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Knights of Andreas Part I Chapter Seven – Control Head coach Caden Daniel watches practice from the sidelines. After a bye week of lighter practice and heavier focus on rest, the Knights prepare for Sunday’s divisional matchup with Denver. The Los Angeles media had a field day with the concept of light rest for a 2-6 football team, but Daniel—who has come to miss the media of Storrs, Connecticut—knows how to shrug it off by now. That 2-6 record has stuck in Daniel’s head for over a week. At UConn, he never had a record worse than 3-2. He knew turning the Knights into a winning team would be a multi-year project, and deep down, he knows management has dealt him a crappy hand, losing the team’s best players to free agency. Despite this, Daniel still feels dismayed to see his team making mistakes they shouldn’t make, losing games they shouldn’t lose. He naturally wants to blame himself, but reflecting on his own shortcomings has made him wonder: should he have stayed in college? Though he is still very much optimistic about his NFL career, he can’t deny he was a better college coach. Part of him still misses the days when he could read the emotions of his team just by studying their faces. Now, in the pros, there’s a lot more uncertainty. Everything is decided on Sunday. Daniel believes his decision to lighten practice during the bye week was a good one, but he won’t know until the Knights play Denver on Sunday. But things shouldn’t be this way. He played in the NFL for 12 years. It’s a different game now, of course, but this is far from uncharted territory for him. He sees Jonathan Maverick make a lazy mistake and moves in to correct him. “Jonathan. Always keep your eyes downfield. How many more times are we going to go over this?” “Sorry, coach.” “Apologizing is not going to make up for it. These are fundamentals, you understand? We both know you like to move around in the pocket, and that’s an asset. You buy time, you make plays that way. But once your eyes leave your receivers, it’s game over. Understand?” “Yeah, I got it.” “Okay. Let’s run it again.” It’s the third year in a row Caden Daniel has received interest from NFL teams seeking a head coach, but this is the first time he’s taken an interview. And just a few short hours ago, his agent relayed to him the official offer from Oakland: five years, thirty million. Until he heard that dollar figure, Daniel had only thought of his success at the University of Connecticut: the team’s multiple Big East titles in his five seasons, the NFL players he had groomed, the young kids he had molded into men, and most importantly, the bright future of the football program. But now, everything seems different. Daniel knows it’s not the money calling him. His recently signed contract with UConn is more than enough to take care of him and his family for life. It’s the allure of going back to the NFL, where he has two Super Bowl rings as a backup journeyman QB, and winning more as a head coach. Daniel always suspected his coaching career would ultimately take him back to the NFL, but the surprising success he enjoyed at UConn has put that notion aside—until now. For the moment, Daniel enjoys a quiet Sunday at home, playoff football on his television. (Regrettably, the Huskies season is already over, no BCS bowl game this year.) He has already talked this over with his family, and he suspects his wife thinks his made is already made up. Maybe it is. The hardest part won’t be moving from coast to coast; the hardest part will be leaving so many great people behind at UConn, and wondering what could have been had he stayed. But he can no longer ignore the itch, the opportunity… A few hours later, Daniel picks up the telephone and dials a number with a California area code. “Good afternoon, Coach Daniel,” says Chance Phillips, the newly hired general manager of the Oakland Raiders. “Good afternoon, Mr. Phillips. Thank you for taking my call.” “No trouble at all. Is this about the head coaching job?” “Indeed it is. Chance, firstly, I would like to thank you for the great opportunity. The challenges ahead may be great, but they aren’t insurmountable. You’ve convinced me. I accept the vacant head coaching position.” The fourth quarter ticks away. The Farmers Field crowd cherishes their team’s 24-14 lead, feeling a big win against the 3-4 Broncos pulling within reach. Two weeks ago should have been the start of a winning streak, but it wasn’t meant to be. Today is the day instead. Coach Daniel calls another sweep for McFadden. They’ve been working all day, as has everything else in the playbook. Daniel has been calling a good game, he knows, but his players have also been executing. McFadden takes the sweep and finds a hole. Denver closes it quickly, but McFadden still gets four yards. Third and two. The Knights are on Denver’s twenty-nine (a 46-yard kick from here), and as much as Daniel would like to keep the drive going, he wants to milk the clock more. As it ticks down under four minutes, he calls a McFadden run up the gut. Maverick lets the play clock wind all the way down, does nothing to quell to crowd noise, and hands off to McFadden. He’s hit at the line of scrimmage by Von Miller. Maybe a yard, but not two. Fourth down. Disappointed by the run blocking, Daniel shrugs it off and watches the clock tick down as the field goal unit takes the field. Fans boo, wanting the Knights to go for it. Sebastian Janikowski nails the kick and the clock holds at 3:15. 27-14, Knights. The Broncos set up shop with the ball. Defensive coordinator Merle Harden calls the play and Tim Tebow takes the snap from shotgun. Tebow sees nobody open, rolls left, and finds room. He scrambles for eleven yards. No more of that. Harden is tired of this kid’s scrambling, so he makes the linebackers shadow him. Running the hurry up, Tebow takes another snap quickly and looks deep. His eyes widen, he heaves a pass in the air, and it falls into the hands of Demaryius Thomas, streaking downfield with no one around him. The crowd groans before Thomas reaches the goal line, and the extra point makes it 27-21 with 2:56 to play. That was fast. Harden debriefs with his troops and determines the cause: a miscommunication. Michael Huff and Stanford Routt both covered the same man and left Thomas open. Knowing it’s too late in the year for such stupid errors, Harden instructs his men to call timeout again if they’re confused about a play call. Coach Daniel supports this decision. Before long it’s Daniel calling the plays, and his strategy remains unchanged: run the ball, milk the clock. Denver has all three timeouts left. He calls a handoff to McFadden in first down; he runs into a crowd for two yards. Timeout, Denver, 2:45 to play. They’re banking on a three-and-out. Daniel calls a sweep on second down; McFadden breaks a tackle, but a safety runs in for a big tackle and it’s only a three-yard gain. Timeout, Denver, 2:38 to play. Daniel wants a first down here to get the clock down to two minutes, but he sees the clock as more valuable. He calls a shotgun draw to McFadden; he sidesteps a few linemen but a linebacker drills him at the line of scrimmage. No gain. Denver lets the clock run and the Los Angeles crowd boos. Out comes the punt team. The Broncos take possession after the two-minute warning. Despite the pressure, Harden doesn’t back down from his strategy: linebackers shade Tebow, one-on-one coverage. The Christian wonder drops back and scans. Zack Grantzinger brings pressure from outside and Tebow steps up. He hits Johnson over the middle, and he’s tackled. 1:50, 1:49… Tebow sets the formation and shouts the call. Farmers Field gets loud. Tebow takes the snap. Briggs Randall comes unblocked and Tebow rolls left. Kirk Morrison moves in for the sack but Tebow lofts it downfield. Eric Decker runs for the ball, Stanford Routt five yards behind, and Decker catches it in stride. He bolts for the end zone, and the game is tied. The extra point gives Denver the lead, and whatever air was left inside the stadium gets sucked out. Coach Harden has nothing to say, and the sideline remains quiet as Maverick takes the ball with 1:36 to go. Still lots of time with two timeouts, the sudden change from run-first to no-huddle apparently doesn’t sit well. Maverick throws one incompletion after another, and before long, Tim Tebow is taking a knee to end the game. Broncos win, 28-27. The Knights march off the field, sadly familiar with this style of defeat. Their fans don’t boo this time; they’re too shocked to boo, and Coach Daniel shares their feelings. They finally played turnover-free football. The offensive line finally got some blocking (for the most part). And somehow it doesn’t add up to a win, all because of two defensive breakdowns when it mattered. Chalk up another should-have-been. Super Bowl XLIV is set; it’ll be the New Orleans Saints against the Indianapolis Colts. But Chance Phillips, newly hired general manager of the Oakland Raiders, pays no attention. He and his new head coach, Caden Daniel, are more concerned with finding a defensive coordinator. Their offensive staff is mostly in place, but all defensive positions are vacant. So far, they’ve vetted every possibility in the NFL and in college. Daniel wanted his defensive coordinator from Connecticut, but he fled to Division II for a head-coaching gig. They interviewed two whole rounds of candidates, eleven interviews altogether. Phillips has a few names he would be happy with, but Daniel insists they’ve yet to find their man. During his own interview and in the days since his hiring, Daniel has stressed the importance of quality assistant coaches. Phillips liked that opinion initially, but now it’s causing some trouble. He doesn’t want to create another round of candidates, so he’s found one they already interviewed: Merle Harden. Despite his underwhelming interview, Harden’s experience is extensive: sixteen years as a high school head coach, three years in Division I-AA, five years in Division I, then seven years as the Carolina Panthers’ defensive coordinator. At age fifty-nine, he’s not the young, fresh face a franchise like Oakland could use, but his defensive credentials speak for themselves. Harden arrives in Oakland for a second interview, which proceeds much more casually this time. Phillips, Daniel, and owner Wayne Schneider are already familiar with Harden’s football mind, though