SteVo+ 3,702 Posted June 21, 2015 Knights of Andreas Part III Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BwareDware94 Chernobyl426 DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever JetsFan4Life Maverick monstersofthemidway OAK RazorStar RevisFan81 Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos19 theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Thirty-Four – For This We Give Thanks Monday morning, the silence that typically fills the MedComm Center locker room is slowly replaced with the sound of people talking and putting on pads, an unusual but necessary occurrence. The coaching staff almost worked through the night in preparing a game plan for Thursday’s game, remarkably just three days away. Coach Harden has seen plenty of short practice weeks in the NFL, but this will be his first as a head coach. He insists on three full practice days for players, though more time will be spent in the film room in an effort to keep them fresh for Thursday. Coaches, meanwhile, will work almost nonstop. This condensed schedule is not the way Harden wants to prepare for a football game, but it is unavoidable, especially due to recent events. The Knights have won four of five games since their bye week, earning a 6-5 record and a legitimate shot at the playoffs. A win this week in Dallas would put them at 7-5, along with extra rest for the final four games and an enormous amount of confidence. Harden definitely likes his odds under those circumstances. In preparing for the Cowboys, the Knights face vastly different levels of competition on either side of the ball. Dallas’ offense may be the best Los Angeles has faced all season, while their defense is downright awful outside of a few players. The first day of practice wraps up after positional study in the film room, and offensive players hit the locker room with confidence. “I don’t know about you guys,” Maverick says, “but I’m feeling forty points this week.” Luck: “A forty-burger, huh?” Maverick: “Let’s say forty-two. Seven touchdowns.” Jaxson: “At least two of those are mine.” Maverick: “Forty points will be enough, right, defense?” Brock: “More than enough, considering we’re gonna have something like forty sacks.” Grantzinger: “Oh, really? And how many of those will be yours, Sean?” Brock: “What do you say we split them fifty-fifty? Twenty each.” Grantzinger: “Against Tyron Smith? Considering your history against elite left tackles, I’m not exactly brimming with confidence.” Penner: “Their offense will barely be on the field with how well we’re gonna run the ball.” Grodd: “Damn right.” Brock: “Hey wait, before I forget—” Grantzinger: “Enough, Sean.” Brock: “Fuck off, Zack. Listen up, guys. Since Coach gave us the rest of the weekend off, what do you say we have a little team Thanksgiving? I know we all have our own plans Thursday night when we get back, so Friday or Saturday?” A few players nod and mumble to the tune of “That sounds good.” Brock: “Hell, we can even invite Jerome.” Jaxson backs away from his locker, already sensing he won’t be able to bottle up his frustration this time. “Hold up. What do you mean you can even invite me?” He walks right up to Brock, standing face to face with him. “Well, hang on, Jerome, I only meant that—you know, we might hit up a club or something—” Jaxson shoves Brock backward, slamming his head against a locker. Everyone rushes between the two, keeping them separated. “What the fuck, man?” Brock says, holding the back of his head. “You listen, Sean. In fact, everybody listen!” The locker room goes quiet. “Let’s just get this out there. I’ll date who I want to date. If that happens to be the daughter of another team’s coach, so be it. Anyone have a problem with that? Here I am. Let’s hear it.” He looks around, but no one offers a response. “That’s what I thought. So yeah, Sean, count me in for this weekend. Anything else?” Brock doesn’t speak, and neither does anyone else. “Good. Someone get him a Band-Aid.” A few teammates cover their mouths as Jaxson grabs a jacket and walks out of the locker room. “Damn, Sean,” Rose says once he’s gone, “talk about getting fucking owned. And by Jerome, no less.” “Suck a dick, Malik.” Tuesday night, after a physically demanding day of practice and nonstop bickering from Coach Harden, Randall heads home to his high-rise apartment to watch more film on the Cowboys offense. He studies their impressive offensive line and Jason Witten, his two top priorities on Thursday. Finding no apparent weakness, he flips through the five losses Dallas has on the season to study how their opponents beat them. He