SteVo+ 3,702 Posted August 19, 2016 | | | | Knights of Andreas Part V Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 CampinWithGoatSampson Chernobyl426 CrimsonRaider DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever GA_Eagle JetsFan4Life Maverick RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos Turry theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Fifty-Eight – The New Jungle Farmers Field is nearly full when the extended pre-game ceremony begins. Millions of fans tune in to watch the kickoff of the 2015 NFL season in primetime, though the sun still shines in Los Angeles. The defending champions run out to a rousing ovation in their home black uniforms, then the New England Patriots get booed taking the field in their road whites. Fans notice the gold-colored 50-yard-line marker, a symbol of the league’s golden anniversary that will be on every field this year. Everything goes quiet, the lights dim, and a montage plays on the stadium’s big screen in the north end zone, recapping last season with Knights radio announcers and dramatic music in the background. It starts on a sad note with Maverick’s shoulder injury, then picks up momentum with regular season highlights: the last-second defensive stand against the Cardinals, the grinding win in a testy game against the Chargers, Maverick’s triumphant return against the Broncos. The music speeds up as highlights shift to the playoffs. Fans clap and scream for the Knights’ offensive explosion against the Colts and their bloody victory against the Chargers. Then the montage culminates with Noah McCabe’s Super Bowl winning field goal, and the place goes nuts. A line of purple and white fireworks shoot into the air, and the PA announcer directs fans’ attention to the top of the eastern side of the stadium, where, among a line of banners recognizing division and conference championships, another banner is unveiled, larger than the rest. It bears the Knights logo and says, “Super Bowl XLIX Champions.” For a moment, Farmers Field is as loud and frantic as it was during last year’s AFC Championship Game. On the sideline, players scream and jump around, thankful for the extra pre-game motivation, eager to get on the field and use it. The ceremonies ultimately give way to the national anthem and the team’s usual pre-game montage, completing the Knights’ celebration of last year’s championship and beginning their journey towards another championship. The season finally gets underway, the home team receiving the ball first. Maverick hits Wilkes on play-action for fifteen yards, a symbolic opening play between the team’s two highest paid players. McKenzie spends the rest of the drive leaning on his wealth of receivers, Wilkes and Johnson hauling in three receptions each with Watson and Bishop getting one. The drive reaches the Patriots’ twelve-yard line, where Jameson gets his first carry on third and two. He runs off-tackle into a wall of defenders, and the drive ends unceremoniously. McCabe jogs onto the field, greeted by thunderous applause. He could be an underwhelming, inconsistent kicker the rest of his career, but one kick in February has made him a hero for life. He knocks the chip shot through to give the Knights their first points of the season. After a commercial break, Tom Brady stares down the Knights defense, and all eyes are on the secondary. Though fans have supreme confidence in Coach Harden, this defense is the best in the league, and it’s because of them the Knights won the AFC West without Maverick. If Malik Rose’s departure downgrades the defense significantly, the Knights are not a Super Bowl team. Brady comes out throwing quick, short throws that move the chains effectively. This is fine for Harden, who is thankful for this matchup. The receiving duo of Danny Amendola and Julian Edelman doesn’t scare him; it’s the ideal starting point for his young corners. Harden focuses on the front seven, waiting for some blitzes to punch through. But Brady keeps throwing, and the Patriots find themselves in the red zone. Martin and Brock blitz as Brady drops back in shotgun. They both have a free run at the quarterback and hit him just after he lobs a pass over the middle. Gronkowski beats Randall by a step and catches it in the end zone for a touchdown. Harden walks up to Ripka and says, “We might have to get creative with Gronk.” “Okay,” Ripka says. “We had a couple ideas that went well in practice; which one do you want to go with?” “None, for now. Not gonna jump ship after one drive. Just keep it in mind.” “You got it, coach.” Fans and players take a breath and watch an unusual sight: Gostkowski lines up for the extra point beyond the twenty-five-yard line, a new rule