they still ask questions. Phillips likes that he is capable of coaching outside linebackers in coverage. Schneider likes the possibility of a 3-4 defense, though Phillips is on the fence. And Daniel likes his philosophy of trusting his secondary players with coverage. Phillips is lukewarm about this; putting corners and safeties on an island only increases the risk of them getting burned. But if he can build Harden a competent secondary, then Harden’s unpredictability with the front seven could create a formidable defense. After the interview concludes, the Raiders’ brain trust contemplates Harden as a defensive coordinator. Coach Daniel is still not sure he’s their man, but admits he’s warming up to the idea. Schneider and Phillips are also on the fence, but everyone in the room admits the defensive coordinator search has lasted too long. They need to hire someone. A few minutes into the meeting, Phillips knows Harden will be hired. He detests making a decision he’s not 100% about, but he suspects this will be a recurring theme in the NFL. As he saw in Pittsburgh, decision makers never get to carry out their dream plan. They have to compromise. This is Phillips’ first compromise. On the bright side, Phillips leverages Harden’s agent into a three-year contract. So if he doesn’t work out, there won’t be much in the way of jettisoning him and trying again with (hopefully) a better market. Knights fans respond positively to the hire when it goes viral. Many Panthers fans are angry Harden was not retained in Carolina. At Harden’s introductory press conference, Schneider is the first to speak. “We’re immensely excited about Merle Harden coordinating our defense. When it’s time to find coaches in the NFL, you have to pray there are guys out there not only capable, but who fit the kind of football you want to play. We feel like we got a real steal in Coach Harden.” Harden staggers through the parking lot and into the Knights’ facility. He’s predictably hungover, with a worse headache than usual. Yesterday’s loss is still difficult to stomach, as any one-point loss would be, but especially so when the loss falls squarely on Harden and his secondary, whose two blown coverages took away a win. He makes his way through the facility, iced coffee in hand. Due to the masculinity surrounding football, Harden has made himself the frequent target of ball busting by always walking around with an iced coffee. But shortly after he made the jump to college, he discovered it to be the best hangover cure he’d ever taken. And it could always be spiced, if the occasion called for it. Between sips of iced coffee Harden realizes something’s not quite right. There are no players today (Monday), but the coaches are not scattered throughout the building, which instead contains an eerie silence. Harden’s six minutes late and the parking lot is full; he’s not the first one here. He finally hears murmurs and follows them to the conference room. He walks in to see the entire coaching staff assembled, including the GM and owner. “Good, he’s here,” one of the assistant coaches says. Harden feels a drip of condensation trickle down his cup. “Take a seat, coach,” Coach Daniel says. “We’ve had an incident with one of our players. One of yours, specifically.” Harden falls into a nearby car and says, “Which one?” “Rose.” Harden isn’t surprised, but he waits for details. “He was at a nightclub last night, along with a few teammates—” “No crime in that,” Harden says, defending his cornerback. “Please, let me finish. Rose ended up in a shouting match with another patron of the club, and the two allegedly exchanged shoves before people got between them.” “Allegedly.” “Police were not called, but this patron, a Knights fan as it turns out, published the events on Twitter, and the media’s taking off with it.” “For the record,” Wayne Schneider interjects, “the other teammates present were Jefferspin-Wilkes, Jerome Jaxson, and Sean Brock.” “Obviously,” Daniel says, “we’re going to collect all the facts first. But if Rose initiated some sort of confrontation with a fan, we have to assign consequences. You all know how I feel about this off-the-field nonsense, and you are on my staff because you share this point-of-view.” Harden’s not sure he does, but he listens as Daniel rambles, gulping his iced coffee to pass the time. Eventually, the coaches get around to scheming for next Sunday’s game against San Diego. The next morning, Malik Rose joins his teammates for practice, but his coaches pull him aside before he can start. None of the three players with him at the nightclub implicates him as the aggressor, so Coach Daniel dismisses any fine/suspension, though he assigns extra work during the week for Rose. He also pens a letter to Commissioner Goodell, saying the Knights will deal with Rose internally for his compromise of integrity, and that the league should refrain from any punitive action. When he gets chances, Coach Harden insists there was nothing wrong with what Rose did and tells him to focus on practice. Harden’s own focus is on the secondary; he runs them through one-on-one drills until they’re physically drained, then runs them through some more. The breakdowns of the Denver game are unacceptable and cannot happen again. Moreover, Harden will not abandon his man coverage defense. If there’s one thing about the game of football he hates, it’s zone coverage. Meanwhile, Wayne Schneider calls Chance Phillips into his office with a sense of what Phillips translates as part urgency, part panic. Phillips takes half a step through the doorway and Schneider starts speaking. “Da’Jamiroquai Jeffer-whatever—I don’t want to mispronounce his name—hasn’t shown for practice yet, has he?” “Not sure, Wayne, I haven’t talked to Daniel yet.” “Well, he won’t. I just got off the phone with an LAPD officer, one of my more useful connections. D-Jam’s been arrested for DUI, six this morning. Somehow it hasn’t hit the news yet.” “Shit.” Phillips takes a seat on the opposite side of Schneider’s desk. “Two player incidents in two days, great. Though Rose hasn’t been proven of anything.” “Indeed. This is worse. Correct me if I’m wrong, Chance, but didn’t we hire Caden partly due to his zero-tolerance policy on this sort of off-the-field bullshit?” “We did, sir.” “Then what the fuck is going on?” “With all due respect, this team has some colorful characters. We can’t reasonably expect Daniel to keep them all in line right away, but we can expect him to assign proper consequences to ensure they don’t happen again.” Schneider presses his hands together. “I’m counting on it.” Five days later, the Knights find themselves in San Diego, not far from home, nursing a 17-12 lead against the AFC West leaders with two minutes to play. The week’s events have made time fly by, including the game itself. Coach Harden’s secondary has suffocated the Chargers’ passing game. Phillip Rivers has taken five sacks, most of them coverage sacks, and while the Knights’ run defense has left plenty to be desired, the Chargers, devoid of big passing plays, have been forced to settle for a handful of Nick Novak field goals. The Chargers face 3rd and 10 from their own forty. Harden calls an inside blitz. Rivers takes the snap from shotgun, and Briggs Randall surges through the offensive line. Rivers assumes the fetal position and falls for a sack. The Qualcomm Stadium crowd whimpers as the Chargers, facing 4th and 16, decide to call timeout and punt, relying on a three-and-out from Los Angeles. A coffin-corner punt places the Knights at their own five, 1:50 to go; San Diego has two timeouts. Coach Daniel makes the easy decision of calling a run play. With Da’Jamiroquai Jefferspin-Wilkes on a one-game suspension, the offense has been relegated to a conservative, run-first style. It hasn’t been incredibly efficient, but they have avoided turnovers and put up enough points here and there to keep the lead. Darren McFadden takes it off-tackle left and gets stuffed at the line of scrimmage. Timeout, San Diego, 1:45 to play. McFadden takes another handoff, gets no blocking, attempts to sweep left, and gets brought down. Timeout, San Diego, 1:39 to play. Daniel contemplates the 3rd and 11 play call. The priority is to wind the clock, and assuming they don’t convert, the Chargers will get the ball back with about 50 seconds left from midfield. Instead of a simple run play, Daniel calls a play they’ve rehearsed in practice over and over, one he feels Jonathan Maverick finally has mastered: play-action rollout. The passing call should catch San Diego off guard, opening up Maverick for a game-clinching pass. The risk, of course, is stopping the clock on an incompletion, but Maverick knows to slide down to run the clock if no one’s open. It requires veteran poise, but Daniel decides it’s time to trust his franchise quarterback with such plays. Maverick takes the snap, fakes the handoff, and rolls right. The Chargers defense bites completely, and Maverick has plenty of grass around him. He spots Zach Miller crossing the field, open, deep enough for a first down. Maverick lofts it to him, but the pass is underthrown and ends up in Shaun Phillips’ hands. The crowd jumps to its feet as Phillips sidesteps one man, jukes Maverick with ease, and runs into the end zone. The Knights sideline is still and silent. The next few minutes go by like the entire week: the Chargers convert the two-point try to take a 20-17 lead, and Maverick has the ball again. Daniel knows he’s rattled, but there’s no alternative. They still have two timeouts and 1:24 to work with needing only a field goal. Maverick takes the snap from shotgun, drops back, and heaves the ball downfield with as much velocity as he can. Alex Johnson tries to track it, but the ball is five strides ahead of him. Eric Weddle catches it at midfield and goes down. As the Chargers end the game from the victory formation, Daniel contemplates the state of his football team. There can be no illusions about a 2-8 record. The playoffs are long gone and no longer the point of concern. He’s comfortable with having another six games to improve the team—and he knows improvements can be made—but he wonders if there will be consequences. The NFL is a tough business that demands one of two things: winning or accountability. The remaining six games are no longer an opportunity to climb back into the playoff race, but a trial to see who gets blamed for this season’s debacle.

