SteVo+ 3,702 Posted September 2, 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 Sixty – The English Way From the late hours of Sunday night into Monday morning, sports radio phone lines fill with angry Knights fans, fuming over the team’s 2-3 start. Last week, the officials spared the Knights—Merle Harden, specifically—from much of the blame, but last night’s primetime debacle has made the team’s woes all too obvious. “You have a rookie and a second-year corner, and you’re lining them up one-on-one against guys like Alshon Jeffrey and Demaryius Thomas? I don’t get it. I just don’t get it.” “I know Merle Harden has this weird reputation about never playing zone coverage. You know something? Maybe he should start. Because man coverage is not working.” “Malik Rose was cut in March. It’s been seven months. You mean to tell me they couldn’t find a solution better than this in seven months? Did they even try?” “Why is it that every time we have a pivotal game like this, it’s always against the Chargers? Always!” “It’s embarrassing. It’s an embarrassment to the city, and to the league. We’re supposed to be Super Bowl champions!” Journalists jump onboard as well. Knights beat writers adopt a critical tone towards the team, and towards Merle Harden in particular, with Adam Javad leading the charge. Javad pens a scathing editorial on the front page of the L.A. Mobile’s web site. He condemns the Knights for overrating their inexperienced corners and continuing the same defensive scheme from last year, insisting changes must be made if the Knights are to make the playoffs. Going further, Javad deems this situation an indictment of the Knights managerial structure, saying, “If the Rose release was purely a Wayne Schneider decision, as many have speculated, then the business and football ends of the Knights organization are not in harmony, a far more dangerous proposition.” Driven by lack of sleep, Phillips gets to his office before any coaches arrive. Per Schneider’s command last night, he has to spend today sitting in on all coaches meetings, yet again. Before that happens, though, he wants to speak with Harden alone. By the time Harden is supposed to be there, Phillips calls his office three times with no answer. He hangs up, takes the elevator downstairs, and steps into the doorway to see Harden doodling with X’s and O’s on his white board. “I hope you’re drawing up something creative, because we need it,” Phillips says. “Excuse me?” Harden says, freezing his marker mid-arrow. “What’s going on, coach? We’re 2-3. We can’t just parade around like everything’s okay, because it’s not.” “We’ll be fine. I have to set up for our meeting.” Harden puts down the marker and heads out the door, but Phillips follows him down the hallway. “We’ll be fine? Are you telling me I shouldn’t expect any defensive changes going into this Sunday’s game? That’s not gonna fly, Merle.” Harden stops walking and faces Phillips, their noses inches apart. “And what the hell do you know about it? You don’t know the first thing about coaching a defense.” “I know talent. I know when schemes are working and when they’re not. I gave you a loaded roster, Merle. I’m the best GM in the league. You’re picking the wrong battle.” “Fuck you, Chance.” Harden storms off. Phillips hesitates; he didn’t mean for this conversation to get so heated, so he tries to fix it. “You think I’m the only one thinking this way?” he says. Harden halts just outside the meeting room. “I’m talking to you right now to help you.” “Help me? What the hell are you talking about?” Phillips steps closer and lowers his voice. “If you lose in London…if we fall to 2-4, I can’t save you.” “Save me from what?” “I don’t know.” Harden looks down, as if he has finally realized how serious this is, then— “You think I’m scared of Wayne Schneider? Fuck him. I hope he fires me.” “You don’t know how.” “What?” “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re not afraid to change things up; you’re scared of the fact that you don’t know how to fix it.” Harden looks as if he might lower his head and charge Phillips right then and there, but he just sighs, saying nothing. “You want to know why Daniel got fired?” Phillips says, desperate to extend the conversation. “He was in the same situation, team in a tailspin. And he got fired because he didn’t know how to stop the bleeding. But at least he tried.” Harden thinks about that, remembering the horrible details of that fateful season. Then he disappears into the room, and Phillips feels his blood boil again. That “I hope he fires me” comment rubs him the wrong way. Harden is about to find out exactly what he’s dealing with. Phillips calmly tags along to coaches meetings, as planned, eventually sending Schneider a text: “Not impressed w/ Harden. No sense of urgency, no panic.” Schneider’s response comes almost instantly: “Both of you in my office. 