing Peyton,” Cooper says. “I don’t fucking believe this.” “There we go!” Sampson says, watching the Chargers convert on third down, the score tied 7-7. “See, Rivers is gonna take over this game, and the Chiefs won’t be able to catch up.” “Let’s just be grateful the Chargers are playing their starters. Thank you, Caden Daniel.” “Yeah, definitely. As long as—NO!” The Chiefs intercept a Rivers pass and take it the other way, reaching the red zone. Maverick drops back to pass, seeing nobody open. Pressure comes up the middle, forcing him to roll out. Still not finding any targets, he throws it away, bringing up third and five. The Knights are in field goal range, finally able to put a decent drive together against a Broncos defense resting Von Miller. Down ten points in the second quarter, Maverick and everyone else can feel the sense of panic creeping into the stadium. Maverick takes a snap in shotgun. The Broncos play zone coverage, and Maverick doesn’t see any open windows. He steps up, looks toward Bishop, and multiple linemen swarm, bringing him down. Fans boo as the field goal unit trots out, and Janikowski knocks a forty-eight yarder through. 10-3, Broncos. The Knights offense tries to figure things out on the sideline as the game continues. Though he decides against saying something, Maverick is frustrated Johnson has yet to get open on anything, very much unlike him. He speaks privately with Coach Everett, suggesting Watson get involved more. The Broncos’ drive results in a field goal, extending their lead to 13-3 and prompting louder boos from fans, and the Knights take over with 4:48 left in the second quarter. Maverick fakes a handoff to Jameson and hits Watson on a short out. His speed gets him a few extra yards and a first down. Coach Everett tries to get the run game going, and balance gives the Knights some rhythm. Maverick gives Watson a look on every passing play, knowing he has the speed to get past the defense, or stretch it, at the very least. On the edge of field goal range, Maverick drops back on second and eight and sees an all-out blitz. He wants to bomb it to Watson, but there’s too much pressure. He ducks, runs left, and somehow escapes the chaos. With one safety deep, shading more towards Watson, Maverick heaves it up for Wilkes, hitting him in stride. He stiff-arms the safety at the goal line. Touchdown, Knights. The Knights and Broncos jog into the locker rooms for halftime, so everyone in the luxury suite looks up at the TV screen. A similar scene unfolds in San Diego, with the Chiefs taking a 21-14 lead into halftime. “Any chance the Chargers rest everyone in the second half?” Schneider asks. Phillips doesn’t want to consider that possibility, distressed enough that the Knights are trailing 13-10 with Denver’s best players on the bench. The Farmers Field video screens display energizing presentations that get the fans pumped up for the second half. Getting the ball first, the Knights offense keeps them cheering. Maverick and the offense move the ball methodically down the field. Jameson and Jaxson average around six yards per carry, and Maverick easily finds receivers on intermediate routes. It almost seems as if Denver’s defense is backing off a bit. Before long, the Knights are in field goal range, and Maverick hits Bishop on a seam route. He sprints towards the goal line, colliding with multiple defenders and falling forward into the end zone. 17-13, Knights. A few minutes later, the Broncos retake the field, and an angry Harden gets ready to unload on Osweiler. This may be the last game of the year, and no blitz is going to go uncalled. Grantzinger comes free on first down, and Osweiler throws it away on a borderline intentional grounding that the officials don’t call, despite protests from fans. Second and ten. Randall delays a blitz and has a straight shot at Osweiler. He hits him as he’s releasing the ball, and a wobbly pass lands in Martin’s arms. He runs past offensive linemen easily and takes it all the way to the end zone. Farmers Field enjoys a celebration more cathartic than anything else. 24-13, Knights. Cooper and Sampson shift their focus to San Diego, where the Chargers are trailing, 24-14, in the fourth quarter. The Knights have turned it around in Los Angeles, but their season ticks down regardless. From the Chargers’ forty, Rivers drops back with time to throw. He fires deep, and Knight’s End goes quiet. The long pass hits Eddie Royal at the eight. He spins, avoiding a tackle, and runs into the end zone. Touchdown, Chargers. The bar enjoys its loudest celebration of the day, the playoffs closer than they have ever been. It’s 24-21, Chiefs, with 11:45 to go. “Plenty of time,” Sampson says. “Amen,” Cooper says. “Let’s go, Rivers, you weird-faced fucker!” Front office members watch comfortably as the Knights maintain control of the game, up 27-13 and driving. The defense has finally woken up, and the Broncos have no answer with Osweiler at quarterback. They turn up the audio on the television with time ticking away in San Diego. The Chargers trail by three but are driving with less than six minutes to go. Rivers drops back around midfield and fires over the middle. He hits Keenan Allen, who has open grass in front of him. The suite cheers as Allen runs inside the ten-yard-line, setting up first and goal with 5:30 to go. After an informal majority vote, the audio at Knight’s End switches to Chiefs/Chargers. The Chargers line up for third and goal, and the bar goes quiet, conversation replaced by commentators Marv Albert and Rich Gannon. “Rivers, back to pass. Looking, looking, under pressure! He goes down! It’s a big sack for the Kansas City defense.” “Fucking bum,” Cooper says, chugging what remains of his beer with deep swigs. “I swear, if they miss this field goal—” “No streaking, please,” Sampson says. “Whatever it is, keep your clothes on.” Nick Novak knocks the field goal through, sparing humanity from Cooper’s wrath and tying the game, 24-24. Knights players rest on the sideline, leading 30-13 with the final minutes of the fourth quarter ticking away. They know they will win this game and finish 10-6 on the year, and they also know their playoff fate is tied to the Chargers. Players look up at the stadium graphics that show scores from around the league and see KC 24, SD 24, unaware of what is happening in the game. Above the stadium, members of the front office rise from their chairs and watch the Chiefs’ field goal unit take the field. Alex Smith has led an impressive drive and set up a forty-eight yard attempt with four seconds left. Either the kick is no good and the game goes into overtime, or the Knights season is over. The kick sails high, clearly long enough, towards the right goal post. It goes just past it, strikes the net, and officials on the ground wave their arms horizontally. No good. The suite celebrates as if they’ve won. Phillips and Schneider decide to head downstairs to the locker room, to learn their fate along with the team. The Knights game has gone final at a score of 30-13, and Knight’s End has gone silent. Even the waiters and bartenders stand in place, watching and listening to the Chiefs/Chargers game, now broadcast on nearly every one of the bar’s televisions. The Chargers win the coin toss, prompting mild celebration from the bar before quieting down again. “Don’t forget, Marv,” Gannon says, “the San Diego Chargers are in the playoffs no matter what. So if you’re Caden Daniel, you do not want this overtime period to go on for very long.” Every Knights player stands in the locker room, crowded around the television mounted on the corner wall. Nobody says anything. Players occasionally glance at one another nervously, but the locker room is eerily still. In the back of the crowd, Harden, Phillips, and Schneider stand together, their fate hanging on whatever unfolds on the television. “It’s second and four, Chargers on their own forty. A reminder of the overtime rules: if the Chargers score a touchdown on this drive, it’s over. If they kick a field goal, Kansas City gets the ball back. Any change of possession, and it’s sudden death. Here’s Rivers, under center. Hands off to Mathews. He runs ahead, finds a seam, gets the first down.” Players clap and cheer as the Chargers have a new set of downs. A draw play to Mathews gets another five yards, then Rivers hits Antonio Gates on a short route, and it’s third and one. “Rivers under center. Chargers in a bunch formation, Chiefs stack the box. Rivers hands off to Mathews. He’s stuffed! Fighting for extra yardage, but the Chiefs bring him down! It’ll be fourth and one, Chargers forced to punt.” A few Knights sit down in disappointment, but chatter quickly picks up as players react to what happens on the screen. “They’re going for it!” “No fucking way.” “Oh, shit…” “Shut up! Shut up!” Things go quiet again as the Chargers line up for fourth and one from the Chiefs’ forty-six. Albert’s commentary fills the locker room. “So Caden Daniel deciding this is it, he’s going for it. Rivers lines up in shotgun. Here’s the snap. He fakes the hand off. Drops back to throw! He looks, looks. He fires deep! Looking for Malcolm Floyd…” Albert’s words are drowned out as the Knights watch Rivers’ pass hit Floyd in stride. He separates from the corner and runs into the end zone. In a blink, the locker room goes from on edge to bedlam. Players run around screaming, waving towels, high-fiving and chest bumping each other. Harden, Phillips, and Schneider shake hands and embrace for the good fortune and monumental achievement. The Knights are going to the playoffs. A similar scene unfolds at Knight’s End, some patrons running into the streets of downtown Los Angeles to celebrate. Cooper and Sampson become separated in the chaos, but a drunken Cooper eventually finds his friend and bear hugs him. “Super Bowl, baby! Super Bowl!” Cooper proclaims. “Gotta get past the Bengals first!” Sampson screams so Cooper can hear him. “Andy Dalton? That fucking ginger? No worries!” With the celebration ongoing, Harden excuses himself from Phillips and Schneider, who stand together in the back of the locker room, both wanting things to calm down first before they congratulate the players. “You know something,” Schneider says. Phillips leans in. “It’s strange how things work out sometimes.” “What do you mean?” “After we fired Daniel, I didn’t know whether he’d go back to college, stay in the NFL, whatever. But I never imagined that a year later, he’d be the one to save our ass.” Phillips smiles and the two shake hands yet again. They hear screams from Coach Harden, who quickly commands attention of the entire locker room. “Alright, listen up,” he says. “I know we’re all excited, but let’s save some of that energy…because we have a football game to play next weekend!” Players scream in celebration. It takes another minute before things quiet down again. “We’re right where want to be, men,” Harden says. “In fact, we’ve reached the spot every team in this league wants to reach. We’re going to the playoffs, and no one wants to play us. No one. God help the Bengals, and God help whoever else gets in our way.”
  21. Knights of Andreas Part III Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway OAK RazorStar RevisFan81 Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Thirty-Five – Running the Gauntlet One by one, players walk onto the practice field Monday morning and join a gathering crowd at midfield, kneeling on the grass around their head coach. Coach Harden generally does not begin practice week with announcements or speeches, but practice generally doesn’t happen on Monday either, the trade for a long weekend off. “Good morning, men,” Harden says once all players and coaches have assembled. “I hope you all enjoyed the extra rest, and I hope you’re all ready to work this week. Today is the 2nd of December. The NFL playoffs start in thirty-three days. Do we want to be a part of them?” He studies his players’ faces. He knows they’re hungry, but that’s not enough. They’ll have to show it this week. They’ll have to bring their excitement and intensity every day, every rep on the practice field, every minute in the film room. “Our record is 6-6. Six wins, six losses. You know what I think about that record? I think it’s dog shit. I think it’s a disgrace. More importantly, I do not think it is in any way a reflection of the team I see before me. We’re better than a .500 team, and everyone on this field knows it. I think when people look back on this roster, they’re gonna say, ‘Wow, look at all the stars they had. What a great team that was.’ But guess what? We can’t hide behind those types of excuses anymore. We don’t have time. Thirty-three days? Not for us, men. For us, the playoffs start now. We’ve got four games left, and we need to win every damn one of them. So, for those of you who are superstitious…” He scratches the unshaven scruff that has accumulated on his face. “…now might be a good time to start.” Practice begins, with some players knowing the playoff picture in more detail than others do, though Harden does his best to push the one-game-at-a-time agenda. The Patriots, Bengals, and Colts still lead their divisions by at least two games. In the West, the Broncos now lead at 10-2, followed by the Chiefs at 9-3 and the Chargers at 8-4. Assuming current leaders win their respective divisions, the Chiefs and Chargers would take the two wild card spots, but the Knights, Dolphins, and Ravens lurk at 6-6. Winning the division is mathematically impossible, but any playoff berth will be incredibly difficult for Los Angeles. After this Sunday’s game against Miami, the Knights’ final three games take them through the rest of their division: vs. Kansas City, at San Diego, vs. Denver. It’s a brutal stretch to end the season, saved only by the lack of traveling; the only road game is in nearby San Diego. Even with things falling into place, optimistic projections have the Knights finishing at 9-7, and that won’t be enough. Sampson occupies the same Knight’s End high top and munches on breakfast: chicken quesadillas, tortilla chips, and beer. The high definition television screens show a combination of CBS, ESPN, and NFL Network, all preparing for the first round of week 14 games. “Howdy, partner.” Sampson nearly chokes, coughing up broken chips as Cooper retakes his seat, wasting no time in trying to flag down a waitress. “You’re not at the game?” Sampson asks after a swig of beer. “Obviously not.” “You got kicked out again.” “No, if you can believe it.” A waitress finally spots Cooper, and he orders breakfast of his own: beer and buffalo wings. “So what gives?” “It wasn’t the same. Being in the suite, I mean. I figured I might as well watch the games here. This is more fun.” “Cool. Playoff push starts today. I’m growing a playoff beard.” Cooper stares at his friend’s medieval patch of facial hair. “Cassie, please. You’ve had a playoff beard for five years.” During the commercial between quarters three and four, Harden admires the scene. Despite a good week of practice, he was concerned about how his players would respond to the Thanksgiving loss in Dallas and falling to 6-6 when they could have been 7-5. After three quarters, his players have answered. The Knights lead, 27-10, and have given the coaching staff little to complain about. Against a very good Miami defense, the offense has played efficient, turnover-free football, with contributions across the board. Jaxson and Jameson each have twelve carries, and Maverick has thrown touchdown passes to Wilkes, Johnson, and Bishop. Defensively, the Knights have bottled up Miami’s offense outside of one play where Brian Hartline got behind Marshall in coverage, leading to a touchdown. The Dolphins haven’t turned it over either, but they’ve also only crossed midfield three times. “Listen up!” Harden yells during a quiet moment, trying to make sure as many players hear him as possible. “You guys have played a damn near perfect game. These poor fuckers are doing everything they can, but they’re barely clinging to life. Now, bury them.” The offense comes out with aggressive plays, Maverick taking multiple shots downfield. The drive reaches the red zone, where a shotgun draw play catches the defense off guard. Jameson accelerates and barrels through two helpless defenders into the end zone. 34-10, Knights. The Dolphins take over, in full desperation mode. Ryan Tannehill comes out firing with two incompletions, but on third and ten, he finds Brandon Gibson for a first down. The next play, Ryan Tannehill drops back to pass, sees nobody open, and Brock swats the ball out of his hands. Luck recovers it, and the Knights take over in field goal range. Maverick fakes a handoff to Jaxson and looks deep. He throws a perfect pass to a double-covered Wilkes, who catches it in the end zone and dunks the ball through the goal posts. 41-10, Knights. Miami proceeds to go three and out. Jaxson catches the ensuing punt and blocking develops nicely in front of him. He accelerates through a hole, crosses midfield with green grass in front of him, and gets tripped up by the punter inside the thirty. With victory well in hand, Coach Everett pulls Maverick out of the game, replaced by Chad Henne, and calls all running plays. Jameson and Jaxson chew down the clock with great blocking in front of them. Penner and Grodd put on a clinic, and Jaxson caps the drive with a twelve-yard touchdown run on a sweep. 