Knights of Andreas Part I Chapter Six – Veteran Presence After seven weeks, the 2011 NFL season nears its midpoint. For the Los Angeles Knights, their upset win against Detroit has invigorated players and fans alike. Though their 2-5 record puts them at the bottom of the AFC West, they are far from doomed. The Chargers currently lead the division at 4-2, trailed by the Chiefs and Broncos (both 3-3). None of those teams has been especially impressive so far, and the Chargers are well-known choke artists. The division is up for grabs. Fans speculate dozens of what-if scenarios ending in a division championship for their favorite team. A string of wins would definitely put L.A. back in the mix, and this weekend’s division game against Kansas City would be a great place to start. The Knights go to work early Tuesday morning. It’s only the first day of practice after a long return flight from Detroit, but Brian Penner doesn’t care. Football is football, and he only knows one way to play it. Penner lines up at center, the position he’s played since high school, and takes the first scrimmage snaps of the day. He jumps off the line and plows through the defensive line with ease. He plants Tommy Kelly to the ground one play, Sam Luck the next. This is too easy. Eventually, he emerges free for a run block and plows an unsuspecting Briggs Randall to the ground. Randall stays there for a second. “What’s going on, fellas?” Penner shouts. “Did practice start, or am I dreaming? Wake up!” Penner extends his hand to let Randall up, takes it, and shoves him back to the grass. This finally causes a stir. “Get up yourself, pretty boy.” Randall shouts something back, but Penner just claps his hands. Coach Daniel moves—to wake up the troops, not scold his veteran center—but Coach Harden is already working. The linebackers receive an earful, and Harden’s bickering soon reaches every defensive player. Within seconds, everyone’s awake. Throughout the remainder of practice, Penner doesn’t plant anyone else on the ground, though he takes a few liberties to make sure they stay on edge. He has a respectable matchup this week against Chiefs nose tackle Kelly Gregg, but he’s less concerned with his own performance than he is with his team staying focused and building a winning streak. In the locker room after practice, many players hold amicable conversations with Penner in the locker room, Randall among them. No hard feelings. Randall is a rookie, but it’s Penner’s first year with the Knights too, and everybody knows his routine by now. Three days before free agency, Chance Phillips sits alone in his office, his strategy ready. After a 5-11 season dubbed as a rebuilding year, the Knights need to show progress next season, and they’ll need a good offseason to do it. After one year as GM, the franchise is still not as financially flexible as Phillips would like it to be, but that’s his problem now, nobody else’s. His office door opens. It’s Paul DeMartine. By now, Phillips can read the expressions on his face, and this one says there’s news. “What is it, Paul?” “Buffalo just cut Brian Penner.” Phillips likes that. He’s researched Penner as a possible free agent signing, but only preliminarily. “Let’s do some homework.” The two hit the film room and collect some data. Together they surmise that Buffalo was apprehensive about paying Penner’s 2011 cap number (high for a center, Phillips admits), especially considering his drop-off in play this season. Phillips personally attributes that to lingering injuries. When free agency officially opens three days later, the Knights keep tabs on Penner and stay in contact with Penner’s agent. The market is surprisingly low for his services considering the lack of quality centers available. Phillips suspects many teams plan on picking up a center through the draft, and even though he agrees with their philosophy, he wants leadership on offense, and L.A.’s offensive line needs a boost in the worst way. With approval from the higher-ups, he pounces, and a three-year deal is signed. Phillips is thrilled about keeping the deal to three years considering Penner turns 30 this offseason. The local media praises the $12 million contract as efficient financially, and they praise Penner as well. One beat writer calls him “a welcome addition to an offensive line that has needed help for too long.” The signing gets praise from the national media as well, though it flies under the radar, for the most part. On the defensive side of the ball, practice week goes well. Everybody rides the momentum wave caused by Malik Rose’s breakout performance against Detroit, especially Coach Harden. “If he can cover Calvin, he can cover anyone” becomes a popular line of his. Even better, this week’s game against Kansas City is full of favorable matchups. With Rose holding the fort against Dwayne Bowe, Jamaal Charles out with a torn ACL, and Matt Cassel under center, the Chiefs don’t pose a threat. Their offensive line looks very good on tape, but then so did Cleveland’s. But then, the Knights lost the Cleveland game. The hypotheticals go on forever. From the strong safety position, Chet Ripka watches with comfort. Sharing coverage duties against Calvin Johnson was murder, and if not for Rose’s performance, he would have been burned multiple times. Even though Ripka, months away from his 34th birthday, realizes receivers like Calvin Johnson don’t come around very often, being beat with speed so easily is a demoralizing experience. It never would have happened in Ripka’s prime, however long ago that was. He knows his career won’t last beyond two or three more seasons, but he wonders if he’s fallen behind physically more than he anticipated. In front of him, Randall gets juked badly by third-string running back Jerome Jaxson. He falls to the ground so awkwardly some other teammates laugh, though Jaxson doesn’t show him up. “Short memory, Briggs,” Ripka says as he helps him back to his feet. “Short memory. Next play.” Randall nods and gets back in formation. Ripka walks out of the shower, refreshed but tired from working out. After only one year in the league, he realized there’s no such thing as an offseason. After ten years, his offseason routine had been perfected. The eleventh year, however, the season that ended a few months ago, was different. Extension talks with Chicago fell apart before week one, so he played through a contract year. With money on the line, he languished through a terrible drop-off in production. The fact that he missed the Pro Bowl for the first time in five years still stings. All things considered, he’s not surprised to be unemployed at the moment. He knew the Bears would wait his market out initially, but he’s been a free agent for weeks. There are a few offers on the table, but nothing for longer than two years, and nothing higher than $13 million. He thinks he understands the business, but he underestimated the scare effect a drop-off contract year can have on teams’ financial willingness. He doesn’t need the money—he’s saved up enough from the big payday he got when he was 28—but that doesn’t help his pride strictly from a football standpoint. The phone rings. It’s his brother. He doubts it’s a personal call, because it’s also his agent. “Hello?” “Hey, Chet. Catch you at a bad time?” “Not at all. What’s up?” “Another offer came in. A big one.” “I’m listening.” “Los Angeles. Three years, twenty million.” “Wow.” He doesn’t really know what to say. He tries to process the numbers in his head. The Los Angeles Knights… “They don’t want me to come in for a visit?” “That’s an option, if you’d like. They’ve freed their schedule tomorrow for you.” “Yeah, I think I’ll do that. What do you think about the contract?” “I like it a lot. Phillips was coy—you know how GMs are—but it seems Merle Harden, their defensive coordinator, really likes you. And they’re looking for leadership.” Ripka likes the first part of that explanation; he knows of Harden from his Carolina days and always respected his defenses. Regarding the second part, however, “looking for leadership” sounds like “We know you’re old and slow, but we want you to tutor the young guys before you retire.” “I’ll think it over,” Ripka says, “talk with Michelle and the kids.” “Okay. But, you’re interested, right?” He sounds weird, unlike his report of the previous offers. “What are you saying?” “Listen, Chet, you’re my brother, and you know I love and respect you, so don’t take this the wrong way. I never thought we’d get three years.” Ripka sighs. “Alright then. Get me set up with a flight.” “Great.” Ripka hangs up and sees his wife staring at him. She knows something’s happened, and that’s okay. They’ve discussed this for awhile now, and they both suspected they wouldn’t be in Chicago forever. Still, moving is never easy, and he never wanted to make his children change schools. Not sure how best to pitch Los Angeles, he decides to start with warmer weather. The Knights and Chiefs take the field for L.A.’s last game before their bye week. They’ll travel to Arrowhead Stadium in week 15, but for now, they have the fans on their side. A win today takes them to 3-5 and keeps the AFC West within reach. Offensively, Brian Penner has his way with Kelly Gregg, but Chiefs ends Glenn Dorsey and Tyson Jackson break through with frequency and ease. The Knights can’t generate enough blocking for a run game, and Maverick is under too much pressure to sustain a drive. One particular run play, Penner sweeps right and meets Jackson, whose hand reaches up and catches him in the eye. Penner grabs his facemask back and hears whistles blow. Indifferent, Penner shoves him to the ground near the sideline. A flag flies, and Penner struts back to the huddle, no regrets. Defensively, Coach Harden’s plan works well. Ripka enjoys covering guys who can’t burn him, sees no passes thrown his way, and eventually fires up the crowd with a big sack on a third down blitz. The game is a defensive battle, though the lack of offense lulls fans out of their pre-game craze. Sebastian Janikowski’s superiority puts the Knights up at halftime, 9-3. In the locker room, Penner yells at his fellow offensive linemen to step it up. Ripka sees no need to counsel anyone; the defense is playing great. The Chiefs return the second half kickoff all the way and take the lead, 10-9. Farmers Field goes eerily quiet. When the Chiefs’ offense finally gets the ball, L.A.’s defense gobbles them up on first and second down. Harden calls cover two on third and nine. Ripka studies the offense and senses a screen developing. Matt Cassel takes the snap and scans. Technically covering Dwayne Bowe along with Rose, Ripka cheats up to swarm the screen, but it never happens. He turns back to Bowe, who is three strides ahead of Rose. Ripka bolts it for the end zone to head him off, but he’s too fast, and Cassel’s pass hits him in stride. 