Knights of Andreas 4.09: Our Own Destiny

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Knights of Andreas

Part IV

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Chapter Fifty – Our Own Destiny

 

 

 

Tuesday morning, the Knights take the practice field with four games left on their schedule. Amidst the strongest four-team division since divisional realignment in 2002, the Knights’ 9-3 record places them on top, and in control of their own destiny to win the AFC West.

 

On Coach Harden’s orders, the team assembles at midfield and takes a knee around their head coach, breaths visible on a crisp, December morning. Warm temperatures stuck around longer than usual this year, but winter has finally come to Southern California, with morning temperatures in the 50’s and afternoon highs in the upper 60’s.

 

“Smell that?” Harden asks when all players and coaches have assembled. He sees strange looks on their faces, as expected. “Cooler air, men. The end of the year. Christmas season. December football. And what comes after December? Playoff football. That’s what we’re facing right now. Three years ago, I would have just started practice for San Francisco because it’s the next game on the schedule. But let’s be honest with ourselves. Back in August, we all decided our goal was the Super Bowl. Hell, that was our goal the second we lost in February. And so far, we’ve put ourselves in a position to accomplish that goal. Even better, if we take care of our business these last four games, not only are we in the playoffs, but other teams have to come here to play. And that’s something we didn’t have last year. That’s what we work towards this week. That’s what we’re playing for from this moment on.”

 

 

 

Farmers Field amps up for an all-California game between the Knights and 49ers, the Knights’ penultimate home game of the year. The noise tempers with the Knights taking the field first. Buchanan hits Johnson on a quick out route for an easy completion. Johnson spins awkwardly as he's tackled, stays down, and the stadium’s energy dwindles.

 

Johnson gets to his feet quickly, the injury apparently not serious. McKenzie rolls with the same game plan, hoping Johnson returns quickly, but the Knights go three and out.

 

Harden’s defense goes to work, accomplishing their primary goal of containing Frank Gore but letting Colin Kaepernick loose too often. Harden prepped his defense for Kaepernick the same way he has for Russell Wilson, but it doesn’t seem to be working. The 49ers go down the field and reach the red zone, where the Knights defense generally tightens up, but Gore finds running lanes and reaches the end zone. 7-0, 49ers.

 

The Knights offense can barely get a yard in response, and the 49ers soon get the ball right back. McKenzie receives word that Alex Johnson’s ankle injury will keep him out for the rest of the game.

 

Fans expect the shock from the beginning of the game to wear off, but it doesn’t. Despite San Francisco’s 7-5 record, this is supposed to be a lost season for them, and one that will conclude with the firing of Jim Harbaugh, or so the media says. But now, the 9-3 Knights are flatlining, and this has all the symptoms of a lost game for Los Angeles.

 

Harden draws up ways to contain Kaepernick—slightly—but the 49ers add a field goal to their lead, while the Knights still struggle to get first downs. Buchanan looks shaky despite getting his best pass protection of the season, and Jameson doesn’t get enough blocks at the point of attack to be effective.

 

The 49ers take the first half’s final drive into the red zone, still up 10-0. Kaepernick drops back to pass, steps up to avoid pressure, pumps, and runs ahead, only Randall to beat. Randall goes low and hits the quarterback, but he bounces off and somehow keeps his knees from touching the grass, stumbling into the end zone for the touchdown. Fans start to boo as the Knights go into the locker room down 17-0.

 

The Knights get a jumpstart in the third quarter when Schwinn forces a Kaepernick fumble, bringing the crowd back into it and setting the Knights up in field goal range. Jameson gets a nice run to set up second and four, but Buchanan misses two open receivers in a row, forcing McCabe to kick a field goal for Los Angeles’ first points of the day.

 

Harden finally gets Kaepernick under control thanks to more blitzes and his players actually learning how to tackle. The offense, however, makes sure the improved effort is in vain.

 

On the ensuing Knights possession, an errant pass toward Wilkes ends up in the arms of Chris Culliver, giving San Francisco the ball on the edge of field goal range. The defense somehow prevents a field goal attempt, thanks to a clutch sack by Grantzinger, and the Knights get the ball back.

