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Knights of Andreas Part I Chapter Four – The Receiving End Maverick drops back and enjoys a clean pocket, finally. He scans the field and sees Johnson running a post corner. He breaks perfectly and Maverick fires toward the sideline. Johnson looks up, snags the ball, and drags his second foot in bounds for an eighteen-yard grab. The Farmers Field crowd cheers modestly. The Patriots have a 30-14 lead well into the third quarter, and a comeback seems unlikely. The Knights have actually been moving the ball on offense, but some red zone turnovers took points off the board. The defense, on the other hand, has no answer for the trio of Wes Welker, Rob Gronkowski, and Aaron Hernandez. Even with good red zone defense, New England may hang fifty points on the board. Alex Johnson tosses the ball to the nearest ref and jogs back to the huddle. He’s not sure, but that catch may have put him over 100 yards for the day. Despite losing, he’s enjoying this game much more than last week, when he frequent trips to Revis Island suffocated his production. He knows he’s only starting because the Knights lack talent at his position, but the situation is giving him some quality playing time, something he didn’t think he would receive as a rookie. Three picks into the second round of the 2011 NFL Draft, the Knights war room starts to get some phone calls. Their slot is three picks away, but the Bengals have just taken Andy Dalton from TCU, and a quarterback run could begin now. The Broncos are on the clock. “Trade,” someone down the table announces. “It’s San Fran, moving up.” A few around the table speculate, Chance Phillips among them. A few minutes later, the 49ers take Colin Kaepernick from Nevada, and the phone calls stop. Kaepernick as a prospect intrigues Phillips, as does his draft slot. Did he make a mistake drafting Maverick so high in last year’s draft? Is the “if you need a quarterback, draft a quarterback” adage wrong? Kaepernick probably won’t start right away, but his average salary, probably somewhere around one-and-a-half million, will look much more appealing than Maverick’s eight-digit figure. Phillips snaps out of it as the Browns select Jabaal Sheard from Pittsburgh and the Knights go on the clock with the 38th overall pick. He’s got Maverick, whether he likes it or not, and after missing on Julio Jones last night, he needs to draft him a target. “Looks like we have our man,” Phillips says. “Coach, here’s your go-to receiver.” “I’m sure Jonathan will appreciate it,” Caden Daniel says. “I think it’ll take some time, but his route-running is as good as anybody in this class.” A few scouts around the room murmur in agreement. Phillips doesn’t disagree, but even at 6’2”, his athletic ability can’t compare to guys like A.J. Green and Julio Jones. He picks up the phone and says, “Johnson, wide receiver from Iowa.” The fans who have stuck around until the end file out of Farmers Field, taking in the fact that the season is one-fourth over. With a 1-3 record, it may already be over altogether. The Knights walk for the locker room, heads down. As they get to the tunnel, they hear shouts of disapproval from the fans overhead. “You fucking bums!” one particular fan named Jay Cooper shouts. “Is that what I pay a thousand dollars for? To watch you idiots play like shit all season?” Fueled by the $10 beers plus the whiskey he smuggled into the game, Cooper leaps in an attempt to traverse the guardrail. Two security men restrain him and he flails about in their grasp. “This is bullshit! This is bullshit! Get it together!” Johnson tucks his head and keeps walking. The locker room is somber, the opposite of last week’s post-game celebration. He finds his locker and starts removing equipment. Just as the shoulder pads come off, his head coach approaches. “Good game today, Alex,” Daniel says. “Thanks, coach. Wish we could’ve played better as a team.” “It’s a long season. We will improve, one game at a time. For now, though, we’re gonna give you some more looks than usual in practice this week, see what you can do. You up for that?” “Yes, sir.” “Good man.” A few lockers down, a teammate eavesdrops on the conversation as he throws his jersey down. Despite four quarters of play, it looks fresh, devoid of grass stains. The only strange thing about it is the unusually long surname squeezed on the back. Da’Jamiroquai Jefferspin-Wilkes has a memorable name, but he wants people to remember him for his play, an impossible task seeing only 3 targets per game. “Why don’t you share some of those catches, rook?” he asks Johnson. “What?” “Man, never mind.” Wilkes strolls to his quarterback’s locker. Maverick is brushing his hair. “Dude, why you let that rookie steal my balls?” “Johnson was open, D-Jam. What do you want from me?” “I want my targets, man. Johnson, he can’t get no yards after the catch. We only put up 14 points. Get me in space, I’m lethal.” “I throw it where I want, bro. Take it up with the coaches.” “Man, fuck this shit.” This is unfair. Wilkes is the best receiver on the team by far, and he knows it. This time last year, he was setting the NFL on fire, only his second year in the league. Things have changed now, he understands that, but there’s still no reason for him to be losing targets to some rookie named Johnson from Montana or wherever the hell he went to college. He leaves his quarterback en route to a conversation with the coaches. Chance Phillips proceeds with permission through the door and into Wayne Schneider’s office. He’s been in here many times, of course, but he always marvels at the view of downtown Los Angeles. Phillips has essentially the same view, but Schneider’s looks more majestic from the second floor. “Chance!” Schneider says, rising from his chair. “How’s the big board coming?” They shake hands. “Almost done. You get a chance to do any research?” “Yes I did.” Schneider returns to the chair and reclines. “Da’Jamiroquai Jefferspin-Wilkes. Quite a mouthful.” “I really like the investment, potentially.” “What kind of contract are we looking at?” “One year. Five, maybe six million.” “You know his agent is—” “Rosenhaus, yeah.” “I know you’ve never negotiated with any of his players, but, have you met the guy yet?” “Haven’t had the pleasure.” “Anyone else in on Wilkes at the moment? Free agency’s been open quite awhile.” “A few teams are checking in, no official offers yet. But there will be.” “He’s got quite a history.” “Yes he does. But as I said, it would only be a one-year investment. Could be cut loose at any time.” “Tell me if I’ve got any of this wrong.” Schneider picks up a piece of paper from his desk. “Top recruit to USC, charged with assault two years later, transfers to Coastal Carolina and puts up astronomical stats. Fourth overall pick to Seattle, complains about the weather, has a good rookie year, then a great second season until he’s arrested on gun charges, suspended indefinitely, and surprisingly cut by Seattle at the conclusion of his suspension. He’s a free agent for the last week of the season plus playoffs and nobody gives him a shot. That about right?” “Yes, that’s all correct.” Schneider lets the paper fall back to his desk. He doesn’t approve. “Sir, you know I’m not trying to collect a bunch of reclamation projects in the desperate hope that they pan out. When you interviewed me, you said a good GM shouldn’t be an optimist. I’m not; I’m a realist. Wilkes is undoubtedly a wild card, but he’s very passionate about the game. And more importantly, he has elite potential as a receiver. He can bring the element to our offense we’re missing.” “I thought you said we’re probably going receiver with our first pick?” “No guarantee we’ll land one of our guys.” Schneider thinks. “Feel out Rosenhaus if you want, and send me any dollar figures that come up.” “Thank you, sir.” “And Chance, one more thing. A good GM is neither an optimist nor a realist. A good GM is an opportunist.” Practice drags on for the Knights, and for Wilkes. He’s been given the playbook for the Houston game this weekend, and there’s not much designed for him, meaning there’s not much to like. Nothing he tells the coaches does any good. For whatever reason, they’ve forgotten the receiver he is. When he signed a one year, $6 million contract, everyone called it a “prove-it” deal.” How can he prove himself without a chance? Still, life is good in Los Angeles. Even though he grew up in Georgia and Uncle Lincoln is in South Carolina, L.A. feels like home. The University of Southern California isn’t far away, and the nostalgia of his two years there still comforts him. Towards the end of Thursday’s practice, Wilkes isn’t even trying. He knows they’re throwing everything at Miller and Johnson, so he just jogs along his routes. Apparently, the coaches haven’t noticed. Shocking. There’s a commotion on the other side of the field. What happened? “Get the trainers!” someone yells. On the ground, Alex Johnson writes in pain. He ran an out route, jumped to catch the overthrown pass, and landed awkwardly on his ankles. Those damn ankles of his. They’ve been getting hurt since middle school. Never any ligament damage, but a sprain here, a fracture there. Several analysts called them the reason Johnson dropped from the first round a few months ago. The trainers soon gather and players form a huddle around their injured teammate. “It’s not bad,” Johnson insists. “Just landed funny.” An hour later, practice has concluded, and players slowly file out of the locker room. Johnson is given the news of mild ankle sprain, and the team lists him as questionable for Sunday’s game. He will probably play, but he won’t be 100%. Before he leaves the locker room, Da’Jamiroquai sees his head coach walk up to his locker. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your lack of effort this week,” Daniel says. “Why should I try if you won’t give me a shot?” “You’ll get your shot. Johnson’s hurt. May not go for Sunday. We’re gonna give you some looks, but I need to know you’ll give me everything you’ve got tomorrow.” Finally, a break! Did it really take an injury for somebody to give him some reps? “You got it, coach.” The next day, Wilkes dominates the practice field. Nobody can cover him, not even Malik Rose. In addition to running around him, he eggs him on with some trash talk, just for fun. He’s ready for Sunday. After practice, the offensive coordinator suggests Maverick and Wilkes spend some extra time together to prepare for the game, but they decline. Both have better things to do. Before long, the team arrives in Houston. Fresh off a victory against the Steelers, the 3-1 Texans seem to have finally taken the step into legitimacy, the same step the Knights are supposed to take sometime soon. Due to impending rain, the Reliant Stadium roof is closed for the game. The Texans get the ball first, and Wilkes mopes around on the sideline as Houston’s offensive line dominates and takes a 7-0 lead. A few minutes later, Wilkes lines up for the first time, covered by Jonathan Joseph, Houston’s best corner. At last, some respect. Wilkes runs a simple post route and Maverick finds him for ten yards. Wilkes jumps up and spikes the ball. “Get used to it, bitch,” he says to Joseph. The offense tries a few more plays to Wilkes, but Maverick can’t find him amidst poor pass blocking. The Knights get to midfield before punting. This trend continues throughout the game. Wilkes piles up six receptions totaling seventy yards, but there’s not much offense otherwise. Their only points come on a fifty-nine-yard run by Darren McFadden and a forty-nine-yard field goal by Janikowski. Meanwhile, the Texans go the entire first half without punting. They lead at halftime, 24-10. The Knights get the ball to start the second half. Wilkes gets ready to beat Joseph again, this time for a deep ball. He runs an out route to the sideline, Joseph breaks with him, then he plants his foot in the turf and cuts upfield, beating his man. He looks up and sees the free safety shading towards him. He turns back, but the ball has already gone elsewhere. So they’re double covering him now. Good. It’ll look even better when he finds the end zone. He receives the same treatment on second down as McFadden runs for two yards. They call a crossing pattern on third down. Wilkes breaks and Joseph rides him every step of the way, making significant contact. Maverick fires the ball, but Wilkes feels his jersey tugged and can’t make the catch. Joseph starts saying something, and Wilkes, still in stride, grabs his jersey and wrangles him down. Players swarm them instantly. The first Knight in the action is Alex Johnson. “Let it go! Let it go!” he screams. Others scream more colorful language, but the refs succeed in breaking up the fracas without punches thrown. Once peace is restored, Johnson says to a ref, “Missed a call on that one. He had his jersey. Easy DPI.” The ref does nothing. There’s no flag on the play. Wilkes and Johnson retreat to the bench. The Texans go three and out and the Knights retake the field. Wilkes continues battling the double team, breaking free occasionally, but Maverick doesn’t see him. Eventually, Wilkes runs a pointless curl route on third and long and watches Maverick throw a perfect pass to Johnson, who beat his man. He streaks down the sideline for a touchdown. Wilkes doesn’t celebrate. The offense sees the field a lot in the second half. Whatever Coach Harden is doing to Houston’s offense, it’s working. The Knights add a field goal in the third quarter, only trailing 24-20. Early in the fourth quarter, a string of McFadden screens, Miller catches, and Johnson catches puts the Knights on the eight-yard line. Wilkes is still without a second half reception. On third and goal, he fakes an out route and cuts back to the middle. The safety gets turned around, and he’s open. He looks and sees the pass heading right for him. He jumps, catches it, and lands in the end zone, silencing the crowd. Heading for the goal posts, he jumps, does a 360-degree spin in midair, and dunks the ball on the cross bar. As his teammates celebrate with him, he hears the crowd start to cheer. “Holding,” the head referee says, “number sixty-six, offense. Ten yard penalty, replay third down.” Unbelievable. Wilkes says nothing, maintains a straight face, and walks to the sideline. As his teammates huddle, the sideline screams at him to get in it. He doesn’t even look at the coaches as he walks past them and finds a spot on the bench. Coach Daniel, red in the face, sends in a replacement, but the play clock ticks down and he’s forced to burn a timeout. A few coordinators try to talk to Wilkes, but he wants none of it. He doesn’t move from his seat as the rest of the game transpires. The Knights settle for a field goal. The Texans milk the clock with Arian Foster, finally finding holes in Harden’s defense. They add a field goal with three minutes left. Maverick runs the no huddle, but the offense stalls near midfield. One final Hail Mary finds a crowd but comes down in the hands of a defender. Texans win, 27-23. In the locker room, Wilkes changes fast. He can’t get back to Los Angeles soon enough. Johnson finds the largest bags of ice he can and puts them on his ankles, a welcome relief. Wilkes is ready to escape when Coach Daniel finds him. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Daniel asks. “Nope. Got nothin’ to say.” “You ever pull a stunt like that again on the field, and you’re suspended. For now, you owe me extra suicides on Tuesday. So enjoy your day off tomorrow.” Wilkes wonders if he can skip it. “Johnson,” Daniel says. “Great effort out there today. I know you were hurting. Rest up this week.” In more pain than he cares to admit, Johnson just nods in agreement.