17-9, Chiefs. “Where’s my help?” Rose asks. “Thought you had him. That’s on both of us. Let’s get him next time. No more points.” “Whatever you say, old man.” On the bench, Ripka tries to calm Rose down as the offense takes the field. The Knights are apparently losing the game of adjustments; the Chiefs defense penetrates the offensive line despite blocking changes. Penner holds his own, but things break down around him. Maverick’s scrambling ability creates a few exciting plays, but the Knights can’t get past midfield. In the fourth quarter, the score is unchanged. With 6:45 to go, the Knights offense faces fourth and one from the Chiefs’ forty. It would be a 57-yard kick, within Janikowski’s range, but Coach Daniel refuses to settle for a field goal. Cutting the deficit to 17-12 is unacceptable. This drive has to reach the end zone. In the huddle, Maverick relays the call, a quick draw to McFadden right up the gut. “Let’s go, men!” Penner screams. “Stick your man, hold the line. Let’s get this first down, baby!” The huddle breaks and the line sets. Maverick calls the quick cadence. Penner snaps him the ball and sticks the nose tackle in the mouth, pushing him back two yards. He feels bodies fall around him as they continue jostling. Whistles blow and Penner backs off; they can’t have a flag here. The referees sort through the pile as best they can and spot the ball. Nearby Knights signal first down, and the crowd responds. The chain gang jogs in for a measurement. Once the chains are set, a few spare inches of space lie between the first down and the tip of the football. Turnover on downs. Penner puts his hand on his hips and walks to the sideline in defeat. He says nothing to his linemen this time. The defense takes over, victory a slim but tangible possibility. The Knights are eight points down, but they need the ball back first. The Chiefs hand off on first down and Sam Luck makes the tackle at the line of scrimmage. They hand off again on second and ten; Dexter McCluster breaks free for a moment before being leveled by Chet Ripka. The crowd cheers. Facing third and five, the Chiefs look poised to punt the ball back. Cassel takes a shotgun snap. Ripka’s man stays behind to block, so Ripka maintains centerfield. He follows Cassel’s eyes and sees an open receiver coming across the middle. Cassel fires and hits his man; Ripka lowers his shoulders and decks him just after contact. The crowd cheers again, but a flag comes flying. “Personal foul, unnecessary roughness, defense, number twenty-one. Fifteen yard penalty, automatic first down.” The crowd boos, angrier with the officials than with Ripka, who wonders in his head how many times he has delivered that same hit in years past. Two days later, the Knights begin a light practice schedule for their bye week, as determined by Coach Daniel. Like any football team with two wins and six losses, they have a lot to work on, but he wants his team fully rested for the second half. From inside the Knights’ headquarters, Chance Phillips sits down with the rest of management for the usual debrief. “I should inform you all before you hear it on the news,” Phillips says. “Ripka got a fine for his hit on Breaston.” “Thank God it wasn’t a suspension,” Wayne Schneider says. Phillips agrees. Even worse, he’s seen all the advanced stats on the Kansas City game, and they indicate a recurring problem for Ripka. His coverage stills are deteriorating faster than everyone feared, something Phillips wants to neither hear nor admit. He signed him because of fierce support from Coach Harden, who insisted he could ensure his Hall of Fame play (a debatable claim, in Phillips’ mind) wouldn’t decline. Remembering the details of Ripka’s three-year, $20 million contract, Phillips knows he can easily be cut loose after year two. But there’s a lot of football between then and now, and Ripka will be 35 next season. In the passing league that is the NFL, Phillips doesn’t want anybody in his secondary who can’t cover. But perhaps more importantly, he doesn’t want to create financial limitations by cutting Ripka’s contract, especially not after working so hard to get some breathing space against the cap. The only position that concerns Phillips as much is the offensive line, which is preventing the entire offense from reaching anything near its potential. Penner is in the middle of an all-pro season, but by the time Phillips builds a competent offensive line, his contract may be up. Phillips feels uncomfortable with so many problems, and only time to solve them.

Knights of Andreas Part I Chapter Five – Roses Are Red Victory is within reach. It’s been a sloppy, back-and-forth game against the Cleveland Browns, but Farmers Field screams for a potential win, one they feel they should get. The Browns are 2-2, a decent record by their standards, but they’re still the Browns. Colt McCoy gets ready for fourth and five from the forty-two, just outside field goal range. The Knights, clinging to a 13-12 lead with under a minute to play, need one more stop, and they feel confident. The only talent on Cleveland’s offense is in the trenches. Most confident of all is Malik Rose, who has enjoyed the effortless task of covering Greg Little, a laughably designated number one receiver. Poor Little has been targeted eleven times today, resulting in no catches and two interceptions, one for Rose and one for safety Chet Ripka. Lately, Little has voiced his frustration by trash talking, an amusing development to Rose. McCoy takes the snap from shotgun and stares down Little, who runs a go route. Rose doesn’t have help over the top, and he doesn’t need it. He runs stride for stride and sees McCoy loft the pass anyway. Eyes on the ball, the two men brush shoulders and make plenty of contact. Rose smacks the ball out of midair. The nearest referee signals incomplete with no flag on the play. “No sir! No sir!” Rose taunts as he slows his sprint down. “That’s dirty!” Little replies. “You cheap ass. Can’t cover anybody without holding. You ain’t no player.” Rose feels his body flare up. He steps toward Little and gives him a good, hard shove below the neck. His head jerks back and he falls to the ground. “What now? What now?” Rose screams as he stands over him. Little scrambles to his feet to defend himself. Referees and players join the chaos, and Rose tries to take a couple more swings. By the time everything calms down, the crowd grows nervous at the sight of yellow on the grass. “After the play, personal foul, unnecessary roughness, number twenty-seven, defense. Automatic first down.” The crowd of seventy thousand strong unleashes a wave of angry, vicious boos. By order of Coach Harden, Rose watches the rest from the sidelines. The boos carry into the Browns’ next running play, and then to Phil Dawson’s game-winning field goal. Rose jogs to the locker room, unable to get off the field fast enough. Several teammates have the same feeling. The boos get louder. At the tunnel entrance, several fans voice their displeasure, Jay Cooper among them. “Malik, you fucking idiot!” Cooper screams. “Thanks for losing us the game! Go back to Shittsburgh, asshole!” Before the Pittsburgh Steelers officially make the 88th selection in the 2008 NFL Draft, general manager Kevin Colbert places a call to the young man on top of their draft board. All is well; Colbert congratulates him and passes the phone to head coach Mike Tomlin. “I really like this pick, sir,” Chance Phillips, assistant general manager, says. “I know you do, Chance. Dick likes him, too, so we’ll see if he’s a fit.” “He’s definitely a fit. If not for his off-the-field stuff, he’s probably a first round pick.” “Maybe.” Phillips is being modest to his boss. Every NFL scout who works a draft falls in love with a mid-round prospect here and there; Rose is that prospect for Phillips. He has tried to assign a second round grade to Rose, even though he sees him as a first round prospect. His attempts were unsuccessful, and he could only hope that Rose would still be there when the Steelers’ third round pick came up. He is. Furthermore, this is an atypical pick for Pittsburgh, a franchise built on integrity. If not for Rose’s checkered gang history in Atlanta, he would have been a top ten pick. Phillips is as aware of this as any personnel man in football, and he knows if Rose can get his head on straight, he’ll be an all-pro corner. For players, every loss has a lingering effect, but some stick around longer than others. By the start of Tuesday’s practice, the Knights still feel the Cleveland loss in their gut. Though everyone’s immediate reaction was to blame Rose for his inexcusable penalty, some reflection has happily reminded them how thoroughly poor they played. Rose has accepted his extra suicides as punishment and wants to redeem himself this Sunday. Los Angeles’ opponent couldn’t be timed worse: Detroit. If Rose wants redemption, he has to earn it against Calvin Johnson. Merle Harden gathers his defensive troops in the secondary. “Okay,” he says, “this week, Calvin Johnson gets doubled on every passing play. No exceptions, no excuses. Malik, it’s your job to stick him at the line of scrimmage. Chet, you give him help over the top.” Every player hearing this refrains from mentioning the elephant Harden just introduced: Chet Ripka is an aging safety with declining cover skills. Asking him to cover guys like Megatron is probably