48-10, Knights. “Mother of god,” Cooper says after the bar’s celebration dies down. “Where has this been all year?” “Young team,” Sampson says. “I told you it would take them awhile to hit their stride.” He looks up at the ticker of scores from around the league, again seeing the Chiefs’ 45-10 win over Washington. “What’s up with Denver and San Diego? We haven’t checked in awhile.” “Oh yeah!” Cooper pushes buttons on his phone. “They are…ah, shit, they’re both up big.” The Knights’ win over Miami may have crushed expectations, but they receive no help from the rest of the league. The Broncos, Chiefs, Chargers, and Ravens all win, meaning the Knights are still two games out of a wild card spot—now with only three games left—and still tied with Baltimore. On the practice field, however, nobody seems to notice. Players and coaches ride the momentum from Sunday’s blowout and look forward to a huge game this Sunday against the Chiefs, a good chance to help their own cause in the wild-card race. With a loss, however, the Knights are officially eliminated from the playoffs, and the season’s last two weeks become meaningless. From his second floor office, Chance Phillips finds it easy to focus on offseason preparations rather than the playoffs. While he’s thrilled that the team is making a fight of it, he is aware of every matchup, tiebreaker, and potential scenario for the league’s final three weeks, and he’s far from optimistic. He spends his time, instead, looking at contract projections, potential free agents across the league, and even a few scouting reports on draft prospects. There are still three weeks left in the 2013 season, but Phillips’ primary focus is his roster in 2014 and beyond. With the last remnants of the Oakland Raiders long gone, this is his roster now, and the next two offseasons will be crucial. The Knights have a list of upcoming free agents including Jerome Jaxson, Jared Veldheer, Brian Penner, Khalif Barnes, Sam Luck, Dan Connor, and Sebastian Janikowski. The top priorities from that list are Veldheer, Penner, and Luck, but no progress has been made on contract extensions with any of them. Both Veldheer and Luck’s agents have strongly implied they want to test the market, and Penner’s agent hasn’t offered any dialogue whatsoever. Of even greater concern is the list of starters who will enter contract years in 2014: Jonathan Maverick, Alex Johnson, Logan Bishop, Marlon Martin, Richard Marshall, and Sebastian Stevenson. Making things even more interesting, 2014 is the final year under contract for both Coach Harden and Phillips himself. Unless anything changes, the Los Angeles Knights will go into the 2014 season with their starting quarterback, head coach, and general manager all in contract years. Phillips has worked hard since he took over the franchise to earn what every GM wants: money to spend. He faces no salary cap trouble, no backloaded contracts in the near future. But he will be cautious and deliberate with how he spends that money, because the cap problems that plagued the Raiders are only a few bad decisions away. Free agency aside, an even more immediate concern is coaching contracts. Almost the entire offensive coaching staff has expiring contracts, and the Knights will need to make a decision on Coach Everett. A few of Harden’s subordinates have expiring contracts as well, though Harden will handle those himself. The coaching carousel starts after week 17, even if the Knights make the playoffs. Tuesday afternoon, Phillips is going over a report by DeMartine about potential draft needs when Schneider knocks on his open door. “Afternoon, Chance,” Schneider says. “Hey there, Wayne.” “Can I ask you about something?” “Go for it.” Schneider checks the hallway, then enters the office. “You know anything about a disagreement between Everett and Maverick?” “A little,” Phillips lies. He’s well aware of the entire situation and has been since it occurred. “Merle told me there were some disagreements over the playbook, nothing serious, and that it’s resolved. Happened a few weeks ago, I think.” “Yes, yes it did.” “Did you just hear about it?” “No, I’ve known for awhile, just wanted to get your opinion on it. It’s potentially a very dangerous situation, isn’t it? An offensive coordinator and quarterback not getting along.” “In theory, but Wayne, all due respect, did you see Sunday’s game? Forty-eight points. I’d say everything’s fine on offense.” “Perhaps you’re right. Well, if you hear anything else, let me know?” “Of course.” He walks out, leaving Phillips puzzled, not sure what to make of Schneider’s interest in the situation, especially a few weeks after the fact. Coach Harden watches his defense—and entire team—carefully as the week progresses. As a defensive coordinator, he has always valued practice like this, late in the year against a familiar opponent. His defense knows exactly what they’ll face this Sunday, but they better not show any signs of complacency. Extending this approach to the entire team, he finds very little to complain about (doing plenty of yelling regardless), and the Knights make it through another week of practice, the intensity of a playoff push palpable every day. Before long, the Knights are conducting a final walkthrough Saturday afternoon, and then walking into their home stadium on Sunday morning. Players in black jerseys stand silently in the locker room before their head coach, crowd noise coming in through the walls. Instead of moving toward the field immediately, Coach Harden just stands for a moment, about to say something. “As you all know,” Harden says, “we’ve been chasing the playoffs without talking specifics—which team has that record, who wins that tiebreaker, all of that—because I believe we can’t focus on what we can’t control. But for today, there’s something you all deserve to know before you take that field. Based on the standings, the math, whatever…if we lose today, we can not make the playoffs, no matter what else happens. If we lose today, our season’s over.” Harden pauses and lets that sink in. A few players know this already, but hearing your head coach say it just before a game makes an impact regardless. “By definition, that makes this a playoff game. So, we all want to play playoff football, right? Feel what it’s like to take the field with your season on the line? Well, you’re about to. Don’t hold anything back.” The Chiefs receive the ball first and get Jamaal Charles involved with carries up the middle. Anchoring the run defense, Damian Jones faces off against Rodney Hudson, who dominated him back in October. Jones holds his own at the line of scrimmage, unable to break off blocks but not getting pushed back. Charles only manages three or four yards before Randall and/or Martin bring him down. “Nice work, Anthrax,” Randall says. “Keep it up.” Facing third down, Alex Smith drops back to pass and looks left. Grantzinger fakes a blitz, fooling right tackle Eric Fisher, and Luck comes free. He blindsides Smith, slamming him into the grass, and the ball pops loose. Black and white jerseys pile on, and officials run in, searching for the bottom. After a lot of screaming and fighting inside the pile, the officials signal Knights ball, and it’s Martin who somehow comes away holding the pigskin. The crowd cheers, and the offense comes out with a short field for their first possession of the day. After two running plays get stuffed, Maverick drops back on third and ten. Behind a clean pocket, he can’t find any open receivers, steps up, and runs. Defenders close in, and he slides down for a six-yard gain. The field goal team comes out as the offense goes right back to the sideline. Maverick scans pictures to see if he missed any open receivers as Janikowski nails the field goal. 3-0, Knights. The Knights defense continues shutting down Kansas City without much trouble. They can only contain Charles so much, but when Smith drops back to pass, the result is usually an incompletion. Maverick soon finds himself back on the field, handing off to Jaxson, who is brought down after two yards. Everyone knows the Chiefs defense is good, but their run defense has been troublingly impressive so far. Not yet rattled, Maverick drops back to pass on second and eight. He shifts left to avoid pressure and spots Bishop breaking on a comeback route. He throws, and a defender he hadn’t seen undercuts the route, intercepting it. It’s Derrick Johnson, running towards the end zone with only Maverick to beat. Maverick tries his best to bring him down but gets beat by a spin move. 7-3, Chiefs. When the Knights offense returns to the field, only 1:30 remains in the first quarter, and they find themselves on their own nine after a decent drive and great punt by Kansas City. Maverick fakes a handoff to Jaxson and takes a deep drop. Johnson breaks on an out, and Maverick fires into a tight opening. Johnson lunges for the pass, catches it, and gets his knee down in bounds before falling into the Chiefs sideline. Farmers Field cheers for the first down, the offense’s first of the day. In the huddle, Maverick hears and relays another passing play. He likes that Coach Everett isn’t afraid to get aggressive with the pass game to set up the run. He fakes another handoff to Jaxson and looks deep. Wilkes breaks on a post, and he lofts it toward him. The pass sails higher than Maverick wanted, and Wilkes finds himself out of position. Eric Berry gets under it, Wilkes yanks on his jersey, and he catches it anyway for the pick. Fans convey their unrest by booing as the Chiefs decline the offensive pass interference call, and the Knights defense, still tired from the previous drive, retakes the field. The Chiefs come out throwing this time, moving the chains with short passes. They reach the red zone quickly and go back to Charles, able to shift and juke his way into bigger carries. The drive culminates in a third and goal from the one-yard-line. Charles runs up the middle into a massive pile of bodies but somehow manages to get the yard. 14-3, Chiefs. Halfway through the second quarter, Coach Everett is at a loss. The run game is getting suffocated, and trying to pass to set up the run has resulted in two interceptions. The Knights try running again, this time with Jameson. He finds tight lanes and no space, just like Jaxson has, but lowers his shoulders and fights for extra yards. From the sideline, Everett realizes Jameson will be his go-to back until the Chiefs stop stacking the box. A few more carries to Jameson and a short pass to Johnson lead to third and one. In a bunch formation, Maverick sells the handoff to Jameson, and the defense bites. He lofts a pass to Bishop, wide open. He catches it in stride and runs downfield as the crowd comes to life. A safety runs him down, but not before he gains thirty yards. The Knights are in field goal range, and the Chiefs defense is on its heels. Maverick receives a play call he might have picked: back-shoulder fade to Wilkes in the end zone. He hurries to the line and takes the snap. The Chiefs blitz, but the Knights pick it up. Maverick sees Wilkes in single coverage, steps up, and sails it toward the end zone, taking a big hit a second later. Wilkes runs with Sean Smith, looks back, and jumps as he crosses the goal line. Smith jumps too, but the pass is perfect. Wilkes plants his feet just inside the end zone and hits the ground. The nearby official checks for possession, then raises his arms. 14-10, Chiefs. During halftime, Coach Harden’s subordinates from the press box confirm one of his suspicions: Damian Jones is outplaying Wesley Mann at nose tackle. Big time. Harden decides to install Jones as the permanent starter for the second half, needing to keep Charles contained to win the game. When the Chiefs get the ball in the third quarter, Jones proves his worth, holding his ground at the point of attack and letting the linebackers behind him do the rest. After a sack by Brock, the Chiefs face third and fifteen, and Harden sends a blitz. Smith drops back in shotgun as rushers come free all over the place. He dumps it off to Charles, a screen developing in front of him. Harden’s stomach turns over as Charles darts through open grass and blockers in highlight reel fashion. By the time he’s touched, he’s in Knights’ territory, eventually brought down by Flash at the forty-yard-line. A custom after giving up a big play, defensive captain Randall looks to his coach, bracing for verbal discipline of some kind, but Harden simply points to himself, knowing that was on him. Charles takes a toss and gets three yards, bringing up second and seven. Smith drops back, and Grantzinger easily beats his man, accelerating. Smith sees him at the last second, braces, and Grantzinger crushes him with a monster hit. The crowd cheers for a half second before seeing the referee throw a flag, then boos. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Harden screams at the ref. Grantzinger holds up his arms in protest and pleads his case as Randall holds him back. In all the chaos, players finally notice that Smith has not yet gotten up. The stadium goes mostly quiet as trainers evaluate Smith, who eventually manages to sit up. Replays show Grantzinger’s helmet driving straight into his neck, and it certainly looks like a concussion. An obviously woozy Smith gets to his feet and staggers off the field, and in comes backup quarterback Chase Daniel. “You see that?” Harden says to Randall and Grantzinger, congregated on the sideline. “That’s fresh meat. Go get him.” The Knights unleash a barrage of blitzes assisted by blanket coverage in the secondary that stymies Daniel and the Chiefs offense, still able to attempt a field goal courtesy of the personal foul. Ryan Succop knocks it through. 17-10, Chiefs. The Knights offense goes back to work with a conservative strategy: Jameson carries mixed with short, high probability passes. From the sideline, Jaxson watches as Jameson takes carries from him. This has been a developing trend over the last month, but today takes it to the extreme. While he realizes Jameson’s physical style of running bodes well in a game like this, he can still be useful in sweeps, screens, and out of the flat as a receiver. He decides not to say anything to Coach Everett for now. Jaxson’s mind also wanders toward the offseason, where he will be a free agent for the first time since being drafted. He can’t help but wonder if Jameson’s increased role is a sign that the Knights intend to let him go. After a few first downs, Maverick drops back to pass, eyeing Johnson on a deep corner. He throws it up just as he breaks. Getting separation, Johnson turns for the pass, jumps, catches it, and comes down hard on his right knee. He hangs onto the ball, falling at the twelve-yard-line, but feels an intense flare in the knee. Screaming in pain as trainers rush onto the scene, Johnson fears the worst. He has never suffered a serious knee injury before, but this hurts worse than any ankle injury he’s had, and he’s had quite a few of those. Trainers check the knee and call for the cart, an ominous sign that dampens the mood on the Knights sideline. As Johnson gets to his feet and sits on the cart, he receives applause from the crowd and motivating assurance from teammates, though he’s thinking about just how bad this could be. A torn ACL could sideline him for all of next season, a contract year for him. He buries his face in a towel and holds his thumb up for the fans. Maverick calls plays in the huddle with new receivers, masking his frustration at losing a valuable target at an inopportune time. Ben Larkhill, who has been remarkably ineffective in the slot this year, takes Johnson’s place outside, while Joseph Watson takes the slot. Maverick takes the snap, rolls right, and fires left to Bishop on a seam route. In tight coverage, Bishop goes up and snags the pass, falling into purple grass in the end zone. Tie game, 17-17. The third quarter ticks away as the intensity rises, but Coach Harden feels comfortable. With Anthrax anchoring the run defense, Brock having his best game of the season, and the secondary on lockdown, the Chiefs and their backup quarterback are utterly helpless against the Knights defense. When the fourth quarter starts, the Chiefs have the ball, first and ten. Daniel drops back and throws left to an open receiver, but Flash closes the gap and dives, swatting the ball away. Daniel drops back to pass again on second down, this time lobbing it over the middle. Flash has his man covered, but only sees the pass at the last moment. He spins and knocks it away with one arm. The stadium cheers for two exciting plays in a row, and Harden admires too. Though he gets beaten in coverage as often as most second-year safeties will, Flash has already developed into the free safety the Knights were hoping he would when they drafted him. In fact, in all Harden’s years of coaching defense, he’s never had a centerfielder like him. Daniel drops back on third and ten as an all-out blitz comes for him. He heaves it up helplessly, towards no receiver in particular, right into Flash’s arms. He accelerates but runs into a wall of linemen who bring him down at midfield. Maverick and the offense get back in the huddle with the crowd still fired up. “Here we go, boys,” Maverick says. “Playoff drive right here. Playoff drive. Let’s do our job and take the lead.” Maverick drops back in shotgun and scans the field. Wilkes—doubled, Bishop—covered, Larkhill—covered. Pass rush forces him out of the pocket. He spots Watson on a crossing route, wide open. He fires a bullet pass Watson catches in stride, tackled for an eighteen-yard gain. “Welcome to the game, Joe,” Maverick says, high-fiving him. The Chiefs tighten up, shifting to zone coverage with great success and limiting running plays. The Knights eat up a lot of clock but can’t reach the red zone. Janikowski puts a chip shot through the uprights, and the Knights have their first lead of the day, 20-17, with 8:35 to go. After the Knights defense forces another three-and-out, the offense prepares to retake the field. Before they do, Coach Everett gathers them to make his message clear: “No mistakes. Hold onto the ball, don’t force anything into coverage. No mistakes.” Harden, within earshot of that comment, makes eye contact with Everett and gives him a supporting nod. With the Chiefs offense unable to muster any points, the Knights have this game within reach as long as they don’t blow it. First and ten. Maverick hands off to Jameson, who rumbles ahead for four yards. Second and six. Jameson takes a carry off-tackle right, running into a wall but powering forward for three yards. Third and three. In an I-formation with Jameson at fullback, Maverick fakes a quick handoff to him, then pitches it outside for Jaxson. He’s got enough room to get a first down, so he lowers his shoulders and surges ahead for a five-yard gain. With another fresh set of downs and the clock ticking, Maverick takes his time getting in the huddle. Coach Everett’s call, however, surprises him: Watson going deep to break Wilkes open on a deep post. Before the stunned Maverick can relay the call, Everett adds, “Don’t force it. If it’s not there, roll out and throw it away.” Maverick lines up under center as casually as he can, letting the play clock run down. He fakes a handoff to Jameson and takes a deep drop. A double-covered Wilkes breaks over the middle with no separation, but Watson has his man beat by five yards. Maverick bombs it as far as he can. Watson separates further from his man, hauls in the catch, and runs for his first career NFL touchdown. 27-17, Knights. Watson jogs back to the sideline, mobbed by his teammates as Farmers Field roars. When things settle down, Maverick finds him again. “Listen, we gotta work on that during practice,” Maverick says. “Why?” “Because that’s as far as I can throw it. Can’t have you outrunning me, making me look bad.” Though he wants to give a rah-rah locker room speech commending his players, Harden doesn’t want to interrupt the much-deserved celebration. If he or anyone was waiting for the Knights to fulfill the “put it all together” cliché, this is what putting it all together looks like. Six wins in their last eight games, five in their last six. Harden feels someone pat his shoulder. “Congratulations, coach,” Chance Phillips says. “Well, thanks, Chance,” Harden says, shaking his hand. “Don’t usually see you down here.” “I wanted to see the aftermath. Glad I’m not disappointed.” “Oh, you don’t have to worry. That’s it.” “I’m sorry, that’s it?” “We’re not losing. That’s it. Not this team. Not this year. We’re not losing another game.” Monday morning, Phillips gets to the MedComm Center early, wanting to go through every possible scenario over the final two weeks. He does the math while reviewing final scores from yesterday. Los Angeles 27, Kansas City 17. San Diego 27, Denver 20. Pittsburgh 30, Cincinnati 20. Baltimore 18, Detroit 16. Looking at the week 16 and 17 schedule, the consensus is clear: the Knights can make the playoffs, but they’ll need a lot of help.