5pm.” All the while, the Knights have a unique week to prepare for logistically, with Sunday’s game seven time zones away. The team will fly to London tomorrow and then start an adjusted practice week Wednesday. A few minutes after five, the game plan is finalized, and the playbook is being printed and assembled into binders for all fifty-three players. Harden shows up to Schneider’s office and finds Phillips already there, seated across from the owner’s desk. He takes the seat next to him. Phillips tries to channel his anger from earlier, eager to watch Harden be put in his place. But as soon as he sees Schneider’s face, he regrets it. “Merle,” Schneider says, rising from his chair. “Our 2-3 record is totally unacceptable. As lead coach over defense, the defensive breakdowns we have suffered the last few weeks are inexcusable, and they fall directly at your feet.” Phillips blocks the rest out, shooting a few quick glances Harden’s way. He looks stoic, of course, but bothered. This isn’t right. Dealing with Schneider is Phillips’ responsibility, not Harden’s. “Get comfortable, assholes,” Harden tells his players as they board the team airplane, which lifts off from Los Angeles International at 7:45am local time. The ten-hour flight will land at Heathrow Airport around 1am—the next day. This was not management’s preferred arrangement, but it’s Coach Harden’s call. The players get Tuesday off, a normal practice day; in exchange, no bitching will be tolerated at practice Wednesday morning. Most players settle in, assuming the mentality of a standard East coast trip. For this flight, though, players have been given the playbook for Sunday’s game. Most take some time to study it, and positional groups inevitably gather to review certain plays. Linebackers spend hours discussing the complex blitzes Coach Harden has dialed up this week. Receivers huddle up also, excited about the pass-heavy attack Coach McKenzie has prepared. Things are quiet when the flight hits the five-hour mark, longer than any team flight in Knights history. The plane flies above the North Atlantic, between Canada and Greenland, prompting Wilkes to look out a window, seeing nothing but hazy blue. Sitting nearby, Penner appears neither interested nor concerned. “Big oceans freak me out, man,” Wilkes says. “Like, if we go down, there’s just water everywhere. I don’t like it.” “And I don’t like pussies,” Penner says. “Get the fuck away from me.” Another hour passes, and a few players try to get some sleep. Bishop is close to nodding off when he feels a tap on his shoulder. “Hey, can I talk to you a sec?” It’s Watson. Bishop nods as if to say, “Sure.” Watson looks around nervously and motions toward the back of the plane, indicating he’d like some solitude. “Yeah, no problem,” Bishop says, getting up. “What’s the matter?” Grodd asks from the row in front of them. “You smell bad,” Bishop says. The two sit down a few rows back, and Bishop prepares himself, thankful he at least knows what’s on Watson’s mind. “Drops, right?” Bishop says. “Huh?” “You had a couple drops last week. Don’t sweat it; we all have games like that. I had so many drops my freshman year at FSU they almost cut me.” “Oh. Yeah. Um, no, something else, actually.” So much for that. Bishop realizes he threw drops into the conversation unnecessarily, making Watson feel worse. Nice going, Logan. “I mean,” Watson says, “it has to do with the drops. Sort of. I…” Bishop waits. “I have a stuttering problem. I stutter.” “You do?” Bishop says, genuinely surprised. “I never noticed.” “It was bad when I was a kid. I guess no one in my family knew how to fix it, so they always just said, ‘Talk slow!’ So I do. But man, when I get in front of those cameras, I get so nervous. My brain tells me to say two things at once.” Bishop doesn’t rush a response, only thinking, Why is it always me in this situation? He’s glad teammates feel they can come to him with problems like this, but that doesn’t ease the burden he faces when dealing with them. “Alright,” Bishop eventually says, “we just have to coach you up a little, make you feel comfortable in front of the camera so you don’t stress out about it.” “By who?” “Someone who’s an ace with the media. I have someone in mind.” The minutes drag as the plane coasts through the air. Trying to determine the time based on the plane’s location proves a frustrating exercise as the sky darkens. A few hours later, players and coaches feel their ears popping, finally indicating a descent. Players horde the windows for a view since none of them have ever been to London. Randall ends up with a row to himself, which lasts