too much. Rose, however, can’t resist. “Yo Chet,” Rose says, “your wheelchair fast enough for that?” A few players laugh. “Just try not to get flagged too many times, kid,” Ripka says. Rose doesn’t look happy. “Listen,” Harden says, “once we’re through with positional drills, we’re gonna use D-Jam as our Johnson clone. We’ll start there. Here we go.” Rose and Ripka continue jawing at each other, all in good fun. Ripka is one of many teammates who have given him support in the wake of his unforgivable personal foul. Many have commended him for his passionate play, but insisted he still needs to be disciplined during key moments. Other teammates have said nothing, and Rose knows they disapprove of his playing style. He doesn’t expect everybody to understand. When he and D-Jam go head to head, frustration mounts. Wilkes is overly physical, taking liberties at times. Rose tries to be physical back, but Wilkes just shoves him, abandoning his route altogether. Coach Daniel seems to be yelling at them every other play. Finally, Rose has had enough. The whistle blows for another snap and Rose runs straight at Wilkes. He extends his arm to deck him in the facemask, but Wilkes apparently has the same idea. They exchange a few solid blows and end up on the ground. As players run in to break it up, the perimeter of cameras gladly captures the footage. The third round changes the draft clock from eight to five minutes, and the draft speeds up. The Bills are on the clock with the 68th pick of the 2011 NFL Draft, and the Knights are next. None of the players still on the board have a second round grade. Chance Phillips was hoping Brandon Harris or Marcus Gilbert would fall, but no luck. The top player on L.A.’s board, however, had a second round grade before a positive marijuana test at the scouting combine. This creates a good bit of discussion. “As long as we’re discussing kids with off-the-field issues,” Phillips says, “what about that trade we discussed?” Everyone looks around, confused, then realizes what he’s saying. Phillips picks up his phone and dials a familiar number. “Colbert,” says a voice from the receiver. “Kevin!” Phillips says. “It’s Chance, L.A.” “Hey Chance,” says Kevin Colbert, Pittsburgh Steelers general manager. “What are you doing, trying to bait me into trading up?” “Not exactly. What do you think of Justin Houston?” A brief silence. Chance suspects Houston is high on the Steelers’ board, and this silence tells him he’s right. “What are you up to, Chance?” “If we take Houston with the next pick, are you interested?” “Technically we’re in a lockout, remember? We can’t trade players.” “We won’t be locked out forever, and you didn’t answer my question.” “Depends. What do you want?” “Malik Rose.” “Let me get back to you.” Phillips notices someone trying to get his attention in the war room. “Look, Buffalo just picked, so we’re up. Three minutes, Kevin.” He hangs up. Phillips turns to his colleagues. “Since nobody we love is on the board, I’m thinking we take Houston and try to work out the trade with Pittsburgh whenever the hell this lockout ends. If the trade doesn’t go through, we hang on to Houston.” “I certainly don’t object to that,” Coach Harden says. “Neither do I,” Coach Daniel says. “Mr. Schneider,” Phillips says, “when can we expect the lockout to end?” Schneider smiles. “Let’s just say I’m cautiously optimistic.” Phillips smiles back. Malik Rose hasn’t lit the world on fire in Pittsburgh, but he hasn’t been given sufficient playing time. As a Knight, he would be an immediate starter, and probably the team’s best corner now that Nnamdi Asomugha is gone. He comes with red flags, of course, but Coach Daniel prides himself on having zero tolerance for off-the-field issues. After dodging the media all week, Rose heads home Friday looking forward to tomorrow’s flight to Detroit. He lives in a city of almost four million people, but there’s only two he wants to see right now. As soon as he walks through the door he sees Eva, his wife, and embraces her. “Hey babe,” he says he hushed tones. They kiss. “You doing okay?” Eva asks. “I’m fine. What do you mean?” “Everything that’s going on.” “You know I don’t let that bother me.” “Well, it bothers me. I’m not sure I like this city. Pittsburgh was better, quieter.” She’s right; Pittsburgh was quieter. Rose even won a Super Bowl ring his rookie year, but he barely saw the field. To him, it doesn’t count. Los Angeles will be different. “We’re here now,” he says. “This is home. I’m gonna make Pittsburgh regret trading me. Where’s Jasmin?” “She just went down for a nap.” Malik leaves Eva, walks through a hallway lined with pictures, and sees his two-year-old daughter, peacefully asleep. He leans in and kisses her on the cheek. She’s just as beautiful as the day she was born. The weather hits them the instant they get off the plane. The Knights have played three of their last four at home, and the road game was in Houston. It’s October 22nd, so much of the nation is immersed in fall weather. Not Los Angeles, though. Sunday’s game is played indoors at Ford Field, shielded from the chilly Detroit weather. The crowd is amped up, even during warm-ups. The Lions are 5-1, their best start in decades. Detroit fans are enlivened by their team breaking the habit of losing season after losing season. How much longer until the Knights break theirs? Rose blocks everything out until it’s time to get on the field. When he finally does, he stares Calvin Johnson down. At 6’5”, he’s hard to miss, but Rose is 6’3”. Tall receivers have never intimidated him. On the first snap from scrimmage, Rose approaches as if playing bump-and-run. Instead, he gives Johnson a hard shove in the neck. This disrupts the rhythm of the play call, and Stafford is sacked before making a throw. Nice to meet you, Calvin. “Get used to it,” Rose chirps. On second down, Rose mercifully allows Johnson off the line, then jumps a crossing route and gives Stafford nowhere to go. He ends up scrambling and throwing it away. Rose goes back to bump-and-run on third down, and Ripka’s coverage over the top shuts the play down; Stafford apparently isn’t looking to go anywhere else with the ball. This continues series in and series out. Harden never calls zone coverage, so Rose stays with Johnson on every play. He bumps him at the line and gives him everything he can on run plays. Meanwhile, the Knights offense finally finds balance, plays turnover-free football, and owns a 14-3 lead late in the first half. One particular third down, Harden calls an all-out blitz, Ripka included. Rose is alone on Megatron. He sticks with his plan and jams Johnson at the line of scrimmage. Johnson sidesteps the jam and breaks downfield. He’s blistering fast but Rose stays with him. At the last second, Rose looks up and sees a deep pass coming for them. He can’t get to it. Johnson leaps in the air, catches it, and comes back down—Rose punches it out of his grasp. Incompletion. “C’mon, CJ!” Rose yells, waving his arms horizontally. “Gotta have that one, CJ!” When Rose returns to the bench, everyone congratulates him, even the ones who have given him the cold shoulder since the Cleveland game. Eventually, Coach Harden walks up, kneels in front of him on the bench, and stares him straight in the eye. He’s never done this. “Great. Fucking. Job. Keep it up, Malik.” The second half is more of the same. The Knights give up a touchdown to no fault of Rose’s; the Lions catch the defense off guard and set up a screen to Jahvid Best, who takes it to the house courtesy of a few missed tackles. Jonathan Maverick responds with a brilliant drive, including several electrifying scrambles by him and capped by an Alex Johnson touchdown catch. With a 21-10 lead, the defense goes back to work. Rose runs to press Johnson again, but he steps laterally instead. A screen. Rose moves in to intercept the pass, but Johnson breaks downfield. He’s been beat. He sprints to catch up but Johnson is long gone, until Ripka comes over the top and swats Stafford’s pass away. Disaster averted. “Sorry, old man,” Rose says. “Won’t happen again.” “Make sure it doesn’t. Gonna need a hip replacement running with that fucking guy.” The next play, Harden makes an interesting decision: he leaves Rose alone again, sending Ripka on a delayed blitz. Rose thinks about backing off but decides against it. He gives Johnson a hard shove. Johnson runs downfield then cuts to the middle on a crossing route. Rose breaks late but catches up. He looks and sees Stafford throwing for him. An errant pass sails into Rose’s hands. Johnson wrestles him down as he cradles the ball. As the Knights celebrate the turnover (Stafford’s second of the day), FOX’s commentators Thom Brennaman and Brian Billick contemplate Calvin Johnson’s stat line so far: 1 reception, 3 yards, 0 TDs. He’s being shut down by some no-name corner from L.A. Might be time to learn his name. The Knights add another touchdown in the fourth quarter, and the Lions can only manage one more reception—again on a screen—for their star receiver, completely blanketed by Malik Rose. Johnson finishes with 2 receptions for 10 yards. More importantly, the Knights finish with a 28-10 win. After seven weeks, a 2-5 record isn’t much to be proud of, but the Knights celebrate in the Ford Field visitor’s locker room like they’re 5-2. After things die down, Coach Daniel gets everybody’s attention. “We are a team,” he begins. “Always will be. But we are a team of individuals. And sometimes, one of those individuals rises to a greater level and inspires all of us. Malik Rose…” Rose steps forward from the crowd and everyone cheers. “After last week, Malik wanted to redeem himself. Well, son, you’ve done a hell of a lot more than that. Today, you shut down one of the best receivers in the game. Today, you introduced yourself to the National Football League. Way to go, Malik.” Daniel hands him the game ball, and everyone mobs the game’s hero, last week’s blunder now forgotten. Rose enjoys the moment and thinks of next week’s matchup against the Chiefs, who have a legitimate number one receiver in Dwayne Bowe. Rose can’t wait to meet him.

Knights of Andreas Part I Chapter Two – Face of the Franchise The bombers fly overhead during the last line of the national anthem, barely visible against the black Denver night. The crowd roars and the 2011 season officially begins for the Los Angeles Knights and Denver Broncos. They are the last teams to get underway, the second Monday Night Football matchup on opening weekend. Jonathan Maverick watches his team return the kick to the nineteen-yard-line and trots onto the field, his offense tagging along. The lockout this offseason has limited his practice time, but he’s been in the league a year. After a stellar career at Penn State that should have won him the Heisman, his underwhelming rookie season left a bad taste in his mouth. Time to fix that. Number twelve gets in the huddle, relays the play call from Coach Daniel to his offense, and lines up. The crowd screams for its defense’s first play from scrimmage. Maverick is reminded how much he hates road games. He snaps the ball from center and unwillingly hands off to Darren McFadden, who gets stuffed at the line of scrimmage. Couldn’t the coaches have picked a more creative opening play? Maverick listens to the next call and likes what he hears. He excitedly breaks the huddle and studies the defense. Everything looks good. He takes the snap from shotgun and fakes a handoff to McFadden. The linebackers don’t bite. He looks right for Johnson, not sure if he’s covered. An orange jersey surges towards him. He lofts the ball over the middle and gets thrown to the grass. The wobbly pass lands incomplete, and Maverick identifies the player who hit him as Von Miller. Maverick remembers the scouting report on him scant in information, typical for a rookie. Must have been a missed blocking assignment. “Third and ten,” he says in the huddle. “Let’s tighten up that blocking, boys!” He calls the play and sets the formation. The linebackers shuffle around, unprepared, so he snaps the ball quickly. Maverick reads the safeties and waits for Zach Miller to break in his route, but pressure comes up the middle. He rolls right and looks for Miller, but another orange jersey bears down on him. He spins to dodge the would-be tackler, but he’s not fast enough. He gets wrangled to the ground and hears the crowd erupt. Maverick spikes the ball and struts off the field. What a great way to start the season. He says nothing to his coaches or teammates. He’s seen plenty of real-speed snaps in practice, training camp, and he’s started three preseason games. Something’s different. He doesn’t remember it being this fast. The entire Los Angeles Knights front office, along with head coach Caden Daniel, sits around a table in Oakland. They’ve only been the Knights for a few weeks now, and Farmers Field won’t be ready for them to move in until summer. In the meantime, the 2010 NFL Draft looms, an event that will be integral to the team’s future success—or failure. “Alright guys,” Chance Phillips says from the head of the table. “Let’s get into it again. We’ve got the third overall pick, St. Louis and Detroit in front of us. We’ve said that we’re spending that pick on a quarterback. Before we go further, is there any doubt about that decision?” “Well, Chance,” says Paul DeMartine, director of scouting, “You and I both agree the only other prospects worthy of the pick are McCoy and Suh. However…” He glances at Merle Harden, defensive coordinator. “They’re fine young men,” Harden says, “but Suh, all due respect, doesn’t fit my defense. McCoy could as an end, but that’s not his strength, not what he’s made for. He’s a 4-3 tackle. You all know how I feel about that. Apologies for being a little old school.” “Understood, Merle,” Phillips says. “Let’s talk about the quarterbacks. We’ve run through the scouting reports, so let’s cut to the chase. Who do you guys like: Bradford or Maverick? Paul?” “Honestly, I’m torn. I love Bradford’s accuracy and anticipation. He made some real pro throws at Oklahoma. Maverick is a little more dynamic, though he comes with some red flags.” “Caden?” “I like them both,” the head coach says. “In terms of style, either one suits what I’d like to do on offense just fine.” “C’mon coach,” Phillips says, “Be honest. If we somehow get the number one pick and get to choose, who’s your guy?” “Honestly, Chance, I’m confident we can develop either one into a franchise quarterback. I think they’re both elite guys potentially. But if I had to have my pick, I’d say Bradford. He can make all the throws, and he doesn’t come with the maturity questions Maverick does. That’s a big issue.” “I agree.” Maverick brushes shoulders with the punt team on his way back on the bench and fails to drown out the crowd noise. The Denver fans scream for good reason: their team is up 28-10 in the third quarter, well on their way to a 1-0 record. Maverick paces the sideline, noticing his white jersey has far too many green and brown stains on it. He approaches the offensive line and sees the offensive line coach talking to them, undoubtedly detailing their numerous mistakes. “How many more busted assignments until we start blocking?” Maverick yells. “We got it covered,” the O-line coach says. “Oh yeah? Nobody’s got me covered. What the hell’s going on out there?” Brian Penner, the center, rises from the bench. “Relax, Mav,” Penner says calmly. “Relax? For what? You guys are getting schooled by a fucking rookie!” “We’ll get it fixed. Let us work on it.” “Let you work on it? While I take how many more sacks?” “Jonathan,” a familiar voice says. Maverick notices someone’s hand on his shoulder and turns around to see the head coach. “Come here. I’ve got some things to show you.” Maverick turns around before departing. His offensive line somehow seems unbothered, especially Penner. Whatever. Maybe the coaches have some rollout or screen ideas so he doesn’t have to get sacked anymore. From their war room, ironically still in Oakland, the Los Angeles brass watch the television screen as Commissioner Goodell delivers some spiel about hopes and dreams, then officially opens the 2010 NFL Draft. The clock on the wall ticks for the St. Louis Rams’ first pick. “Stay in contact with Detroit,” Chance Phillips says. “If someone’s calling them to trade up, we need to know. And if for whatever reason someone trades up with St. Louis, get me Mayhew immediately.” The minutes tick down from 10:00, past 9:00, past 8:00… “It’s Bradford,” a man further down the table says. “He’s on the phone in the green room.” “As expected,” Phillips says. The expected news forces a few people to shift in their seats but doesn’t reverberate with force. Goodell announces the pick formally and the war room waits for news to come from Detroit. It only takes a few minutes. “The pick is in. They’re not trading.” “Suh or McCoy?” “Hang on…Suh.” Everyone sits up. All according to plan. “As a matter of diligence,” Phillips says, “we’ll wait five minutes for any trade offers, which I don’t anticipate. Assuming nothing happens, we’ve got our franchise quarterback, ladies and gentlemen.” The minutes tick down without any calls, and Phillips picks up the phone. This is a big moment for him. A little over a month ago he released JaMarcus Russell, cutting loose a failed quarterback from a prior regime. Now, he is about to pick his own quarterback, one who will, hopefully, avoid Russell’s fate. Phillips telephones the pick. A man sitting at a table in Radio City Music Hall relays the name to the gentleman to his left, who writes it down. He hands it to the runner, who walks it towards the stage. A few seconds later, Goodell receives the draft card and strides to the podium. “With the third pick in the 2010 NFL Draft, the Los Angeles Knights select Jonathan Maverick, quarterback, Penn State.” The players sulk around the locker room, eager to travel home. One game down, fifteen to go, and the Knights are 0-1. Even worse, they’ve got a short week to prepare for Sunday’s game at Buffalo. Coach Daniel has already delivered his short post-game speech, typical for a loss. Maverick throws off his pads and notices a few offensive linemen walking by. The pain from six sacks and ten hits on forty-six drop backs feels worse than it did a moment ago. “Thanks for the blocking, assholes.” He notices Brian Penner approach him immediately. Great, another useless calm-down pep talk. “Maybe next time we’ll actually get to try our game plan?” Penner throws Maverick against his locker. His head slams against the wood and Penner’s right hand grabs his neck, choking him. Most of the locker room goes dead as their starting quarterback gasps for air. “Get off me,” he gags. “We’re gonna stop this blame game right fucking now,” Penner says. “We lost as a team. Now we’re gonna pack up and prepare for next week.” “Excuse me for wanting a little better pass protection!” “Everybody always wants to play a little better. Like I said, we win or lose together. Nothing is bigger than the team.” “I am the team! Try winning a game without a quarterback.” “I don’t care what your salary is, and neither does anybody else, pretty boy.” “That’s enough, men,” Coach Daniel says. Penner lets go and Maverick sucks in the sweaty air. “Save the energy for practice.” Maverick pants and looks around the locker room at his teammates’ faces. Nobody tried to help him. They’re not on his side. The coaches didn’t do anything either. Why the hell is everybody ganging up on him? This never would have happened at Penn State. Chance Phillips jogs onto the practice field where his team is preparing for their first preseason game. Wayne Schneider is watching, as he likes to do, and Chance needs to speak with him immediately. “Wayne!” he calls. “Hey, Chance.” They shake hands. “You look stressed. What’s up?” “The Lions just signed Suh. Sixty-three million, max value of sixty-eight. We should move quickly.” “You talk to Maverick’s agent yet?” “Just called, no answer. Left a message. I’m sure he’s milking it.” “Terrific. Lovely situation, isn’t it?” It certainly is. The preseason game against New England is in eight days, and the Knights’ franchise quarterback hasn’t seen the practice field yet. Phillips has been battling an aggressive agent who demanded the draft picks immediately before (Ndamukong Suh, Lions) and after (Gerald McCoy, Buccaneers) his client sign their deals before negotiations take place, though number figures have still been exchanged. Schneider looks like he’s thinking. Phillips suspects they’re running through the same numbers: Suh signs for sixty-three, McCoy for fifty-five (announced three days ago). “What do you think we can get?” Schneider says. “I was shooting for sixty. I can still probably make that happen, but he’ll insist on incentives, like Suh got, that’ll take it up to sixty-five.” “Well, so be it. It’s ugly, but it’s business.” “Unfortunately. Can I count on that rookie cap next year?” “No promises.” The Knights run through Wednesday practice in Los Angeles, a long way from Buffalo, where they’ll fly to in three days for an important game; 1-1 sounds a lot better than 0-2. The prospect of a road trip to upstate New York doesn’t sound all that appealing to Maverick. He tries to shrug it off as he takes another shotgun snap. Protected by a red jersey, he sets his feet comfortably in the pocket and launches passes down the field. “Good blocking, O-line, good blocking,” he says after the play. Nobody reacts. “Way to stick your man, Penner.” The center shifts as if to acknowledge the statement, then gets set for the next play. Maverick is really trying here. If his offensive line plans to resist, will he actually have to apologize? He never imagined his NFL career would start like this. He knew his incredible talent would shoot him up draft boards and land him on a shitty team, but things should be turning around by now, right? At least he still has the Audi R8 waiting for him in the parking lot, as well as Brandi and her brand new breasts at home, all courtesy of a five-year, $60 million contract. Practice ends, and Maverick showers off his frustration. The locker room is quiet as players filter out for the day. Maverick heads for the exit and notices Penner walking alongside him. Should he? Fuck it. “Hey, Penner, got a second?” “What’s up?” “Listen, about the game on Monday…I was taking a lot of sacks. I don’t like taking sacks. I need to be making plays, you know?” Penner just stands there. Is he waiting for more? Maverick doesn’t know what else to say. Finally, he says, “Don’t sweat it. We all get heated on game day.” He walks away. Is that it? Was there supposed to be more? Is everything good now? Maverick isn’t sure, and he doesn’t worry about it. He leaves the facility and heads home to have sex with his girlfriend. Practice the following day gives no hints as to whether Penner accepted Maverick’s apology or not, so he forgets about it. The team makes their final adjustments for the Buffalo game and wraps up practice for the week. Before long they arrive in Buffalo, New York, where Maverick is unsurprisingly disappointed by the lack of nightlife. Sunday afternoon, the Knights take a knee inside the visiting locker room of Ralph Wilson Stadium. Prayer wraps up, and players start jumping around quietly. All eyes focus on their head coach. “We didn’t play the way we wanted last week. We didn’t even come close. But today is a new day. Today, we show this league what the Los Angeles Knights are capable of. Now let’s go out there and execute!” A few players cheer and head for the field. Maverick goes back to his locker and kneels for one last prayer. He rises, turns, and jogs toward the tunnel. Most of the team already gone, Brain Penner is among those left. “Big game today, QB!” Penner says. “Hey Brian, wait up!” Maverick calls. Penner stops and Maverick approaches him. “We did this on Wednesday, Mav.” “I know, I know. But, you and me, are we good?” Penner thinks for a second, then puts his hand on Maverick’s shoulder. “I think you got some growing up to do.” What an asshole. “But you’re my quarterback. I will always have your back on game day.” He taps Maverick’s shoulder pad and runs for the tunnel. Maverick follows. Time to get a win.

Knights of Andreas Part I Chapter One – Prologue Word first escapes the residence around 6:23 Pacific Time via a series of text messages. Household members tell the first people who come to mind, and amidst one of the exchanges, the line of communication branches out to a local reporter. He checks with his sources and confirms the news within two minutes. He attaches his name to the report and the rest of the nation soon takes hold of the sudden news that on this day, February 11, 2009, a legend has gone: Oakland Raiders owner Al Davis has passed away in his home. News travels fast in the NFL. A franchise once known for prominence receives yet another blow in a turn of events that has turned it into one known for turbulence. It is one year since Lane Kiffin was hired as head coach, a little over four months since he was fired, and seven days since Davis announced Tom Cable, interim head coach, would permanently retain the title. It is unclear how the rest of the league will react to the news. Only ten days ago they witnessed the Pittsburgh Steelers defeat the Arizona Cardinals and win their sixth Super Bowl in exciting fashion. The Raiders have three Super Bowls, two as the Oakland Raiders and one as the Los Angeles Raiders. Over the following days, the Raiders focus on the loss of one of the league’s greatest owners and successfully dodge questions about the line of ownership—about the future of the Raiders. Behind the scenes, multiple interactions take place. Phone numbers are exchanged. Dollar figures are bounced back and forth. One of the men in on these negotiations is Wayne Schneider. A native resident of Los Angeles, Wayne is a respected businessman and has even been executive producer on a few Hollywood productions. Wayne stays in constant contact with Tim Leiweke, Anschutz Entertainment Group president/CEO, and Casey Wasserman, former Los Angeles Avengers owner. They are wealthy, powerful men like him, and he needs them in order to close the deal. He can’t have a football team without a stadium. Thanks to financial proposals with lots of zeros and spurred by a media frenzy, things move quickly. By the end of February, Wayne Schneider is the new owner of the Oakland Raiders. As anticipated, he announces the upcoming season with be the Raiders’ last in Oakland; they are moving (back) to Los Angeles. The news sends shockwaves through the league like a Southern California earthquake. Fans of all 32 teams anticipate a highly publicized press conference where Schneider officially announces the decision. In the opening moments of his speech he conveys his likability. He is young, charismatic, even charming—the kind of guy who seems like he could run for President, though he chose a much more prosperous career. He describes Farmers Field, which will be built adjacent to the Staples Center as planned, in fantastic detail and says construction will be complete well in time for the 2010 season. For the 2009 season, the Raiders will keep their current coaching staff and management personnel in place. “Management personnel” is a strange choice of words because Oakland no longer has a general manager. Does Schneider have a plan? He plays it close to the chest, eventually promoting the team’s vice president of player personnel to the position on an interim basis. Fans in Los Angeles grow worried; will Schneider be a hands-on owner? Will he want too much control? He insists he won’t, but actions speak louder than words. The league knows all too well what Al Davis’ level of control ultimately did to the Raiders in his later years. Some in the national media speculate that Schneider only wants to sweat out the team’s last year in Oakland, then give the organization a top-down renovation upon its move to L.A. Commissioner Goodell eventually announces that the Raiders, upon their move to Los Angeles, will remain in the AFC West. Logistically, the move is very convenient for the NFL; they bring football back to Los Angeles and don’t need to realign the league’s geography to do so. Goodell, of course, has been communicating with Schneider all along. There’s nothing in the turn of events he doesn’t like; he gets the Los Angeles franchise he wanted much sooner than he anticipated. The public focuses on other aspects. Will they be the Los Angeles Raiders? Will their color scheme change? Mr. Schneider will answer those questions in due time, Goodell says. The offseason goes on. The Raiders stroll through free agency without any major moves. They make minor transactions, of course, though every decision goes through Wayne Schneider. He grew up a lifelong football fan, has kept up with the NFL, and is competent enough to supervise personnel decisions. But he can’t be running things by himself. He will need a general manager. And he’ll have one. All in due time. Schneider sits in the war room during the 2009 NFL Draft but overrules nothing. With the seventh overall pick, the Raiders take Darrius Heyward-Bey, a raw, size-speed receiver with high potential. The media scoffs at it, calling it “the pick Al Davis would have made.” Raiders fans in Oakland and Los Angeles criticize Schneider for the first time. Why is he waiting to start rebuilding? This is lost time the team will surely pay for later. The NFL drags through summer, the last lull before preseason. With nothing better to do, fans speculate about the future of the Raiders. Fans in Oakland vent their anger at their departing team while Los Angeles eagerly awaits the return of an NFL franchise. Through sound bytes, Schneider hints that the team will have a new nickname. What will it be? What colors will they have? What do the jerseys look like? Schneider doesn’t say. The 2009 season begins. The Raiders kick off their farewell tour at Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum with a loss to the Chargers on Monday Night Football in front of a sold out crowd. The following week, they manage to beat the Chiefs at Arrowhead Stadium, an upset that makes people think the Raiders might not be as bad as predicted this year. The next three games erase all doubt; the Raiders lose all three in blowout fashion. At the same time, the Raiders fail to sell tickets for their home games, all of which are blacked out locally. The losses continue to pile up, along with the construction of Farmers Field. Wayne Schneider conducts his own player evaluations. Quarterback JaMarcus Russell is dreadful, and Coach Cable benches him for Bruce Gradkowski halfway through the season. Neither quarterback has any receivers to throw to; rookie Darrius Heyward-Bey appears even rawer than expected, and tight end Zach Miller is the pass game’s only legitimate target. Darren McFadden splits carries with Michael Bush in the backfield but neither does much behind an inept offensive line. On defense, the Raiders actually display a formidable secondary including the likes of Nnamdi Asomugha and Tyvon Branch, but an awful front seven gives them no opportunity to put their talent to use. During the team’s bye week, by which point the Raiders are 1-7, Schneider makes an announcement: the Raiders will be changing their name to the Knights. Fans seem to like this. He provides an artist’s rendering of their new uniforms: dark purple with accents of black and silver. Fans in Los Angeles complain the color scheme is too similar to the Kings, Los Angeles’ NHL team. Schneider doesn’t care. December soon arrives. While the rest of the league gears up for the playoffs, fans in Oakland start to accept their team’s fate, this season and beyond. The Raiders manage to get one more win, at home against the Redskins. The fans cheer louder than they have all year. The NFL announces Pro Bowl rosters. The AFC roster includes three Raiders: Sebastian Janikowski, Shane Lechler, and Nnamdi Asomugha. The Raiders end their season against the Ravens with another loss, their last in Oakland, giving them a 2-14 record, tied with the Detroit Lions for second worst in the league. The next day, Black Monday, Tom Cable joins three other NFL coaches in being fired. Wayne Schneider commends Cable for his efforts but says the franchise “must head in a new direction to accompany our new location.” Schneider also purges most of the front office, or what’s left of it, and moves quickly to set up interviews for the general manager position. Truthfully, Schneider has been reaching out to potential GMs for the past month. He needs to fill the position quickly. There are four NFL teams with head coaching vacancies, and they need to be filled as soon as possible; Schneider needs his GM first. Four interviews are scheduled, though he suspects he’ll only need one. Chance Phillips flies from Pittsburgh to Oakland and chats with Schneider for hours. They discuss Phillips’ history, from his Master’s in Sports Management to his four years as assistant general manager with the Steelers. Conversation is friendly, but Schneider doesn’t shy from asking difficult questions. Phillips cites several successful draft picks in Pittsburgh that he supported, declares his intention to never sign a bad contract, and makes his best case that he is the best man for the job of general manager. Schneider interviews one more candidate before canceling the others. Two days before the playoffs begin, Chance Phillips is announced as the Oakland Raiders’ general manager. After an introductory press conference, Phillips moves quickly to hire the rest of his front office. He tries to steal as many of his contacts from Pittsburgh as possible while reaching out to other names he has come to deem valuable. He enjoys the freedom Schneider gives him with his decisions. “In hiring you,” Schneider says, “I place my utmost faith in you to build a winning football team. Don’t let me get in the way.” Concurrently, Phillips looks to find his team’s head coach, priority number one. As the calendar turns to January, Phillips sets up three interviews: USC Trojans head coach Pete Carroll, UCONN Huskies head coach Caden Daniel, and former Denver Broncos head coach Mike Shanahan. Phillips, Schneider, and their pieced-together front office interview Carroll and Daniel. Shanahan cancels his interview, about to sign with the Washington Redskins. The media learns of Carroll’s interview and fans in Los Angeles go crazy. Already familiar with Carroll through his success at USC, the public majority swoons over the idea of Carroll as their head coach. The first day of the playoffs, a Saturday, Phillips and Schneider sit quietly in Schneider’s home (Phillips is still in the process of moving to Los Angeles) and contemplate their decision. “Chance,” Schneider says, “This is your decision. I’m fine with whoever you pick, though you know how I feel about Carroll.” “I really thought you’d like him because he’s local to L.A.,” Phillips says. “I like that from a PR perspective; I just think Carroll is a bust in the NFL.” “We can debate the X’s and O’s for hours. Carroll has won a championship, Daniel hasn’t. Daniel had less to work with than Carroll.” “There’s a lot to like about both. Something tells me you’ve already made up your mind, though.” “Somewhat.” “Then go for it.” “You sure?” “Let’s go, Mr. GM. Make the call.” About two hours later, just after the Jets and Bengals have kicked off, ESPN reports the Seahawks will hire Pete Carroll as their head coach. By the time the Jets win, multiple media outlets confirm the news. The next day, just as the Cardinals and Packers go into overtime of a high-scoring game, Chance Phillips gets a phone call. He relays the news to Wayne Schneider, and it somehow reaches the media within minutes: the Raiders have hired Caden Daniel as head coach. Older fans know of Daniel for his NFL career as a journeyman quarterback who won two Super Bowls as a backup. His coaching experience includes the college ranks exclusively: quarterbacks coach at the University of North Carolina, promoted to offensive coordinator, head coach at the University of Connecticut. Daniel signs a five-year contract and is soon introduced at a press conference in Los Angeles. Phillips praises him for his leadership, ability to develop quarterbacks, and emphasis on mental toughness. Daniel humbly answers the media’s questions, repeatedly cites his excitement at leading a relocated franchise in a new direction, and promises to build a winning team. As the media and fans of Los Angeles debate the hire—most wanted Carroll instead and the rest resent the idea of a college coach in the pros—Phillips and Daniel work together to assemble a coaching staff. Daniel has made it clear that great coordinators and assistant coaches are a priority, something Phillips liked in his interview. An offensive coach, Daniel mentions several names for offensive coordinator and Phillips offers no objection. The defensive coordinator position presents a greater struggle. At Connecticut, Daniel had stayed away from the defense, only insisting his defensive coordinator be in line with his views from a leadership standpoint. He and Phillips go through a preliminary round of names and interviews that carries into divisional weekend. All the interviews are underwhelming. By the time conference championship games come around, the majority of both the front office and offensive staff have been assembled. Nothing is resolved on the defensive side of the ball. Phillips and Daniel feel strongly about none of the candidates, and the ones they feel mild about have been hired. They interview a second round of coaches. By the time the Super Bowl matchup is set, the interviews are over, and the Raiders are no closer to finding their defensive coordinator. As a matter of follow-up protocol, Phillips places a phone call to contacts of those he’s recently interviewed. Somewhere along the way, one name gets his attention: Merle Harden, former Carolina Panthers defensive coordinator. Harden put a top ten defense on the field four years in a row, yet he remains unsigned by Carolina—or anyone. Why hadn’t Chance noticed this before? Through phone conversations with people in Carolina, Phillips learns Harden is well respected by his players, but his act has somewhat worn thin on ownership, who wants to go in another direction. Though uncomfortable with ambiguous answers, Phillips discusses this with Daniel, and they schedule another interview. Asking different types of questions, Phillips and Daniel get answers they like. Daniel makes casual football conversation with Harden when he can and warms up to the idea of him as a defensive coordinator. Without many options left, the Raiders’ brain trust decides on Harden, and he is hired to a three-year deal. Phillips doesn’t like that he has had to compromise on a major decision (neither does Daniel), but he suspects this will be a trend over the next few years. Harden works with his new team to fill in the rest of his defensive staff, and by the time the Saints and Colts play in Super Bowl XLIV, the Raiders have their coaching staff and front office finalized. Over the following weeks, Phillips prepares for free agency. He will not be a major player, but there is still work to do, especially on defense, where personnel must now be adjusted from a 4-3 to a 3-4 defense. Eventually, on one particular predetermined date, the clock hits midnight, the 2009-10 league year ends, and the 2010-11 year begins. Along with this, free agency opens, and, more significantly, the Oakland Raiders officially become the Los Angeles Knights.