  22. Knights of Andreas Part III Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway OAK RazorStar RevisFan81 Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Thirty-Four – For This We Give Thanks Monday morning, the silence that typically fills the MedComm Center locker room is slowly replaced with the sound of people talking and putting on pads, an unusual but necessary occurrence. The coaching staff almost worked through the night in preparing a game plan for Thursday’s game, remarkably just three days away. Coach Harden has seen plenty of short practice weeks in the NFL, but this will be his first as a head coach. He insists on three full practice days for players, though more time will be spent in the film room in an effort to keep them fresh for Thursday. Coaches, meanwhile, will work almost nonstop. This condensed schedule is not the way Harden wants to prepare for a football game, but it is unavoidable, especially due to recent events. The Knights have won four of five games since their bye week, earning a 6-5 record and a legitimate shot at the playoffs. A win this week in Dallas would put them at 7-5, along with extra rest for the final four games and an enormous amount of confidence. Harden definitely likes his odds under those circumstances. In preparing for the Cowboys, the Knights face vastly different levels of competition on either side of the ball. Dallas’ offense may be the best Los Angeles has faced all season, while their defense is downright awful outside of a few players. The first day of practice wraps up after positional study in the film room, and offensive players hit the locker room with confidence. “I don’t know about you guys,” Maverick says, “but I’m feeling forty points this week.” Luck: “A forty-burger, huh?” Maverick: “Let’s say forty-two. Seven touchdowns.” Jaxson: “At least two of those are mine.” Maverick: “Forty points will be enough, right, defense?” Brock: “More than enough, considering we’re gonna have something like forty sacks.” Grantzinger: “Oh, really? And how many of those will be yours, Sean?” Brock: “What do you say we split them fifty-fifty? Twenty each.” Grantzinger: “Against Tyron Smith? Considering your history against elite left tackles, I’m not exactly brimming with confidence.” Penner: “Their offense will barely be on the field with how well we’re gonna run the ball.” Grodd: “Damn right.” Brock: “Hey wait, before I forget—” Grantzinger: “Enough, Sean.” Brock: “Fuck off, Zack. Listen up, guys. Since Coach gave us the rest of the weekend off, what do you say we have a little team Thanksgiving? I know we all have our own plans Thursday night when we get back, so Friday or Saturday?” A few players nod and mumble to the tune of “That sounds good.” Brock: “Hell, we can even invite Jerome.” Jaxson backs away from his locker, already sensing he won’t be able to bottle up his frustration this time. “Hold up. What do you mean you can even invite me?” He walks right up to Brock, standing face to face with him. “Well, hang on, Jerome, I only meant that—you know, we might hit up a club or something—” Jaxson shoves Brock backward, slamming his head against a locker. Everyone rushes between the two, keeping them separated. “What the fuck, man?” Brock says, holding the back of his head. “You listen, Sean. In fact, everybody listen!” The locker room goes quiet. “Let’s just get this out there. I’ll date who I want to date. If that happens to be the daughter of another team’s coach, so be it. Anyone have a problem with that? Here I am. Let’s hear it.” He looks around, but no one offers a response. “That’s what I thought. So yeah, Sean, count me in for this weekend. Anything else?” Brock doesn’t speak, and neither does anyone else. “Good. Someone get him a Band-Aid.” A few teammates cover their mouths as Jaxson grabs a jacket and walks out of the locker room. “Damn, Sean,” Rose says once he’s gone, “talk about getting fucking owned. And by Jerome, no less.” “Suck a dick, Malik.” Tuesday night, after a physically demanding day of practice and nonstop bickering from Coach Harden, Randall heads home to his high-rise apartment to watch more film on the Cowboys offense. He studies their impressive offensive line and Jason Witten, his two top priorities on Thursday. Finding no apparent weakness, he flips through the five losses Dallas has on the season to study how their opponents beat them. He hears a knock on the door and pauses the film, slightly concerned. He’s not expecting anyone, and he rarely has guests anyway. He tiptoes to the door and looks through the peephole, shocked at who’s standing on the other side. He clenches his fist as he opens the door. “Hey, Briggs.” “Zack.” “Can I come in?” “Um, yeah. Sure.” Grantzinger strolls in and takes a seat on the couch, seeing the game tape on the TV screen. “See, this is the problem,” he says. “Who said there was a problem?” “Take it easy. I didn’t come here for a rematch. Sit down.” “Fine.” Randall sits on a separate couch, perpendicular to the TV. “So what’s on your mind?” “Football. We got a tough game this week, and we need to play our best, including you.” “I’ll be ready.” “I’m not so sure.” “Excuse me?” “Listen, Briggs, let’s be honest here. Something’s been up with you for awhile. It has to go beyond me pissing you off, and I think I know what it is.” “Get to the fucking point.” “Look. It’s eight o’ clock, and you’re sitting here watching film.” “That’s how I prepare. That’s how I play the game. Especially on a short week.” “Yeah, but you know what? I bet even if we didn’t have a short week, you’d be doing the same thing. Right?” Randall thinks about that for a second, realizing it’s true but not wanting to admit Grantzinger is right. “There’s already too much pressure in this league to bring more on yourself,” Grantzinger says. “Zack, that’s how—” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. That’s your mentality. Had a bad game? Watch more film. Miss a few tackles? Watch more film. Well, where’s it gotten you?” Randall can’t find anything to say, part of him wanting to look defiant, part of him giving serious thought to what his teammate is saying. “And if this is about the captain thing,” Grantzinger continues, “believe me, I’d be bitching and screaming whether I was alternate captain or not. You’re still captain of the defense, and for good reason. And to be a good captain, all you have to do is be yourself. You don’t have to run around and scream or whatever. You just have to be Briggs Randall, because Briggs Randall is a pretty fucking good linebacker.” “You know, it’s funny. Last year, Chet Ripka told me something that sounded a lot like that. Pretty sure he mentioned putting extra pressure on myself too.” “So learn to take good advice when it’s given to you, dumbass.” “Okay then. What do you suggest?” “Honestly?” Randall nods. “I think you need to get laid.” Randall laughs. “Shit, I think we both need to get laid.” “That doesn’t sound bad. Let’s think here…ah, shit.” “What?” “I hate to say this…do you have Brock’s number?” As the Packers and Lions wrap up the first of three Thanksgiving games, the Knights and Cowboys warm up on the field of AT&T Stadium for the second. The Cowboys sport their dark blue throwback uniforms, a Thanksgiving custom, while the Knights wear their standard white away jerseys. The Knights get the ball first and go to work on the run game. Their offensive line mauls Dallas’ front seven, moving the chains and reaching midfield without a single pass attempt. Coach Everett finally calls a pass, but Maverick checks out to a run up the middle. Penner plants two defenders to the ground, paving the way for Jameson, who gets eight yards without being touched, absorbs a hit, and gets another ten yards. It’s first and ten on the Cowboys’ thirty-two. The Cowboys finally realize they have to stack the box, and Maverick goes to work. He hits Bishop on a corner for his first completion of the day, then finds Johnson over the middle to put the Knights in the red zone. Maverick drops back to pass again, but nobody’s open. With plenty of time to throw, he unloads to Jaxson in the flat, who jukes a few defenders in the open field on his way to the end zone. 7-0, Knights. The Cowboys start their first possession with a similar game plan. Tony Romo hands off to DeMarco Murray, who powers through holes in the front seven. Randall and Martin bring him down with tough tackles, but he gains more yards than the Knights want to allow. Dallas reaches midfield and opens up the play-calling with Romo firing quick passes to open receivers. On the outside, a fierce battle takes place between Rose and Dez Bryant. It’s only been a few plays, but Roses realizes Bryant is the best receiver he’s faced all year. After another first down, the Knights finally manage a big stop against Murray thanks to a great play by Luck. This leads to third and eight, and Harden gladly calls a blitz. Romo takes the snap from shotgun. Randall and Martin come free on the inside. Romo ducks, Martin dives over him, and he steps up with space around him. Scanning he field, he lofts a pass for Witten over the middle, uncovered. Witten streaks for the end zone, where Flash hits him as he crosses the goal line. Tie game, 7-7. “We knew it wasn’t gonna be easy,” Harden says on the sideline. “Relax, men. It’s gonna be a long battle.” Both defenses settle in, keeping opposing passing attacks in check, and the game becomes a battle between run-first offenses. With Rose shutting out Bryant, Harden confidently sends Stevenson into the box on most plays, containing Murray to carries under five yards. Dallas still moves the ball, but the Knights step up on critical third downs and keep them out of the end zone. On offense, Grodd and Penner chew through enough defenders to give Jaxson and Jameson room to run. Maverick struggles to get the pass game going consistently, mostly due to Everett’s conservative play calls, but he doesn’t panic. In the long run, the run game is more important. As long as the Knights have that, they’ll be able to score in the second half. The teams trade field goals early in the second quarter. On the ensuing drive, Dallas eventually faces third and six. Harden sends a blitz that gets picked up perfectly, and Romo finds Witten over the middle for a first down. A few plays later, it’s third down again, and Harden blitzes again. This time, Romo somehow evades the pressure, and Witten escapes from Flash’s coverage for a big gain. The drive ends with a field goal, and it’s 13-10, Cowboys. The rest of the second quarter ticks away with the Knights offense apparently stalling. They get the ball back with less than a minute to go, and Maverick floats a perfect pass into double coverage that Johnson hauls in on the Cowboys’ thirty-nine. Two incompletions later, with the clock at 0:03, Janikowski nails a fifty-six yard field goal to tie the game, 13-13, at halftime. Maverick lines up under center for the Knights’ first possession of the second half. He hands off to Jameson, who gets stuffed at the line of scrimmage for no gain, a discouraging start to the quarter. Everett calls an aggressive passing play, and Maverick gladly relays it in the huddle. Under center again, he fakes a handoff to Jameson and looks deep to Wilkes. He’s covered, but Bishop cuts open across the middle. Maverick fires toward an opening but spots a corner he hadn’t seen undercut the route and intercept it. The home crowd cheers as Dallas sets up shop forty yards away from the end zone. “That’s on me, boys,” Maverick says on the sideline. “Half-second earlier and you had me,” Bishop says. “I know, that’s on me. And coach,” he says to Everett, “love the play call. If I execute, that’s a big gain.” “One play at a time, Mav,” Everett says. “We’ll get there.” The offense studies pictures on the sideline, occasionally looking up at the stadium’s massive video screen to watch their defense struggle. Dallas reaches the end zone with balanced play-calling and flawless execution, and it’s 20-13, Cowboys. After the Knights respond with a field goal to make it 20-16, the Cowboys go right back to work, moving the chains and reaching Knights’ territory before a false start pushes them back to midfield. First and fifteen. From the sidelines, Harden struggles with a play call. His blitzing strategy has been way off today, with Romo enjoying too many clean pockets and Dallas’ blocking picking up too many blitzes. Even worse, the few blitzes that were effective have been countered by Romo’s mobility. Harden decides not to force things, calling relatively simple plays for the time being. Romo fakes a handoff to Murray. Randall bites slightly, letting Witten get behind him. Flash sees Romo staring down his tight end and closes as the pass comes in. Witten catches it and Flash levels him to the turf, ball still in hand. “Get the fuck outta here, bitch,” Flash says as Witten gets off the ground slowly. Despite the big hit, it’s first and ten at the thirty-eight. Rose finds himself lined up with Bryant and no one else around. This seems ripe for an isolation route, and Rose is fine with that. Romo takes the shotgun snap and stares down Bryant, running along the sideline. Rose runs with him every step and sees Romo lob the pass their way. Both men try to outmuscle each other, leap at the same time, and Bryant gets his hands on the ball. Rose comes down awkwardly, spins, and misses the tackle. Bryant jogs into the end zone. 27-16, Cowboys. Rose finds a quiet spot on the sideline and replays the route in his head as Randall approaches. “Hey, Malik, if it takes until Thanksgiving for you to give up a touchdown, and it’s against Dez, you’re pretty fucking good.” Rose nods stoically, and the two bump fists as Harden walks by. He’s not screaming, so he must agree with Randall. A Dallas three-and-out near the end of the third quarter leads to promising field position for the Knights, who (thanks to a successful lobbying effort by Maverick) come out firing. Not even bothering with play-action, Maverick finds rhythm by throwing short, high-probability passes that hit his receivers quickly. Everett times a receiver screen to Wilkes perfectly, and the Knights cross midfield as the third quarter ends. After the commercial break, Maverick goes deep for Johnson into double coverage, deliberately overthrowing him. On the next play, he sees Dallas’ coverage more spread out and hits Bishop over the middle on a post. Bishop breaks one tackle, stiff-arms another, and goes down at the ten. Maverick lines up in shotgun and studies the defense. He motions Larkhill from the right slot to the left, leaving Wilkes isolated in single coverage. Perfect. He takes the snap and lobs up a jump ball. Wilkes outreaches the corner easily and comes down with both feet in bounds. 27-22, Cowboys. Everett signals for the two-point conversion immediately. Maverick lines up under center with four wide receivers. Seeing the defense spread out again, he hurries the snap and hands off to Jameson up the middle. He lowers his shoulders, meets a defender at the goal line, and tries to push him back, but other defenders jump in and bring him down short. The score remains 27-22. As the offense rehearses the game-winning drive on the sideline, Harden calls plays aggressively, trying to get the ball back. He watches helplessly, however, as Dallas marches right down the field, sticking to the same game plan and showing no urgency, gladly chewing up the clock. 5:44, 5:43, 5:42… The Cowboys hammer Murray with runs to the left, as Tyron Smith continues to dominate Brock at the point of attack. Randall and Martin aren’t missing tackles, but they can only do so much. Two runs later, Dallas has another first down. 4:27, 4:26, 4:25… Harden considers his three timeouts as the Cowboys keep running. Joseph Randle subs for Murray and gets another first down, setting Dallas up on the fifteen. 