Knights of Andreas 4.10: Shining Through Clouds

[SteVo+ 3,702]

Knights of Andreas

Part IV

Based on Characters Created by:

badgers

Bangy

Barracuda

Bay

BigBen07

BradyFan81

BwareDware94

Chernobyl426

DarthRaider

DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F

eightnine

FartWaffles

Favre4Ever

JetsFan4Life

Maverick

monstersofthemidway

RazorStar

Sarge

seanbrock

SteVo

Thanatos19

theMileHighGuy

Vin

Zack_of_Steel

 

 

 

Chapter Fifty-One – Shining Through Clouds

 

 

 

Pressure forces Buchanan out of the pocket, rolling right. He escapes the rush and finds Johnson on a sideline route for a first down. The home crowd cheers as the Knights get a new set of downs in field goal range.

 

Knights 16, Bills 10, 10:29 to go in the fourth quarter. While fans at Farmers Field, enjoying the last home game on the schedule, occasionally glance up at the scoreboard, they more frequently look toward the sideline, specifically at #12.

 

Maverick watches Buchanan lead the Knights further into field goal range, standing close to the field, in full pads and uniform. Through his headset, he hears Coach McKenzie call more running plays, and he watches Jameson chew through the supposedly impressive Bills defense, reaching the red zone.

 

Even though it was heavily reported and thus not much of a surprise, the changing of Maverick’s status from “doubtful” to “questionable” sent shockwaves of excitement through the Knights’ fan base. Their dreams of returning to the Super Bowl riding a healthy Maverick’s shoulder now seem legitimate. Fans were only slightly disappointed to learn Buchanan would start against Buffalo. Maverick will get his time.

 

The drive stalls, and McCabe comes on to attempt a twenty-seven-yarder. The kick wobbles diagonally as if shanked, but it somehow curves through the uprights, and the Knights extend their lead to 19-10 with 7:30 to go.

 

In their executive suite, Phillips, Schneider, and prominent front office members keep an eye on the nearest TV, showing the Broncos/Bengals game, which the Broncos currently lead, 28-23. The Knights are one game ahead in the AFC West, but as long as the Broncos win, the division comes down to week 17 in Denver. In fact, barring an unlikely collection of week 16 outcomes, the Knights aren’t even guaranteed a playoff berth with a win today.

 

The Knights defense retakes the field and resumes their dominance. Led by Kyle Orton, the Bills offense has managed only three points today (the other seven came from a Buchanan pick six), turning it over three times and crossing midfield only twice. Knights fans eagerly await Maverick’s return, but they are just as giddy to enter the playoffs with the conference’s best defense, if not the league’s.

 

Phillips and the suite, looking up at the TV screen, cheer as Andy Dalton finds A.J. Green in the back of the end zone for a touchdown, but the two-point conversion fails, and the Broncos are about to get the ball back, down 29-28 with two minutes left.

 

The Bills eventually face fourth and five near midfield, and Coach Marrone decides to go for it. Harden calls a blitz. Orton drops back in shotgun, under pressure, and lobs it over the middle. Martin has an easy interception, but he swats it down, happy to take the turnover on downs and field position instead. Farmers Field celebrates with victory in hand.

 

On the sideline, Maverick takes off his headset and jogs up to McKenzie.

 

“Coach!” he says. “Let me get a few snaps!”

 

“I don’t think so, Mav,” McKenzie says, waving Harden over.

 

“C’mon, just a few handoffs. No throws, I promise.”

 

“No,” Harden says. “No sense risking anything now, Mav.”

 

Fans seated nearby notice the conversation and are disappointed to see Buchanan trot back out with the offense, but they can’t argue with the greater picture. The Knights are about to be 11-4, their best record since coming to Los Angeles, and they’ll enter week 17 with much more favorable odds than last year.

 

Phillips watches Banks and NesSmith split carries, chewing through the clock. A wave of cheers to his right breaks his concentration. He spins his head toward the television but can’t see it behind so many extended arms.

 

“What happened? What happened?” he says, clamoring for a better view.

