Knights of Andreas 4.13: What Happens Next

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Knights of Andreas

Part IV

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Chapter Fifty-Four – What Happens Next

 

 

 

Still sweating from the game, Harden stands before the assembly of journalists, responding quickly and easily to their weak questions. Something feels off.

 

The press is typically unafraid to fire away at coaches and players, especially in fragile post-game pressers like this. But the tension from the field has somehow followed Harden into this conference. The reporters seem scared to ask questions.

 

After a few more monotonous inquiries about the game, one ostensibly brave reporter asks, “Coach, what did you think of the officials tonight?”

 

Harden gazes suspiciously as all eyes in the room look up at him. He takes a breath and tightens his grip on the podium.

 

“I think they were a disgrace,” Harden says. “They failed to keep the game under control from the start. And you guys know me; I’m all about lettin’ ‘em play. But they allowed late hits and dirty play all night. It was bound to escalate at some point. You can’t fault either team, in a rivalry game with the conference on the line. I’m just glad we got through all of it with a win.”

 

“Coach,” Adam Javad says, now comfortable enough to ask the question he’s had on his mind for an hour, “some have suggested the three players who were ejected tonight could be facing a suspension for the Super Bowl. Do you think that’s a possibility?”

 

“Not if the league has common sense. Or any dignity.”

 

The conference continues for a few more minutes, with a few more reporters branching off Javad’s question. Harden keeps deflecting.

 

Unknown to Harden and the Knights, the NFL Players Association is already drafting a formal statement insisting the league not suspend anyone for the Super Bowl.

 

 

 

Monday morning, an uneasy sense of victory hangs over the MedComm Center as coaches and front office personnel process the memorable (or infamous) conference championship game, trying to savor celebration amidst fallout.

 

Regardless, the thirteen-day countdown begins, and the sports world analyzes Super Bowl XLIX from every possible angle. The Green Bay Packers are making their sixth Super Bowl appearance, the Los Angeles Knights their second (seventh if you count the Raider Era).

 

Drawing the most intrigue is the matchup between the Packers offense and the Knights defense, one of the league’s most high-powered offenses led by its best quarterback and likely MVP against one of the league’s most dominating all-around defenses.

 

There are no underdog stories this year; the Packers and Knights both went 12-4 en route to a #2 seed and conference win. Consequently, the Super Bowl is widely predicted to be a close game. The spread opens at Green Bay by 1.0, rises to Green Bay by 1.5, then swings down to Los Angeles by 0.5.

 

When Phillips settles into his office, he follows all the news and speculation coming out regarding the AFC Championship Game, trying to assess the odds of any suspensions for the big game. Only minutes pass before the phone beeps.

 

“Chance,” Schneider’s voice says through the phone’s speaker.

 

“Good morning, Wayne.”

 

“Need you in my office right away.”

 

Of course, Schneider’s hysterical about this whole thing. Phillips figured as much. He walks over to the adjacent office, but instead of stressed, Schneider looks composed, focused, determined. Oddly, though, he puts on his coat and moves toward the door.

 

“I’m leaving,” Schneider says. “Possibly for the day. Any meeting that can proceed without me, keep it. Postpone anything else.”

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“To meet with Roger. Privately.”

 

“Goodell?”

 

“We can’t have players suspended for the Super Bowl, Chance.”

 

“I would think we’d get help from the NFLPA, if you read their statement.”

 

“I read it last night. That plus my argument ought to take care of it.”

 

“May I ask what your argument is?”

 

“The league doesn’t want this story dragging on leading up to Super Sunday. It’s in their best interests to turn the page. I welcome hefty fines for whoever Roger wants, promise we won’t fight back, the matter is resolved by week’s end, and everyone forgets about it come media week. The focus will be on the Super Bowl, as it should be.”

 

Impressed, Phillips thinks of nothing else to say and watches Schneider leave. Minutes later, he phones downstairs to Coach Harden, saying he can confidently game plan for the Packers anticipating no suspensions.

 

Downstairs, Harden studies tape of the league’s soon-to-be Most Valuable Player, remembering the last time he faced Aaron Rodgers: the Earthquake Reception. His strategy now is the same as three years ago. The Knights will blitz Rodgers into oblivion, hitting him more than he’s been hit all year. Rodgers escaping the pocket is Harden’s biggest concern, but he trusts his linebackers to keep the quarterback contained.

 

Just to up the ante a bit (it is the Super Bowl, after all), Harden goes back to the drawing board with the exotic blitzes he originally drew up for week 17 against Peyton Manning. He adjusts a few of them specifically for Green Bay’s offensive line, and for Rodgers, planning to practice them throughout the next two weeks.

 

In terms of coverage, the Packers have a formidable receiving duo in Jordy Nelson and Randall Cobb, but the Knights have their own one-two punch at corner. Harden assigns Rose to Nelson and Marshall to Cobb without much consideration. Flash can handle Davante Adams, and his front seven can handle Eddie Lacy.

 

McKenzie has the easier task this time, he feels. Green Bay has gotten this far on the proficiency of their offense. Their defense is middle of the road, statistically, and relies on the production of its impressive pass-rushing tandem in Clay Matthews and Julius Peppers. Stopping those two will be McKenzie’s primary concern. He doesn’t anticipate a major headache, though; both Tristan Adams and Evan Fowler, the Knights’ rookie offensive tackles, have shown tremendous growth over the course of the season.

 

On paper, the Packers have a very impressive secondary, so McKenzie will use the same initial plan as San Diego: establish the run to set up the pass. He’s confident in Wilkes and Johnson against Sam Shields and Tramon Williams, and with the talented but inexperienced Ha Ha Clinton-Dix at free safety, McKenzie plans on multiple deep shots to Watson.

 

The coaches assemble the game plan and form a practice schedule, holding various meetings throughout the day to finalize logistic details of the next two weeks.

 

 

 

Phillips and Schneider can see the players practicing from Schneider’s office, their first of many practices for the season’s final game, but they focus instead on the five binders in front of them. Five names, five resumes.

 

“So,” Phillips says, “do we dig a little deeper, interview some more candidates?”

 

“Actually,” Schneider says, “I’ve done some thinking. I believe we should initiate a second round of interviews with two or three of the five we’ve already spoken with. One, in particular.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Stein.”

 

Allan Stein, assistant director of pro personnel, San Francisco 49ers. Forty-three years old, Bachelor’s in Business Management from Stanford. Joined Stanford’s football program as a recruiting assistant before leaving the football world, then reentering five years later. Worked in front offices for the Seahawks and Texans before joining the 49ers.

 

“What about him?” Phillips asks, not partial to Stein but wanting to hear what Schneider has to say first.

 

“While I concede that he’s far from polished, I think he’s exactly what we’re looking for. Ambitious, well rounded, extremely knowledgeable.”

 

“Lack of experience is a concern.”

 

“Yes, it is. Which is why he’s a perfect fit.”

 

“I don’t follow.”

 

“You said it yourself, Chance. We can afford to find someone with high potential. I think Allan fits that description. Let him get the feel of a stable franchise and he could develop into an outstanding assistant GM. He’s already got the knowledge, which you and I agree is most important.”

 

To Phillips, Michal Keegan fits that description perfectly, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

 

“One thing ultimately does it for me, though,” Schneider continues. “Remember how I told you not to look for the next Paul DeMartine?” Phillips nods. “Well, let’s not forget DeMartine was not especially qualified when you hired him five years ago. He sat, he listened, he learned, and he developed into a great asset to this organization. I see the same potential in Stein.”

 

“Okay, so should we schedule him for a second interview?”

 

“Unless you think it’s a bad idea.”

 

“No, not at all. At this point, what other options do we have?”

 

Schneider’s phone rings, and he hesitates, looking concerned.

 

“Could be about the suspensions,” he says, picking up. “This is Wayne Schneider.”

 

 

 

On his way out for the day, McKenzie stops by Harden’s office, surprised to see him there at all, and even more surprised to see him hammering nails into the wall. McKenzie knows better than to ask questions.

 

“Not often I beat you out the door, Merle.”

 

“I’m about to head out.” Harden stays focused on hammering the second nail in place so that it’s level. “Want to grab a drink?”

 

McKenzie says nothing. Harden doesn’t have to turn around to see his face.

 

“I’m kidding, Mac. Lighten up.”

 

“They phoned from upstairs. No suspensions.”

 

“Thank Christ.”

 

“Shitload of fines across the board, though. Brian, Sean, Flash…you, too.”

 

“The hell did I do?”

 

“Apparently there was an infraction somewhere between shoving the opposing head coach and disparaging the refs on national TV.”

 

“People are too fucking sensitive, Mac.” Content with the nail position, Harden lifts a large framed picture, taken two days ago, from his desk and hangs it on the wall: Phillip Rivers’ irritated face, walking off the field. Harden looks pleased with himself, studying Rivers’ position among his collection, and finally turns toward McKenzie, though his mind is elsewhere. “I gotta say, I miss the Devil’s Lake days.”

 

“Here we go…”

 

“I told coaches to go fuck themselves, parents to go fuck themselves, boosters to go fuck themselves…think I even told the mascot to go fuck himself at one point.”

 

A vibrating sound on the desk draws both men’s attention. It’s Harden’s phone, which shows an incoming call from Caden Daniel.

 

“That’s the fourth time he’s called since Sunday.”

 

“Not gonna answer?”

 

Harden smiles. “He can go fuck himself.”

 

 

 

Javad throws one last pair of pants in his suitcase, thankful he doesn’t have to pack for cold weather this year. He considers cleaning his apartment since he’s already packed up half his clothes, but decides against it, wanting to write one more article tonight about the state of professional sports in Los Angeles.

 

When the Knights moved to L.A. in 2010, fan expectations varied. Predicting a Super Bowl within a decade was optimistic. A competently run franchise was considered the best fans could hope for. Many feared (or anticipated) an eventual return to Oakland.

 

Over the last five years, the beloved Lakers have begun their descent in the twilight of Kobe Bryant’s career, the Blake Griffin-era Clippers have yet to get past the conference semifinals, and the Dodgers are under new ownership after filing for bankruptcy. In the meantime, the Kings have won two Stanley Cups and the Knights have become an NFL powerhouse.

 

The idea of Los Angeles as a football or hockey city—as an anything city, really—is an odd one, but it makes for good discussion, and it’s as fresh a topic as Javad has to write about given the exhaustive nature of Super Bowl journalism.

 

His phone buzzes on his laptop keyboard, nearly sliding off the desk before he catches it. He almost drops it again when he sees who’s calling.

 

“Hello,” he says, answering. “Something breaking? Hire an assistant GM?”

 

“No,” Phillips says. “Just checking in while I had a minute.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“We’ve got a big offseason on the horizon.”

 

“Yeah, speaking of that, I’ve been meaning to ask…what’s up with the Rose interview? Is it dead now that he’s been cleared?”

 

“No. I promised you the interview and I plan on delivering. Schneider will still want to turn public opinion around. I admit it’s no longer as juicy as it once was, but in the middle of a long offseason, it could be a stand-out piece.”

 

Javad still loves the idea of a humanizing, emotional, one-on-one interview. And Phillips is right; in the middle of a season, something like that could get swept under the rug, but in the offseason, it could be a top story for days.

 

“Sounds great,” Javad says. “Anything coming in the near future?”

 

“Nothing before the Super Bowl. Still exchanging figures with agents.”

 

“Anything I can print?”

 

“No.”

 

“Anything off the record?”

 

“Yes. I’m much more optimistic about an extension for Flash Johnson than I was a few weeks ago, and I’d expect big numbers for Wilkes’ new deal. North of seventy million.”

 

“Okay, okay. Keep me updated.”

 

“You finalize travel arrangements to Glendale?”

 

“Yep. Gonna save a few bucks and drive Sunday night, pulling an all-nighter.” He hears Phillips laugh on the other end of the line. “Let me put it this way: I’m looking forward to Super Bowl 50 in Los Angeles.”

 

“Well, I’ll say this Adam: this offseason goes as planned, I’ll put you in a five-star hotel myself next year, whether we’re there or not.”

 

“That’s a deal. I’ll let you know when I’m in Glendale. We can do an interview.”

 

“Sounds great. One last thing.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Assistant GM. Allan Stein. You can report it Sunday morning.”

 

Phillips hangs up, alone in his office while the last of daylight beams in through the windows. He thinks about what he said to Javad, about the offseason going as planned.

 

How exactly is that going to happen? He steps toward the white board listing contract projections in purple marker, projections that keep increasing as Phillips has more and more dialogue with agents.

 

His assertion that he could retain all the team’s key free agents is a fantasy. Always was.

 

He studies the figures one at a time, player by player, trying to remember the principles he has always tried to follow. Long-term thinking, he tells himself. Don’t worry what the best decision is today. What’s the best decision three years from now?

 

Nothing else to do, he grabs the eraser for some more simulations, deducing how good the team will be without certain players, what their strengths and weaknesses are, how the identity of the team changes, etc.

 

On the top row is “QB Maverick” and his $13-million cap hit for this season, written in black. Over the next five columns are gargantuan cap hits based on Phillips’ latest guess at the new contract for his franchise quarterback: five years, one hundred million dollars.

 

Phillips gets an idea. He spins around, listening for anyone in the hallway, though everyone else has gone home, he thinks. Satisfied, he focuses back on the top row of the white board, lifts the eraser, and, with a clean stroke, removes the eight-figure amounts in purple ink from the top row.

 

He does some quick math, calculating the cap space he just freed and distributing it to other players.

 

A few extra million to Wilkes and Randall for their extensions. Some padding in a free agency budget for 2016.

 

There’s enough money. There’s more than enough.

 

His eyes return to the top of the board, to the row that says “QB Buchanan,” with modest, six-figure cap hits through 2016.

 

If Phillips wanted to consider a bold, outside-the-box alternative, this certainly fits. But he can’t openly suggest something like this, can’t just throw it out during a meeting. This is something he normally would have spoken to DeMartine about, privately. Now, is there anyone he can trust to fill that void?

 

 

 

The flight lifts off from Los Angeles on schedule, just after 2pm, headed due east towards Phoenix International Airport. The plane reaches cruising altitude about thirty minutes later.

 

“So, who’s going to the Pro Bowl tonight?” Maverick asks, looking around the cabin for responses. “I got a couple field passes.”

 

Wilkes: “Oh, count me in.”

 

Flash: “Me too.”

 

Brock: “You’re going to the game, Mav? Thought you’d be up for hitting town, checking out the scenery.”

 

Maverick: “The scenery…in Phoenix? Yeah, I’m not super excited about that. It certainly isn’t New York.”

 

Wilkes: “Man, New York was cold as hell. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Grodd: “That’s really shit luck for us, guys. Two Super Bowls in a row, but they’re in cold ass New York and Phoenix. Why couldn’t we get Miami?”

 

Grantzinger: “I think Brock’s just jealous he wouldn’t have made the Pro Bowl even though they got down to nine pass rushers.”

 

Martin: “It was ten, last I checked.”

 

Brock: “Fuck you guys. Just wait ‘till next Sunday. The Closer is going out in style this season. It’s gonna be fourth and goal, five seconds left…”

 

Rose: “Jesus Christ, Zack, why do you have to get him started?”

 

Brock: “…Packers on the five-yard-line, need a touchdown to win. Rodgers drops back, tries to roll out for one last throw, but is tripped up by yours truly! The Closer wins it for the Knights of Andreas. Book it, boys. Knights 20, Packers 14. Then we all ride into the sunset with our bonus checks. Yo, Marlon, what were the numbers again?”

 

Martin: “Ninety-seven thousand for the winner, forty-nine thousand for the loser.”

 

Randall: “Not a bad sum either way.”

 

Brock: “Man, I need every dollar I can get.”

 

Rose: “What’s the matter, Sean? Spending too much money on strippers?”

 

Grodd: “Yeah, what’s the big deal? Don’t you have a cap spike next year?”

 

Conversation halts. Players can hear the 35,000-foot air glide past the plane’s wings. Grodd lowers himself into his seat, aware of his sin. Players can talk about money they have, cars they’ve bought, tabs they’ve racked up—but front office talk of contracts, salaries, and negotiations is not kosher. Over half the team’s starters now contemplate their financial future, a future that includes an expiring contract either this year or next.

 

A familiar ding breaks everyone’s concentration, and the pilot announces the plane’s descent.

 

Wilkes: “What the fuck? Already? I thought we were going to Phoenix.”

 

Brock: “Holy shit, D-Jam, Arizona borders California. Read a fucking map.”

 

 

 

A quiet day comes and goes at the MedComm Center, with the first floor vacant of all personnel except custodians. Schneider has already left for Phoenix, and Phillips has to catch a late flight for Media Day tomorrow. He has one thing to take care of first, though.

 

He’s in the middle of reading a report from the scouting department when Keegan appears in the doorway.

 

“Shut the door,” Phillips instructs, even though nobody else is still here. Keegan does so, looking confused, and steps toward the GM’s desk. “I have a private assignment for you.”

 

“Okay,” Keegan says.

 

“It’s private.”

 

“You just said that.”

 

“I’m saying it again, Michal. This is completely off the book.”

 

“Okay…”

 

Phillips pauses, part of him still torn on whether he should go through with this.

 

“I want you to investigate all possible trade scenarios for Jonathan Maverick.”

 

Phillips studies Keegan’s reaction carefully, but there isn’t much of one. He doesn’t appear shocked at all. Curious, if anything.

 

“Every aspect,” Phillips continues. “Teams who would be interested, likely draft pick or player compensation, everything.”

 

“Should I assume a Maverick trade would make Buchanan the starting quarterback?”

 

“Unless we could get a better option in return, either directly by trade or through the draft. As I said, consider all angles.”

 

“No problem.”

 

“You don’t sound as surprised as I thought.”

 

“I’m just guessing you see it as more cost effective.”

 

Good. This is what Phillips wanted, for Keegan to press the football side of this, not just the financial side.

 

“It could be. Think about it, Michal, we went 10-4 with Buchanan this year. Obviously we’re a better team with Maverick, but a hundred million dollars better?”

 

Keegan looks excited now, perhaps about contributing to such a monumental task, perhaps simply about performing complex mathematics.

 

“I’ll get right on it,” Keegan says.

 

“Good. And again—I can’t stress this enough—this is for your eyes only. You pretty much do your own thing anyway, so keep it that way. You don’t tell anyone what you’re doing, and you report all findings to my eyes only. Anyone catches you in the middle of this, you tell them you’re watching porn. Got it?”

 

“Sure.”

 

 

 

Tuesday morning, thousands of players, coaches, journalists, and fans attend Media Day at the U.S. Airways Center, the downtown arena most notably home to the Phoenix Suns.

 

Unlike a year ago, the Knights treat the hour-long interviews as a task, not a spectacle. They deflect inquiries about the AFC Championship Game, instead answering stupid questions about overcoming Maverick’s shoulder injury, Harden’s alcohol episode, and making it to their second consecutive Super Bowl.

 

For their part, the Packers act like they’ve been here before too. The day passes without any bulletin board material from either team, and the biggest story Tuesday night is simply that Super Bowl XLIX is five days away.

 

The Knights resume practice Wednesday morning, as they have been since arriving in Phoenix, indoors. (The forecast for Sunday is sunny, temperatures in the high 60’s, and the University of Phoenix Stadium’s retractable roof will likely be open.) Yet, despite the high stakes, the Knights practice with confidence. They know exactly how great a football team the Packers are, but more importantly, they also know how great they are.

 

McKenzie enjoys the extra week to dive deeper into the playbook, allowing the offense multiple reps on all 175 plays, including and especially audibles and hot routes. This is something McKenzie always enjoyed in college, where the season schedule included multiple bye weeks, but the regulations on practice time only let him go so far. Such regulations are lighter and more flexible in the NFL.

 

Harden takes advantage of extra time by having his front seven master his new, crazy blitzes, but even that only takes so long. By Friday, the last full practice day, coaches are nitpicking mechanics more than anything. The game plan is set, and the playbook is perfected.

 

The Knights are ready.

 

Saturday night, the Knights are well represented at the NFL Honors despite Coach Harden encouraging players to get their minds off football the night before the game. Several players are obligated to attend, however, as the team is up for multiple awards.

 

Host Seth Meyers delivers a humorous opening monologue, playfully criticizing players and coaches, Knights included. He gets one of his loudest laughs by saying, “A few players from Los Angeles are running late tonight, but the league surprisingly decided not to suspend the ceremony.”

 

The awards progress, along with the announcement of the newest Pro Football Hall of Fame class. Todd Bowles from Arizona wins Assistant Coach of the Year, an award for which Ron McKenzie drew modest buzz. Sam Luck is considered a favorite for Walter Payton Man of the Year, but Thomas Davis wins. Zack Grantzinger is expected to garner some votes for Defensive Player of the Year, but J.J. Watt becomes the first player to win the award unanimously in NFL history.

 

Near the end of the ceremony, Ray Lewis takes the stage to announce Coach of the Year, during which Merle Harden sits and watches nervously.

 

“The 2014 AP Coach of the Year is…Bruce Arians.”

 

The hall applauds as Arians makes his way to the stage. Harden claps and breathes a sigh of relief.

 

“Thank God,” he says to himself.

 

The ceremony concludes predictably as Aaron Rodgers is crowned the league’s Most Valuable Player, and so the Knights finish the night empty handed.

 

 

 

Knight’s End opens at 10am with multiple parties ready to be seated. Beers and mimosas are flowing at a full bar by eleven, just the beginning of an all-day event. Part of the allure of Super Bowl Sunday in California is the time; the game starts around 3:30 and is over by 7, leaving Knights fans plenty of time to celebrate—or commiserate. Thousands of fans plan to call in to work Monday morning regardless.

 

Cooper and Sampson arrive later than usual, devastated to see their high top already taken. It looks like the place will be packed even more than last year. Though Cooper insists on leaving, Sampson remains calm, and the two end up in a booth on the opposite side of the bar.

 

“This feels all wrong,” Cooper says. “Bad omen.”

 

“What’s the spread at now?” Sampson asks, trying to change the subject.

 

“Packers by a half, last I saw.”

 

“Surprised you haven’t been talking about it, actually.”

 

“I thought about putting a bet down.”

 

“No way. With what money?”

 

“All I have left. But I didn’t. It’s taken me a year just to get back on my feet. I guess I didn’t want to fuck it all up again.”

 

“I’d praise you for being responsible, but I have personally witnessed you spending hundreds of dollars on beer per month in that time span.”

 

“Priorities, Cassie, priorities.”

 

 

 

The Knights sit quietly in the locker room, kickoff only minutes away. All conversations have ended. A few players listen to headphones, but most just sit and stare at the floor, running through their personal pre-game thoughts. This is the silence before a game, and hopefully, there will be no silence after.

 

Harden steps toward the middle of the locker room, and everyone looks up, as if they’re expecting something. Just what he feared; they want an encore. Harden broke character last year to deliver a pre-game sermon, and lot of fucking good it did.

 

“If you think you’re getting a speech two years in a row, you’re full of shit.”

 

The players actually look disappointed, as if they need some pep talk to know how to get up for the Super Bowl. Harden isn’t sure how to respond, so he says what’s on his mind.

“We’re not losing two years in a row.”

 

That gets everyone’s attention again.

 

“We’re not walking back into this room with nothing to show for all we’ve gone through this year. We’re winning tonight, men. Believe it. Let’s go.”

 

 

 

Both teams take the field at University of Phoenix Stadium, feeling warm, comfortable air. For the Knights, it feels like home, and it’s certainly better than last year.

 

The Packers wear their home green jerseys, yellow pants; the Knights wear their away whites, black pants.

 

In the Knights’ luxury suite, Phillips occupies a front row seat with a glorious view of the field. He has Melissa just to his left, with all three kids next to her. To his right is not Wayne Schneider, but rather Allan Stein.

 

“Not a bad seat for your first game as assistant GM, Allan,” Phillips says.

 

“Not at all,” Stein says. “I just hope this gets to be the beginning of something big that I can be a part of, you know? And not something else.”

 

Phillips nods, not exactly sure what Stein means.

 

Pre-game ceremonies commence on the field. The Packers win the coin toss and defer, giving the Knights the ball first. After the national anthem and flyover, Maverick stands on the edge of the sideline, looking across the field at his opposite #12, league MVP Aaron Rodgers.

 

The last time these two squared off, the game was a back and forth quarterback duel that culminated in a stunning upset with an earthquake somewhere in between. This time, one of them is walking off the field with the Lombardi Trophy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[RazorStar 4,025]

“That’s the fourth time [Caden]’s called since Sunday.”
“Not gonna answer?”
Harden smiles. “He can go fuck himself.”

and

Wilkes: “What the fuck? Already? I thought we were going to Phoenix.”
Brock: “Holy shit, D-Jam, Arizona borders California. Read a fucking map.”

 

Were fucking gold. Get hyped for the super bowl! And also GTFO with that trading Mav talk. He's our teammate, he's our QB.

[Vin+ 3,121]

Blowin' it up.

[Cherry 1,302]

Randall decline big money to keep Mav. Randall knows importance of team first. Randall beat up Phillips.

 

 

Excellent chapter as always, Stevo.

[GA_Eagle 595]

Finally caught up. Best season yet. Happy birthday Stevo. You'll be able to drive soon.

Edited March 8, 2016 by GA_Eagle

[SteVo+ 3,702]

Hump Day Bump Day. Less than 48 hours until the Super Bowl chapter goes live.

 

[Cherry 1,302]

Can't wait to take this L.

[Zack_of_Steel+ 3,014]

So pumped for this.