2:58, 2:57… Whistles blow everything dead as Harden calls timeout. He radios instructions and plays to Randall, who huddles the defense up. “Gut check time, boys. They get a touchdown here, it’s over. We hold ‘em to three, we have a chance. Let’s see what we’re made of.” The Knights line up in their base 3-4 formation for first and ten. Romo fakes a handoff to Randle and looks deep. Brock gets stuffed on the rush, providing Romo an eternity to throw. He eventually lofts it to the end zone, overthrowing everyone, and the clock stops at 2:50. Second and ten. Romo lines up in shotgun, and Brock stares down Smith. Romo takes the snap. Brock bull-rushes, then cuts to the outside, blowing right past the left tackle. He accelerates and tries to swat the ball out of Romo’s hands. He doesn’t, but Romo goes down for the sack and a five-yard loss. Third and fifteen. Harden lets the clock wind, content to preserve two timeouts. Romo lines up under center, watches the play clock tick down, and takes the snap. He fakes a handoff to Murray and looks deep. “Screen!” Randall shouts. Grantzinger hears him, and they both converge to Romo’s right, where blocking develops as Murray catches a pass. Randall and Grantzinger sidestep linemen and close on Murray, gang tackling him for a two-yard loss. The two mob each other in celebration as the game reaches the two-minute warning, and Dallas’ field goal team jogs onto the field. Maverick lines up for first and ten, down 30-22, 1:54 and two timeouts to work with, seventy-seven yards from the end zone. Maverick continues to hit his receivers quickly on short passes with an affinity for sideline routes. Dallas has apparently assumed a prevent defense, giving Wilkes and Johnson huge cushions. Maverick takes advantage, hitting his receivers ten yards at a time, crossing midfield with 1:29 to go, still with two timeouts. On the sideline, Harden shakes his head at Dallas’ defensive strategy. “I’ll never understand it,” he says aloud. Maverick continues to enjoy buffers on the outside, occasionally hitting Bishop over the middle, gaining more yards but taking more clock. As the chain gang sets up the sticks for a new first down at the Dallas thirty, Maverick hurries his teammates to the line. 1:00, 0:59, 0:58… He takes the snap in shotgun and looks deep to Johnson—covered. He looks left for Wilkes on an out route and fires. The pass sails off target. Wilkes manages to corral it, but lands in bounds. Everett and Harden both call timeout, and the clock freezes at 0:48. In shotgun again, Maverick studies the defense and takes the snap. Linebackers come on a blitz. He rolls right, escaping the rush, and spots Bishop over the middle. He throws, and Bishop catches it at the ten. He runs forward with one man to beat, lowers his shoulders, and the two collide. Stunned but on his feet, Bishop holds onto the ball and stumbles into the end zone. 30-28, Cowboys. Maverick knows they need to go for two but runs toward his celebrating teammates anyway. “Great drive, boys!” he screams. “Great drive!” Harden calls his final timeout, and things calm down as Everett and Maverick decide on a play. “If we put Jameson in there, they have to respect the run,” Everett says. “So play-action?” Maverick says. “I was thinking a jump ball to Wilkes. It worked earlier.” “How about this: if Wilkes is isolated, throw it up, if not, play-action rollout.” “Let’s do it.” They iron out the details, and Maverick jogs toward the huddle for the two-point attempt. The crowd rises to its feet and gets loud as the formation sets. Maverick sees Wilkes by himself on his left, but a safety jogs over to double him. There goes that. The box is stacked, so play-action seems fitting. Sensing a blitz, Maverick wants to adjust the blocking, but the play clock is low and the fans are screaming. He takes the snap, fakes a handoff to Jameson, and looks for Bishop. He can’t find him in the chaos at the line of scrimmage. Hesitating, he finds himself swarmed with defenders. He backtracks and looks to the corner of the end zone, where Johnson is covered. Without enough room to escape the pressure, Maverick heaves it up helplessly. Johnson jumps for it, trying not to go out of the end zone. He and the corner get their hands on it. They come down simultaneously—feet in bounds—and fall to the ground. As they hit the turf, the ball squirts loose, and the nearby official signals incomplete pass. With Cowboys celebrating around them, Knights help Johnson to his feet as Maverick comes jogging in. “That was a hell of an effort, Alex.” “Hell of a throw, Mav.” They bump fists and walk back to the sideline. Coach Harden watches as the special teams units prepare for an onside kick. Janikowski gets it to bounce high, but it lands securely in the arms of a blue jersey. Cowboys win, 30-28. As Harden tries to brush off another tough loss, he observes the sideline around him in awe. The players in white jerseys high five each other, graciously accepting defeat. Bewildered, Harden can’t decide if this is the greatest or worst thing he’s ever seen. The mood carries into the locker room, where nobody hangs their head or slams their helmet into a locker. Harden has been around long enough to know there’s no such thing as an easy defeat in the NFL. Maybe his players are simply building a tolerance to last minute, emotionally crushing losses. They’ve certainly had their share. Before players change out of their pads, Harden gathers everyone together, an unusual post-game ritual for him, win or lose. “I’ll keep this brief, since you all have families to get back to. I want to assure you all that despite today’s loss, I am not changing the practice schedule. Let’s take the rest of the weekend off and come in Monday morning ready for December. But more importantly, since it is Thanksgiving, let’s remember what we’re thankful for. We’re thankful for this great game and the privilege we have in playing it. We’re thankful for our teammates, for our coaches, for our fans. We didn’t win today, but we’re thankful there’s four games left. And we’ll make them count. Happy Thanksgiving, men.” Everyone changes quickly, and the team ends up boarding the plane ahead of schedule. The flight lands a little after seven, leaving everyone plenty of time to get home for Thanksgiving dinner. Goodbyes are brief, and everyone drives toward their Southern California homes except Harden, who catches a cab to the airport. Before Maverick’s car is all the way up the driveway, he holds out his phone, highlighting Brandi’s number. His finger hovers millimeters from the green button. As he stops the car, he presses it. One ring, no answer. Another ring, no answer. Another ring. He hangs up, squeezing the phone as hard as he can. He slams his fist against the steering wheel repeatedly, honking the horn a few times. Several deep breaths later, he tosses the phone on the passenger’s seat, backs out of the driveway, and speeds off. Penner drives past one house after another, proudly scanning his neighborhood, lined with upscale middle-class homes one wouldn’t expect to house an NFL player. He arrives at his own and immediately spots one of the dogs in the window, tail wagging. He hurries to the door and opens it. All three dogs make a beeline for him, but closer are his two sons. “Daddy!” they both yell excitedly, running toward their father. Brian crouches down, and they both hug him. “Hey guys,” he says, falling backwards gently as if tackled and holding onto his children. The dogs go for the head, attacking him with a furious wave of licks. “Good boy, good boy, good boy.” “There’s my husband,” says another voice. “You big softie.” Brian rises from the three dogs and two children to kiss his wife. “Let’s eat,” Brian says. “Daddy’s starving.” By the time Eva finishes setting the table, Malik has already removed Tatiyana from her seat and feeds her by hand, leaving his full plate untouched, for the moment. Jasmin behaves and eats her food. “Babe,” Eva says to Malik, “why don’t you pass her around? You haven’t gotten a chance to eat yet.” “It’s okay, I’m fine.” “I’ll take her, daddy,” Jasmin says. Surprised, Malik stops feeding Tatiyana, bringing on another wave of cries. “Here you go.” He hands Tatiyana to her sister carefully. “She’s crying because she’s hungry.” “That’s okay,” Jasmin says. Malik and Eva both smile. “I don’t mind.” Neither do they. Chance walks through the door without a greeting but smells food. He follows the scent to the kitchen, hoping to enjoy some microwaved leftovers. With any luck, they’ll still be a little warm. He reaches the kitchen, and the sight catches him off guard. Melissa, Max, Jack, and Kimmy all sit at the table, empty plates in front of them with the rest of the table filled with food. “We waited for you, daddy,” Max says. “It’s still warm!” Kimmy says. Chance gladly sits at the head of the table, all worries about the Knights that occupied his drive home now gone. He’ll worry about football tomorrow. “Well,” he says, “this is a very nice surprise. Thank you.” “Happy Thanksgiving,” Melissa says. “Happy Thanksgiving. I love you guys. Who wants to say grace?” Maverick makes his way through Los Angeles International Airport in disguise. If a single person identifies him, it’ll be a fucking nightmare. After lucking out on a red eye flight to Philadelphia, Maverick clears security with his single bag of luggage and heads for his terminal. Along the way, he spots someone who looks familiar, and quickly identifies him as D-Jam. At least, he really looks like D-Jam. But why would he be at the airport? And where is he going? Either D-Jam or the D-Jam lookalike heads for a separate terminal, and Maverick maintains a low profile, eventually boarding along with first class passengers. An older man ends up next to him. “You know, I recognize you,” the man says as the plane taxis to the runway. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Listen, I just want to get some sleep—” “It’s okay; I don’t plan on making a scene.” “I appreciate that.” “You’re a hell of a quarterback, son.” “Thanks.” The man nods, and Maverick leans against the window, drifting asleep. Logan gets there on time, though he’s still the last to arrive. That probably doesn’t look good, but everyone knows his reason for working on Thanksgiving, and no one has voiced any objection to it. As he walks toward the joint family dinner, a plan of his own making, the door opens. He expects to see either his girlfriend or his parents, but instead it’s his girlfriend’s father, giving him a warm look. Logan smiles nervously. He can handle an eleven-ounce leather football, no problem, but the small box in his jacket pocket holding an engagement ring seems to weigh a hundred pounds. From the back seat of the cab, Merle admires the dark North Dakota landscape. Just a few miles from the high school where he first coached football, he feels a wave of nostalgia, reliving some of the good times in his head. The driver stops at the address. Merle gives him a $50 tip and gets out. As he walks up the driveway, the door opens, and a beautiful face. “Hey, dad.” “Hey there, Trish. Happy Thanksgiving.” She jogs down the driveway and gives him a warm, firm hug. He kisses his daughter on the cheek and puts his arm around her as they walk up towards the door. “It’s great to see you, Trish.” “You too, dad. You know I quit drinking. Only two months, but it’s something.” “Well, that makes one of us. Let’s not mention drinking in front of your mother, okay?” “Or football?” “Especially not football.” Randall finishes his underwhelming Thanksgiving dinner and plops down in front of the couch. Nothing else to do, he turns on the TV, switching between football highlights and The Godfather. Surprisingly not tired, he tries to think of an alternative, only coming up with one idea. He takes out his phone. “Hello?” “Hey, Zack. It’s Briggs.” “What’s up?” “Nothing. I’m bored.” “Not seeing your parents?” “Nah, we decided to do tomorrow instead of tonight.” “Yeah, same here.” “Want to go out, grab a drink or something?” “Um…yeah, why not? Beats sitting around watching The Godfather.” Randall laughs. “As long as Brock isn’t involved.” Da’Jamiroquai drives his rental car through the early morning darkness, taking a slight detour to drive past Coastal Carolina University, the place where he shattered half the record book and remade his name. He gets back on track and arrives at another familiar location, a small residential neighborhood five minutes from campus. He finds the correct home after driving past it once, parks in the street, and knocks on the door. It takes a few minutes, but house lights finally come on. “Who’s there?” says a voice from inside. “It’s me. Open up.” The door opens, revealing an older man wearing a robe. He studies the young man standing on his doorstep, identifying him right away but taking a second to register his presence. “Didn’t think you wanted to talk to me, let alone come all the way out here.” “You’re the only family I got, Uncle Linc.” “Alright, come on in. I’ll make some coffee.” Jonathan wakes up to see the earliest hints of sunrise shining through the clouds. He notices the cab has stopped, and the driver says, “We’re here.” He pays the fee and walks toward the front door, bag in hand, and rings the doorbell. He hears footsteps, silence, then the door opens, and he smiles. “Jonathan?” “Hi, dad.” Another figure appears behind the man. “Hi, mom.” “You said you weren’t coming. Said you had plans.” “Happy Thanksgiving.” “Oh, for heaven’s sake, let him in. Let him in.” Jonathan steps in and embraces his father as his mother goes on about what she’ll make for breakfast and what leftovers he can have for lunch.
  23. Knights of Andreas Part III Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway OAK RazorStar RevisFan81 Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Thirty-Three – Which Battles to Fight Monday morning, an unexpected and uncomfortable meeting unfolds in one of the MedComm Center’s conference rooms, consisting of Harden, Everett, and other offensive coaches. After Everett lays out the basics, Harden rubs his temples and finishes his iced coffee. “How long, Tom?” Harden asks. “A few weeks, I think.” “Is it always just in the huddle?” the quarterbacks coach asks. “Sometimes in the huddle, sometimes at the line of scrimmage as an audible.” “Nothing wrong with audibles at the line.” “I don’t think he calls the initial play with the intention of running it.” “Maybe, maybe not.” “Look,” Everett says, sitting up, “we’ve won two of our last three, finally starting to get everything turned in the right direction. I don’t want this derailing things.” “Mav also hasn’t thrown an interception in three weeks, coach.” “And I don’t want that to change.” “Alright,” Harden says. “Somebody get a hold of Mav. I don’t care where he is, I don’t care what he’s doing. Get him in here. Now.” A modest game of phone tag later, Maverick is tracked down and summoned to headquarters. The coaches begin preparations for Houston like normal, then regroup when their quarterback arrives, repeating the seating arrangement from earlier. Maverick walks in looking surprised, but calm. “Take a seat, Mav,” Harden says. “What’s the word, coach?” Maverick asks, sitting at one end of the table, across from the head coach. Harden: “You’ve been calling plays yourself, sometimes completely disregarding the initial play call.” Maverick shoots Everett a nasty glare. Harden: “You’re the quarterback, and you are allowed to call audibles as you see fit, but when you’re in the huddle and that call comes through the little earpiece in your helmet, you relay it verbatim. Understood?” Maverick: “Yes, sir.” Harden: “This ends now. Are we clear?” Maverick: “Yes, sir.” Everett: “If you ever have any suggestions about plays, we need to work together to figure out what’s what. We’re on the same side, Mav.” Maverick: “I got you, coach.” Everett extends his hand, and Maverick shakes it. Harden: “Good. Now get the hell out of here. We’ll see you tomorrow.” Maverick stands up and leaves. Harden: “That was fun.” Everett: “I appreciate the help, coach.” Harden: “Yeah, yeah. Listen, Tom, you better get to work. You’ve got your hands full this week.” Everett: “We’re on it.” Second and nine, Knights ball from their own thirty, 4:50 to go in the first quarter of a scoreless game. Maverick lines up under center with Jameson behind him. He hands off to his running back, and J.J. Watt swallows him up for a two-yard loss. The Houston crowd cheers for one of the game’s most dominant defensive players, a bright spot in an otherwise dismal season for the 1-8 Texans—a team the Knights should easily beat. “C’mon now!” Maverick yells in the huddle. “I don’t give a shit how good he is. Fucking block him.” He hears the play call for third and eleven: a short passing play designed to get five-to-seven yards. A cop out. But in the wake of Everett’s bullshit meeting, he calls it anyway. Maverick takes the snap from shotgun and hits Wilkes on a comeback route. He goes down for a seven-yard gain, and out comes the punt team. Third and two, Texans ball on the Knights’ twenty-nine, 9:14 to go in the second quarter. The Texans send out multiple tight ends, and Harden stacks the box accordingly. Unafraid of Case Keenum, his goal is to stop Houston’s potent running attack. The only other concern is keeping Andre Johnson at bay, but Rose has that covered easily. Keenum hands off to Ben Tate. Wesley Mann, subbing for Damian Jones, gets beat at the line of scrimmage, opening a lane. Randall and Martin both clog it, stuffing Tate after only a yard. It’s fourth and two, and the Texans send out the field goal unit. Second and ten, Texans ball on their own thirty, 0:36 and counting left in the second quarter. With the game tied, 3-3, Harden feels relatively content letting Houston run out the clock. Keenum fakes a handoff to Arian Foster and looks to pass. Harden watches his secondary, surprised at the passing play and eager for an interception. Keenum has a clean pocket, steps up, and throws long. Harden spots DeAndre Hopkins running a deep post with Flash in coverage. Flash tracks the ball as he runs, finally jumping for it awkwardly, misjudging it. He whiffs completely as the pass falls into Hopkins’ arms and he runs free for a touchdown. “God damn it, Flash!” Harden screams over the celebration of Reliant Stadium. He doesn’t say anything to his free safety as he sulks back to the sideline, deciding to wait until the locker room, where the Knights will try to overcome a 10-3 deficit. First and ten, Knights ball on the Texans’ twenty-three, 10:06 to go in the third quarter. Maverick excitedly lines up under center as the Knights’ first drive of the second half creeps closer to the end zone. He takes the snap and looks left, waiting for Johnson to break open. He spots Watt coming free on the rush and bombs it out of the back of the end zone, where Wilkes was running deep, avoiding intentional grounding Second and ten. Maverick hands off to Jaxson, and Watt comes free again. Jaxson tries to dance around him, to no avail, and goes down for a three-yard loss. Third and thirteen. Everett calls another surrender play that Maverick desperately wants to change, but doesn’t. He takes the snap from shotgun and looks left to Jaxson, but Houston has the screen covered. He rolls out, looking for another option, but Watt is in his face. He manages to sidestep him for a second, but Watt grabs him and shoves him down. His helmet slams against the grass, and it’s fourth down. Maverick struts to the sideline, feeling irritable after taking that hit. “Can’t keep settling for field goals,” Everett says. “Yeah, no shit,” Maverick says. He grabs a bottle of water and looks at his teammates. “Wake up, people! All we talked about this week was how good Watt is, how he’s all over the place. Well, here we are! I don’t know why everyone’s so fucking surprised.” Third and nine, Knights ball from the fifty, 12:20 to go in the fourth quarter. Though the defense has completely shut down Houston’s offense, the Knights have only managed field goals for themselves and trail, 10-9. In the huddle, Maverick hears the play call: a screen pass to Jameson. Yeah, zero chance that works. Maverick plays along, relaying the call to his teammates. Everyone lines up, and he sees, predictably, a defense ready to suffocate a screen pass. Maverick backs off and shouts an audible: deep crossing routes, with Johnson going long. Everett watches closely as the formation shifts. Maverick motions Bishop towards him to help block Watt. With the play clock running low, he takes the snap. Watt gets bottled up initially, and Maverick enjoys a clean pocket. He stares down Johnson, a half step ahead of his corner. Good enough. He steps up and bombs it toward the end zone. Johnson keeps his pace, and the pass hits him in stride as he crosses the goal line. Touchdown, Knights. Withholding celebration, Maverick puts two fingers in the air, preparing his teammates to try for a seven-point lead. Everett calls slant routes for the two-point conversion. With no objection, Maverick hurries everyone to the line as Houston scrambles. He takes the snap and fires a bullet to Wilkes, who catches it without being touched. 