 

Nobody tells him, but he sees it on replay: Manning threw an interception, and the Bengals have possession with only seconds left. He sizes up the game situation and quickly realizes it’s over; the Bengals win, dropping Denver to 9-6. He looks down to the field below him as Buchanan takes a knee. The Bills don’t call timeout, admitting defeat, and the Knights are two kneeldowns away from 11-4.

 

“Division champions!” Schneider yells. “Where’s the damn PA operator?”

 

Schneider disappears beyond the suite, and minutes later, players and coaches swarm the field with the home crowd applauding. The Knights have now gone 6-2 at home in consecutive seasons.

 

Just as most of the players are about to head into the locker room, an announcement booms throughout the stadium.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, with today’s win and Denver’s loss to Cincinnati, the Los Angeles Knights have clinched the AFC West!”

 

The entire stadium booms with a wave of cheers, the players and coaches as surprised as the fans are. Everyone figured next week’s trip to Denver would be the divisional showdown. Instead, it’s all locked up now. The Knights have the division won, which means their first playoff opponent has to come to Los Angeles.

 

The Knights have not yet played their last home game of the season.

 

A bright graphic displays on the high-definition widescreens above each end zone, showing the words, “Los Angeles Knights, 2014 AFC West Champions.” In the locker room, stadium employees prepare to hand out t-shirts and hats bearing the same phrase.

 

In the suite, Phillips works his way down the line, savoring the celebration with DeMartine, Keegan, and others. Much remains to be decided in week 17, but they can worry about that tomorrow.

 

He sees Schneider reappear at the top of box, talking on the phone, waving Phillips over. Phillips’ smile fades as he walks up the stairs, out of the line of sight of TV cameras. Schneider hangs up.

 

“That was your agent,” Schneider says.

 

“My agent?”

 

Schneider leans down and grabs a stat sheet. He takes out a pen and scribbles something on the blank side of the paper.

 

“He’ll be calling you in about ten minutes. I wanted to be the one to break the news.”

 

Schneider hands him the paper, and Phillips reads it: a number of years, and a handsome dollar figure.

 

“You are now the highest paid general manager in the NFL,” Schneider says. “Congratulations.”

 

Phillips tries to process the numbers, but he can’t string multiple thoughts together. He’s not sure how much time passes before he finally sees Schneider’s extended hand, and he shakes it firmer than he has in some time.

 

“Thank you, Wayne. Thank you.”

 

“You’ve more than earned it, Chance.”

 

Schneider puts his left arm on Phillips’ shoulder and turns them toward the celebration in the suite.

 

“Playoff football at Farmers Field,” Schneider says. “I can’t wait.”

 

That certainly is an exciting proposition, and just the latest in a long list of accomplishments that have happened over the last five years. Phillips finds himself reflecting on all the team has achieved in half a decade: dramatic comeback wins, multiple wins in rivalry games, multiple Pro Bowlers, a playoff berth, a division championship, and an AFC championship. Under Phillips, the Knights have checked off just about every feat an NFL franchise seeks.

 

Except one.

 

 

 

After a long night of intermittent sleep, Phillips beats the traffic and gets to the MedComm Center early, dissecting the standings, trying to calculate every playoff possibility himself.

 

New England (12-3) leads the AFC and, thanks to their week 3 win against the Knights, has clinched home-field advantage. The Knights (11-4) lead other division leaders Cincinnati (10-4-1) and Indianapolis (10-5), who has already clinched the South. Pittsburgh (10-5) has a shot at the North and leads the wild card chase, with Denver, San Diego, and Baltimore all 9-6.

 

Too excited at the prospect of winning the #2 seed and earning a first-round bye, Phillips waits for Keegan before making any conclusions.

 

“Yes, Chance?” Keegan says, walking into the office seconds after arriving.

 

“My head’s still spinning from everything,” Phillips says. “I know records. I know where everyone is right now. I need to know possibilities. I’m assuming you’ve run every algorithm, permutation, and what not?”

 

“Twice.”

 

“Then let’s hear it. Start with the #2 seed.”

 

“If we win, we clinch. If we lose, the Bengals take it with a win. If the Colts or Steelers—with a Bengals loss—win, we could still win or lose a tiebreaker, depending on week 17 results.”

 

“So, seeding-wise, we could be anywhere from two to four?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What about the wild cards?”

 

“Steelers and Broncos win and they’re in. Chargers need help. Ravens need lots of help.”

 

Phillips pauses, deliberately waiting to ask his next question. He looks up to see Keegan’s look of confusion and gives him a warm smile.

 

“You don’t have predictions for any of this?”

 

“Oh! Sorry. Most likely for us is the #2 seed. Cincinnati has a tough game this week against Pittsburgh, so I think our biggest fear is a loss plus a tiebreaker going against us. Based on most likely Wild Card Round seeding and results, and this is close, our most likely Divisional Round opponent is Cincinnati.”

 

“Great. Anything else?”

 

“No, I think that covers it.”

 

“Then I’ll see you at nine for free agent projections.”

 

“Plus teams likely to be in pursuit and their respective salary cap figures. See you then.”

 

Keegan leaves, and Phillips contemplates the prediction, a Knights/Bengals game, Merle Harden’s defense against Tom Everett’s offense. But the matchup doesn’t hold his attention for long. He stands up, facing the gigantic white board full of players’ names and contract figures.

 

The board actually contains two charts of the fifty-two-man roster. Salary cap hits dating back to 2010 are written in black marker on both, but the “Projections” chart includes more numbers, written in purple, reaching as far as the 2020 season, during which Phillips is now under contract. The purple numbers reflect the Knights’ best guess at contract extensions for various players, projecting, with limited accuracy, the team’s salary cap situation in the coming years. Every look toward the board reminds Phillips how quickly the franchise’s cap space is about to evaporate.

 

Phillips sizes up the looming wave again. The list of free agents to be includes Jonathan Maverick, Alex Johnson, Marlon Martin, Richard Marshall, and Sebastian Stevenson. Maverick will be franchise tagged without an agreement, so it’s not necessarily a scary list. The list of players entering contract years in 2015, however, includes Marcus Jameson, Da’Jamiroquai Jefferspin-Wilkes, Kevin Zeitler, Damian Jones, Gregory Vance, Briggs Randall, Griswold Johnson, and Shane Lechler.

 

For now, Phillips knows he wants to re-sign Alex Johnson, despite his injury concerns. Keegan’s metrics have shown Johnson to be among the most precise route-runners in the game. He’ll be one of the league’s most productive receivers when healthy. Phillips wants to consider other names on the list, but thinking of Keegan leads him to another subject.

 

Phillips knows Keegan’s contributions to the team aren’t being appreciated by many in the front office, but he expects that to change. He looks forward to keeping this roster intact over the next several years, years where Keegan will play an increasingly key role. The kid has enormous potential in an NFL front office, and he turns 28 next month. He’s got plenty of time to realize it.

 

For today, however, the team has a higher priority. Phillips checks the clock—he’s probably here by now—and heads downstairs toward the head coach’s office. He finds Harden doodling on a dry erase board, X’s and O’s forming what look like blitz packages.

 

“Getting creative for a week 17 game we don’t need to win?” Phillips asks.

 

“No such thing as a game we don’t need to win,” Harden says, concentrating on the board, still drawing arrows in every direction. “Besides, this could be the last time I coach against Peyton Manning. Gonna take every shot I can.”

 

“Understood. What’s the story with Maverick?”

 

“Can’t say until I talk to Mac. I’ll have an answer by this afternoon, though.”

 

“Great, Merle. We should—wait, what is this?”

 

Phillips steps toward the farthest wall, lined with four framed pictures of prominent NFL quarterbacks, in uniform, with expressions ranging from frustration to bewilderment. It’s an odd collection. Harden puts down the marker.

 

“Oh, that,” he says, standing up. “Adam, the cokehead you all set me up with—don’t know where the hell you found him, by the way—told me I should…how did he put it…surround my living environment with people and objects that make me happy.”

 

“No disrespect, Merle, but I’m still looking for some context here.”

 

“Of course. This…” He points at the leftmost picture. “…is Aaron Rodgers after the Earthquake Reception in 2011. This is Joe Flacco after the 20-point, fourth quarter comeback in 2012. This is Tom Brady after being outdueled by Mav in the snow last year. And this is Peyton Manning after we destroyed his ass in the AFC Championship the following week.”

 

Phillips is genuinely speechless. After the wave of shock fades, he does his best to look impressed.

 

“Strangely,” Harden says, “I think it’s working. Every time I walk in here, I can’t help but smile.”

 

 

 

The usual press gathers for another Merle Harden Monday afternoon presser. They’ll chew through the usual business today, but there’s one particular item on the top of everyone’s list, and Harden isn’t about to waste anybody’s time. He sits down, gets clearance to begin, and speaks into the microphone.

 

“As much as I’d like to be mysterious in the hopes of confusing Denver, Jonathan Maverick is starting this week. We may or may not have him on a pitch count, depending on how crappy our pass protection is.” The media room goes silent, save for a few camera clicks, with most reporters taking their spot in the first wave of Tweets breaking the news. “Any questions?”

 

Harden takes a few, then leaves for one of the film rooms. He finds McKenzie and Maverick there, as expected, two copies of the Denver playbook on the table in front of them. Ever since doctors gave Maverick the green light last week, McKenzie and Maverick in separate rooms has been a rare sight.

 

“Keep up the work, men,” Harden says. “I expect you both to sleep here tonight and be ready for practice tomorrow.”

 

“Not sure my wife will appreciate that, coach,” McKenzie says.

 

“At least yours still lives at home. Don’t give me any shit, Mac.”

 

Maverick stares nervously before realizing the two coaches are busting each other’s balls. Harden contorts his lips into what Maverick thinks might be considered a smile, then leaves. The two get back to work.

 

 

 

Knights players dress for practice, energized by a freedom they’ve never had before, preparing for week 17 knowing they’re already in the playoffs. Still, no one needs Coach Harden to say how important it is to show up against Peyton Manning. Besides, the Knights could knock Denver out of the playoffs with a win.

 

Maverick is the first player in full pads, talking to Coach McKenzie about the playbook, schemes, and certain plays he thinks should be altered. He can’t wait to get out on the field and start slinging it around to his receivers.

 

Their meeting, however, is interrupted when the offensive line coach approaches with a clipboard, showing McKenzie something on paper Maverick can’t see.

 

“I’ll talk to him,” McKenzie says, grabbing the clipboard. “Meet you on the practice field, Mav.”

 

“Sure, coach.”

 

McKenzie heads for the weight room, where the offensive line has just weighed in for the week. He catches them on their way out.

 

“Chase, stay behind a second.”

 

Grodd does so without a word, and McKenzie waits for the crowd to close the locker room door, leaving him and Grodd alone in the hallway.

 

“You’re 294?” McKenzie asks angrily.

 

“What, my weight?” Grodd says.

 

“No, your IQ. Of course your weight, asshole! You were 301 when you got drafted, beefed up to 305 and have been steady there ever since, and that’s where you were after the Seattle game. Now you’re down eleven pounds in six weeks? What the fuck? You haven’t been 294 since your freshman year at Iowa.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“Stop deflecting the goddamn conversation, Chase. You need to tell me what’s going on, or I’m not letting you on that practice field.”

 

Grodd slumps his body against the nearby wall, making his six-foot-three frame as unintimidating as possible.

 

“Okay,” McKenzie says, calming down. “I’m not trying to get you to run suicides here. Just tell me what’s going on.”

 

“It started after Seattle for a reason,” Grodd says. “I gave up four sacks that game.”

 

“That’s Seattle’s pass rush for you. And I told everyone after the game that we, the coaches, did a piss poor job helping you guys pick up blitzes.”

 

“I’ve never been a good pass blocker, coach. Not here, anyway. I remember what all the scouts said when I entered the draft. ‘He’s a mauler, he’s a run blocker, but he’s weak in pass protection.’ ‘He’ll struggle against pass rush at the NFL level.’ And they were right. I’ve worked on my technique, my strength…I’ve worked on everything I could for three years now. So I figure I gotta be more athletic. Thus the weight loss. I’ve been better, though, these last few weeks. You haven’t noticed?”

 

“In this league, and in this life, you are what you are, Chase. I’m not gonna inflate your ego and tell you you’re John Hannah. You know what I’ve noticed?” Grodd shakes his head. “Let me put it this way. Remember all those scouts who said you had the potential to be a mauler in the run game? They were right. Until the Seattle game. You may have lost weight, but you’ve also lost strength. If you watch film of us in short yardage, you can really see it when you get low. You just can’t get the same push. Hell, last week you got schooled by a backup nose tackle.”

 

Grodd looks visibly upset now, and McKenzie decides it’s time to end this discussion. Practice starts in a few minutes anyway.

 

“For the future, you want to try something to change your game, you let your coaches know. Understood?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Good. And for the near future, I don’t care if it’s fat, muscle, or plastic surgery. Get back up to 300 by our first playoff game and I’ll make sure you don’t hear about it from Coach Harden.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

 

 

Merle turns into the long driveway and almost slams on his brakes when he sees another car parked there. He eases off when he recognizes Adam, slouched against the driver’s seat, arms crossed. Merle realizes he’s almost an hour late.

 

“Coaches’ meeting ran late,” Merle says after parking and getting out.

 

“We can’t make these types of things habitual,” Adam says. “It’s important for you to establish some consistency.”

 

“Hard to do in the NFL.”

 

Merle walks past Adam, hoping he somehow won’t follow him inside.

 

“Are you sleeping better?” Adam asks.

 

“Not really,” Merle says, half lying. He turns the key and opens the door, taking a few steps in— “What the fuck?”

 

“What’s the matter?”

 

“You don’t smell that?”

 

“Oh…oh, boy.”

 

Merle turns a corner toward the living room and sees Bowser trot across the rug, his paws coming dangerously close to a pile of feces. He stops at Merle’s feet and sits, tail wagging.

 

“Dammit, Bowser,” Merle says. “I’ve used the term ‘dog shit’ to describe this house on multiple occasions, but this really puts a cap on it.” Bowser’s face has a strange look, as if he’s trying to comprehend his master’s words but doesn’t really care at the same time, the type of face only a dog can make. “Okay, let’s go outside, you fucker.”

 

 

 

The Rose household living room is littered with an array of toy princesses, castles, animals, and more. Malik and Eva sit on the rug with their daughters, doing more watching than participating. They both love nights like this, of course, but it’s especially rewarding to see the way Tatyiana looks up to her older sister, follows what she does, loves her. It’s going to be fun watching her and Jasmin grow up together.

 

The television is on in the background, just loud enough for Malik and Eva to hear. Malik catches a glimpse of a large, red graphic, one he recognizes as either “Breaking News,” “This Just In,” or something similar. He thinks nothing of it until hearing an anchor’s voice.

 

“…We’re going live to Los Angeles, where the Los Angeles County district attorney is about to make a statement regarding Knights cornerback Malik Rose and the Javion Torrey case…”

 

Malik stays seated where he is, blocking out the TV, focusing on his girls.

 

“Jasmin, Tatyiana,” Eva says, inching forward, “why don’t we go play in Jasmin’s bedroom?”

 

“No, no,” Malik says, reaching for the remote.

 

“…The DA is already prosecuting two of Rose’s known associates and is now expected to announce—”

 

He clicks off the TV. “It’s okay, girls. Keep going.”

 

Eva shoots him an “Are you sure?” look, and Malik nods. He focuses back on his daughters with no problem, not even thinking of the TV. Unknown to him, every member of the Knights’ front office, most of the coaching staff, and some of the players are watching from their respective homes, and they don’t intend on changing the channel.

 

Malik’s phone buzzes on the couch behind them, signaling a new text message. He ignores it. Then another buzz. Then another. Multiple buzzes string together, and eventually Malik notices his wife staring at him.

 

He grabs the phone and realizes he has texts from at least seven people, all sent within the last minute. He scrolls down to one from his attorney, sent first, and opens it.

 

“No charges. Lack of evidence. Congratulations.”

 

Malik turns the phone on silent and throws it back on the couch.

 

“Well?” Eva says.

 

“No charges.”

 

“Like you’ve been saying the whole time.”

 

“I told you.”

 

“But what about…”

 

“They’ll go to trial, probably. But that’s on them now. Either they get off, or they don’t. It doesn’t concern us.”

 

 

 

“I don’t fucking believe it,” Randall says.

 

He and the other Knights at the club marvel at the sight of their starting linebacker arm in arm with one of the world’s most famous porn stars. The entire club seems to notice, except for Rose, standing away from his teammates, phone pressed to his ear. It rings a few times before he gets an answer.

 

“Hello?” says the voice on the other end of the line.

 

“Hey, it’s me,” Rose says.

 

“Damn, Malik, it’s been a minute. How you been?”

 

“Good, good. You in town?”

 

“Yeah, seeing some family.”

 

“Good. I need a favor.”

 

“What’s up?”

 

“Javion Torrey. He’s in town too.”

 

“Yeah, I know. We heard. You want us to do something about it?”

 

“Yes. I want you to leave it alone.”

 

“Leave it alone? What the fuck? Malik—”

 

“I’m serious.”

 

“I heard a rumor his car was parked outside your house. That true?”

 

“It doesn’t matter. Let it go. Alright?”

 

“Man, if you say so.”

 

“Are we good?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re good.”

 

 

 

The Knights and Broncos kick off with a playoff atmosphere at Sports Authority Field. With San Diego’s 19-7 win over Kansas City, Denver’s situation is simple: win, and they’re in the playoffs; lose, and they’re out. This is a playoff game for them.

 

After a touchback, the Knights start with the ball, and Jonathan Maverick takes the field for the first time since September. He’s been listed as “probable” all week, but the media left little doubt he would start. McKenzie radios the play call, the first in a series he and Maverick have been rehearsing for days.

 

Maverick fakes a hand off, drops back, and fires a bullet over the middle to Bishop for nine yards. He goes play-action again on second and one, rolling out and hitting Johnson for twelve yards.

 

Broncos fans watch in horror as Maverick announces his return to the league, connecting on one bullet pass after another. The Knights sideline watches in pride and awe as Maverick puts on a clinic, zipping the ball to his receivers with velocity that makes everyone realize how weak Buchanan’s arm is by comparison. His mechanics are perfect, he gets rid of the ball before falling victim to any pass rush, and spectators watching on television can feel his confidence.

 

The Knights reach the red zone without attempting a running play. Maverick drops back behind a clean pocket, steps up, and fires toward Wilkes into double coverage. The pass splits the corner and safety perfectly, and Wilkes catches the touchdown pass.

 

As McCabe knocks the extra point through, all Broncos fans can do is wonder why the hell Maverick was on the injury report in the first place.

 

The Broncos take the field already down 7-0, and Harden fires away with his usual blitzes, saving the complex ones for later. Manning is under pressure on almost every play, forcing rushed, inaccurate throws that lead to a three and out.

 

When the Knights take over, Maverick looks just as impressive, and McKenzie mixes in some runs this time. The Broncos defense seems on its heels, but Maverick’s first incompletion of the day leads to a punt.

 

The Knights control the rest of the first half, with Denver’s offensive ineptitude prompting boos from the crowd. On plays where they pick up a Knights blitz, Manning can only lob wobbly passes that linger in the air.

 

“Jesus, he looks terrible,” Harden says at one point. “I almost feel bad.”

 

“No you don’t,” an assistant coach says.

 

“You’re right.”

 

Both teams add a field goal, making it 10-3, and the Knights lead one final drive before halftime. They reach midfield with under a minute to go.

 

Maverick fakes a handoff and looks deep. He spots a blitzer a half second late and takes a crushing hit right to the chest, hitting the grass hard. The Knights sideline waits anxiously as Penner walks up to Maverick, on the ground.

 

“That felt good,” Maverick says.

 

“Don’t be a pussy,” Penner says, helping him up. The two smile and get in the huddle for third down.

 

McKenzie calls a simple play: crossing routes over the middle. Maverick drops back, and pressure comes from outside. He steps up into a crowd of orange jerseys, spins, and somehow escapes to his right. He spots Watson downfield and bombs it. Watson tracks the pass, adjusts, and catches it as he crosses the goal line for a touchdown.

 

The Knights sideline celebrates with boos around the stadium, soon going into the locker room with a 17-3 lead, courtesy of Maverick’s gaudy stat line: 14 of 17, 247 yards, 2 TDs, 0 INTs.

 

Players have just settled in the locker room when McKenzie approaches Maverick, a crowd of teammates surrounding him.

 

“You’re out, Mav. Gonna roll with Max in the second half.”

 

His teammates look appalled, but Maverick’s smile doesn’t fade. “Okay. Sounds good, coach.”

 

Maverick happily watches the second half from the sidelines as the Knights maintain control of the game. The offense is predictably limited with Buchanan, but it doesn’t matter. The defense keeps Manning on lockdown the rest of the game. Harden doesn’t even have a need to use the blitzes he drew up. He decides to pocket them for the playoffs.

 

Though the Knights lose some field position battles with Buchanan at the helm, the Broncos only add a pair of field goals. The Knights add one of their own, and a pair of fourth quarter would-be comeback drives fall far short for the home team. The Knights win, 20-6, eliminating Denver from the postseason and clinching the #2 seed for themselves. They finish the 2014 regular season with a 12-4 record, earning them the right to play again—at Farmers Field, in two weeks.

 

 

 

The team plane lifts off from Denver International, flying over the Rocky Mountains with the sun setting ahead of them. After the customary silence during takeoff, the Fasten Seatbelt signs blink off, and the cabin turns into a party. Players move around from one group to another, talking and laughing.

 

Maverick draws a large crowd, enjoying the ability to talk to his teammates at length again. He gets a lot of laughs telling tales of the boring shit he was forced to do at home, and, prompted by Brock, the adjustments of left-handed masturbation.

 

Rose and Flash talk, trying to decide on another night for Flash to come over for dinner. Rose tries to sell Flash on the rewards of being a parent, though Flash seems content with his bachelor nightlife.

 

The offensive linemen recount the game, with Penner giving particular praise to Grodd for a key blitz he picked up when Maverick threw his second touchdown. A few rows up, McKenzie overhears and turns around. Grodd sees him, and the two nod at each other, grinning.

 

Wilkes bounces from one circle to another, boasting about his stat line, leading multiple players to thank Maverick for returning Wilkes to his usual, arrogant self.

 

Grantzinger waits patiently until the perfect moment to mention an interesting stat: Brock has zero fourth-quarter sacks over the season’s final three games. This incites another Brock vs. Grantzinger battle that many players happily watch.

 

Buchanan plays spectator to the storytelling and ball busting, but everyone on the plane walks up to him and shakes his hand at some point, each with their own way of saying, “Thanks for holding down the fort, kid. We’ll take it from here.”

 

Harden and McKenzie sit together, silent during much of the flight until Harden suddenly launches into a review of an old game from their time together at North Dakota State. This starts a nostalgic conversation full of football memories that lasts until the plane’s touchdown in Los Angeles.

Edited February 13, 2016 by SteVo

[Sarge+ 3,436]

Very well done. I like how you went back to the phone conversation and filled in the missing details. Just a well-written chapter in general. The Knights of Andreas are back!

[Vin+ 3,121]

Plot twist.

 

[ATL_Predator+ 1,196]

IM A FUCKING FREE MAN MOTHERFUCKERS

 

I think at some point MHG is probably going to sodomize one of my daughters or something with how willing I am just to let a trashy man like him enter my humble home.

 

Also thought it was fitting King Choke Manning threw an INT to the Bungles in a Chokefest to see who could bite more off than they could chew lmao.

 

Great stuff, Steven. It's getting to the point where this makes my Friday that much more better before I fuck your bitch.

 

NOW ACCEPT MY FRIEND REQUEST.

[SteVo+ 3,702]

MHG =/= Flash

[Cherry 1,302]

DMac is a god-fearing man. You let him into your damn house, ATL.

[Thanatos 2,847]

 

 

the Broncos only add a fair of field goals

 

How many is that, exactly? I first I thought it was two, but if they already had 3 points by half-time, then a final score of 20-6 means a fair must be one FG.

 

NEW NFL TERMS GUYS.

 

I'll use it in a sentence.

 

"Gano missed a fair of FGs in the Super Bowl like the shanking motherfucker he is."

 

There. You're welcome.

 

(Great chapter, SteVo. )

[SteVo+ 3,702]

[Thanatos 2,847]

 

Should have photoshopped it onto Gano's face.

[Zack_of_Steel+ 3,014]

Awesome job setting the stage for our impending SB run. Can't wait for the conclusion.

[SteVo+ 3,702]