change this season. He knocks the kick through easily. The Knights show more balance on offense the rest of the first half, and Jameson finds plenty of running room between the tackles. Maverick hits Johnson on a wheel for the team’s first touchdown of the year, and their next trip near the end zone stalls, ending with a missed field goal by McCabe. On defense, Randall steps up his coverage against Gronkowski, saving Harden from adjusting. Stone and Lucas play solid enough in coverage with Flash helping over the top, though the Patriots mount another solid drive near halftime, and Amendola gets around Lucas for an easy touchdown. The Patriots take a 14-10 lead into the locker room. The second half starts under the lights. Excitement slowly builds around the stadium but is quickly deflated when Brady marches the Patriots down the field methodically and into the end zone, silencing the crowd. “Wake the fuck up, men!” Harden barks on the sideline. “Long way to go yet!” McKenzie tries to implement his game plan but struggles in the face of multiple adjustments by New England’s defense. He listens closely to information coming from upstairs, and the Patriots seem to be shifting their strategy with every play. Consequently, the Knights offense struggles, only managing a few first downs scattered between drives. The Patriots maintain their 21-10 lead. As the players traverse the field for the fourth quarter, Harden approaches McKenzie to needle him. “Outcoached by Belichick? No shame in that,” Harden says. “Not outcoached yet,” McKenzie says, looking up at the game clock, which resets to 15:00. When the Knights take over, Maverick gets in a rhythm, hitting Johnson and Watson. Wilkes can’t separate from double coverage, but it doesn’t slow the offense down. Bishop converts a third and nine with a clutch catch and broken tackle, and Maverick hurries the pace. McKenzie calls Jameson’s number, contrasting with Maverick’s urgency, but it moves the chains all the same. Approaching the red zone, Maverick drops back and sees a blitz. He bolts for the outside, barely escaping. He looks up, sees Bishop over the middle, and fires. The pass gets tipped by a Patriot and falls into Bishop’s arms in the end zone. The stadium cheers for the touchdown—and good fortune—with the Knights back in the game. McCabe comes on for the long extra point and shanks it wide left, suppressing the crowd noise. Brady retakes the field with a 21-16 lead and 11:32 to play. Harden remains patient, not wanting to force anything. The Patriots play small ball, Brady hitting receivers on five-yard routes mixed in with three- and four-yard runs. Harden doesn’t expect this to work the entire drive, but it does. Brady converts one third down after another, slowly draining the Knights’ confidence. Stone and Lucas give Amendola and Edelman enough space underneath to keep converting, so Harden finally decides to play press coverage and slow them down. This leads to two incompletions, but Brady goes to Gronkowski on third and ten, who catches a quick pass and muscles through Randall, lurching ahead for a first down on the eight-yard line. The Patriots run the ball twice, getting nowhere and bringing up third and goal. Brady drops back and scans, no one open. Martin comes late on a blitz, forcing a throw towards the corner of the end zone. Amendola separates from Stone and extends for the catch, landing safely in bounds for a touchdown. Gostkowski makes the extra point, capping a remarkably efficient drive that leaves the Knights trailing 28-16 with 4:54 left. In the miracle stage now, McKenzie has Maverick fire away. He hits Bishop and Johnson for a couple first downs and hurries everybody to the line. Then he fires deep for Watson, but the pass sails off target and into the hands of Malcolm Butler for an interception, effectively ending the game. Fans realize the Knights are out of time and make their way through the concourses to the parking lots. It’s always unsettling to start a season 0-1, but the Knights’ Super Bowl win has bought them extra patience with the fans. A long season lies ahead. Friday morning is typically an important day, the final full day of practice and preparation for Sunday’s game. This Friday, however, players report to the MedComm Center for a single reason: to pick up the first of seventeen pay slips. Brock speeds his Ferrari into the players’ lot, finding it strangely empty before walking into the locker room, envelopes sticking out from each locker. A few lockers down, Grantzinger has already arrived. “Oh, now this is a sight,” Grantzinger says. “So this is what it takes to get you here early.” “Hey, it’s been a long ass time since we got one of these,” Brock says, holding