all of thirty seconds. “Got a second, partner?” Randall keeps staring out the window. “What’s up, Bobby?” “Wanted to talk to you about Flash,” Schwinn says, lowering his voice. “What about him?” Randall asks, still focusing on the now appearing landmass of Ireland. “Well, we’re roommates and all, and…things is gettin’ kinda awkward.” “What’s the matter, have a crush on him?” “No! He hates me. Every time I ask him a question, all friendly like, he shoots me this look like he’s gonna kill my ass. I’m scared to fall asleep!” “He’s just not very social this year. I guess he’s still pissed about the Rose thing.” “Nah, it ain’t that. I’m tellin’ ya, he hates me, that n—” Schwinn stops on a low, humming noise, then closes his mouth. Eyebrows raised, Randall says, “That what?” “That colored fellow.” “Colored fellow?” “Well, I used to say the other word, but folks always get offended and shit.” Randall buries his face in his hands, not at all wanting to see where this situation goes next. Mercifully, the flight eventually lands, a few minutes early, at 12:54am. Players get to their hotel rooms around 1:30, uneasy about practice in a few hours. A few young players contemplate pulling an all-nighter, and the veterans assure them that would be a terrible idea. After a week of sluggish practices and downtime filled with British culture shock, players dress in their road white jerseys in the Wembley Stadium locker room, eventually kneeling and standing before Coach Harden in silence, kickoff just minutes away. “We all know what happened when we played these fuckers last year,” Harden says. “It’s on all our minds, myself included. So let me say this now: I don’t want any dirty shit. If they want to rough things up, then we’ll play along, but we’re not gonna start anything. We have bigger things to worry about.” That last line hits hard for the players, very much aware of their 2-3 record and the implications of falling to 2-4. Minutes later, players run out of the tunnel to a wave of cheers and look around at the stadium. It doesn’t look terribly different from an American football stadium, though it is noticeably larger. Its 90,000-seat capacity tops all current NFL venues. Among the luxury suites looking over the field, Phillips and Schneider settle into the one assigned to them. Phillips gets his notepad ready, truly fearful of a loss today, but Schneider breaks his focus. “Chance, I want you to meet a few people.” Phillips gets up and shakes hands with two men whose names he quickly forgets. His attention peaks when Schneider adds, “These two would like to have an NFL franchise of their own.” “Quite right,” one of them says. “A wonderful game, and you can see the passion the English people have for it.” “No doubt,” Phillips says, putting on a fake smile. “Of course, there would be significant logistic hurdles to climb.” “Yes, we concede that,” the other says. “But we’ve been speaking with Roger and we think there are some rather creative solutions to them.” “Roger?” Phillips says. “Goodell?” “Yes,” Schneider says. “He’ll actually be joining us a few minutes after kickoff.” “Oh, excellent.” The Chargers take the field in their powder blues, home uniforms usually designated for San Diego. Randall crashes the line, sees Rivers wind up to throw, and hits him just after he releases it. The pass is completed, and Randall doesn’t help Rivers up. The next play, Grantzinger does the same thing, knocking Rivers to the grass and walking away. The Knights won’t be initiating anything dirty, as Coach said, but between whistles, they’re going to give the Chargers hell. The front seven, in particular, needs to show up today. With a shaky secondary behind them, they need to torment Rivers for sixty minutes. Harden’s play-calling showcases his trademark blitzing style, a different group of linebackers (and occasionally corners) blitzing from one play to the next. Brock gets in a good hit on Rivers half a second late, and officials call roughing the passer. Both sidelines stand on edge, ready for a fight, but neither team initiates one. Fans around the league are watching this game, wondering if tensions from the AFC Championship Game will spill over. So far, they haven’t. The Knights keep up the hits on Rivers and Jaxson, who finds little running room between the tackles, and the drive ends with a Nick Novak field goal. Maverick goes to work. He sits behind clean pockets, thanks in part to Bishop playing a bigger pass blocking role, and finds open receivers. Because Malik Rose is still suspended, San Diego’s only good corner is Jason Verrett, and Wilkes can handle him. Johnson eats Patrick Robinson alive, beating him on every route and racking up four receptions for 32 yards. Wilkes gets three receptions of his own for 29 yards. This gets the Knights in field goal range, where Watson catches a slant and sprints through defenders for twenty yards, getting the Knights to the eleven-yard line. Watson feels confidence returning to him as he flips the ball to the referee. Maverick calls the first and ten play and gets in shotgun. Bishop lines up in the slot, grass in front of him. He’s got an easy touchdown if Maverick slings it to him, but he hears an audible: line up next to the right tackle and block. Disappointed, Bishop jogs back toward Maverick and sizes up the front seven, which looks ready for a blitz. Maverick takes the snap. Johnson runs straight, looks up as if he’s waiting for a back-shoulder fade, then cuts toward the middle, extending his arm and getting in front of the cornerback. The pass hits him in stride, and he doesn’t drop it. The bipartisan crowd cheers for the game’s first touchdown as the Knights offense returns to the sideline, energized and confident. After positional coaches get a word in, Penner walks up to Maverick and says, quietly, “We got you today, boss. You just keep slingin’ it.” Harden’s defense continues the same strategy, with Rivers under pressure almost every dropback. The quarterback finds holes in the Knights secondary, however, and marches the Chargers down the field. Harden focuses on his starting corners and sees sloppy technique. Ripka confirms this multiple times, telling him, “No breakdowns or miscommunications, coach. Just bad coverage.” Though Flash prevents Keenan Allen from getting open downfield, Harden’s greatest fear, the Chargers mount an impressive drive one short pass at a time. Antonio Gates caps it with an end zone leap over Randall, and the Chargers take a 10-7 lead. Randall pats his jersey as he takes a spot on the bench. “That’s on me, guys. Can’t get beat there.” “Oh, fuck off, Briggs,” Harden says. “We all sucked on that drive. Let’s get it together.” Harden talks to his linebackers, dissecting the last drive, as Ripka does the same with the secondary. He crouches down in front of Stone, Schwinn, Flash, and Lucas, remembering once again that only Flash was a starter when he took this job less than a year ago. Joining a team with such a strong secondary (at the time) was undoubtedly a factor for him, but Ripka has been in the NFL long enough to know not to count on continuity. After Ripka points out a few obvious errors, he says, “Julian, Ken, you guys are both playing scared out there. Cut that out. Stop overthinking and just play, alright? Remember technique, remember footwork. Don’t get stiff, and don’t play scared. Alright?” The young corners nod. “We’re gonna throw in some corner blitzes before the end of the half, so listen up on play calls.” Ripka gets up and notices Harden has finished with the linebackers. “And Briggs, if I may? Gates loves routes like that where he cuts back and gets in front of you. So give him a good shove, up high, like this…” Ripka demonstrates, lifting his arms to his neck and extending them outward. “…and that’ll prevent him from getting behind you.” “Could give him an easy route to the flat, though,” Randall says. “Then you can tackle him for a three- or four-yard gain, which is much better than a touchdown.” Randall nods. Ripka walks away for a drink of water, surprised to see Harden follow him. “That’s good coaching, Chet,” Harden says. “Just trying to do my part, coach.” The score is the same when the Chargers get the ball back. Rivers connects on a few passes before Randall surges through on a blitz for a sack. The rest of the half, the Knights’ pass rush and improvement in the secondary combine to keep the Chargers offense in check. The Knights take over with five minutes on the clock, pinned deep in their own territory, and build some momentum with Jameson becoming a factor. After their second first down of the drive gets them some breathing room, McKenzie takes a shot. Watson lines up in the slot and, on the snap, jogs laterally, waiting for a screen pass. Maverick pump fakes, and Watson takes off, running deep. He runs past multiple Chargers and into open grass, knowing a pass is coming. He turns and sees the ball flying his way. Don’t drop it, don’t drop it. He slows down, adjusting to get under the pass, extends his arms, and corrals it against his chest. He realizes he’s only jogging and accelerates, barely avoiding a diving tackle. He sprints the rest of the way into the end zone, and Wembley Stadium rocks with noise. Watson’s smile shows through his facemask as he high-fives teammates and coaches on the sideline, giving an extra nod to Bishop in the process. The Knights carry their 14-10 lead into halftime, where coaches make few adjustments on either side of the ball. On the second half’s opening possessions, a trade of field goals brings the score to 17-13. Intensity sets in on both sidelines, each team knowing a 2-4 record waits on the other side of a loss. Whoever wins gets a very real chance to right the ship; whoever loses has a very long bye week ahead and a very long flight home. McKenzie reverts to aggressive play-calling, wanting to get the pass game back to its first quarter success. It works. Wilkes, Johnson, and Watson light up the stat sheet and Maverick makes it look easy. Across midfield, Bishop lines up to block yet again, but slides into the flat. Maverick dumps it to him, wide open. He turns upfield and breaks two tackles en route to a thirty-yard gain. Crowd noise increases as the Knights near the end zone. Maverick takes a snap and stares down Wilkes, who runs past the goal line with Verrett all over him. Maverick throws it up anyway. Verrett doesn’t turn around, and Wilkes times his jump perfectly, grabbing the pass and getting thrown down in the end zone, in bounds. The nearby official throws a flag for defensive pass interference, but it doesn’t matter. Wilkes celebrates wildly, spiking the ball and screaming, and McCabe’s extra point gives the Knights a 24-13 lead. After Wilkes settles down, receivers happily congregate on the bench. Johnson nudges Wilkes and Watson on their shoulders. “Hey, best receivers in the league?” McKenzie overhears that comment as he walks up with pictures, very little to critique from that drive. “Just might be,” he admits. “You all are certainly making my job easier. Let’s keep it up, ladies.” The Chargers take over with three minutes left in the third quarter and show a sense of urgency. Rivers operates a fast-huddle offense and releases the ball quickly, neutralizing the Knights’ blitzes. Harden decides to drop more guys in coverage. Still hurrying things, Rivers takes a quick snap and looks over the middle. He fires, and Martin deflects the pass, tipping the ball into the air. A bug-eyed Flash gets under the ball to intercept it—another white jersey comes out of nowhere and catches it. It’s Randall, running ahead while Flash stays where he is. After Randall is tackled, Flash waits for him on their way back to the sideline. Randall enjoys praise from teammates as he jogs toward the bench. Flash bumps him, which he interprets to be friendly. Then he sees Flash’s face. “What the fuck, man?” Flash screams. “That’s my pick! My pick!” Randall keeps jogging, hoping others notice what’s going on. “Relax, Flash, relax,” Randall says. “Nah, fuck off, man!” They reach the sideline, and a few coaches get between them. Players don’t have a clue what the hell Flash is upset about, but Ripka does. Flash finally gets forced into taking a seat, and Ripka walks up to him. Nearby, Harden watches. “Flash,” Ripka says. “That’s a Knights interception. You should be celebrating.” “Nah, man, that’s my interception.” “I know what’s going through your head, Flash. I promise I do.” Flash looks up, knowing that’s not true. He’s already trying to distance himself from this team, the team he’ll be leaving this offseason. The last thing he needs is people trying to get close. “But now’s not the time, not the place,” Ripka says. “You just keep playing football, because your teammates need you, and you need your teammates, whether you think so or not.” “Whatever, man,” Flash says, defiant but cooled down. Ripka counts that as a victory. The Knights take over on a short field, though Maverick milks the play clock enough to run out the third quarter. McKenzie digs deep into the playbook, looking for a final strike. The Knights line up in a trips formation with Wilkes, Johnson, and Watson all bunched to Maverick’s left. The Chargers defense panics, hurrying players to their proper place as Maverick takes the snap and drops back. From the trio of receivers, Johnson emerges open, streaking to the end zone. Maverick steps up to throw, but pass rush impacts his footwork, and the ball wobbles through the air. Johnson adjusts, jumps at the goal line, catches the ball with his fingertips, and plants his toes in bounds for a highlight reel catch. As the celebration fades, relaxation sets in on the Knights sideline. A commanding 31-13 lead lets players think about the plane ride home and bye week plans. Though he doesn’t know how to relax during a game, Harden watches confidently as his defense shuts the Chargers down. He looks across the field again at Caden Daniel, who looks more disappointed than panicked, apparently admitting defeat, just what Harden wants. He’s been ignoring Daniel’s calls and waiting for this game for months, and everything has set up better than he could have dreamed. The Chargers soon punt, and the Knights take over with 12:35 on the clock. Harden walks up to McKenzie. “Mac.” “Yeah, Merle?” “Keep it going. Full throttle.” McKenzie looks confused, but says, “You got it.” He disagrees, preferring to run the clock, and finds a happy medium: continue an aggressive, pass happy attack, but let the play clock run low on every play. Maverick eagerly fires away, still hitting open receivers left and right. The Knights are across midfield when Harden catches Daniel shooting him an ugly glare. Harden smiles smugly. This is what you get, asshole. Between plays, Ripka walks up to Harden and says, “All due respect, coach, but what are you doing?” “Extracting vengeance,” Harden says. The Knights put together a clinic on passing-game precision, and the London crowd loves it. One impressive catch after another, the Knights glide down the field. Maverick hits Bishop over the middle for a touchdown, and it’s 38-13, Knights. Another futile Chargers drive gives the Knights the ball back with 6:32 on the clock. “Call off the dogs?” McKenzie asks Harden. Harden shakes his head. McKenzie decides to mix in some safer plays this time, simply wanting to avoid a turnover at this point. The first call is a screen to Johnson, who lines up left, then motions right, next to Wilkes. Maverick takes the snap as Johnson steps forward. He leaps for the off-target pass, snags it, and falls to the ground with defenders closing. He feels a sharp pain in his ankle as he rolls toward the Knights sideline. He lifts his head, seeing commotion around him. He finally raises his leg to see his ankle, practically bent backwards, a piece of his bone sticking out through his sock. An intense, pulsating pain shoots through his entire leg, unlike anything he’s ever felt. His head falls back onto the grass, and he sees Coach Harden’s face appear on top of him. He feels someone grab his hand. “Alex. Alex. Look at me.” He quivers, unable to speak, as trainers surround him. “Alex. Breathe. Breathe. We need you to breathe.” “Is…is…is it bad?” “Breathe, Alex.” He feels his heart pounding as the pain comes and goes. The trainers don’t ask him any questions, and he doesn’t try to move any part of his body. Johnson’s teammates stand nearby as the entire stadium goes dreadfully quiet. Half fight off the queasiness in their stomachs, having seen the injury, and the other half look up at the replay, wishing seconds later they hadn’t. Minutes pass, an eerie sense of mourning now hanging over what was an exciting game. Johnson is eventually lifted onto a cart, prompting applause from the crowd. Players from both teams make their way over for words of encouragement, though Johnson, a towel draped over his head, doesn’t give the thumbs up to anyone. He remembers the next hour in patches, sometimes feeling like he’s about to pass out from pain, sometimes feeling like he has no leg at all. Harden, sick to his stomach, has McKenzie back down, and the Knights run out the clock. A plethora of cameras converges at midfield where Harden and Daniel meet for a handshake, where they say nothing to each other but “Good game,” and separate. Chance and Melissa get out of the car and hear a barking dog from behind the front door. Chance still feels extremely nervous; he hasn’t confirmed this dinner with Merle since their fight last week. It’s very possible he and Melissa could be heading home within minutes. Before Chance can ring the doorbell, the door opens, and a Doberman runs out, sniffing Chance and Melissa like crazy. When Chance looks up, Merle stands before him, dressed in a t-shirt, khaki shorts, and bare feet. Chance, in his sport coat, realizes he has overdressed for the Harden household. “Come on in,” Merle says, in a more friendly voice than Chance has ever heard. “Aw, what a good dog,” Melissa says, petting Bowser as she follows the men through the foyer and towards the kitchen. “Melissa, meet my wife, Melinda…Hey, Mel and Mel. You don’t go by Mel, do you, Melissa?” “No, Melissa’s fine.” “Oh, good. Don’t need two Mel’s in the house.” “Got the game on?” Chance asks, referring to Monday Night Football. “Yeah, but it’s a blowout.” They make smalltalk, eventually moving to the dining room. As they sit at the table with dinner ready, Merle says, “Hey, wait a minute. You didn’t bring a bottle of wine?” Melissa looks nervously at Chance. Both of them are unsure what to say and feel they should choose their words carefully. “Oh, he’s just kidding,” Melinda says. “I’ll get one from the kitchen.” “I’m sorry,” Melissa says. “We weren’t sure what would be…It doesn’t bother you to be around alcohol?” “Not at all,” Merle says. “I think it helps, if anything.” Melinda pours three glasses of cabernet and everyone covers their plate with baked chicken, au gratin potatoes, and mixed greens. Conversation is casual and varied. Chance notices no residual disdain from Merle, though perhaps he’s hiding it. They talk about kids. Trisha is working tonight; Jack has been trusted to babysit Max and Kimmy. They talk about how each couple first met. Chance and Melissa went to Penn State together; Melinda was a school board member in Merle’s district when he coached at Devil’s Lake. After everyone has eaten, they talk about football, though neither Chance nor Merle wants to delve into it. At some point, the group splits. Melinda and Melissa stay in the dining room, drinking more wine, while Chance and Merle sit on the front porch with Bowser. “I saw a couple trophies in there,” Chance says, “looked like they were from high school. You were a linebacker, right?” “Yep. High school and college.” “Inside? Outside?” “Can’t remember what I was listed at, officially. I played all over. Blitzed, covered, stopped the run.” “Which explains your coaching preference for all-around linebackers.” “Mhmm.” Chance smiles and leans down to pet Bowser. “What about you, did you play?” Merle asks. “Just high school. I was a quarterback, actually.” “Chance Phillips the signal caller. I can see that. What style QB?” “The style that throws a lot of interceptions.” “That would explain why you drafted Maverick, then.” They both laugh hard, and Phillips decides now is the best moment. “I’m sorry I jumped on you last week. And I’m sorry I didn’t stop Wayne from doing it too.” “Oh, kiss my ass. We’re all under a lot of pressure. It’s fine.” “I just feel like there’s been something between us…ever since that thing in the offseason.” “Forget it. I just said it’s fine, and I meant it. This job can burn you out at times.” “Sure can.” Phillips reaches up and grazes his hair. “I’m getting some gray around my ears, I noticed recently.” “Shit, at least you have a full head of hair.” “I just want you to know how much I respect you.” “Don’t go sucking my dick now. I’ve never cheated on Melinda, I sure as hell ain’t about to do so with a guy. We got off to a rough start, I admit, but we won Sunday. That’s what’s important.” “Yes indeed. I just feel bad for Alex.” “We all do. What’s the latest?” “Swelling is going down, so he’ll have surgery in the next couple days. He’s still in London, you know. They can’t put him on a plane yet.” “That’s fucked up. He’s stuck with those Brits and a shattered leg all by himself?” “No, his family’s out there. Actually, Wayne financed them to fly and stay out there for the surgery and recovery.” “Outstanding. Wayne’s a great guy.” “When he wants to be,” Chance mutters. “Huh?” “Oh, just a story about Schneider.” “What about him?” Chance pauses. He didn’t mean to go down this avenue. There’s a lot about Schneider he has always planned on telling Merle, at some point… “It’s nothing,” Chance says. “Another time.” Alex leaves his brother and parents in the waiting room as the nurse wheels him towards surgery. Other nurses soon appear to lift him from the wheelchair to the table. He tries not to look at his ankle. The operation is scheduled to take two hours, doctors say, but Alex will be under anesthesia for the duration of it. Then begins a long road of recovery, though everyone tells him he’ll play football again. That has been the refrain the last few days. “Don’t worry, you’ll be back on that field again.” “Just do what the doctors tell you, and you’ll be suiting up in pads in no time.” Though he hasn’t said it, Alex gives no thought to returning to football. If he had to decide right now, he’d never play again. He has tried not to think about the game since Sunday, but only a very small part of his life has nothing to do with football. Maybe that’s a sign something needs to change. Alex stares at the ceiling as surgeons enter the room, masks covering their faces. He feels no anxiety as they set up tubes all around him, poking his arm. He hears clinks in the background from objects that will soon be fixing his broken leg. “How are you feeling, Alex?” a surgeon asks. “You ready?” “Let’s get this over with,” he says. “Right. I’m gonna have you count backwards from ten, okay?” “Ten, nine…” It becomes harder to speak. He concentrates on the numbers and feels his voice weaken into a whisper. “…Eight… seven 7 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
RazorStar 4,025 Posted September 2, 2016 I can't believe you killed Alex. You monster. You're heartless. (Always nice to beat the Chargers though) 2 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Bay 2,003 Posted September 2, 2016 Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way The time is gone, the song is over, thought I'd something more to say 4 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Thanatos 2,847 Posted September 2, 2016 Love it, SteVo. You nailed it beautifully. Though I'm a bit surprised no one is calling Harden out on Johnson's injury, given that he shouldn't have been in there at that point. 3 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Vin+ 3,121 Posted September 3, 2016 Old Man Logan giving advice and stuff. I like it. 2 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
theMileHighGuy 656 Posted September 4, 2016 "He lifts his head, seeing commotion around him. He finally raises his leg to see his ankle, practically bent backwards, a piece of his bone sticking out through his sock." "Best receivers in the league?" I knew it was coming man. Game of Thones'd him. 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
SteVo+ 3,702 Posted September 5, 2016 I can't believe you killed Alex. You monster. You're heartless. "Best receivers in the league?" I knew it was coming man. Game of Thones'd him. His fate was sealed when he signed that one-year deal. Should have taken the money, Alex. Also, something that Sarge pointed out to me...this chapter was outlined and written months ago. That I published it the same week of Teddy Bridgewater's knee injury is a sad coincidence. Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way The time is gone, the song is over, thought I'd something more to say Love it, SteVo. You nailed it beautifully. Though I'm a bit surprised no one is calling Harden out on Johnson's injury, given that he shouldn't have been in there at that point. Ever since you came up with Watson's bio, I've been eager to get the stuttering problem into the story. So I'm glad you like the way it's been developed so far. As for Harden running up the score, I think most Knights fans were enjoying the thrashing of the Chargers and would have praised Harden for it after the fact had Johnson not gotten hurt. That's not to say we won't see any later effects of it, though. --------- To all of you, thanks for still reading these. I know KoA isn't as popular as it once was, but it seems those who read really enjoy it. 4 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Cherry 1,302 Posted September 5, 2016 Flash better cut that attitude before Randall brings some justice Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Bangy 19 Posted September 6, 2016 1 mention 1..... Awesome episode man, loved inclusion of nfl London team talk as well. Chet teaching the old man how to do stuff also was cool. 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
SteVo+ 3,702 Posted September 6, 2016 1 mention 1..... Awesome episode man, loved inclusion of nfl London team talk as well. Chet teaching the old man how to do stuff also was cool. I know, right? Playing the Chargers in London...this should have been the Jerome Jaxson show. Almost seems like the difference between expectation and reality is a major motif of Part V. But you didn't hear that from me. 2 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Sarge+ 3,436 Posted September 7, 2016 (edited) Glad you still enjoy writing this, Steven. I think I speak for quite a few people when I say we still enjoy reading it. Edited September 7, 2016 by Sarge 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Zack_of_Steel+ 3,014 Posted January 15, 2017 Phillips is definitely Heisenberg-y. So sad for Alex. 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
seanbrock 1,684 Posted January 15, 2017 If Briggs doesn't end up fucking Flash up I feel like Penner is the type of guy tthat would not tolerate that kind of attitude on his team. Zack's character is another one I could see checking him. Gonna be interesting to see that whole scenario play out and Harden's reaction to it. Would he bench one of his teams most talented players? If he would have gotten in Brock's face after a picked he would have got knocked the fuck out. 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Barracuda 629 Posted January 17, 2017 These coaches man. I'm surprised there hasn't been a full mutiny. Mackenzie with his "ladies, this. Ladies that." Fuck off dude. I'm a pro football player, not a pre pubescent. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Zack_of_Steel+ 3,014 Posted January 19, 2017 (edited) I can definitely see Chance ousting Harden like a Heisenberg/Mike situation and Chet becoming HC. That or it goes the other way and Schneider pulls the rug out from under Phillips and Stein steps in? Edited January 19, 2017 by Zack_of_Steel Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
seanbrock 1,684 Posted January 21, 2017 Nah, either the young CB's step up or Harden gives in and starts playing zone and the Knights make a run. Most good stories haves and downs but end in triumph and/or redemption. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites