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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.