 

Despite only being down fourteen, McKenzie feels helpless. He can’t find a way to overcome the loss of Johnson, or to give Buchanan some confidence. The pass protection remains solid, Grodd in particular shining against various blitzes. The Knights finally string some first downs together as the third quarter ends, but Buchanan takes a deep shot for Watson that is underthrown and intercepted.

 

Another impressive defensive stand gives the Knights the ball yet again. Buchanan throws toward the sideline for Bishop, but Perrish Cox undercuts it and takes it to the end zone. Fans boo with anger, the offense now in full meltdown mode and the score an embarrassing 24-3.

 

McKenzie considers putting Clemens in at quarterback, but Buchanan successfully lobbies against it on the sideline, seeming upbeat and relatively confident. Though McKenzie wants to establish the run game, the lack of time remaining forces him into an air-it-out strategy.

 

Buchanan hits receivers for a few first downs, then throws over the middle into double coverage. The ball bounces around, eventually landing in the arms of a white jersey for interception number four.

 

McKenzie tells Clemens to take over. Buchanan finds a spot on the sideline and sits catatonically as the game drags on. Teammates offer words of encouragement, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Maverick, standing nearby, keeps his distance, not sure what he could say.

 

With the game lost, the stadium slowly empties, more purple seats visible as the clock approaches zero. Fans who stick around check their phones frequently, monitoring other AFC West games, trying to determine just how costly today’s debacle will be for the Knights.

 

 

 

Less than twelve hours later, in Phillip’s office, DeMartine and Keegan digest some of Keegan’s metrics (with Keegan doing more explaining than interpreting) while Phillips analyzes the standings yet again.

 

The Knights have fallen back into a tie with Denver, both teams 9-4. The Knights have the head-to-head tiebreaker now, but both teams face off again in week 17, which could very well be a de facto division championship game. The Chargers and Chiefs both lost Sunday, falling to 7-6, but there’s concern elsewhere. The Ravens and Steelers are both 8-5, so whoever loses the West won’t necessary be granted a wild card. This Sunday’s game in Kansas City will be a huge swing for the Knights.

 

“Hard to believe there’s only three games left,” DeMartine says passively. Phillips knows exactly what he means.

 

“Michal,” Phillips says, “could you give Paul and I a few minutes?”

 

“Sure,” Keegan says. “I need to re-run these calculations anyway. I think the algorithm for Pass Blocking Differential got messed up.”

 

Keegan shuts the door behind him, and DeMartine beats Phillips to it.

 

“Chance, I know we’ve both been circling around this, but—”

 

“I know. Our contracts.”

 

“I don’t know about you, but everything we’re working on now that it’s December—salary cap figures, free agent priorities, draft targets—it’s a little hard to do when we might not even be the ones in charge.”

 

“I feel the same way.”

 

“When my agent talks to me about potential interviews elsewhere, he asks whether I’ll still be employed here, whether I’ll have to explain why I was let go, and I don’t know what to tell him.”

 

“I understand. I need to speak with Wayne about it.”

 

“I’m not saying negotiate. I just want to know, either way.”

 

“You will, Paul. You will. I just have to find the right time to bring it up.”

 

 

 

Monday night, Merle gets home late after finalizing the game plan for Kansas City, a suddenly critical game, and is only inside only a couple minutes before he hears a knock on the door.

 

“Shit, I forgot,” Merle says, knowing who it is. He walks toward the door and opens it, seeing a young, straggly looking man with a weird smile on his face.

 

“Good evening, Merle,” the man says. “My name is Adam. Mr. Schneider and Dr. Evans got in touch—”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Come in.”

 

Merle closes the door behind him and they shake hands. He waits for Adam to get started, enduring an awkward moment before he speaks.

 

“We should find a place to sit down,” Adam says.

 

“Uh, sure. Let’s go in the living room.”

 

“It would be best if we sat across from each other.”

 

“Whatever. Dining room, then.”

 

The two take opposite seats at the table, and Merle gets himself a glass of water.

 

“So Adam, you used to be a coke addict, right?” Harden says as he sits down.