17-10, Knights. First and ten, Texans ball on their own thirty-nine, 1:39 to go in the fourth quarter. Though the Knights haven’t been able to add on to their lead, Harden calls plays confidently, knowing Houston can’t tie the game without a defensive breakdown. Keenum takes a snap from shotgun, and Grantzinger comes free on the rush. Keenum sweeps left, staring down Andre Johnson, blanketed by Rose. Brock comes free right in front of Keenum, forcing a throw into coverage. Rose cuts in front of Johnson, tips the pass into the air, and Randall gets under it for the interception. The Knights sideline erupts in celebration for their most meaningful win of the year. It was a shitty performance and an ugly win, but even Harden can’t keep himself from smiling due to its implications. A faint sense of hope populates the air of the MedComm Center. After almost two months with a losing record, the Knights have crawled their way back to .500, giving them life halfway through November with six weeks to go. Even better, Miami’s 20-16 win over San Diego means the Knights gained a game in the wild card race. Denver is now tied with Kansas City at 9-1 after ending their undefeated season, and San Diego is 7-3. With New England, Cincinnati, and Indianapolis leading their divisions comfortably, the Knights are tied for second in the battle for the #6 seed, along with the Dolphins and Jets, both 5-5. Conquering a two-game deficit with six games left is historically improbable, but it seems a lot more doable than it did a few weeks ago. The Knights begin a full week in Los Angeles preparing for the 4-6 Titans, who recently lost Jake Locker to season-ending injury. Harden looks forward to facing another mediocre offense with his defense playing well. The Knights have given up an average of 19 points in their last four games, and that’s including the abomination against the Eagles. The Titans are much more impressive defensively, so the Knights offense has a tougher task this week. Everett looks forward to the challenge, and to putting Maverick’s audible nonsense behind him. Tuesday afternoon, the offense works on quick passes with Maverick rolling out, simple plays that turned out to be useful against J.J. Watt and thus will probably be useful against Jurrell Casey. Maverick calls a cadence half-heartedly, rolls out, and hits Bishop in stride, easy work against the scout defense. “See, Mav?” Everett says. “Just give the routes some time to develop, and either Bishop or Johnson breaks open. No need to audible out just because your primary read won’t be there.” “Got it, coach,” Maverick says, already tired of the subject. Everett can talk all he wants, but the Knights scored their only touchdown Sunday when Maverick audibled to an aggressive play. It’s going to be a long week if he doesn’t let this shit go. On the other side of the field, defenders work on complex blitzes, Harden watching closely. Though they played well overall against Houston, too many blitzes were ineffective in key downs, something that must be corrected immediately. Randall watches the scout offense get in formation and take the snap. Brock and Martin blitz. A hole opens up on the line, Jones cuts through immediately, and the running back cuts to another hole. Randall closes and brings him down easily. “Dammit, Anthrax, don’t be so damn aggressive,” Grantzinger says. Jones nods, hands on his hips. Randall tries to ignore him, getting back in formation. “Every time there’s an opening you leave your gap. That’s why we always give up more yards up the middle than we should.” “That’s enough, Zack,” Randall says. “What?” Grantzinger walks up to Randall, not stopping until their facemasks are inches apart. “Hey!” Harden shouts. “We having a fucking conference? Let’s go!” “I said that’s enough,” Randall says. “Now get the fuck out of my face.” “Like you’re gonna do something about it if I don’t?” Randall clenches his fist, ready to end this shit once and for all. Grantzinger prepares to step back, anticipating the first punch. Shouting from across the field distracts both of them, as well as Harden. They quickly see Maverick and Everett, not much further apart than Randall and Grantzinger are. “I run the fucking plays as I see fit!” Maverick screams, helmet off. “If I hear a play call I don’t like, then I’m gonna fucking change it. So get the hell used to it!” Maverick paces away as Everett takes everything in stoically, not intending to respond, apparently. The entire practice field has gone dead silent. “And another thing!” Maverick moves back toward his offensive coordinator. “If the calls weren’t so shitty in the first place, we wouldn’t have this problem. We only scored a damn touchdown last week because I picked a play that worked. You didn’t. So if you don’t want me changing your calls, learn to call a fucking football game!” He storms off the field all the way to the locker room. Harden makes his way toward Everett, managing to bellow, “Back to work, men!” to get the team going again. Randall and Grantzinger still find themselves face to face, but multiple teammates are close enough to end any altercation quickly. “We’ll finish this later,” Randall says. “Damn right we will,” Grantzinger says. Harden makes his way back to the locker room, finding Maverick alone, still wearing his jersey and pads. “I hope you enjoyed that,” Harden says, “because the rest of this week is going to be the worst of your life.” “I wasn’t wrong.” “I don’t give a shit. If you were a linebacker and you cursed me out like that, I’d do everything in my power to remove you from this team. And if the front office didn’t go for it, I’d bench you. However, as it happens—” “I’m the quarterback.” “Yes, you are, you pretentious, smug, immature piece of shit.” Maverick looks up, staring defiantly at his head coach. “Go ahead, curse me out too, Mav.” Maverick looks tough but doesn’t say anything. “Thought so,” Harden says. “So let me tell you how this is going to work. You will be the first person in this building every morning; you will be the last person to leave. You will occupy all extra time by running suicides. If you puke, I’m gonna make you drink it. You will be fined as much as I can fine you without getting shit from the Union. You will suffer through a long week of excruciating physical activity, and you will apologize to Coach Everett.” “No, I won’t. I was right about what I said. His play-calling is—” “Yes you will. You’re going to apologize and fucking mean it. If you don’t, suicides will be the least of your worries.” Maverick’s face goes from firm to confused. “You’re going to apologize or else you’ll always be known as the hotshot quarterback who tells his coaches what to do. And that shit simply does not fly in this league, Mav.” Maverick buries his head in his hands. Harden is thankful he doesn’t have to deal with another snappy comeback. “Let’s go, Mav. Unless you want the offense getting extra reps with Henne and Buchanan.” “It’s been tough for me, coach.” “I don’t want a goddamn sob story.” “The woman I love and I broke up. It’s—” “Don’t give me that. Not one more word. You want to go down that road? The woman I love is a thousand miles away with my daughter. My wife of thirty years! So I don’t want to fucking hear it. Grow up!” Harden feels his heart rate pick up, and he suddenly needs a drink. Regrettably, practice is only half over. “You want to win in the NFL? You learn to leave your bullshit at the door. You want to be an adult? You have to know which battles to fight. Think about that. For now, you’re on the practice field in three minutes or Henne starts on Sunday.” The post-practice locker room buzzes with discussion about the Maverick/Everett exchange, and initial reactions quickly evolve into taking sides. Maverick is absent, still on the practice field. “Man, I say let Mav call the plays,” Wilkes says to a group of offensive players, speaking quietly so coaches and other teammates can’t hear. “I feel like I get more looks that way.” Penner: “You don’t curse out your coaches. Mav’s a great quarterback, but that’s not how you handle business.” Jaxson: “A great quarterback? Aw, I knew you guys loved each other.” Penner: “I will tear out your spine with my bare hands, Jerome.” Jaxson: “Understood.” Grodd: “He was right, though, wasn’t he? I mean, that play on Sunday when we were gonna run a quick pass and Mav audibled out to a deep drop—got us a touchdown.” Penner: “Just because it worked, doesn’t mean it was right.” Bishop: “Exactly. If we have suggestions to run the offense better, we talk about them.” Wilkes: “I think Mav would argue that’s exactly what he did.” Jameson: “Yeah. Just…talking, instead of screaming.” Bishop: “What’s important is that it all gets worked out. We can’t have this hanging over us.” Grodd: “True.” Johnson: “Yeah, two games in five days is gonna be tough. Not gonna lie, I’m not super pumped about playing on Thanksgiving anymore.” Bishop realizes Thanksgiving is only nine days away, growing more excited about it by the minute. Wilkes: “Alright, boys, I’m out. See y’all tomorrow.” Wilkes walks out of the locker room, checking his phone along the way: no missed calls. It’s been a few days, long enough to conclude Uncle Lincoln has stopped calling him back. As he reaches the parking lot and drives home, he thinks about the situation, still not sure how he should feel. No matter how suspicious he is of his uncle’s intentions, he was the man to bring him in after all that shit went down at USC. Without him, he might not have even made it to the NFL. Back in the locker room, Randall and Grantzinger keep their eyes on each other, both wanting more teammates to leave first, and neither needing to say anything. Once it seems right, they both head for the exit and divert the security guards to buy some time. They find a clearing in the parking lot and line up across from each other as if they’re preparing for a play. Nobody moves. “Let’s go, motherfucker,” Randall says. Grantzinger lowers his shoulders and bull-rushes Randall, pushing him backward. Randall keeps his feet moving and throws punches to Grantzinger’s ribs. He finally gets his footing, pushing back, and Grantzinger hits him in the jaw. Randall moves back a step, stunned, ducking to avoid a headshot just in time. Grantzinger goes for another takedown, but he gets hit hard in the ear. He grabs Randall, trying to bring him down, but Randall outmuscles him. Randall wrangles Grantzinger sideways, lifting his feet off the ground, but Grantzinger hits Randall in the gut, regains control, and slams him to the asphalt. They wrestle around, throwing and deflecting punches. “Hey! Hey!” Security guards run in and break up the scrum. Once separated, each linebacker studies the damage. Grantzinger’s nose is bleeding, and Randall has a nasty gash on his elbow from scraping against the ground. They get in their cars and drive away without another word. Rumors of a practice field shouting match make their way out of the MedComm Center and into the ears of a few reporters, including Adam Javad. He hurriedly texts Phillips for any scoop. About an hour later, he gets a response: “Typical disagreement. Was resolved in minutes.” Javad texts back a thank you, disappointed his slow week will continue. His journalistic highlight so far was being the first beat writer to report that the Knights will debut their all-purple alternate jerseys for Sunday’s game. He goes back to an editorial he’s been working on for months, one his editor thankfully isn’t expecting anytime soon. Recent events have given him more to write about, but it’s still not close to finished. He skims the opening again. “It’s Friday night. I’m out at my favorite club, trying to have a good time and relax, and I happen to see some football players. Normally this would be a cool experience, except they’re more than just football players. They’re the players I cover for a living.” The first thing that sticks out is “cool,” a terribly unimaginative adjective that needs to be replaced. But the more he reads, the less he feels his good. To hell with it. He deletes the entire paragraph and starts over. After one of the more eventful Tuesdays in recent memory, everything settles into a normal week of practice for the Knights. Maverick and Everett appear to have reconciled, and they have a few productive conversations about the playbook. Players watch carefully but don’t spot any tension. On defense, Randall and Grantzinger show no evidence of their fight, pads and jerseys covering the bruises. Other than Randall giving plays to the defense, they say nothing to each other. No bickering, no ball busting, no casual conversation. With all the infighting apparently over, players focus on football. This Sunday’s game offers them a chance to sport a winning record for the first time in almost a year. One win this week, and the Knights are officially back on track. Fans fill in Farmers Field for their team’s first home game in three weeks. The Knights haven’t won in Los Angeles since week 4 against the Redskins. Fans have confidence, though, against the Titans, and Vegas agrees. The spread on today’s game settled at Knights by 4.5, their largest predicted win since week 2 against the Jaguars. Players go through the usual warm-up routines and eventually find their way back to the locker room, where their jerseys wait. But instead of the normal home black, their pads are covered by purple jerseys and purple pants. A few players put the jerseys on instinctively, giving the team a chance to study them quietly. In terms of contour and style, they deviate from the simplicity of the home and away uniforms, taking the postmodern touch to an extreme. The purple, which is closer to Vikings purple than Ravens purple, contrasts with white coloring around the shoulders and down the side, but the two colors are blended by a strange fade design. The numbers are white with a very classical black shadow. Players look around, everyone hesitant to comment first. Finally, Luck says, “These things are fucking hideous.” The ice broken, a few players laugh, while several are too horrified to do so. Brock: “No kidding. These might be the worst alternates in the league.” Bishop: “I always thought our purple was darker, but I guess it’s not.” Wilkes: “Jesus Christ, we look like faggots.” Grodd: “How are we supposed to intimidate in these things?” Jaxson: “I think they’re lavender.” Wilkes: “The fuck is lavender?” Penner: “It’s a color, you dumb shit.” Flash: “You guys are tripping. These are dope.” Martin: “You’re the one who’s tripping if you think these look good.” While debate goes on, all players eventually find themselves in purple, preparing for their head coach to come in and send them to the field. They hear Coach Harden’s footsteps and everything goes quiet again. “Alright, men, we—” Harden freezes in place, studying his players. “Oh, God help us. You all look like queers.” After a touchback, the Knights take the game’s first drive all the way to the end zone, facing only one third down in the process and jumping out to a 7-0 lead. Coach Harden’s defense feasts on another mediocre quarterback in Ryan Fitzpatrick. Though the tandem of Michael Roos and Andy Levitre keeps Brock in check, Grantzinger and Luck wreak havoc on the right side of Tennessee’s offensive line. The Titans manage just one first down throughout the first quarter while the Knights add a field goal for a 10-0 lead. Farmers Field carries an energy it has lacked all season, with the home team within reach of a winning record. The Knights’ high level of execution leaves fans with little to complain about—besides the jerseys. During a commercial, fans in one of the stadium’s luxury suites compare the jerseys to other alternates from around the league. It turns out to be a fascinating discussion, and Cooper, still under the alias of Quentin McDole, contributes by saying, “That’s the ugliest thing I’ve seen since my last one night stand.” Jefferspin-Wilkes and Alex Johnson face a tough cornerback duo in Jason McCourty and Alterraun Verner, forcing Maverick to find his second and third reads more often than not. This becomes a combination of Bishop and Jaxson in the flat, and while Maverick can’t hit anybody deep, the offense moves the ball enough to add another field goal. The Titans finally manage a field goal of their own, and the Knights mount one more drive before halftime, up 13-3. Maverick dips and dunks his way down the field, eventually leading the offense to the Titans’ ten-yard-line. Third and six, 0:11 to go. Coach Everett calls timeout and his quarterback comes to the sideline for the play call. Assistant coaches gather within earshot, as does Coach Harden. “Alright, Mav,” Everett says, “we’re gonna hit the flat. Jaxson’s been open all night.” “Bad idea,” Maverick says. Everett stares him down, and the other coaches tense up. “I’m sorry, coach. Jaxson’ll probably be open in the flat, but can he get six yards?” “What do you suggest?” “They’ve been creeping closer and closer on the out routes all day. Let’s hit ‘em with a double move. If they bite, it’s a touchdown.” Everett thinks, weighing options in the playbook that fit that description. “Okay, let’s do it.” They agree on a specific play, Maverick relays it in the huddle, and the Knights line up for third down. Maverick looks at his two primary receivers—the safeties lean a little to his right, so he’ll hit Johnson on the left. He takes the snap, stares down Johnson as he breaks toward the sideline, and pumps. The corner bites, and Johnson is open. Maverick fires a bullet pass through a narrow window and into Johnson’s hands. 20-3, Knights. Farmers Field rocks, and fans continue cheering through the final seconds of the first half. On the sideline, Maverick and Everett high-five like they never have, and the Knights go into the locker room up by three possessions. The second half is more of the same, though slightly less exciting. The Knights continue their dominance on defense, including a few big hits and interceptions that lead to plenty of celebrations. Though no one notices, Randall and Grantzinger don’t share as much as a high five. The Titans make some adjustments in the secondary that do nothing to hamper Maverick’s passing attack. What does cause trouble, however, is the increased presence of Jurrell Casey, who dominates Grodd at the line of scrimmage and disrupts nearly every play. Coach Everett eventually assigns Penner as a second blocker, and Casey is neutralized. Los Angeles takes a 27-6 lead into the fourth quarter, and it becomes clear the Knights are not going to lose. They’re about to be 6-5 with five weeks to go, well within the playoff picture. Players relax a bit, shifting their focus to their next game, a Thanksgiving trip to Dallas in just four days.
  24. Knights of Andreas Part III Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway OAK RazorStar RevisFan81 Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Thirty-Two – Parent Functions Coming off a much-needed victory, the Knights endure a frantic week of preparation on defense. Their opponent this Sunday is the Eagles, who, under first-year head coach Chip Kelly, have made a name for themselves with their high-paced, no-huddle offense. They may be 3-4, but Harden knows his defense faces a unique task this week, regardless of record. “I hope you all got plenty of rest yesterday,” Harden says as players take the field Tuesday morning, “because you’re gonna need every bit of it.” Harden watches, iced coffee in hand, as his defense sprints through drills. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to yell at them to maintain pace; Grantzinger does that for him. Grantzinger barks at players nonstop, berating them for any fault or slacking. A favorite line of his becomes, “Shady McCoy would be twenty yards upfield by now. Hurry the fuck up!” Harden loves that the young assistant captain is comfortable in his role, and also loves that he’s leaving less for Harden to scream about. He hopes the intensity carries over into Sunday. The defense’s primary captain, however, doesn’t appreciate Grantzinger’s gestures. Randall does his best to focus on his play, vowing to spend even more time in the film room this week. Fans at Farmers Field watch a football game that’s exciting for all the wrong reasons. The Eagles run their no-huddle offense at breakneck pace with incredible effectiveness. Though the Knights hold their own initially, jumping out to a 10-0 lead in the game, the Eagles eventually turn momentum on their side, frequently catching the Knights out of position on defense. Nick Foles puts on a clinic, and the Eagles lead 21-13 at halftime. After a vicious locker room rant by Coach Harden, the Knights show no improvement in the third quarter, falling behind 28-16. It seems the Eagles are ready to take over as the quarter ends, but Maverick connects with Alex Johnson, who beats Bradley Fletcher in coverage, for a seventy-yard touchdown, and it’s 28-23. From one of the luxury suites on the stadium’s east side, Jay Cooper sips a rum and coke as fans celebrate around him. Sporting purple sunglasses, a fake beard, and going by the name Quentin McDole, he blends in well enough, even if the deception is a little off-putting. In the fourth quarter, the Eagles pull away. LeSean McCoy forces missed tackles all over the place, and Foles hits his receivers on intermediate routes, constantly moving the chains. The Knights simply cannot keep pace with their opponent and are forced to watch Foles throw three touchdown passes in the fourth quarter, six total on the day, and the Eagles win, 49-30. Like his fellow Knights fans, Cooper leaves the stadium quietly, with his team 3-5 at the season’s halfway mark, left to wonder if it’s all over. Malik pulls his Challenger into the spiral driveway, revs it a few more times, and turns the key. The engine comes to a quiet halt as Malik walks up the stairs to the front door. His legs feel a little heavier than usual, courtesy of the work needed to shut down DeSean Jackson all day. He opens the door, unveiling the sprawling, open mansion that, for the moment, is quiet. Before he can enjoy the serenity, Eva appears from a nearby room, Jasmin in her arms, and a loud wail coming from the same room. “Hey, baby,” Malik says, pretending he doesn’t see the agitated look on her face. “Here, take her,” Eva says, handing four-year-old Jasmin to her father. “Tatiyana’s been crying for hours. I fed her, but she hasn’t stopped.” “Baby, I gotta take a shower—” “Malik, can you just take care of your daughter for a few minutes? I’ll see if I can get Tatiyana to sleep.” Malik watches his wife disappear into another room, leaving him and Jasmin, who looks as tired as he is. “Your sister’s having a bad day, huh?” Jasmin nods her head up and down. Malik looks around the mansion. “Daddy?” “Yes?” “Did you win?” “No, sweety, we lost.” “Aww. Were you good?” “Yes, baby. Daddy was great.” “That’s good.” She rests her head against Malik’s chest and closes her eyes. Tuesday morning, the Knights begin practicing for the Giants, the first game in a stretch of three road trips in four weeks. Though the exhausting loss against Philadelphia puts them at 3-5, the Chargers fell to 6-2 Sunday, losing to the Redskins. With the Chiefs at 9-0 and the Broncos 8-0, the Knights will have to catch San Diego to make the playoffs. As much as Harden wants to punish his players for their failure against the Eagles’ no-huddle offense, it would be a waste of practice time with the Giants coming up. New York does not run the no-huddle, their offensive line is garbage, and Eli Manning is in the middle of an uninspiring season. Harden likes his chances. Positional drills give way to scrimmages between purple and white jerseys (plus Maverick in red). Harden focuses on the interior of his defense, four players in particular fighting for two starting spots. At defensive tackle, he makes sure Damian Jones and Wesley Mann split reps evenly, the first time he’s done so all season. He still believes Jones will develop into a beast of a nose tackle, but his progression has been slow, and it’s only fair to give Mann more opportunities. Whether this translates into playing time on Sunday is yet to be determined. At inside linebacker, Dan Connor’s hip injury from Sunday is still healing, so Marlon Martin takes most of the practice reps, which is fine with Harden. Martin’s performance Sunday was absolutely dominant, making plays from sideline to sideline without missing a single tackle, the kind of game the league’s best linebackers wish they could have every Sunday. Next to Martin, Briggs Randall calls the plays and runs the defense like usual, though Harden can’t wrap his head around the fact that he’s being outplayed by the linebacker next to him. He has a few theories, but without anything concrete, he has other things to worry about. Whatever’s going on with Randall, it can wait. One day of practice down, the Knights shower and change in the locker room, leaving the MedComm Center one by one. Some stick around longer than others, including a few offensive linemen. Brian Penner and Chase Grodd grab clothes from adjacent lockers and dress while conversating. Grodd asks questions about plays from Sunday and practice, and Penner is happy to answer them. Eventually, Grodd runs out of questions and says, “Alright, I’m out for the day. See you tomorrow.” “Good work today,” Penner says as the two bump each other’s fists. “Back to it tomorrow.” About to head out himself, Penner finishes dressing and heads for the exit. “Yo, Brian, hold up.” Penner halts and sees Rose, usually one of the first out the door, waving him towards his locker. Penner approaches with a curious look on his face. “What?” Penner says. “You got a minute?” Rose asks, sounding more distressed than Malik Rose ever has, which is to say he sounds distressed at all. “Maybe.” “Wanted to talk to you, if it’s cool.” “About what?” “You got kids at home, right?” “Yep, two boys.” “Right. I got two girls, and—it’s tough, them and football—I mean, football’s not tough. Never. But kids, man…” “Alright, kid, alright. Look, why don’t we grab a beer? I’ll buy.” “Can’t. I got baby duty.” “You and me both, brother.” Penner looks around. “Let’s go outside, at least. I’ve had enough smelly jock straps for one day.” The two exit the building and talk as other Knights walk out past them. One of these is Maverick, curious to see Penner and Rose chatting—curious to see Rose at all, actually. This gives him a chance to compare Rose’s Challenger with his Audi, two of the nicer cars in the team’s parking lot. His Audi is definitely better. Speeding home in the superior automobile, Maverick gets to his front door before he realizes he’s forgotten to check his phone. He does so and sees a missed call and voicemail from—his heart skips a beat. Leaning against the front door, he taps hurriedly to hear the message. “Hi Jonathan, it’s Brandi. I, um…well, I’m going to be in L.A. this weekend and…I think maybe we should get together and talk about some things. Just call me. We can set something up.” Maverick hangs up the phone, heart racing. Oblivious to the world around him, he races through pictures in his head as if he’s going from one wide receiver to the next, running from one potential scenario to another, all with happy endings. His eyes finally fall on the dirty clothes, liquor bottles, and pizza boxes that litter his mansion, equally excited and disappointed he may finally have to clean it. A 3-5 record isn’t enough to dampen the mood amongst teammates throughout the week. Spearheaded by Brock, plans for a Friday night outing are put in motion, attracting many takers. Some question why Brock is suddenly so eager for a get-together, to which Grantzinger suggests, “He needs a morale boost after getting skull-fucked by Jason Peters last Sunday.” By Friday afternoon, players have put together another fantastic week of practice and are eager for the club outing, the trip to New York, or both. Brock circulates the locker room for one final round of invitations, with the usual suspects signing up and declining. “Sorry, Sean,” Logan Bishop says when asked, “I can’t make it.” “What? That’s weak, man. You said you were down. Ah, whatever.” Bishop wants to do anything that will maintain good relations with his teammates, but he has bigger priorities right now with how quickly things are progressing with his girlfriend. Before everyone departs for the day, Harden has business to settle. He orders a staffer to summon teammates to his office one by one. First on the list is Marlon Martin. As soon as he hears “Coach needs to see you,” he knows. He heads for the office and knocks on the open door. “Yeah, coach?” “Have a seat, Martin.” He does. “As you probably noticed in practice today, Dan’s hip has healed just fine. He’s basically a go for Sunday.” “I understand.” “Having said that, you will be the starter and I expect you to be on the field just as much as Briggs.” “I see.” Martin tries to mask his excitement. Should he say thank you? “You’re playing great, Marlon. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” “Yes, sir.” “Get outta here. See you tomorrow.” “Thanks, coach.” Martin paces out of the office with a jolt in his step. A career of special teams and rotational play, but he’s finally a starting linebacker. Finally. He brushes shoulders with Damian “Anthrax” Jones, next on Harden’s list. Like Martin, Jones knows what this is about, but he’s far less optimistic. “Take a seat, Damian. I’ll get right to it. We’re gonna be giving Wesley some looks this Sunday.” Jones sinks into his chair silently, able to manage only a nod of understanding. “To be honest,” Harden says, “you held your own against Kelce last week, which was impressive. But I gotta see what Wesley can do. You want your job back full-time, earn it. Understood?” “Yes, sir.” “Let me ask you something, Damian. Not sure why I never asked before. Why did they call you Anthrax in college?” “Music. I listen to music a lot.” “Those damn headphones of yours, I never noticed.” Jones looks confused, thrown off by the usually straightforward Harden’s sarcasm. “Hell,” Harden says, “there’s nothing else. Get out of here, Anthrax.” Jones walks out of the office, giving Mann a dirty look as he heads for Harden’s office next. This has been building for awhile now, so he’s not surprised, but he’s not worried either. He’ll make his snaps count, let his play do the talking, and take the job back eventually. Brock strolls into his favorite nightclub, leading a colorful cast of teammates that includes Maverick, Wilkes, Grodd, Grantzinger, and Flash Johnson. They are escorted into their own VIP lounge and recline on comfortable leather furniture. “This is just the beginning, fellas,” Brock says. “Can’t wait to see some of the scene in New York.” Grodd: “Not sure coach will go for that. Not past curfew, anyway.” Brock: “Man, you guys need to ease up sometimes. We’re gonna take care of business on Sunday, it doesn’t matter what time we’re in bed. Yo, D-Jam!” Wilkes looks up, putting something back in his pocket. Brock: “Dude, you’ve been checking that phone all fucking week. What’s up?” Wilkes: “Don’t worry about it.” Flash: “Where those drinks at?” Brock: “At least Flash is asking the right questions. Drinks and women, fellas. Oh, speaking of—” Flash: “I already heard this story.” Brock: “Then you’re gonna hear it again. A few weeks ago, I hooked up with this lawyer. Man, they must keep them caged up whatever they do, because she was an animal. Let’s see what the scene looks like tonight…” Everyone looks toward the main area, filled with classy looking women who frequently throw gazes at the VIP lounge. The women may not know every Knight by name, but they know they’re football players, and that’s enough. Grantzinger: “How about that one? Leaning on the railing, next to that really tall brunette.” Brock: “Um, Zack, that’s a guy. Not that we’re prejudiced or anything, but is there something you have to tell us?” Grantzinger: “That’s the point, dumbass. Anyone recognize him?” Everyone locates the man, quickly connecting him with someone they’ve seen, murmuring in agreement. Brock: “Yeah, yeah, he’s been here a few times. Last time I saw him I think Malik was here.” Grodd: “It’s that reporter guy.” Grantzinger: “Javad is his name. Adam Javad.” Maverick: “From that web site or whatever? He’s not bad.” Brock: “Man, I didn’t want to leave so early.” Grantzinger: “Relax, you pussy. We’re not going anywhere. Chase, D-Jam, Flash, come with me. We’ll find out what’s up with Adam—and our drinks.” Maverick: “Why am I stuck here with Brock?” Grantzinger: “Stop throwing interceptions, bitch.” From about twenty feet away, Javad spots four Knights rise from the VIP lounge. He recognizes them immediately, of course, but is startled when they head straight for him. “Evening, guys,” Javad says, eager to keep the mood positive. “Trying to get the inside scoop on our drinking habits?” Grantzinger says. “That’s not how I get my information. I’m off the clock.” “So,” Grodd says, “you just happen to be at the same club as the players you cover?” “That’s right. I’m a young guy, same as you. I work hard during the day and like to party on the weekends, same as you.” All four men glare at Javad, obviously intimidating. He spots a bouncer in the background take notice. “Listen, let me buy you guys a drink,” he says. “We’ve got drinks,” Flash says. “No we don’t,” Wilkes says. “That’s right,” Grantzinger says. “Flash, go find out what the hell happened to our drinks, man.” “So he does go by Flash,” Javad observes. As Flash walks away, the three remaining Knights give a skeptical, angry glare at Javad. “Off the clock, huh?” Grodd says. “No. I didn’t mean—” “Here’s the problem,” Grantzinger says. “You’re just here, partying, having a good time, whatever. But let’s say something happens. Then we go live to Adam Javad, who had a firsthand account of the incident.” Javad wants to state his case, but he knows it won’t do any good. “Finish your drink. Then get lost.” Meanwhile, Brock and Maverick have already received their drinks, both putting a good dent into them. Brock keeps his eye on the Javad situation since Maverick doesn’t seem one for conversation tonight. “And you too!” Brock says, glancing at Maverick. “What is it with everybody and their fucking phones?” “Brandi called me this week,” Maverick says. “Whoa, she what?” “She made it seem like we could get back together, but, I’m not sure.” “What the hell does that mean?” “Well, she said we could get together today, but then she canceled. So maybe next week.” “No way, man.” Brock waves his warms horizontally. “Abort mission, dude.” “Listen, you don’t—” “She’s not the one, man.” “Oh, and you’re a fucking love doctor?” Brock pauses and takes a drink, not used to Maverick getting angry—not in this setting, anyway. “Look, Mav, you’re right. I’m not the guy to talk to about getting married and all that bullshit. But the way I see it, when that woman comes around, you’ll know. All this shit with Brandi moving out? Now maybe moving back? Trying to set something up and then backing out? She’s playing games with you, man. She’s not the one.” Maverick nods, though Brock knows he’s not really agreeing with him. “I’m not saying you get laid tonight, but you gotta try to put her behind you. Just keep your distance for awhile, and if she’s meant to come back, she’ll come back. In the meantime, look around. We’re NFL players in our mid-twenties. How long is this gonna last?” Somehow, Maverick finds wisdom in Brock’s words and takes a few more sips. “Where the hell is everyone else? Fuck it, let’s have a good time, man.” “Hell yeah! Cheers to that.” They clink glasses, take a few swigs, and look up to figure out what happened with their teammates. The team lands in New York after a five-and-a-half-hour flight, their longest of the year, and check into a nearby hotel. Saturday night proves uneventful, with no players reported as out past curfew. Players wake up room by room Sunday morning, preparing for a bus ride to the Meadowlands. Bishop and Jefferspin-Wilkes, one pair of roommates, end up awake before most and get an early start on packing. Bishop talks about his girlfriend, making Wilkes the first teammate to hear such details. He’s not sure Wilkes is listening, but he carries on anyway. They hear a knock on the door. Both check the time on their phones. “It’s too early,” Bishop says. “I’ll see who it is.” Wilkes looks through the peephole, then opens the door. Bishop sees a man wearing hotel employee clothing, eavesdropping while packing. “There’s a man downstairs here to see you, sir.” “Who is he?” The employee’s response is muffled. Bishop looks up. “I’ll be right back, Logan.” “D-Jam, we’ll be late!” “Five minutes.” Wilkes paces down the hallway, past the elevator lobby, and into the stairwell. He sprints down the stairs a few floors, passing civilians and disregarding stray comments from those who recognize him. A security guard on the first floor spots him and guides him toward the loading area where Knights will soon board a bus for MetLife Stadium, the site of this year’s Super Bowl. He walks outside and struts past another security guard, stopping as he spots a face he hasn’t seen in years, one he was hoping not to see. “Hello, Da’Jamiroquai.” “Uncle Lincoln.” The two approach each other as the guard stays by the door. “I’m sorry to do this on game day,” Lincoln says, “but you didn’t leave me much choice, did you?” “I don’t have much time.” “Yeah, somehow you can’t find time for the man who got you through college.” “Football got me through college.” “And where exactly would you have played after you got dismissed from USC?” Da’Jamiroquai steps toward his uncle, close enough to reach out and grab him. “You came all the way to New York to tell me this?” “I was in town anyway. Had a conference yesterday. With you avoiding my phone calls, it seemed convenient.” “You would know.” “I just want to know why you’ve shut me out, son.” “I’m not your son!” Da’Jamiroquai steps back a little. His screams cause a few more security guards to appear, maintaining their distance for the moment. “You think I’m stupid, but I’m not that stupid. I know why you took me in, Uncle Linc.” “Calm down, son.” “I am not your fuckin’ son!” “You’re right, you’re right.” Lincoln holds his hands up. “You’re right, I’m sorry. You’re not my son. And I am not your father. I’m not your parents. I won’t abandon you like they did. I’m here for you, Da’Jamiroquai.” “Man, fuck you, Uncle Linc. Stop fuckin’ calling me.” Wilkes turns around and marches past the crowd of security guards, not noticing that Bishop stands among them. An uninspiring matchup begins between the 3-5 Knights and 2-6 Giants. Both teams are falling below expectations to this point, and with another loss today, the season will finally be declared over for one of them. The Knights carry out their game plan on offense, maintaining balance with what Maverick considers boring and uninventive play-calling. Most plays are either between-the-tackle runs or quick passes. Thanks to a no-show from the Giants offense, the Knights tilt the field position battle in their favor and reach the red zone towards the end of the first quarter. After a Jaxson run gets only two yards, the Knights face third and eight from the twelve. Coach Everett finally calls a play Maverick likes: an end zone fade to Wilkes. Maverick lines up under center, studies the defense, and takes the snap. He pumps over the middle for good measure, then lofts a pass to the corner of the end zone. Wilkes beats his man, goes up for it, and drops it. Giants fans cheer in relief for what should have been a touchdown. As the field goal unit comes onto the field, Maverick gets some water and finds Wilkes on the bench. “C’mon, D-Jam, that’s all you.” Surprisingly, Wilkes says nothing, just sitting there and staring toward the field. Maverick found it strange enough that he wasn’t bitching about getting so few targets, and now this. Janikowski partially salvages the situation with the field goal. 3-0, Knights. Into the second quarter, the Knights defense continues its dominance. Between Brock and Grantzinger, Eli Manning falls under duress every time he takes a deep drop, and the run defense is just as impressive. In the secondary, Rose shuts down a combination of Hakeem Nicks and Victor Cruz, the receivers alternating sides of the field and Coach Harden not preferring Rose to cover one over the other. Though he hasn’t found any solution to his loud and hectic life at home, everything is silenced on the field. In coverage, he hears only cleats chewing up grass and shoulder pads shifting. Side to side, undercutting routes, sprinting over the top, Rose blankets his assigned receiver every single play, and Manning never throws in his direction. Still down 3-0, the Giants cross midfield for the first time with 6:30 to go in the second quarter, facing third and one from the Knights’ forty-five. Harden keeps his 3-4 personnel in the game, anticipating a run. Manning fakes a run up the middle and looks to the flat. Randall comes free on a blitz, dives, but misses as Manning sweeps left. He lobs it to Peyton Hillis, who catches it, turns upfield, and gets crushed by Grantzinger. The hit sends the nearby Knights sideline into a frenzy of celebration, as Hillis also went down a yard shy of a first down. Grantzinger receives lavish praise on the sidelines from players and coaches, Harden included. As the Giants punt, Grantzinger grabs some water and looks for a spot on the bench. One by one, other defensive starters do the same, high-fiving Grantzinger on their way. Even Brock manages to say, “Nice tackle, asshole.” He gets to Randall, extends his arm, and Randall ignores it, sitting down on the bench instead. Grantzinger takes it in stride, sipping some water and picking a spot a fair distance from Randall. What the hell’s his problem? Jealous he’s being outplayed, perhaps, but he’s supposed to be the captain. Third and seven, Knights ball on the Giants’ forty, 11:37 to go in the third quarter. Despite winning 10-3, Maverick is frustrated at the offense’s lack of productivity. With Wilkes dropping passes left and right and the running game gaining yards without home runs, the offense is leaving a lot of points on the field. And against a better team, that would be a huge problem. In the huddle, he hears Everett’s play call: shallow crossing routes. A five-yard play on third and seven? That makes no sense, so Maverick calls something more aggressive: deep post-corner routes, designed to hit Bishop over the middle. Bishop loves that call, feeling he’s been doing too much blocking today, especially with Wilkes struggling, though he won’t say anything about it. From the sideline, Everett notices the players aren’t in the correct formation. He alerts Harden, but before they can call timeout, Maverick takes the snap. Dropping back behind a clean pocket, Maverick looks deep. He steps up to avoid the reach of Justin Tuck and fires over the middle where Bishop breaks open. He catches the bullet pass, comes down, absorbs a big hit from the safety, and dives forward for another few yards. Knights ball on the seven. Perplexed about how to respond, Everett simply calls another play, a Jaxson run up the middle. In the huddle, Maverick goes along with it this time, more than happy to see first and goal. Under center, Maverick spots the Giants creeping up, stacking the box. With Jameson, that might work, but not with Jaxson. The stadium is still silent from the big play, so Maverick calls an audible. Players remain in formation except Bishop, who jogs outside to line up in the slot. Maverick takes the snap and looks to the end zone. His receivers break into tight windows, and he doesn’t force it. Still with lots of time, he steps up, getting ready to run. At the last second, he looks to the flat, where Jaxson is wide open. He fires. Jaxson catches it and bolts for the corner. With a safety closing in, he leaps, getting the ball over the pylon for the touchdown. 17-3, Knights. Maverick returns to the sideline in celebration mode, not expecting Everett to say anything. He doesn’t. The fourth quarter ticks away with many Giants fans heading for the exits, the home team trailing, 24-6. The Knights defense sits comfortably on the sideline with their offense on the field. On the bench, Grantzinger and Randall end up next to each other, a few feet between them. Grantzinger expects Randall to say something, but he doesn’t, not even bothering to look at him. Whatever’s up, he decides it’s best not to try to solve it today. Meanwhile, Coach Everett watches in frustration as his offense moves the chains. Though all seems well on the surface—who can argue with 24 points?—his play calls occasionally fail to reach the huddle. He’s checked with the tech guys; there’s no communication problem with Maverick’s helmet. His quarterback is simply calling different plays. Coach Harden’s headset is wired into the same frequency. Hasn’t he noticed? Maverick finds Johnson on a crossing route for another first down. Wanting to milk the clock and preserve a win, Everett calls a sweep for Jaxson, and the offense lines up accordingly. Everett shoots a glance at Harden, who watches the field. Maverick’s screams divert his attention, and Everett crosses his arms as his quarterback calls another audible.
  25. Knights of Andreas Part III Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway OAK RazorStar RevisFan81 Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Thirty-One – Season Tickets After a long night of Tweeting and writing, Adam Javad wakes up to a ringing alarm and a dirty apartment. He clears some beer bottles off his desk, along with a greasy pizza box, and goes back to work. Working at the L.A. Mobile, an up-and-coming exclusively online journalist publication, has its advantages, especially working from anywhere Javad can access his phone and laptop. In other words, everywhere. Javad turns on his preferred morning radio shows as he always does Monday mornings. As sports writer for the Mobile, Javad reports, interviews, speculates, and Tweets everything related to the Dodgers, Angels, Lakers, Clippers, Kings, and Knights. But today, the largest draw will be the Knights and their 2-4 record. With the bye week depriving him of a pre-game article to write, Javad’s work this week will be editorial, so he needs to get a feel for the city’s pulse before writing. He knows fans are angry and suspects they’ll be calling for an organizational overhaul. It doesn’t take long to confirm those suspicions. “How can it get worse for the Los Angeles Knights? Beaten by the coach you fired and probably knocked out of the playoffs. How can it get worse?” “So what happens now? Can you let Harden go after one year?” “Phillips has to go. Firing Daniel was definitely the wrong move, and that falls on him.” “Yeah, I don’t see any way you go into next offseason with Chance Phillips as your GM.” Though he’d rather have a face-to-face conversation, Javad sends a text to the most important number in his phone: “Any changes coming? Have to ask.” He listens to more radio coverage and monitors Twitter while waiting for an answer. One by one, men in suits sulk into Wayne Schneider’s office and fall into all seats of the table in its center. The mood is tired and dreary. Everyone in the room knows it’s not going to be a normal—or pleasant—meeting. An earful from the team owner was inevitable, but it seems like Schneider wants his money’s worth. Hours after the Chargers game, he scheduled a 1pm meeting with upper level decision makers: CEO, chairman of the board, various stockholders, etc. And the general manager, of course. Chance Phillips studies those around him as Schneider picks up something from his desk. These are men seasoned for business, not football. They operate on the side of business Phillips avoids, and the least contact he has with them, the better. The only men in the room on Phillips’ side are Paul DeMartine and Merle Harden, weak voices in a crowd like this. “Anyone want to guess what I have here?” Schneider says, holding up a packet of stapled paper. “Anyone?” Schneider speaks with an arrogant, condescending tone, unlike the more subtle approach Phillips is used to seeing. “What I have here, people, is our waiting list for season ticket holders.” Phillips sees a few people shift in their seats. They must know what this is about. “Die-hard Knights fans,” Schneider continues. “Die-hard fans waiting and willing to purchase season tickets to Farmers Field. The core of our franchise, people. The heart of everything we do.” Schneider prolongs a dramatic pause as he circles the table. “When we first opened the greatest stadium in the league, there were ten thousand names on this list. On the waiting list. By the end of last season, there were four thousand. Anyone want to guess how many are on it now?” No one shows any interest in responding. “As of this moment, two thousand four hundred ninety three. Less than twenty-five hundred names, people. You know what that means? That means we are drawing dangerously close to open seats!” Schneider stops circling, at the head of the table, and presses his fists against it, his face red. “Let me make something crystal clear. Anything less than sell-out attendance is completely unacceptable. Farmers Field is much more than just the newest stadium in the league.” Phillips sighs quietly, knowing where Schneider is going with this one, something hasn’t stopped talking about since the decision came down in May. “It is the most technologically advanced, most luxurious stadium in the league. It offers the best combination of modern technology and architecture while offering an unrivaled game day experience for fans. It is the crown jewel of NFL stadiums, and that’s why it was awarded Super Bowl 50.” A predictable pause to let that last line sink in. “Imagine that, people. Imagine the league’s golden Super Bowl in a stadium that can’t sell tickets to its own fans. I won’t have it. I won’t allow it. Farmers Field has a 72,000-seat capacity, so I want at least 72,000 bodies at all eight home games. Anything less will not be tolerated.” He unbuttons his suit and purses his lips, lowering his voice a notch. “There is blame on both sides here. Mr. Phillips? Coach Harden? 2-4 is completely unacceptable. We all know the talent we have on this team. It needs to show the rest of the season or there will be consequences. The rest of you? Well, you know where I’m going with this. Look, I get it! It’s 2013. Fans would rather be at home, where the beer is cheap, the smartphones are charged, and the Internet is fast. So let’s even the playing field. I want solutions for higher technology, faster Wi-Fi. We need to make Farmers Field more accessible, more appealing for the technologically inclined. We cannot settle for fans contently watching us from home; we need them to want to be here. To experience game day in a crowd full of Knights fans, seventy thousand strong. And that marketing starts with a winning product.” Schneider’s eyes ultimately fall on Phillips, as he expected they would. “Let’s get this thing turned around. Now. I don’t like being forced to make decisions.” He doesn’t need to pause for that last sentence to hit hard. When their time in Schneider’s office finally finishes, the trio of Phillips, Harden, and DeMartine leave together, Harden towards the elevator, Phillips and DeMartine towards the GM’s office. “See what you’re missing on the second floor, coach?” DeMartine says jokingly. “Ah, Wayne’s not too bad,” Harden says. “Can’t blame him for putting some pressure on, but he’s a good owner as far as I can tell.” Phillips purses his lips. If Harden only knew. “And don’t worry, gentlemen. The team’s playing good football. It’ll show up in the standings soon.” “Wait,” Phillips says as they pass his office. “What do you mean playing good football?” “Nine times out of ten, we beat San Diego. We caught an unlucky break at the end.” Harden stops in front of the elevator and presses the button. The doors open. “Merle, all due respect, we’re 2-4. How can we be playing good football?” Harden steps into the elevator and pushes the first floor button. “Well, I guess I’m looking at the team in a way only the head coach can.” The doors close, leaving Phillips and DeMartine alone in the hallway. Jay Cooper shuts the door behind him after another shitty Monday at work. Today, however, he was at least able to remain distracted. He munches on two-day-old Chinese leftovers, turns on the TV, and takes a shower, all the while going through everything again. He’s been looking at the situation from every possible angle, and nothing tells him it’s a bad idea. Cooper watches Knights coverage, and a reporter mentions that since 1978, only 7.8% of teams to start 2-4 have gone on to make the playoffs. Annoyed at that statistic (which he’ll surely hear again over the next two weeks), he mutes the TV, takes out his phone, and finds a number he hasn’t called in several months. “Hello?” “Well, howdy, Merle. It’s been awhile.” “Oh, Christ,” Harden says. “What do you want, Coop?” By the time Chance pulls into his driveway Tuesday night, it’s past seven, and the last of daylight is fading. He spots next-door neighbor Gary mowing his lawn, waves hello from a fair distance, and unlocks the front door. Melissa is in the kitchen preparing dinner. At least he hasn’t missed it. “Hello, dear,” Chance says. “Hi, hun,” Melissa says, focusing on the vegetables she’s slicing on the cutting board. “Give me the rundown.” “Jack had a good day of practice, Max got an A on his spelling test, and Kimmy’s going to need new shoes soon.” “New shoes…won’t be the last time.” “You’re not as late tonight. How is everything?” “The same. Merle hasn’t been taking it easy on the players, and Wayne hasn’t been taking it easy on anyone.” “So, better?” “Well, Penner and Flash got fined instead of suspended, so I guess—wait a minute.” He’s been too distracted to notice until now, but something’s up. “You seem bothered by something.” “Oh, it was nothing. Just Gary.” “What about Gary?” Chance steps closer. Gary has always been a vanilla type of neighbor. After all, he’s an accountant who works downtown. Chance has actually met his boss a few times. “Nothing about him, just something he said.” “About what? Talk to me, Melissa.” She stops, puts the knife down, and looks up for the first time. “I was getting the mail, he was doing the same, and he just mentioned something about you—it was just in passing, sort of wondering how the team was doing. But he made some comment about people having to get fired if the team doesn’t do better, and—it just made me think about moving again, Chance. It’s not Gary’s fault. We both know it’s been in the house, even if we haven’t talked about it.” “Where are the kids?” “Upstairs.” “Keep them there.” Chance ignores Melissa’s protests as he flies out the front door, strutting across the yard towards Gary, the idiot fucking accountant. “Hey there, Chance!” Gary says. “What the fuck’s the matter with you?” Chance yells, within twenty feet now. Gary panics immediately, fumbling for something in his pockets as he backtracks. “You ever talk to my wife like that again and I’ll run you over with your own fucking lawnmower. Understand me?” Gary finally pulls his phone out from his pocket, still backtracking as Chance narrows the distance between them. “You have complaints about the Knights, call in to a goddamn radio show. Are we clear?” Gary points his phone at Chance, and the panic on his face fades into a smug look of triumph. “And, we are now recording! Anything you’d like to say for the record, Mr. Phillips?” Chance freezes a few feet away, knowing he’s finished. What a coward. “In fact,” Gary continues, “would care to comment on the team’s 2-4 start?” Chance grinds his teeth together, feeling his face turn red. “What’s the matter? Strike a nerve, princess?” Seeing no salvaging the situation, Chance turns around, walking back as normally as he can. Coach Harden knocks on the half open door and enters, stepping into the grandest office in the MedComm Center. “Afternoon, coach,” Schneider says, hanging up the phone and rising to greet his team’s head coach. “Good afternoon, Mr. Schneider,” Harden says, wiping away sweat to shake Schneider’s hand. “A little early to end practice, isn’t it?” “No, we’re right on time. I have some film to watch, but I wanted to catch you before the weekend. Missed you yesterday.” “I see. What’s this about?” “A strange situation, to be honest. Do you remember the name Jay Cooper?” Schneider’s smile fades, and he sulks back to his seat, rubbing his temples. “How the hell do you know him, Merle?” “Oh, we’re just drinking buddies. Met by chance a few years ago, if you can believe it. In the grand scheme of things, I’m just the middleman here, the communicator.” “Sent to communicate what?” “He wants his season tickets back.” Schneider springs out of his seat, pacing quickly to the window, oddly frantic. He puts his hands on his hips and stares at the sunset. “No. The degenerate’s not gonna go streaking in my stadium and then get a free pass back in. No fucking way.” “Mr. Schneider, I gotta be frank with you.” Schneider turns around and faces Harden. “I don’t know what it is Cooper’s holding over you, but from the sound of things, you’re better off appeasing him than pissing him off.” “We can’t put a streaker in the seats, coach. His face his all over YouTube. His fucking balls are all over YouTube, for Christ’s sake. He’ll be recognized. What message does that send? What picture does that paint for our organization?” “I’m not saying I disagree, sir, but there’s gotta be a middle somewhere.” Schneider looks back to the sky, thinking. The television in Javad’s apartment shows Sunday Night Football between Indianapolis and Denver, a luxury Javad can watch on a quiet night. The Kings are off with a 6-3-0 record, the Dodgers’ season ended two days ago to set up a Cardinals vs. Red Sox World Series, the NBA opener is nine days away, and the Knights are on a bye week. Javad’s phone buzzes, showing a different number than he’s been in touch with lately. He opens it quickly. “I enjoyed your column,” reads the text form Phillips, his first response of the week. Javad wrote several columns this week, but he knows which one Phillips is referring to: a Tuesday-morning editorial titled “Is the end near for Chance Phillips?” in which Javad contemplated potential organizational moves in January should the Knights finish with a losing record. It wasn’t nearly as scathing as the title indicated. Javad replies honestly: “Business. Not personal.” Ten minutes later, Phillips replies: “Just giving you a hard time.” Javad: “Similar columns can be prevented in future.” That’s an aggressive comment, but he needs to make his willingness known. Phillips, after a few minutes: “You’ve gotten enough.” That’s fair. Javad did get the scoop on the Merle Harden hiring, and his “guess” that the Knights liked draft prospect Jamari Price ended up being correct. His career is going much better than Phillips’ is, for the moment. Without a game to analyze, Phillips spends more hours than usual on the practice field throughout the week as the Knights prepare for the Bengals. This also keeps him further from Schneider’s office. Tuesday morning, Harden prowls along the field as his defense runs through drills, focusing on linemen and linebackers. When he finds a moment to watch from the sidelines, Phillips walks up next to him. “Good morning, coach.” “Good morning.” Phillips focuses on Jamari Price, running agility drills. “How’s Price doing?” “The same.” Harden doesn’t sound at all interested in having a football conversation, and Phillips knows why: when Price fell to sixteenth overall in the draft, Harden was the least happy man in the war room. Confident in Brock’s ability, he didn’t consider outside linebacker a need. Still, Phillips knows it was the right decision based on Price’s talent and Brock’s (lack of) reliability. Things got worse in the second round when the Knights took Wesley Mann. Harden was once again insistent that Phillips was drafting a position the Knights didn’t need, even though Damian Jones has hardly proven to be a competent backup, let alone a quality starter. And six games into the season, both the game tape and statistics show Jones is struggling. If it were up to Phillips, Mann would be splitting reps, at least. “How about Mann?” Phillips asks. “Same,” Harden says. “Gotta run, Chance.” He walks back toward the field, barking at a few players. It’s not like Harden to be confrontational like this, even if he disagrees with Phillips. He has always been respectful of higher authority on football decisions. Still, Phillips suspects this is his own doing. Though firing Daniel was obviously not his decision, he spent the entire offseason wondering if hiring Harden was the wrong move. After six games, he’s now almost sure of it. Picking Harden as a replacement was an impulse decision, going against every principle Phillips has ever used, and it’s costing the team wins. Even worse, if Harden tanks, and the Knights finish this season in last place, that’ll probably be the end for Phillips. That’s how it works in sports. The coach goes first, then the GM. It won’t matter how young the Knights are, how much potential they have, or anything else. It’s Phillips’ fourth year, and based on last December, Schneider could pull the plug on him at any second. These could be Phillips’ final months in Los Angeles. Thursday evening, Phillips and DeMartine go through a familiar ritual: crunch numbers in Phillips’ office until the clock hits five, declare traffic too abysmal to endure, and keep working. “Any theories?” Phillips asks, looking at some team statistics. From the best analysis the front office can do, the Knights should be 4-2, at worst 3-3. They’re in the top half the league statistically with good players across the board, including one of the league’s most underrated offensive lines and linebacking corps. “I know where this is going,” DeMartine says. “That discussion where we see how long we can go without saying ‘x-factor.’” “Is it something we can quantify, something we can measure? Or is it just variance?” “You can calculate variance, mathematically.” “Asshole.” “We agreed, Chance, years ago, and still agree, that there are certain aspects of football we simply cannot measure that play a critical role in the game.” “Does it fall on leadership, then?” DeMartine leans back, thinking. Phillips knows what’s about to be said. “You know I was never crazy about Harden,” DeMartine says after a minute. “I thought he was the guy. At the time. I really, really did.” “If you’re right, he’ll get it turned around. If you’re right, we’ll know by the end of the season.” “And if I’m wrong?” A knock on the door breaks their concentration. It opens, and Schneider’s face appears. “Chance, can you come into my office for a second?” “Yeah, sure.” DeMartine looks uneasily at his boss as he disappears into the hallway. Phillips takes a seat, as instructed, and notices that Schneider seems different. His tie is loosened, his top shirt button undone. Physically, he seems relaxed and stressed at the same time. “So,” Schneider says, “we’ve had some really creative ideas about increasing the season ticket pool, making the stadium more interactive. Very exciting stuff.” “That’s good to hear.” “Will there be similar progress on the field?” “Wayne, you know the story. We’re 2-4, big game this week against Cincinnati. One week at a time.” “You know, I grew up in Los Angeles.” Schneider spins his chair and looks outside. Changing the subject throws Phillips off a little, not sure where Schneider is going with this. “It’s a beautiful city. A great city. But at the same time, it’s very…spread out. Everything’s all over the place. Everything and everyone. Unlike any other city I’ve seen. I always wanted to bring a football franchise here, but I knew it’d be a challenge. The struggles we’ve had selling tickets aren’t surprising.” “I see,” Phillips says, not sure how else to comment. “There’s a reason it took so long for the NFL to get back here. But now that it has, we can’t blow it. What’s it going to look like if we came all the way just to go back to Oakland? Or somewhere else?” “I don’t think we will, Wayne. I know we’re still struggling, but we’ve had quite a turnaround from when we started.” “I know. We’ve had this discussion.” He spins his chair back toward Phillips, his face tightening with a stern expression. “It’s the second step. Going from good to great. We agreed we needed a new coach to do it.” “You agreed.” “After which, you decided Harden was the guy we were looking for.” “Yes, I did.” Schneider doesn’t say anything, for once giving Phillips the opportunity to drive the conversation. “Wayne, you have told me on multiple occasions that you consider me the best general manager in the league. And I appreciate that. We’ve both followed this league long enough to know that you don’t get every decision right. But if you look back on every decision this franchise has made the last four years, we’ve been right more often than not. And in the long term, those results will get us into the playoffs.” “I understand, Chance. But you have to understand, as I think you do, that this is a bottom line business. No matter what that ratio is, getting it right vs. getting it wrong, nobody is irreplaceable. Not the quarterback, not the head coach, not the general manager.” Phillips’ mouth feels very dry. Schneider has made his position clear, though he’s not sure just how serious he is. Is this his final warning? Knight’s End fills with patrons for Friday afternoon Happy Hour, Jay Cooper and Cassie Sampson among them, as usual. Many gear up for game two of the World Series, still bitter about the Dodgers’ loss in the NLCS and eager to see the Cardinals lose. “So guess what?” Cooper says, halfway through his first beer. “Sex change operation?” Cassie says. “No, but just as surprising.” “Oh, this should be good.” “I’m back at Farmers Field. I’ll be there for the Eagles game.” “You’re what? How the hell—” “Let’s just say I have my sources.” Sampson gulps down his beer, trying to process the news. “Back in your old seat?” he asks after a minute. “Nah, they couldn’t do that. Putting someone who went streaking in the middle of the crowd creates a poor public perception, or some bullshit. They got me in a luxury suite instead.” “A suite?!” “I have to ‘maintain a low profile,’ whatever that means.” “Must be nice.” “Listen, I was able to get something from negotiations.” “And what was that?” “You can join me, if you want. In the suite.” “Nah, I’m okay.” “Cassie, please. It’s a fucking luxury suite. At the stadium.” “I’d rather watch here. Maybe every now and then. I’ll let you know.” They drink quietly and survey the menu for dinner options. “You’ll be here for road games, though, right?” Cassie asks. “Definitely. This Sunday included.” Chance looks out the back window and sees Jack and Max throwing the football around. With daylight fading and dinner on the horizon, that seems a good way to spend fifteen minutes. “Anything new?” Melissa asks from the kitchen. Chance doesn’t turn around. “It wouldn’t hurt to start looking at real estate.” “But where, though?” “Anywhere besides here.” “Chance…” “I’m gonna be out back.” “No, Chance, listen to me.” He turns around and faces his wife. “I know what comes with marrying a man in football. I know what I signed up for. We were grateful to be in Pittsburgh as long as we were.” “You’re right.” “Here’s what else I know. You’re an NFL GM for a reason. I don’t know anything about trades, salaries, drafts, any of those things you talk about. But I know that if you weren’t good at your job, we wouldn’t be here. So if you want to stay here—if you want your family to stay here—then do something about it. Because this sulking around feeling sorry for yourself isn’t the Chance Phillips I married.” Chance senses that his wife is right, as always. With so much to process, he just nods and says, “Okay. I’ll be outside.” “Dinner in twenty.” He jogs toward his sons, trying to put himself in their shoes, back when football was just a backyard game of catch. Back to a simpler time. Schneider starts Friday morning at the MedComm Center with a few calls to producers and a phone conference with some stadium employees. Just as the conference ends, his office door opens without a knock, and Chance Phillips marches toward his desk, leans in, and presses his fists against the mahogany. “What can I do for you, Chance?” “Yesterday, we talked about decisions. About getting them right and wrong. I want you to know, unquestionably, that you got it wrong with Caden Daniel. You were wrong to fire him, and you were wrong to do it without telling me. And if you want any proof of that, look at what he’s doing with the Chargers right now. They’re playing well, they’re three games better than us, and I sincerely hope that is a source of personal embarrassment for you.” Schneider doesn’t say anything, his face striking a balance between defiant and intrigued. “But that will be the last time we go through that bullshit. You will never go over my head again. I don’t care if you own the team, I don’t care if you own the league, I don’t care if you’re President of the United States. You know why? Because I am the best GM in the league. I am going to build this team into a Super Bowl champion. And if you truly want that to happen, if you have any respect for how an NFL franchise should be run, you will stay the fuck out of my way.” Phillips lets this sink in, thankful Schneider hasn’t fired him yet, but he won’t. It’s taken a few years, but he now has a feel for how Schneider operates, how he thinks. And now, he can start to control that. “Anything else?” Phillips adds. Schneider smiles as if he’s impressed. “Enjoy your trip to Cincinnati.” From an executive suite atop Paul Brown Stadium, Phillips watches his football team handle the Bengals with ease. The Knights come out of the gates firing, jumping out to a 14-0 lead, and don’t look back. They go into halftime up 20-3, extend that lead to 27-10 in the third quarter, and ice the game with a late touchdown in the fourth quarter, up 34-10. From Phillips’ perspective, it’s the Jaguars game all over again—except this is happening against a competitive opponent. The Knights operate with efficiency and balance on both sides of the ball, including a few highlight reel plays. Andy Dalton throwing three interceptions doesn’t hurt either. Phillips stops taking notes in the fourth quarter to reflect on the season as a whole, feeling positive about the Knights’ outlook. A 3-4 record is far from optimal, obviously, but all four losses have come against quality opponents in competitive games. Harden claims the team is turning a corner, and after some research, Phillips realizes the upcoming schedule is ripe for a winning streak. None of the Knights’ next six opponents currently has a winning record. After it looked like all was lost, things might be looking up. Despite so much uncertainty, one win can do a lot to ease concerns. Phillips looks up at the closest TV, showing coverage of the game, and sees himself, with an infographic labeled “Chance Phillips, Los Angeles Knights General Manager, 2010-Present.” He doesn’t have audio, so he can only speculate on what the commentators say about him. Are they talking about the pressure he’s under? Are they crediting him for turning the Raiders around? Are they simply musing about his future, as he is? Chance wakes up Monday morning, pleasantly surprised to find a pot of freshly brewed coffee. He pours himself a cup, sees Melissa sitting at the kitchen table on her laptop, and kisses her. “Good morning,” he says. “Good morning yourself.” “I’ll get the kids up in a minute. I miss anything exciting yesterday?” “Yes, actually. I talked to Lauren. Gary lost his job.” “He did? That’s a surprise. How’d that happen?” “Apparently he just had some kind of performance review, it didn’t go well, one thing led to another, and he got fired.” Chance sips more coffee, leaning comfortably against the counter. “Really? Wow, that’s terrible.”
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