hears a knock on the door and pauses the film, slightly concerned. He’s not expecting anyone, and he rarely has guests anyway. He tiptoes to the door and looks through the peephole, shocked at who’s standing on the other side. He clenches his fist as he opens the door. “Hey, Briggs.” “Zack.” “Can I come in?” “Um, yeah. Sure.” Grantzinger strolls in and takes a seat on the couch, seeing the game tape on the TV screen. “See, this is the problem,” he says. “Who said there was a problem?” “Take it easy. I didn’t come here for a rematch. Sit down.” “Fine.” Randall sits on a separate couch, perpendicular to the TV. “So what’s on your mind?” “Football. We got a tough game this week, and we need to play our best, including you.” “I’ll be ready.” “I’m not so sure.” “Excuse me?” “Listen, Briggs, let’s be honest here. Something’s been up with you for awhile. It has to go beyond me pissing you off, and I think I know what it is.” “Get to the fucking point.” “Look. It’s eight o’ clock, and you’re sitting here watching film.” “That’s how I prepare. That’s how I play the game. Especially on a short week.” “Yeah, but you know what? I bet even if we didn’t have a short week, you’d be doing the same thing. Right?” Randall thinks about that for a second, realizing it’s true but not wanting to admit Grantzinger is right. “There’s already too much pressure in this league to bring more on yourself,” Grantzinger says. “Zack, that’s how—” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. That’s your mentality. Had a bad game? Watch more film. Miss a few tackles? Watch more film. Well, where’s it gotten you?” Randall can’t find anything to say, part of him wanting to look defiant, part of him giving serious thought to what his teammate is saying. “And if this is about the captain thing,” Grantzinger continues, “believe me, I’d be bitching and screaming whether I was alternate captain or not. You’re still captain of the defense, and for good reason. And to be a good captain, all you have to do is be yourself. You don’t have to run around and scream or whatever. You just have to be Briggs Randall, because Briggs Randall is a pretty fucking good linebacker.” “You know, it’s funny. Last year, Chet Ripka told me something that sounded a lot like that. Pretty sure he mentioned putting extra pressure on myself too.” “So learn to take good advice when it’s given to you, dumbass.” “Okay then. What do you suggest?” “Honestly?” Randall nods. “I think you need to get laid.” Randall laughs. “Shit, I think we both need to get laid.” “That doesn’t sound bad. Let’s think here…ah, shit.” “What?” “I hate to say this…do you have Brock’s number?” As the Packers and Lions wrap up the first of three Thanksgiving games, the Knights and Cowboys warm up on the field of AT&T Stadium for the second. The Cowboys sport their dark blue throwback uniforms, a Thanksgiving custom, while the Knights wear their standard white away jerseys. The Knights get the ball first and go to work on the run game. Their offensive line mauls Dallas’ front seven, moving the chains and reaching midfield without a single pass attempt. Coach Everett finally calls a pass, but Maverick checks out to a run up the middle. Penner plants two defenders to the ground, paving the way for Jameson, who gets eight yards without being touched, absorbs a hit, and gets another ten yards. It’s first and ten on the Cowboys’ thirty-two. The Cowboys finally realize they have to stack the box, and Maverick goes to work. He hits Bishop on a corner for his first completion of the day, then finds Johnson over the middle to put the Knights in the red zone. Maverick drops back to pass again, but nobody’s open. With plenty of time to throw, he unloads to Jaxson in the flat, who jukes a few defenders in the open field on his way to the end zone. 7-0, Knights. The Cowboys start their first possession with a similar game plan. Tony Romo hands off to DeMarco Murray, who powers through holes in the front seven. Randall and Martin bring him down with tough tackles, but he gains more yards than the Knights want to allow. Dallas reaches midfield and opens up the play-calling with Romo firing quick passes to open receivers. On the outside, a fierce battle takes place between Rose and Dez Bryant. It’s only been a few plays, but Roses realizes Bryant is the best receiver he’s faced all year. After another first down, the Knights finally manage a big stop against Murray thanks to a great play by Luck. This leads to third and eight, and Harden gladly calls a blitz. Romo takes the snap from shotgun. Randall and Martin come free on the inside. Romo ducks, Martin dives over him, and he steps up with space around him. Scanning he field, he lofts a pass for Witten over the middle, uncovered. Witten streaks for the end zone, where Flash hits him as he crosses the goal line. Tie game, 7-7. “We knew it wasn’t gonna be easy,” Harden says on the sideline. “Relax, men. It’s gonna be a long battle.” Both defenses settle in, keeping opposing passing attacks in check, and the game becomes a battle between run-first offenses. With Rose shutting out Bryant, Harden confidently sends Stevenson into the box on most plays, containing Murray to carries under five yards. Dallas still moves the ball, but the Knights step up on critical third downs and keep them out of the end zone. On offense, Grodd and Penner chew through enough defenders to give Jaxson and Jameson room to run. Maverick struggles to get the pass game going consistently, mostly due to Everett’s conservative play calls, but he doesn’t panic. In the long run, the run game is more important. As long as the Knights have that, they’ll be able to score in the second half. The teams trade field goals early in the second quarter. On the ensuing drive, Dallas eventually faces third and six. Harden sends a blitz that gets picked up perfectly, and Romo finds Witten over the middle for a first down. A few plays later, it’s third down again, and Harden blitzes again. This time, Romo somehow evades the pressure, and Witten escapes from Flash’s coverage for a big gain. The drive ends with a field goal, and it’s 13-10, Cowboys. The rest of the second quarter ticks away with the Knights offense apparently stalling. They get the ball back with less than a minute to go, and Maverick floats a perfect pass into double coverage that Johnson hauls in on the Cowboys’ thirty-nine. Two incompletions later, with the clock at 0:03, Janikowski nails a fifty-six yard field goal to tie the game, 13-13, at halftime. Maverick lines up under center for the Knights’ first possession of the second half. He hands off to Jameson, who gets stuffed at the line of scrimmage for no gain, a discouraging start to the quarter. Everett calls an aggressive passing play, and Maverick gladly relays it in the huddle. Under center again, he fakes a handoff to Jameson and looks deep to Wilkes. He’s covered, but Bishop cuts open across the middle. Maverick fires toward an opening but spots a corner he hadn’t seen undercut the route and intercept it. The home crowd cheers as Dallas sets up shop forty yards away from the end zone. “That’s on me, boys,” Maverick says on the sideline. “Half-second earlier and you had me,” Bishop says. “I know, that’s on me. And coach,” he says to Everett, “love the play call. If I execute, that’s a big gain.” “One play at a time, Mav,” Everett says. “We’ll get there.” The offense studies pictures on the sideline, occasionally looking up at the stadium’s massive video screen to watch their defense struggle. Dallas reaches the end zone with balanced play-calling and flawless execution, and it’s 20-13, Cowboys. After the Knights respond with a field goal to make it 20-16, the Cowboys go right back to work, moving the chains and reaching Knights’ territory before a false start pushes them back to midfield. First and fifteen. From the sidelines, Harden struggles with a play call. His blitzing strategy has been way off today, with Romo enjoying too many clean pockets and Dallas’ blocking picking up too many blitzes. Even worse, the few blitzes that were effective have been countered by Romo’s mobility. Harden decides not to force things, calling relatively simple plays for the time being. Romo fakes a handoff to Murray. Randall bites slightly, letting Witten get behind him. Flash sees Romo staring down his tight end and closes as the pass comes in. Witten catches it and Flash levels him to the turf, ball still in hand. “Get the fuck outta here, bitch,” Flash says as Witten gets off the ground slowly. Despite the big hit, it’s first and ten at the thirty-eight. Rose finds himself lined up with Bryant and no one else around. This seems ripe for an isolation route, and Rose is fine with that. Romo takes the shotgun snap and stares down Bryant, running along the sideline. Rose runs with him every step and sees Romo lob the pass their way. Both men try to outmuscle each other, leap at the same time, and Bryant gets his hands on the ball. Rose comes down awkwardly, spins, and misses the tackle. Bryant jogs into the end zone. 27-16, Cowboys. Rose finds a quiet spot on the sideline and replays the route in his head as Randall approaches. “Hey, Malik, if it takes until Thanksgiving for you to give up a touchdown, and it’s against Dez, you’re pretty fucking good.” Rose nods stoically, and the two bump fists as Harden walks by. He’s not screaming, so he must agree with Randall. A Dallas three-and-out near the end of the third quarter leads to promising field position for the Knights, who (thanks to a successful lobbying effort by Maverick) come out firing. Not even bothering with play-action, Maverick finds rhythm by throwing short, high-probability passes that hit his receivers quickly. Everett times a receiver screen to Wilkes perfectly, and the Knights cross midfield as the third quarter ends. After the commercial break, Maverick goes deep for Johnson into double coverage, deliberately overthrowing him. On the next play, he sees Dallas’ coverage more spread out and hits Bishop over the middle on a post. Bishop breaks one tackle, stiff-arms another, and goes down at the ten. Maverick lines up in shotgun and studies the defense. He motions Larkhill from the right slot to the left, leaving Wilkes isolated in single coverage. Perfect. He takes the snap and lobs up a jump ball. Wilkes outreaches the corner easily and comes down with both feet in bounds. 27-22, Cowboys. Everett signals for the two-point conversion immediately. Maverick lines up under center with four wide receivers. Seeing the defense spread out again, he hurries the snap and hands off to Jameson up the middle. He lowers his shoulders, meets a defender at the goal line, and tries to push him back, but other defenders jump in and bring him down short. The score remains 27-22. As the offense rehearses the game-winning drive on the sideline, Harden calls plays aggressively, trying to get the ball back. He watches helplessly, however, as Dallas marches right down the field, sticking to the same game plan and showing no urgency, gladly chewing up the clock. 5:44, 5:43, 5:42… The Cowboys hammer Murray with runs to the left, as Tyron Smith continues to dominate Brock at the point of attack. Randall and Martin aren’t missing tackles, but they can only do so much. Two runs later, Dallas has another first down. 4:27, 4:26, 4:25… Harden considers his three timeouts as the Cowboys keep running. Joseph Randle subs for Murray and gets another first down, setting Dallas up on the fifteen. 2:58, 2:57… Whistles blow everything dead as Harden calls timeout. He radios instructions and plays to Randall, who huddles the defense up. “Gut check time, boys. They get a touchdown here, it’s over. We hold ‘em to three, we have a chance. Let’s see what we’re made of.” The Knights line up in their base 3-4 formation for first and ten. Romo fakes a handoff to Randle and looks deep. Brock gets stuffed on the rush, providing Romo an eternity to throw. He eventually lofts it to the end zone, overthrowing everyone, and the clock stops at 2:50. Second and ten. Romo lines up in shotgun, and Brock stares down Smith. Romo takes the snap. Brock bull-rushes, then cuts to the outside, blowing right past the left tackle. He accelerates and tries to swat the ball out of Romo’s hands. He doesn’t, but Romo goes down for the sack and a five-yard loss. Third and fifteen. Harden lets the clock wind, content to preserve two timeouts. Romo lines up under center, watches the play clock tick down, and takes the snap. He fakes a handoff to Murray and looks deep. “Screen!” Randall shouts. Grantzinger hears him, and they both converge to Romo’s right, where blocking develops as Murray catches a pass. Randall and Grantzinger sidestep linemen and close on Murray, gang tackling him for a two-yard loss. The two mob each other in celebration as the game reaches the two-minute warning, and Dallas’ field goal team jogs onto the field. Maverick lines up for first and ten, down 30-22, 1:54 and two timeouts to work with, seventy-seven yards from the end zone. Maverick continues to hit his receivers quickly on short passes with an affinity for sideline routes. Dallas has apparently assumed a prevent defense, giving Wilkes and Johnson huge cushions. Maverick takes advantage, hitting his receivers ten yards at a time, crossing midfield with 1:29 to go, still with two timeouts. On the sideline, Harden shakes his head at Dallas’ defensive strategy. “I’ll never understand it,” he says aloud. Maverick continues to enjoy buffers on the outside, occasionally hitting Bishop over the middle, gaining more yards but taking more clock. As the chain gang sets up the sticks for a new first down at the Dallas thirty, Maverick hurries his teammates to the line. 1:00, 0:59, 0:58… He takes the snap in shotgun and looks deep to Johnson—covered. He looks left for Wilkes on an out route and fires. The pass sails off target. Wilkes manages to corral it, but lands in bounds. Everett and Harden both call timeout, and the clock freezes at 0:48. In shotgun again, Maverick studies the defense and takes the snap. Linebackers come on a blitz. He rolls right, escaping the rush, and spots Bishop over the middle. He throws, and Bishop catches it at the ten. He runs forward with one man to beat, lowers his shoulders, and the two collide. Stunned but on his feet, Bishop holds onto the ball and stumbles into the end zone. 30-28, Cowboys. Maverick knows they need to go for two but runs toward his celebrating teammates anyway. “Great drive, boys!” he screams. “Great drive!” Harden calls his final timeout, and things calm down as Everett and Maverick decide on a play. “If we put Jameson in there, they have to respect the run,” Everett says. “So play-action?” Maverick says. “I was thinking a jump ball to Wilkes. It worked earlier.” “How about this: if Wilkes is isolated, throw it up, if not, play-action rollout.” “Let’s do it.” They iron out the details, and Maverick jogs toward the huddle for the two-point attempt. The crowd rises to its feet and gets loud as the formation sets. Maverick sees Wilkes by himself on his left, but a safety jogs over to double him. There goes that. The box is stacked, so play-action seems fitting. Sensing a blitz, Maverick wants to adjust the blocking, but the play clock is low and the fans are screaming. He takes the snap, fakes a handoff to Jameson, and looks for Bishop. He can’t find him in the chaos at the line of scrimmage. Hesitating, he finds himself swarmed with defenders. He backtracks and looks to the corner of the end zone, where Johnson is covered. Without enough room to escape the pressure, Maverick heaves it up helplessly. Johnson jumps for it, trying not to go out of the end zone. He and the corner get their hands on it. They come down simultaneously—feet in bounds—and fall to the ground. As they hit the turf, the ball squirts loose, and the nearby official signals incomplete pass. With Cowboys celebrating around them, Knights help Johnson to his feet as Maverick comes jogging in. “That was a hell of an effort, Alex.” “Hell of a throw, Mav.” They bump fists and walk back to the sideline. Coach Harden watches as the special teams units prepare for an onside kick. Janikowski gets it to bounce high, but it lands securely in the arms of a blue jersey. Cowboys win, 30-28. As Harden tries to brush off another tough loss, he observes the sideline around him in awe. The players in white jerseys high five each other, graciously accepting defeat. Bewildered, Harden can’t decide if this is the greatest or worst thing he’s ever seen. The mood carries into the locker room, where nobody hangs their head or slams their helmet into a locker. Harden has been around long enough to know there’s no such thing as an easy defeat in the NFL. Maybe his players are simply building a tolerance to last minute, emotionally crushing losses. They’ve certainly had their share. Before players change out of their pads, Harden gathers everyone together, an unusual post-game ritual for him, win or lose. “I’ll keep this brief, since you all have families to get back to. I want to assure you all that despite today’s loss, I am not changing the practice schedule. Let’s take the rest of the weekend off and come in Monday morning ready for December. But more importantly, since it is Thanksgiving, let’s remember what we’re thankful for. We’re thankful for this great game and the privilege we have in playing it. We’re thankful for our teammates, for our coaches, for our fans. We didn’t win today, but we’re thankful there’s four games left. And we’ll make them count. Happy Thanksgiving, men.” Everyone changes quickly, and the team ends up boarding the plane ahead of schedule. The flight lands a little after seven, leaving everyone plenty of time to get home for Thanksgiving dinner. Goodbyes are brief, and everyone drives toward their Southern California homes except Harden, who catches a cab to the airport. Before Maverick’s car is all the way up the driveway, he holds out his phone, highlighting Brandi’s number. His finger hovers millimeters from the green button. As he stops the car, he presses it. One ring, no answer. Another ring, no answer. Another ring. He hangs up, squeezing the phone as hard as he can. He slams his fist against the steering wheel repeatedly, honking the horn a few times. Several deep breaths later, he tosses the phone on the passenger’s seat, backs out of the driveway, and speeds off. Penner drives past one house after another, proudly scanning his neighborhood, lined with upscale middle-class homes one wouldn’t expect to house an NFL player. He arrives at his own and immediately spots one of the dogs in the window, tail wagging. He hurries to the door and opens it. All three dogs make a beeline for him, but closer are his two sons. “Daddy!” they both yell excitedly, running toward their father. Brian crouches down, and they both hug him. “Hey guys,” he says, falling backwards gently as if tackled and holding onto his children. The dogs go for the head, attacking him with a furious wave of licks. “Good boy, good boy, good boy.” “There’s my husband,” says another voice. “You big softie.” Brian rises from the three dogs and two children to kiss his wife. “Let’s eat,” Brian says. “Daddy’s starving.” By the time Eva finishes setting the table, Malik has already removed Tatiyana from her seat and feeds her by hand, leaving his full plate untouched, for the moment. Jasmin behaves and eats her food. “Babe,” Eva says to Malik, “why don’t you pass her around? You haven’t gotten a chance to eat yet.” “It’s okay, I’m fine.” “I’ll take her, daddy,” Jasmin says. Surprised, Malik stops feeding Tatiyana, bringing on another wave of cries. “Here you go.” He hands Tatiyana to her sister carefully. “She’s crying because she’s hungry.” “That’s okay,” Jasmin says. Malik and Eva both smile. “I don’t mind.” Neither do they. Chance walks through the door without a greeting but smells food. He follows the scent to the kitchen, hoping to enjoy some microwaved leftovers. With any luck, they’ll still be a little warm. He reaches the kitchen, and the sight catches him off guard. Melissa, Max, Jack, and Kimmy all sit at the table, empty plates in front of them with the rest of the table filled with food. “We waited for you, daddy,” Max says. “It’s still warm!” Kimmy says. Chance gladly sits at the head of the table, all worries about the Knights that occupied his drive home now gone. He’ll worry about football tomorrow. “Well,” he says, “this is a very nice surprise. Thank you.” “Happy Thanksgiving,” Melissa says. “Happy Thanksgiving. I love you guys. Who wants to say grace?” Maverick makes his way through Los Angeles International Airport in disguise. If a single person identifies him, it’ll be a fucking nightmare. After lucking out on a red eye flight to Philadelphia, Maverick clears security with his single bag of luggage and heads for his terminal. Along the way, he spots someone who looks familiar, and quickly identifies him as D-Jam. At least, he really looks like D-Jam. But why would he be at the airport? And where is he going? Either D-Jam or the D-Jam lookalike heads for a separate terminal, and Maverick maintains a low profile, eventually boarding along with first class passengers. An older man ends up next to him. “You know, I recognize you,” the man says as the plane taxis to the runway. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Listen, I just want to get some sleep—” “It’s okay; I don’t plan on making a scene.” “I appreciate that.” “You’re a hell of a quarterback, son.” “Thanks.” The man nods, and Maverick leans against the window, drifting asleep. Logan gets there on time, though he’s still the last to arrive. That probably doesn’t look good, but everyone knows his reason for working on Thanksgiving, and no one has voiced any objection to it. As he walks toward the joint family dinner, a plan of his own making, the door opens. He expects to see either his girlfriend or his parents, but instead it’s his girlfriend’s father, giving him a warm look. Logan smiles nervously. He can handle an eleven-ounce leather football, no problem, but the small box in his jacket pocket holding an engagement ring seems to weigh a hundred pounds. From the back seat of the cab, Merle admires the dark North Dakota landscape. Just a few miles from the high school where he first coached football, he feels a wave of nostalgia, reliving some of the good times in his head. The driver stops at the address. Merle gives him a $50 tip and gets out. As he walks up the driveway, the door opens, and a beautiful face. “Hey, dad.” “Hey there, Trish. Happy Thanksgiving.” She jogs down the driveway and gives him a warm, firm hug. He kisses his daughter on the cheek and puts his arm around her as they walk up towards the door. “It’s great to see you, Trish.” “You too, dad. You know I quit drinking. Only two months, but it’s something.” “Well, that makes one of us. Let’s not mention drinking in front of your mother, okay?” “Or football?” “Especially not football.” Randall finishes his underwhelming Thanksgiving dinner and plops down in front of the couch. Nothing else to do, he turns on the TV, switching between football highlights and The Godfather. Surprisingly not tired, he tries to think of an alternative, only coming up with one idea. He takes out his phone. “Hello?” “Hey, Zack. It’s Briggs.” “What’s up?” “Nothing. I’m bored.” “Not seeing your parents?” “Nah, we decided to do tomorrow instead of tonight.” “Yeah, same here.” “Want to go out, grab a drink or something?” “Um…yeah, why not? Beats sitting around watching The Godfather.” Randall laughs. “As long as Brock isn’t involved.” Da’Jamiroquai drives his rental car through the early morning darkness, taking a slight detour to drive past Coastal Carolina University, the place where he shattered half the record book and remade his name. He gets back on track and arrives at another familiar location, a small residential neighborhood five minutes from campus. He finds the correct home after driving past it once, parks in the street, and knocks on the door. It takes a few minutes, but house lights finally come on. “Who’s there?” says a voice from inside. “It’s me. Open up.” The door opens, revealing an older man wearing a robe. He studies the young man standing on his doorstep, identifying him right away but taking a second to register his presence. “Didn’t think you wanted to talk to me, let alone come all the way out here.” “You’re the only family I got, Uncle Linc.” “Alright, come on in. I’ll make some coffee.” Jonathan wakes up to see the earliest hints of sunrise shining through the clouds. He notices the cab has stopped, and the driver says, “We’re here.” He pays the fee and walks toward the front door, bag in hand, and rings the doorbell. He hears footsteps, silence, then the door opens, and he smiles. “Jonathan?” “Hi, dad.” Another figure appears behind the man. “Hi, mom.” “You said you weren’t coming. Said you had plans.” “Happy Thanksgiving.” “Oh, for heaven’s sake, let him in. Let him in.” Jonathan steps in and embraces his father as his mother goes on about what she’ll make for breakfast and what leftovers he can have for lunch. 8 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Sarge+ 3,436 Posted June 21, 2015 Another awesome job, Steven. The details of the characters enjoying Thanksgiving are a nice touch. 6-6 with 4 games to go. Let's do this. 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
RazorStar 4,025 Posted June 21, 2015 So Zack and Cherry are clearly fucking. >_> 2 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Bangy 19 Posted June 21, 2015 Damn Jaxson let it all go, it's actually very similar to how I am. Let it all build then erupt. Not sure if that was an intentional thing or coincided but I liked it. Probably my favourite chapter so far, thought it was a nice touch with the star players and their thanksgiving dinners. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
BwareDWare94 723 Posted June 21, 2015 Excellent, as usual. Swapping out "Maverick" for "Johnathan" at the end was kind of jarring, but I get why you did it. Nicely done. Also, putting Merle up in North Dakota deserves some high praise. If you pick a town and let the players give him shit about it, wondering where the fuck it is, that'd be hilarious. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
GA_Eagle 595 Posted June 22, 2015 The end of this installment was awesome. Actually some of the better game sequences you've done imo, too. 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Cherry 1,302 Posted June 22, 2015 (edited) @Zack Edited June 22, 2015 by Chernobyl426 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Favre4Ever+ 4,476 Posted June 22, 2015 The end of this installment was awesome. Actually some of the better game sequences you've done imo, too. QFT Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
theMileHighGuy 656 Posted June 22, 2015 It indeed was, a happy thanksgiving Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Zack_of_Steel+ 3,014 Posted June 22, 2015 So Zack and Cherry are clearly fucking. >_> As long as they're both into it. @Zack http://i.imgur.com/aPaYUXw.jpg Captain had to be captained by the assistant captain. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
seanbrock 1,684 Posted July 4, 2015 (edited) Obvious neg for having us lose to Dallas. Also, Brock had a very Jared Allen-esque game. Gets his ass handed to him all game but ends up with a sack haha. Edited July 4, 2015 by seanbrock Share this post Link to post Share on other sites