 

“Not used to. I am a cocaine addict.”

 

“Oh, so you’re high right now? This should be exciting.”

 

“No, of course not. But addiction isn’t something you ever get rid of. I’ll always be an addict, just like you’ll always be an alcoholic.”

 

“I’m not an alcoholic.”

 

“Merle, the first step—”

 

“Christ, here we go.”

 

“You can’t solve a problem until you’ve identified it. Listen, Merle, as I understand it, these one-on-one meetings are the only type of counseling you’ll agree to, so we need to make them productive.”

 

“In that case, you can get me some sleeping pills.”

 

“Some—I’m sorry?”

 

“I can’t sleep. I’m tired, but all I can do is lay in bed and stare at the goddamn ceiling.”

 

“Your body’s been using alcohol as a sleep agent for a long time. It needs to adjust.”

 

“Terrific.”

 

“You know, Merle, I think this would work best if I got some information from you first. About your history with alcohol.”

 

“Shoot.”

 

A shuffling noise from somewhere else in the house prevents Adam from speaking. He spins around, seeing nothing, hearing a high-pitched, piercing noise that sounds like scratching.

 

“I’m…I’m sorry, Merle, is…is someone else here?”

 

“Kind of.” Adam’s look of concern doesn’t fade. Merle sighs and yells, “BOWSER!”

 

The shuffling gets closer, and from the adjacent hallway emerges a small Doberman puppy. It goes straight for Merle, jumping to put his front paws on Merle’s leg and licking his fingers as he pets him.

 

“Adam, meet Bowser. Found him wandering the streets and figured out he doesn’t belong to anyone else living around here. It’ll be nice when he gets old enough to bark instead of whine like that, but he’s a good pup.”

 

“How old is he?”

 

“Vet says about four months. Always wanted a dog. Never got one because I didn’t think I’d be able to take care of him. NFL doesn’t give you a lot of time at home, of course.”

 

“And, has that situation changed?”

 

“No. But the way I figure it, I’ve thrown up over so much of this place, why can’t Bowser shit himself every now and then?”

 

Adam looks slightly mortified as Bowser trots toward the living room, finding a chew toy and playing with it.

 

“So,” Merle says, “you said you had some questions. Let’s get this over with.”

 

 

 

Players arrive at the MedComm Center still feeling a hangover from Sunday’s loss, but it’s their goal to put it behind them as they prepare for their annual trip to Arrowhead Stadium. The players weigh in before suiting up, a routine process for everyone most days.

 

Grodd gets on the scale with the rest of the starting linemen, and the offensive line coach checks everyone’s numbers, one by one, and documents them on his clipboard. He gets to Grodd and studies the scale: 298.

 

“Chase, you’re down again.”

 

“I know. No big deal. I’ll beef up.”

 

“Spend some time with Brian.”

 

“No problem, coach.”

 

Grodd smiles as the coach moves on, soon releasing all linemen to the locker room to dress for practice.

 

 

 

Friday afternoon, a solid week of practice concludes and players dress for their last night of freedom before tomorrow’s flight to Kansas City. Brock starts the usual banter, eventually assembling a group for a club outing. Among those not going are Flash and Rose, who talk by their lockers.

 

“Yo, Griz,” Rose says. “You’re still coming over for dinner, right?”

 

“Yeah, no problem,” Flash says. “Figured you wouldn’t want to go out.”

 

“And be in the middle of everybody? No way.”

 

“Any word on when that shit’s gonna be over?”

 

Rose remembers what his attorney has been telling him.

 

“Soon. They’re gonna try my friends, but not me. I did nothing wrong.”

 

“I didn’t ask if you did anything wrong.”

 

Rose grunts as he puts on his shirt, only his shoes to tie before leaving.

 

“Let me get you for a second, though,” Flash says, leaning closer. Rose keeps his head down, focused on his shoelaces. “You did make that phone call, right? I remember, at the club, that night, you stepped away and took a call. Just when Brock and his porno girlfriend walked in.”

 

“So what?”

 

“Hey man, I got no problem either way. Dude was hanging by your house.”

 

“Get to it, Griz.”