up his envelope. “You realize the money’s already in your account whether you pick this up or not, right?” Ignoring him, Brock scratches open the envelope and studies the deposit slip. Thanks to his contract structure, his salary increases a couple million this year, and the sight of a higher dollar amount on the check excites him at first. Brock’s 2015 salary of $6.3 million divided by seventeen gives him $370,588.23. The amount of money now in his account, however, is less than that. Federal withholding, Medicare, California state income tax…after many bites taken out of it, Brock’s net pay is $220,741.20. “Fucking bullshit, man,” Brock says. “How can they get away with this?” “That’s right, Sean,” Grantzinger says. “Make a stand. Take on the man.” Brock looks around the mostly empty locker room for allies, though players are starting to trickle in. Brock: “Marlon! Which states have NFL teams and don’t have a state income tax?” Martin: “I look like a fucking accountant?” Penner: “Quit whining, Sean. It’s too early in the morning and too early in the season.” Grodd: “Hey, you know that In-and-Out Burger around the corner? You can work there if you want to pay less in taxes.” Grantzinger: “You know something, your overrated ass makes more than me this year, and you don’t hear me bitching about it.” “Hey now,” Maverick says, just entering the room, “everybody calm down. It’s the weekend. There’s no game tomorrow. Relax! Who’s coming tomorrow night?” “You know I’m there,” Brock says, thankful for a party where he won’t have to pay for anything. Many other teammates confirm their attendance, and the mood turns cheerful before players leave for the weekend. The party has no start time, so people start filing in between six and seven. There are two help-yourself bars—one inside in the dining room and one outside on the back deck—and the refrigerator is jam-packed with beer. TVs are turned to college football but muted in favor of music, including the new, 80-inch 4K Ultra HD TV in the living room. Everyone can see Maverick has enjoyed spending the signing bonus from his new contract. Though Maverick’s mansion has hosted plenty of L.A. bigshots over the summer, tonight is a celebration for his teammates. A few actors or non-football athletes might swing by, but attendance will be mostly Knights—the single bachelors, especially. The married guys (Bishop, Penner, Luck) rarely come to these things. To be fair, there will be plenty of attractive women around, and very few men, if any, will be sleeping alone. The first guys to arrive gather together, drinking beer in the living room. As more people show up, various groups congregate around the house until it becomes a full-blown party. Eventually, Brock and Wilkes find themselves in a corner of the dining room, each drinking something with rum in it. They’re in the middle of a serious conversation, arguably too serious for the party taking place around them. “Yeah, I got you,” Wilkes says. “Just remind me after practice Monday.” “Cool, man. Real cool. It’s a long offseason with no money coming in, you know?” “I feel you, man. I woulda gone nuts without the new deal in July.” “How much was your signing bonus again?” “Eighteen.” “Fuck, dude.” “I know. I already spent half of it, too.” “You—what?” “Not spent. I mean, I got a lot of people I wanna take care of, you know.” “Oh. Yeah, I feel you.” One of the greatest parts of Wilkes’ $18-million signing bonus, besides finally being paid like the elite receiver he is, is being able to help out people who helped him back in the day. Old friends, mostly, from childhood and college, plus his Uncle Lincoln, who he now enjoys talking to regularly. Wilkes and Brock separate as women start coming in. Drinks flow faster, and music gets louder. They both eventually find themselves part of a group hanging outside on the deck. Everyone is drunk by this point, and Maverick is leading a raucous discussion, getting laughs and working the crowd like the star quarterback he is, when he pauses mid-sentence. “Oh, shit, look who it is. Casually late.” Through the back doorway strolls Schwinn, donning a large cowboy hat and a t-shirt/jeans combo that is at least one size too small. “You look fucking ridiculous,” Maverick says. “Thanks, partner,” Schwinn says. He looks at all the clear glasses everyone’s holding, filled with colorful liquids and ice. “Shit, y’all are drinkin’ some girly drinks. Where’s the beer at?” “Fridge, just inside that door.” “Much obliged.” Schwinn disappears and reappears with a glass bottle in hand, and the party carries into the early morning hours. Couples start leaving together—or finding a room upstairs—as festivities wind down. Maverick eventually retires to his bedroom with two women, one in each arm. In the morning, the mansion slowly comes back to life as multiple pots of coffee are drunk and take-out breakfast is ordered. Though a few more players go home, most stick around to watch some football, enjoying the rare opportunity to watch games stress-free. Any leftover happiness from the weekend is eradicated Tuesday morning when players get their first verbal lashing of the season from Coach Harden. He scolds his players for getting caught up in the Super Bowl hype and playing below expectations. His weekly refrain alternates between “We’re not champions anymore” and “We’re 0-1, that’s what we are.” So, as the Knights prepare for the Ravens, behind every practice rep, every missed tackle, every incomplete pass, looms the fear of a loss dropping the team to 0-2. It’s amazing how quickly a football season can appear to reach a critical point, even for the defending champions. As players transition from scrimmages to positional drills, Harden finds a quiet spot on the edge of the field and sips iced coffee, watching his linebackers. He’s about to yell at Brock for sloppy technique when McKenzie approaches without saying anything. “Something wrong, Mac?” He still doesn’t say anything, instead eyeing the condensing plastic cup in Harden’s hand. “Fuck, Mac, it’s not spiked. Give me a break. Want to taste?” He extends the coffee. McKenzie grabs it, takes a few sips, swishes it around in his mouth, and hands it back. He walks away and says, “We’re looking good on offense, coach.” “Asshole,” Harden says under his breath. The game plan for Baltimore takes shape. Once again, Harden faces a receiving corps he is unafraid of, though Steve Smith is a legitimate deep threat. He’ll be doubled by Flash every play, no matter which side of the field he lines up on, a luxury afforded by the Ravens’ lack of weapons elsewhere. The offense prepares a familiar strategy too. McKenzie enjoys what every offensive play-caller wants: talent at every position. Based on last week, his receiving corps is his strength, and he’s fine with that for now. Considering Jameson’s 400-plus carries last season, the Knights will embrace opportunities to keep him fresh. Besides, McKenzie wants desperately to avoid the word he has come to hate: balance. Yes, he tries to be balanced as a play-caller, but he doesn’t want a vanilla offense that’s simply good all around; he needs one part of the offense to be great, to give opposing defenses headaches every week. Is that his passing game? It’s too soon to tell. Knights 17, Ravens 13, 13:29 to go in the fourth quarter. Farmers Field has been frantic since kickoff thanks to a close, high stakes, back-and-forth game. Joe Flacco lines up under center for third and three as linebackers inch toward the line of scrimmage. Randall times his jump perfectly and surges through the offensive front. Flacco backpedals and hurries a pass in the dirt as Randall drives him to the ground. Knights celebrate while Ravens clamor for intentional grounding. The punt team runs off the sideline, and McKenzie paces in front of his offensive players. “Alright, ladies! Enough bullshit. We should have thirty points on the board by now, so stop dicking around. And Mav? No more goddamn interceptions.” Maverick nods, trying to erase both interceptions from memory and take command of the offense. The Knights get rough field position, backed up on their own twelve. Jameson pounds away with two solid carries, bringing up third and one. Maverick sneaks it himself, getting the yard and the first down. A receiver screen to Watson nets five yards, then McKenzie opens things up. Maverick operates out of shotgun with audible freedom. In no hurry, he finds receiver after receiver, slowly racking up first downs and building momentum. The clock crosses the ten-minute mark as the Knights move efficiently down the field, the gravity of this drive increasing with every play. The less time on the clock when the Knights score, the better. If they can tick a few more minutes off and get a touchdown, that might be game over. Momentum stops when Maverick misses Wilkes and Watson on consecutive end zone shots, but Bishop makes a tremendous catch in traffic (a near interception, to McKenzie) to move the chains. Maverick drops back with a blitz coming. He rushes out of the pocket and fires to Johnson, who adjusts mid-route to haul in the pass, going down at the ten-yard line with 8:30 to go. Fans come to their feet, a game-clinching score within reach. Jameson gets a carry inside for three yards, then Wilkes runs through a screen to the three. On the doorstep, Maverick gets the call for a quick pass. He drops back, sees Wilkes covered, and gets leveled