 

“If you did, you can tell me. That’s all.”

 

Rose finishes and looks up, straight into his teammate’s eyes.

 

“I did nothing wrong. That’s the end of it. If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate if you didn’t bring this shit up at dinner.” Flash shrugs as if to agree. “You allergic to anything?”

 

“Nah. I mean, I can’t stand mushrooms, though. They taste like ass.”

 

“See you at seven.”

 

 

 

As the Friday evening hours tick away, Phillips’ nerves eventually get the best of him. He rises from his desk and walks into the hallway.

 

He studies every detail as if it’s the last time he’ll see it, looking down the hallway on both sides, toward DeMartine’s office, Keegan’s office…

 

“Mr. Phillips, are you leaving?” Jennifer, Phillips’ secretary, calls from her office.

 

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” Phillips says.

 

He walks toward the east end of the hallway and opens Schneider’s door without knocking. Schneider doesn’t appear busy, and he sees the stern look on Phillips’ face.

 

“Something on your mind, Chance?”

 

“Yes, there is,” he says, walking toward the desk but keeping his distance. If this really is the end, he’d prefer to get it over quickly and be done with it. “My contract could expire in three weeks if we miss the playoffs. So then would the contracts of all my leading assistants. On behalf of all of them, I’m here to tell you we cannot adequately prepare the Knights for the offseason with such a burden hanging over us. We pride ourselves on being professional, but this—”

 

Schneider waves a finger, and Phillips stops. Schneider rises from his chair, as if he’s about make a big deal out of whatever he has to say. But instead of meeting Phillips, he walks toward the wall-to-wall windows, staring off into the lights of downtown Los Angeles.

 

“I have no intention of letting you go elsewhere,” Schneider says.

 

“You—you what?”

 

“We lost our quarterback in an era where you can’t win without quarterbacks, you stuck with Buchanan when I wanted you to consider alternatives, we have our third offensive play caller in three years, and we’re 9-4, leading the best division in football. There is no way I am letting my GM leave.” Schneider turns his head and looks straight at Phillips’ stunned face. “We can lose the last three, finish 9-7, and miss the playoffs, but I will not break from that stance. I give you my word. Besides, discussions with your agent have been rather productive lately.”

 

“You’ve been talking to my agent? He didn’t tell me anything.”

 

“For the last month or so, I believe.”

 

“So, you wanted to surprise me? That’s a little sentimental for you, Wayne.”

 

“It is. It was more that I didn’t want the negotiations distracting you. But now you know. I’d expect we get something finalized within a few weeks, and then we can sit down and iron out contracts for your assistants.”

 

“Wayne, I don’t know what to—”

 

“Hang on, Chance. Don’t pop the champagne until you’ve signed on the dotted line.”

 

Phillips nods, in agreement, not overwhelmed with happiness but certainly relieved—for now.

 

 

 

Chiefs 6, Knights 0, at the start of the second quarter. As the Knights prepare to punt, the offense regroups on the sideline.

 

“Alex!” McKenzie says, “How’s the ankle?”

 

“A little sore,” Johnson says. “It doesn’t hurt too bad. I just can’t cut the way I want to.”

 

“I’ve noticed.” McKenzie paces the sideline and scans his playbook, scrambling again. His most precise route-runner—Buchanan’s favorite target—won’t be able to get open like normal. That leaves the Knights with one option. “Ladies!” McKenzie yells, approaching Buchanan and Wilkes. “It’s time to figure this out.”

 

“I’m all ears, coach,” Wilkes says, the usual dumb smile on his face.

 

“Forget the game plan, D-Jam. As of now, your name is Alex Johnson. You run the simple, short stuff. Curls, ins, outs, slants. I don’t care how tight the coverage is. Make the catch.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“They’re expecting us to establish the run game, so when we get the ball back, we come out firing.”

 

“Man, this all sounds good, but—”

 

“Stop! Stop! Just stop.” McKenzie looks around, noticing the conversation is drawing a crowd. “You know what, D-Jam? You’re right. Okay? You’re right. I haven’t given you enough chances this year, and that’s on me. That’s why, after Max gets us in the red zone, I’m calling your number on an end zone fade. And if it’s within ten yards of you, it better be a touchdown, or I own your ass this week.”

 

“No problem, coach!”

 

McKenzie walks away, letting his subordinates iron out the finer details. Just before the game resumes, Harden walks over to his offensive coordinator.

 

“What was that all about?” Harden asks.

 

“Just making some adjustments. The usual.”

 

The Chiefs resume their run-heavy attack, bringing up a manageable third and two, but Martin executes a blitz perfectly, bringing Alex Smith down in the backfield for a sack.

 

The Knights take possession and execute McKenzie’s plan. Buchanan comes out throwing to Wilkes, who makes the most of loose coverage, gaining a few first downs. McKenzie doesn’t back off, calling Wilkes’ number repeatedly. In a few minutes, the Knights are on the edge of field goal range thanks to Wilkes racking up an unprecedented four receptions. Where has this been all year? He can’t remember the last time he had more than four receptions in a game.

 

Jameson gets a few carries, finding some holes in the front seven. The Knights enter the red zone with all the momentum on their side, and McKenzie makes his call.

 

Wilkes lines up across from Brandon Flowers, eyeing the end zone. On the snap, he jukes and runs for the pylon, Flowers right with him. Buchanan lobs up a jump ball. Flowers tracks it, but Wilkes times his jump perfectly, spinning and making a beautiful back-shoulder grab. He falls with his feet in the red grass, and the nearest official signals touchdown.

 

The sideline enters typical celebration mode, but Wilkes manages to liven things up, jumping up and down maniacally.

 

“They can’t stop me! They can’t stop me! I’m the best!”

 

“Oh, Christ,” Harden says. “Look who’s back.” He wades through the chaos and finds McKenzie. “That’s good coaching, Mac.”

 

 

 

Knights 7, Chiefs 6, 0:28 before halftime. The Knights set up on the Chiefs’ thirty, the edge of McCabe’s range, wanting to add points but out of timeouts.

 

McKenzie dials up an end zone shot for Wilkes again. Buchanan takes the snap in shotgun. Multiple linebackers come free on a blitz, so he lofts it for his checkdown target in the flat. Bishop turns half a second late, and Derrick Johnson catches it, running the other way with no one to stop him. Fans around Arrowhead rise from their seats and scream as the Chiefs retake the lead.

 

McKenzie doesn’t say anything, knowing the halftime conversation now has to be about how much Buchanan can be trusted to not repeat last week’s four-interception performance.

 

 

 

The Knights open the second half with balance on offense. McKenzie knows the Chiefs have to respect Wilkes, and that should open things up for Bishop and Watson. Johnson’s ankle proves increasingly painful, and Larkhill ends up taking his place entirely. Buchanan doesn’t turn the ball over, but he can’t find the big throws needed to take a drive into field goal range.

 

The story is the same on the other side of the ball. Harden’s defense is as aggressive as it has been all season; Rose and Marshall play press coverage and multiple linebackers blitz on every play. Alex Smith appears incapable of completing anything beyond five yards, and Harden’s not changing his plan until Smith proves otherwise.

 

The defensive battle enters the final frame after a scoreless third quarter, and the Chiefs cling to a 13-7 lead. The field position, however, tilts in Los Angeles’ favor, and Watson eventually breaks free on a bubble screen for a thirty-two-yard gain, putting the Knights in the red zone.

 

Jameson pounds away, setting up first and goal on the six. McKenzie wants Wilkes on another jump ball, but the Chiefs double him. Buchanan throws incomplete on first down, and Jameson gets stuffed on second. Third and goal from the five.

 

McKenzie calls for an unusual formation, and Grantzinger takes the field, checking in as an eligible receiver again at fullback. The Chiefs appear ready for him, screaming and pointing in his direction.

 

Buchanan lines up under center in a bunch formation, takes the snap, and tosses it wide to Jameson. Grantzinger sweeps with him, and Wilkes sets a perfect block on the edge. One defender closes in. Grantzinger lowers his shoulders and delivers a devastating block, breaking Jameson free to dive into the end zone. Touchdown, Knights.

 

 

 

The Chiefs take over for what could be their make-or-break drive, 7:13 left on the clock. Only up 14-13, Harden retains his aggressive strategy. It appears to work, the Chiefs soon facing third and nine, but Smith rolls out and finds Travis Kelce downfield for a twenty-yard completion, Kansas City’s longest play of the day.

 

“Fuck you, Alex Smith,” Harden says to himself, calling another blitz.

 

The defense stays tight, but Smith somehow finds receivers, threading the needle through incredibly small windows.

 

“This fucking defense is gonna make me drink again,” Harden says, thankful no one hears that comment.

 

Some well-timed runs to Jamaal Charles put the Chiefs in field goal range. The Knights offense prepares for a make-or-break drive of their own as the Chiefs line up for third and four from the twenty-six. It would be a forty-three-yard kick from here.

 

Smith drops back and goes through his progressions. Pressure forces him back, moving right, then back to the middle. A blitzing Schwinn comes out of nowhere and wrangles him to the ground for a ten-yard loss.

 

“Yeehaw!” Schwinn yells, getting some added congratulations from teammates for his first career sack. More importantly, the Chiefs line up for what is now a fifty-three-yard attempt.

 

Cairo Santos comes on and boots the kick high, definitely deep enough. It hooks to the left, bangs off the goal post, and lands beyond the goal line. Both officials raise their arms vertically, and Arrowhead goes into a state of madness.

 

Reality sets in on the deflated Knights’ sideline. Two weeks ago, they were in line to win the division; if they can’t find a way to score now, they’re staring down missing the playoffs entirely.

 

McKenzie tries to rally the offense, down 16-14 with 4:45 left and all three timeouts. McCabe starts practicing for a potential game-winning kick.

 

Jameson gets the ball first, finding little space to run in the front seven. The Knights’ run blocking has been lacking today, and it’s probably too late to fix it.

 

Buchanan misses for Watson, bringing up third and eight. He drops back behind a clean pocket and throws for Wilkes on a comeback route. Wilkes catches it, absorbs a hit, and has a first down. The chains move.

 

Seconds tick away as McKenzie runs a clinic on clock management, letting just enough time run between plays, planning to score the winning field goal with no time left for Kansas City.

 

A big catch in traffic by Bishop gets the Knights in McCabe’s range, though Harden is not comfortable kicking a fifty-yarder for the win. The two-minute warning arrives, and McKenzie calls a screen to NesSmith. The play catches the Chiefs off guard, and NesSmith runs through open grass all the way to the six. The clock ticks, and the Knights call their first timeout with 1:20 left.

 

McKenzie plots how to get Wilkes isolated while watching Jameson take a carry up the middle for two yards. Second and goal from the four. 1:15, 1:14…

 

Buchanan lines up in shotgun with Wilkes wide left, but a safety inches his way. Double coverage again. Buchanan audibles to a run, and Jameson takes a carry up the middle, stuffed for no gain. The clock ticks until Harden calls timeout with 0:30 left. Third and goal.

 

“Coach,” McKenzie says into his headset. “You want a run to tick the clock down, or can I take a shot into the end zone?”

 

“Make the right call, Mac,” Harden says. “Forget everything else.”

 

McKenzie finds his play and radios it to Buchanan, adding, “No mistakes. If it’s not there, throw it away and we’ll take the field goal.”

 

Buchanan calls the play, and the Knights line up in the same formation as the previous play. This time, however, Bishop motions to Wilkes’ side. No corners go with him, and McKenzie gets what he wants: the safety has to either cover Bishop and leave Wilkes singled or stay with Wilkes and leave Bishop open.

 

Buchanan takes the snap and looks left. Bishop breaks toward the pylon and the safety follows. Bishop is open, but Buchanan hesitates. Wilkes stops in the corner of the end zone, Flowers all over him. Pressure comes for Buchanan, and he heaves it up. Wilkes realizes he’s not throwing it away, jostles for position with Flowers, and they jump. Wilkes and Flowers both tip the pass. Wilkes plants his feet back in bounds and catches the falling ball as Flowers grabs it. They wrestle all the way to the ground.

 

Officials run in, digging through other players to see who has the ball. The wrestling match continues, and they declare simultaneous possession, touchdown by rule.

 

The crowd boos the decision while Wilkes sprints to the Knights sideline, still holding the football.

 

“THEY CAN’T STOP ME! THEY CAN’T STOP ME!”

 

The Knights consider requesting security to get Wilkes calmed down as McCabe knocks the extra point through, and it’s 21-16, Knights, 0:21 to go.

 

With one timeout, the Chiefs only manage a seven-yard completion before throwing a hook and ladder. Three laterals later, the ball pops loose and bounces out of bounds, ending the game.

 

The Knights celebrate, relived to be escaping with a win, the franchise’s first at Arrowhead Stadium. Unknown to players and coaches is more good news: the Broncos have lost to the Chargers, meaning the Knights, at 10-4, now lead the AFC West by one game.

 

 

 

Monday morning, four men stand alone on the practice field: two coaches, one trainer, and one quarterback. They watch the quarterback closely as he drops back and throws to imaginary receivers. In between a set number of throws, the trainer enters and examines the quarterback’s throwing shoulder.

 

“How’s it feel?” the trainer asks.

 

“Fine,” Maverick says.

 

“Stiff? Sore?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Okay, keep going?”

 

The nearest coach nods, and Maverick resumes the route tree, throwing all over the field. The coach doesn’t say anything, but Maverick’s timing and footwork are perfect.

 

“Depth practice with targets,” the other coach instructs. Maverick nods and gets ready, staring down the motionless targets strategically placed downfield.

 

“Twenty.”

 

He takes a three-step drop and fires a twenty-yard pass over the middle of the field, hitting the target square.

 

“Forty.”

 

He takes a five-step drop and does the same, missing the target by inches.

 

“Sixty.”

 

He takes a deep drop and fires as far as he can, feeling, for the first time in months, his arm releasing a pass at full strength. The ball soars over the target by a few yards.

 

“Twenty.”

 

Another on-target pass. Footwork still perfect.

 

“Forty.”

 

Just misses. Excellent velocity.

 

“Sixty.”

 

An absolute laser that bangs off the top of the target.

 

“Doc?”

 

The trainer steps in, performing the same physical exam on the shoulder and checking Maverick’s heartbeat. He steps away awkwardly, looking at the coach.

 

“Well?” Maverick asks.

 

The trainer looks at the quarterback, the coaches, then back to the quarterback.

 

“You’re ready.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[RazorStar 4,025]

They can't stop you! Also Malik is gonna poison Flash with mushrooms, the fiend!

[Sarge+ 3,436]

Chance staying, Mav returning, Knights rolling.

Edited February 5, 2016 by Sarge

[Vin+ 3,121]

“Nah. I mean, I can’t stand mushrooms, though. They taste like ass.”

 

I see what you did there.

 

 

Good stuff.

[Maverick 791]

 

“Well?” Maverick asks.

 

The trainer looks at the quarterback, the coaches, then back to the quarterback.

 

“You’re ready.”

 

 

 

I got goosebumps when I read this. Let's fucking go!!!

 

Slight grammatical error, Steven.

 

"The Ravens and Steelers are both 8-5, so whoever loses the West won’t necessary necessarily be granted a wild card."

 

Great chapter. Resigning our GM, Mav is back, we're ready to roll!

[SteVo+ 3,702]

More damn typos.

 

BWARE WHAT AM I PAYING YOU FOR???

[Sarge+ 3,436]

You don't pay him as much as NFL teams pay the refs. That's the issue.

[BwareDWare94 723]

Ervry time I've mentioned a typo, you say "I'll hit those when I go through the major edit," so I assumed they were of no importance

 

Another great chapter, my friend. You're going to be a published writer, at some point, and I think you'll look back on KoA as the greatest tool of growth that helped you along the way.

[Cherry 1,302]

Ervry

This is your copy editor?

[SteVo+ 3,702]

Bware's contributions thus far have mostly been on maximizing character development and consistency of the story, in which he has been an enormous help.

 

Also, bump.