by a defender, hanging onto the ball but smacking the grass. Fourth down. McKenzie tears into his offensive line on the sideline as McCabe trots on and makes the chip shot, extending the Knights’ lead to 20-13 with 6:35 on the clock. “You know what to do, men,” Harden says to his defense. “Finish it.” After the touchback, defenders huddle on the field during a commercial. Brock walks up to Grantzinger and says, “A thousand dollars to whoever gets the first sack.” “Knock it off, Brock,” Randall says. “We’ve been here before, haven’t we? Besides, I doubt Zack’s—” “You’re on,” Grantzinger says. They shake on it, and both linebackers get in formation with Randall looking panicked. “Hey! Both of you,” Randall says, “if the play call says drop back in coverage, you drop the fuck back. Good?” Both outside linebackers nod casually, not easing Randall’s concern, and both teams set for the first play of the drive. Flacco hands off to Justin Forsett, who runs into a wall. Anthrax brings him down for no gain as the crowd cheers. Second and ten. Both Grantzinger and Brock are called to blitz as Flacco lines up in shotgun. Brock accelerates and struggles to get around his man. Grantzinger breaks through, but Flacco shovels it over the middle to Maxx Williams. Martin tackles him immediately for a two-yard gain. Third and eight. The stadium video screen prompts fans to get loud as “Welcome to the Jungle” blares on the loudspeakers. Harden calls a weak-side blitz with Grantzinger in coverage. Brock hurries to his position, staring down the left tackle. He times the rush as best he can and spins beautifully around the tackle. He lowers his shoulders and crushes Flacco, hitting the ground hard, but nobody cheers. Brock realizes the ball is gone, looks up, and sees Steve Smith haul in a deep pass, open by five yards, sprinting into the end zone. “What the fuck?” Harden yells, looking for targets on the sideline. He walks up to Ripka. “I called Flash over the top.” “He was over the top, coach,” Ripka says. “Then what happened?” Nobody provides answers as the long extra point adds some minor drama, but Justin Tucker knocks it through, and the game is tied, 20-20, with 5:18 to play in a very quiet Farmers Field. Harden finds Flash through the wave of players returning to the sideline and gets right next to him as everyone grabs some water. “Flash, covering over the top means you cover over the goddamn top.” “I did,” Flash says. “Obviously not, because Steve Smith just got out his walker and limped into the end zone.” “He’s fast. He beat me.” “He—What? Since when do you call other people fast? What the fuck is that?” Flash doesn’t respond. Nearby, the offense gathers around McKenzie, who says, loud enough so Harden can hear, “Well, I guess it’s on us, ladies.” Harden shoots McKenzie a look like he wants to kill him on the spot, and McKenzie loves it. The Knights offense soon retakes the field with plenty of time and three timeouts. McKenzie communicates with his guys upstairs; he needs to know exactly what Baltimore is doing, because this drive needs to be perfect. He calls some conservative passes, slants and curls, trying to bait the defense into showing its hand. They do. “Double on Wilkes again, coach,” says a voice in McKenzie’s ear. The Ravens have shifted double coverage between all three receivers throughout the game, but now they seem to be targeting Wilkes exclusively. New England did this too, adding extra coverage to Wilkes in the fourth quarter. Perhaps this is the new standard against Los Angeles; defenses aren’t going to allow the big play to Wilkes with the game on the line. So be it. McKenzie keeps Wilkes on Maverick’s left and calls Johnson’s number repeatedly. Lining up in single coverage against Ladarius Webb, Johnson puts on a route-running clinic. Maverick’s passes fly in on point, and the Knights eat up a lot of yards in a short time, crossing midfield with four minutes to go. After a few running plays, Johnson hears another play dialing his number and jogs into formation. Staring down Webb, he runs straight ahead, reaches full speed, then plants his foot in the grass and cuts back toward the middle of the field. A bullet pass hits him in the hands, and he runs ahead before defenders close in, going down for a sixteen-yard gain. Johnson gets up, Bishop extends his arm for a high-five, and he excitedly slaps it. This is his prime, and a perfect way to get this season rolling. Wanting to slow things down and milk the clock, McKenzie calls Jameson’s number from a four-receiver formation that spreads the defense out. Jameson surges into open field, runs through the first defender that tries to bring him down, and gets gang-tackled twelve yards later. The Ravens call their first timeout, stopping the clock at 2:38 and declaring this set of downs as their last stand. McCabe warms up for what should be an easy kick, and McKenzie happily runs the ball. White jerseys stack the box, and Jameson fights for every inch, gaining six yards in two plays. The Ravens call their final timeout with 2:26 to play. Jameson gets the ball again, this time bouncing outside and stiff-arming a linebacker for a first down. This brings the clock to the two-minute warning with the Knights on the fifteen. Another Jameson run ticks more clock, and McKenzie goes for the win. Maverick relays the call in the huddle, one he has practiced hundreds of times with Wilkes and Johnson this summer. As both teams line up, the secondary shades towards Wilkes, and Johnson sets his feet. Maverick takes the snap and winds up just as Johnson cuts back for a curl. Instead of firing a bullet, Maverick lofts one to the back of the end zone, where Johnson runs free, Webb completely faked out. He leaps to snag the pass, plants his toes inches within the white paint, and holds onto the ball. The nearest official raises his arms as the stadium goes nuts. Johnson is the star on the sideline as McCabe’s extra point goes through and the Knights celebrate a 27-20 lead with 1:15 to go. Talk dies down once again as voices of announcers fill the restaurant, everyone’s eyes glued to one of thirty TV screens. “So, fourth and ten, only eight seconds left, the Ravens still seventy yards from the end zone. Here’s Flacco, dropping back, trying to roll out, but he’s under pressure, throws over the middle, and it’s intercepted!” The whole place screams and drowns out the game. Fans still watching the game see Grantzinger claim the interception and the Knights storm the field with Farmers Field celebrating. With the game over, the restaurant relaxes into social hour. Many patrons will close out their tabs and head home for the day, while others will stick around for a few more drinks. Among those sticking around is a party of two, seated at a high top near the bar. One, scruffy and crazy-eyed, wears a black Jameson jersey; the other, with a long beard touching the table, wears a white Jefferspin-Wilkes jersey. “Back on track,” Cooper says. “Cheers to that,” Sampson says, raising his glass. “So now, back-to-back road games against shitty teams brings us to 3-1—” “Did the Bears lose today?” “Yup. 0-2. Then we got Denver, San Diego, bye week. So, let’s just say we split the divisional games, and we’re 4-2 heading into the bye. I can live with that.” “Definitely.” Sampson’s eyes wander, eventually focusing above the main entrance on the neon emblem illuminating the establishment’s name. “Knight’s End…” “Huh?” “How many other Knights-punned bars are there in L.A.?” “Uh, let’s see…there’s End of the Knight, over on 7th Street. A little gothic, that place is.” “A little?” “You got Knight and Day on Sunset Boulevard, and of course The Dark Knight in Hollywood.” “And that English place, Fortknight. Really cool vibe, but they double down on authenticity and serve beer at sort of a lukewarm temperature, which, I believe, is a gross miscalculation.” “Why the hell are we talking about this?” “It’s just, weird names, you know? I mean, think about it. We go to these places, not just bars, but places, and we go there again and again, and we never really think about the name.” “Are you smoking weed again, Cassie?” “Only on weekends.” “It’s Sunday.” Sampson’s eyes circle his surroundings and his mouth hangs open. Cooper sighs and flags down a waitress. “Another round, please.” 9 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
RazorStar 4,025 Posted August 19, 2016 Names are powerful things, young Cassie gets it. Also lol at Flash getting owned by the ancient one. 2 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Thanatos 2,847 Posted August 21, 2016 Absolutely fantastic. I forgot to comment on this because I actually read it like 5 minutes after you posted it since I was about to head into work. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
theMileHighGuy 656 Posted August 25, 2016 Knights making the shift from a defensive team to an offensive powerhouse Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Zack_of_Steel+ 3,014 Posted January 13, 2017 So neither got a sack, but Grantzinger sealed the game. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
seanbrock 1,684 Posted January 13, 2017 Coach Harden is probably the best written character with Phillips as a close second. You really feel like you know them. I think Rose was the best player character. I'll be interested to see who fills that place. 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites