SteVo+ 3,702 Posted March 24, 2017 | | | | Knights of Andreas Part VI Chapter Seventy-Three – It Tolls for Thee The nurse paces down the hallway, catching a glimpse of a nearby clock. Only two more hours until her third consecutive twelve-plus-hour ER shift ends, and she finally gets some rest. One of her colleagues comes running around the corner, looking more exasperated than usual. “Have you seen the waiting area?” “What do you mean?” The two take off around the same corner, patients and doctors whizzing by. They hear more chatter than usual coming from the waiting area and eventually see what must be fifty men crowded around, all talking nervously amongst themselves. As they get closer, an aroma of sweat hits them. This is less bothersome to experienced nurses, but it doesn’t make the presence of an overcrowded waiting area any easier to handle. “Excuse me,” the nurse yells. “Excuse me! You all need to leave!” A few players notice the nurse, but conversation continues. “Excuse me!” she yells again, louder this time. “Can I have your attention, please?!” That gets them quieted down, though everyone seems to whisper between themselves. Maverick and Randall emerge from the crowd as the nurse presses on. “This is too many people for the waiting area. Some of you will need to leave.” “We’re not leaving,” Maverick says. “It’s against fire code, sir.” “All due respect, ma’am,” Randall says, “but our head coach is in one of those rooms right now in God knows what condition. He could be dead for all we know. Do you think we give a fuck about some fire code right now?” Before the nurse can respond, a slight commotion stirs on the far side of the crowd. The players clear a path for Trisha and Melinda, both in tears, and they approach the nurses. Maverick and Randall back off as the Hardens identify themselves and are taken somewhere down the hall. The players wait. They adhere to the nurses’ request, somewhat, setting up shifts to get food or drinks so too many players aren’t in the waiting room at the same time. Among those coming and going is Bishop, splitting his time between here and the nursery ward on the other end of the hospital. Fittingly, he ends up sitting next to Luck, who notices him and, after a moment, remembers. “Shit, Logan, I totally forgot. How did…” “Fine,” Bishop says, smiling. “A healthy baby boy.” Luck smiles, grateful for some relief. “Congratulations, man.” Eventually, the rest of the coaching staff arrives, followed quickly by Schneider, Phillips, and Stein. By now, word has gotten to the players that Coach Harden is alive. They know nothing more. An hour goes by, and things are relatively calm. McKenzie is in a deep trance when a thought occurs to him. “Hey, hold on,” he says to no one in particular. “How are we gonna keep the damn press out of here?” “Not to worry, coach,” Martin says, grinning. “We have that handled.” Down the hallway, an eager press member strolls into the emergency room with his phone in hand, ready to Tweet the news as soon as he gets the scoop. He has two doctors in this hospital who owe him a favor, so there’s no way he’s leaving without information. He turns a corner, and two gigantic men he identifies as Chase Grodd and Brian Penner occupy the hallway. “Hey, guys! Any news for the Times about Merle?” “Nope,” Penner says. “Not a thing,” Grodd says. “Oh. Okay. Well then…” He takes a step to walk past them, and the linemen slide in front of him. He backs up so he doesn’t touch them. “Sorry guys, I’m just gonna…” “Go home,” Grodd says. “Nothing to see here,” Penner says. The six-foot-three men with six hundred pounds between them inch closer with malice on their face, a cruel expression they usually save for the trenches, and the reporter scurries away, cowering out the door. Among the waiting area crowd, a few notice Melinda and Trisha emerge from beyond the hallway and try to read their faces for information. They have both been crying, but they seem calm. Is that good or bad news? No one gets up to bombard either one for information, including Maverick. Phillips looks over, surprised to see Melinda motioning toward him. He looks back toward the gathering of players and coaches before stepping about ten yards away, out of their earshot. “Merle told me that you know,” Melinda says. “About his cancer.” “That’s right,” Phillips says. “Ron, too.” “I know. So, you should probably hear what the doctor has to say. He’ll be out in a minute.” Phillips thinks, looking back to the crowd. He gets Schneider’s attention. “If it’s alright with you…” Melinda nods. Phillips waves Schneider over, and McKenzie follows. Schneider has Stein stay back with the players. Before Phillips can say anything, a doctor approaches, and everyone listens intently. “We got him stable,” the doctor says. “He’s resting now.” “So he’s okay?” Phillips asks. “He will be, but he’ll need to rest for at least a few days. And we’ll need to monitor his cancer very closely over the next few weeks.” “His what?” Schneider says, eyes bulging out of their sockets. “I’ll explain later,” Phillips says. “So, the collapse?” Melinda asks. “His throat got inflamed, constricted his breathing. It got rough when we brought him in because he got some blood in his lungs.” “Oh my God,” Melinda says, covering her face in horror. Trisha puts her arm around her. “I’d like him to sleep a few more hours, then you can go in and see him. But please, keep it short. He really needs to rest.” “Okay, thank you, doctor,” Phillips says. He turns to Melinda and Trisha, both fighting back tears. “Why don’t you two go in and see him?” They nod and take off, leaving Phillips and McKenzie with Schneider, who looks stunned. “Okay, Wayne, let’s talk.” Over the next few hours, word spreads to all the players, all the coaches, the entire organization, and inevitably to the press. Into the late hours of Sunday night, it becomes breaking news across the sports world: Merle Harden has stage 3 throat cancer. Details of his cancer, of the initial diagnosis and subsequent treatment, will leak out over a period of days and weeks. For now, Knights players mull around Good Samaritan Hospital, unable to think of today’s win or their 11-0 record, forced instead to cope with a shocking revelation. Among the hushed, somber conversations is one between Maverick and Trisha. After ensuring from Trisha that Harden is okay, Maverick asks, “You knew about the cancer, right?” “Yes. He didn’t want anyone else to know.” Maverick looks away. He knows he’s supposed to play the annoyed boyfriend here, wondering why Trisha couldn’t be open with him. But breaking a vow to Merle Harden is something he would find near impossible, and he’s not blood related to the man. Merle swats his thumb at various buttons on the remote, flipping through channels angrily. It’s bad enough they moved him to a new room with a shittier view, but he can’t even find ESPN on this TV. “Fucking thing,” he mumbles just as he locates ESPN, relieved for a fleeting moment before seeing the headline at the bottom of the screen: MERLE HARDEN STABLE, UNDER OBSERVATION. “Of course. Goddamn shitbags.” He turns off the TV and throws the remote aside, hearing it smash wherever it lands. Unfortunately for Merle, this immense press attention isn’t going anywhere, and it reaches beyond sports. An active NFL head coach with cancer is a big story. Naturally, Merle rebuffs any and all journalistic outreaches. His rallying cry has become, “No quotes, and no fucking interviews of any kind.” He hears the door open, praying it’s not someone associated with the hospital. Mercifully, it’s Melinda. “Get me out of here,” he pleads. “As soon as they say you should,” Melinda says. Merle grunts. He knows he shouldn’t argue, but the situation is dire. “Dammit Mel, I don’t want to go back to work. Just let me set up camp on the couch and relax. They won’t even let Bowser in here, for fuck’s sake.” “Merle, that’s enough.” Boasting a stern, unwavering face, Melinda leaves the room, and Merle is alone again. He should have known better. Over the next few hours, Melinda and Trisha come and go, with Merle refusing to see anyone associated with the Knights, players or otherwise. He eventually relays to the team through Melinda that McKenzie should act as head coach until he says differently, a directive the organization had already begun operating under anyway. Finally, he gets taken to the cancer ward for some evaluation by Dr. Kern, who arrives in his room hours later. Thankfully, Melinda and Trisha are five floors away, getting some food. “If you’d like,” Kern says, “I can come back later, when—” “Nah, best if I hear it first. Shoot.” Kern looks down at a piece of paper attached to a clipboard, then back up at the bedridden coach. “Well, you know I’ve been asking for a more persistent schedule of—” “God damn it, doc, how long have we been having these conversations? Get to it.” “Very well. Unfortunately, we’re on the verge of stage 4 here. Without intense chemotherapy, the cancer will soon spread to your lymph nodes, esophagus, and beyond the throat area entirely.” “Okay,” Harden says without a trace of emotion. “I understand you’ll want to think it over—” “That’s right. Get out of here.” “Merle, I—” “You got other patients. Go.” Kern nods, pursing his lips, and leaves. Merle lays in bed awhile, thinking. Melinda and Trisha rejoin him, and he picks the best time to bring it up. The next day, Merle is longing for home, told he won’t spend another night in the hospital bed. Somehow, this takes longer than expected, so he wastes away on the bed, counting the minutes. “Merle,” Melinda says, popping her head in for the ninetieth time. “You’ve got a visitor.” “No! I told you, I don’t want to see any players. And if it’s Trish and Mav again, you know the drill. Only let Trish in.” “No, it’s not anyone from…” “Mel, who the hell is it?” “Caden Daniel.” That freezes Merle. What the hell is Daniel doing here? Does he want to say something? Should Merle be the one to tell him something? “It’s your call, Merle. Do you want to see him?” “No.” Merle gets home, tired from a day of haggling with the team and his agent, and grabs a beer out of the fridge. His tenure as Panthers defensive coordinator has included plenty of stressful days, but today he has the distinction of being unemployed again. He seats himself outside on the back deck, looking out toward the Appalachians and drinking. He’s halfway through his second beer when Melinda comes out from behind him and massages his shoulders. “Well?” she asks. “The pricks don’t want me back,” Merle says. “They keep lowballing me.” “That doesn’t make sense.” Melinda follows football closely enough to know this is a strange decision, but she’s smart enough to think of a few reasons. “Eh, that’s why I didn’t get an extension last summer, I guess. My agent told me they see me as more of a positional coach than a leader. Assholes.” Melinda brushes Merle’s hair, wondering what all of this means. Their time in this house is almost certainly numbered, so where is their next destination? She leaves Merle alone for a while, and Trisha eventually comes home. “Don’t you have homework?” Merle asks. “It’d be nice if you graduated.” “Geography,” Trisha says. “I’ll do it before dinner. Just wanted to say hi.” She bends down and kisses her father on the cheek before disappearing. Merle pounds down the beers, thinking about where to go next. If the Panthers want nothing to do with him, he’s not counting on a long line of NFL interviews. Over the next few days, his suspicions are confirmed. After all head coach positions are filled, the coaching carousel moves to coordinators. Merle’s phone doesn’t ring. He gets plenty of calls from the college ranks, of course, but he feels his heart going in a different direction: returning to his high school roots. Melinda’s eyes light up when he mentions it at dinner one day, saying, “That sounds wonderful. Where, though? Back at Devil’s Lake?” “Doesn’t have to be,” Merle says. “Anywhere in the Dakotas, someplace quiet. Wyoming, Montana, I don’t care. What do you think, Trish?” “Quiet would be nice,” she says. A few days later, Merle has compiled some research on prospective high schools. He might have to sit out a year at this point, something he’s not necessarily against. Then, his agent calls. Merle expects yet another college pitch (probably Division II), but he’s wrong. The call sends him out back again, for another session of beer drinking and deep thought, looking out at the mountains that sprawl for miles. “Hey,” Melinda says, joining him, “Trish says you got an NFL interview?” “Yeah, the Raiders. Or, the Knights, I guess. I know Caden Daniel; he did great work at UConn. Good coach.” “You think you would fit?” “Don’t know. Maybe. Not a lot of talent out there. And it’s a little late in the market; they must have interviewed other guys for defensive coordinator.” Melinda takes a seat next to Merle with a bottle of wine as they explore a potential move to Los Angeles. Merle seems genuinely conflicted and far from certain, and after finishing yet another beer, he says, “Ah, fuck it. I’ll take the interview, see what happens.” Tuesday morning, players file into their usual seats in the MedComm Center auditorium and look up at the slightly odd sight of Coach McKenzie leading the start-of-week meeting. McKenzie opens with, “Let’s get the elephant out of the way,” briefing everyone on Coach Harden’s condition. He’s resting at home and feels fine (all things considered). McKenzie necessitates the need to focus on football. “This is a big week,” he says. The Knights are traveling to Arrowhead Stadium, a historically difficult venue for them, and the Chiefs, surprisingly, have emerged as the second best team in the AFC West. The Knights’ dominance this year, though, has bought them opportunity: a win this Sunday, and they clinch the division with four games to play. In Harden’s absence, Coach Ripka assumes the role of defensive coordinator, including play-calling responsibilities. In meetings with his players, Ripka conveys his desire to call plays “as Merle would call them.” Offensively, nothing changes. McKenzie reminds his players that their previous meeting with the Chiefs was marred by that godawful sickness. This time, with everyone fully healthy, he expects at least thirty points. The team puts a solid first day of practice in the books, making McKenzie the happiest guy in the building. This isn’t the first time he’s taken over for Harden, and it’s his third year with the team, so he’s comfortable in this role. But he’s been coaching long enough to know not to take anything for granted. He is enjoying a quiet moment in his office, queueing up some more tape on the Chiefs defense, when his entire offensive staff walks in, each with a more horrified look on their face than the next. “More bad news?” McKenzie says. “Let’s hear it.” “It’s Penner,” the O-line coach says. “What? He can’t be hurt. I was out there when we finished practice. I saw him in the locker room!” “It’s not him; it’s his father.” “What about him?” “He died. Heart attack.” “Fuck.” McKenzie puts his hands on his hips, shuffling the offensive game plan in his head. “Where is he now?” “Just left. Gonna fly to Minnesota with his family. He didn’t say when the funeral would be, or when he would be back.” McKenzie falls into his chair and gathers his thoughts. “Okay. We should assume the worst. Go get Fitzsimmons. If he left already, call him. Tell him he’s starting Sunday.” The coaches nod and head out the door. McKenzie gathers the tape, bracing himself for what will now become a long night of studying film and adjusting the game plan. He can’t catch a break. When he had to fill in for a week last year, he had to deal with Wilkes being an asshole. Now this. “No such thing as a quiet week around here,” he says to himself. The Penner family gathers in the dimly lit funeral parlor, paying their respects to Thomas Penner. Brian stays with his boys, knowing this is, in a way, harder on them than it is on him. He goes through the motions, thanking everyone for coming and such, but he’s annoyed that old words keep ringing in his head, words from that damn conversation he had with Ripka a few months ago. Brian’s father was an old man and lived a good life, but will people one day say the same about him? There’s no telling how much football has cost him, and he never saw much use in dwelling on it—but now, he can’t help himself. How much longer until his sons are in a parlor like this, with family members kneeling in front of his coffin? These are morbid, funeral-induced thoughts, but they’re still important. His oldest son is a little over a year away from playing football in pads, full tackling and all. He will surely think about this more over the next few months, but for now, Brian wonders, Maybe Chet was right. He looks forward to another conversation with him, this time with two glasses of beer. Practice goes on for the Knights, trying to forget about their coach’s sickness and a teammate’s absence, both easier to do with an undefeated record to defend. The week’s end arrives, and players and coaches line up in the parking lot, boarding the bus that will take them to the airport, Kansas City-bound for kickoff in twenty-four hours. Everything is proceeding in a typically boring fashion until another car rolls into the parking lot, and from it emerges Penner, multiple bags in tow. Everyone looks on as Penner drops his bags in front of the bus and finds Coach McKenzie. “Technically,” McKenzie says, “I’m supposed to punish you for going AWOL, even given the circumstances.” “My apologies, coach,” Penner says. “I want to play tomorrow.” “Only if you break the news to Fitz. Kinda feel for the kid; he was a badass in practice.” “Deal.” Penner gets on the bus, and the entire team rises, each offering their condolences and support, glad to have him back for tomorrow’s game. Awarded the ball first with a screaming Arrowhead crowd, the Knights come out firing. Maverick hits Watson and Johnson on quick strikes to move the chains. He drops back, taking more time and looking deeper for his targets. He hits Wilkes and Bishop, and the Knights cross midfield. McKenzie notices Maverick isn’t coming close to being touched in the pocket. The guys upstairs confirm solid O-line play, especially from Penner. An emotional Penner against a very capable nose tackle in Dontari Poe worried McKenzie, but it appears an emotional Penner is a good thing. Maverick sits back and picks the Chiefs defense apart, capping the drive with a fourteen-yard touchdown strike to Wilkes. On the two-point try, he fires for Harper on a slant, but the corner tips it away. After a quick debrief, a punt returns the offense to the field. Aware of Penner’s play this time, McKenzie dials up a heavy dose of Jameson. Penner dominates the trenches like he did in his prime and, together with Grodd and Dunn, paves gigantic holes for Jameson to surge through. The Knights carve up the Chiefs one large gain at a time, scoring when Maverick hits Watson on a wheel route. McKenzie makes the proper two-point call this time, feeding Jameson up the gut, and the Knights lead, 14-0. The Chiefs offense retakes the field with worry in the air. The Knights appear to be going for the kill, blitzing aggressively, but a well-timed screen pass to Spencer Ware nets twenty yards and some relief for the home team. On the visitors’ sideline, Ripka calls plays under the mandate: What would Harden do? This is the most natural option, he feels, and the one that will put the least amount of pressure on him. The Chiefs, though, find momentum. Despite blitzing, the Knights generate almost no pass rush, and Alex Smith finds open receivers all over the field. Ripka wonders what he’s doing wrong as Smith floats one deep for Jeremy Maclin, splitting both safeties for a thirty-yard touchdown. Ripka reviews footage from the previous drive on his tablet and finds himself in an uncomfortable position: the calls are fine; the players simply aren’t executing. He decides one drive isn’t enough to get fired up, instead falling back on his usual refrain. “Short memory, guys. Next drive. Short memory.” The Knights’ first punt of the day sends the defense back to the field, soon facing third and one. Ripka calls a standard, Harden-esque inside blitz from the 3-4, but he recognizes the Chiefs’ formation, one that they like to run sweeps out of. With enough time on the play clock, Ripka radios an audible to Randall, who calls it out to the defense. The Knights shift to a 4-3, players now ready to jump either side of the field. Smith takes the snap and tosses it right to Ware. The Knights converge on the strong side of the field as Ware flips it back to Tyreek Hill on a reverse. White jerseys switch direction, completely beat and racing to catch up, but Hill cuts upfield and outruns everyone, Flash included. Ripka doesn’t need a tablet to tell him what went wrong on that one. He grabs some water as the extra point ties the game, 14-14. Both teams trade punts, the game now well into the second quarter, and the Knights take over with poor field position. After a holding penalty brings up third and twenty, McKenzie calls a draw to Jameson, just trying for better field position. Behind great blocking, Jameson breaks three tackles and gets the first down with inches to spare. The Knights ride the momentum of that conversion to the end zone, going seventy yards in nine plays, capped by a Bishop touchdown. Jameson punches in another two-point conversion, and the Chiefs fail to score in the half’s final minutes. The Knights go into the locker room up 22-14. After a halftime of minor adjustments, the Knights defense fails to seize momentum, yielding one first down after another. Ripka struggles with play calls on multiple third downs, learning the hard way that once you second-guess a decision, even for a fraction of a second, you’re guaranteed to doubt whatever call you make next. The Chiefs go seventy-five yards in ten plays, with Travis Kelce finding the end zone. Content to kick the extra point for now, they make it a 22-21 game. On the sideline, Ripka doesn’t sense any sort of mutiny from the players, and he shouldn’t. They all like and respect him. He’s a smart guy and was a hell of a football player. But he’s no Merle Harden, plain and simple. McKenzie is eager to strike back, but Marcus Peters steps up coverage on Wilkes, forcing Maverick to look elsewhere, and untimely incompletions lead to a quick punt. Still lacking pass rush, the Knights don’t seem to have an answer for the Chiefs offense. Randall ups his energy level, trying to motivate someone to make a big play. Though they don’t get the game-changing turnover they want, they stuff the Chiefs on third and one to force a punt. The Knights go back to the run game, and Jameson pounds away, still getting great blocking. Maverick delivers two deadly play-action strikes, and the Knights reach the red zone in a blink, where Jameson finishes what he started, pummeling two red jerseys in a goal-line collision for a highlight reel score. Up 28-21, McKenzie decides not to risk the two-point try, and McCabe kicks a wobbly extra point through, giving the Knights an eight-point lead with 3:20 left in the third quarter. The Chiefs respond. Moving the ball again with a surprisingly efficient Alex Smith-led aerial attack, they work the short passing game into Knights territory. On the last play of the third quarter, Tyreek Hill takes a receiver screen into the red zone. Two plays later, Spencer Ware takes a toss and dives over the pylon for the touchdown. The Chiefs line up to go for two, trying to tie the game. Ripka’s instinct is to blitz, but he decides against it, fearful of a screen. Smith drops back behind a clean pocket, scans the field with nobody open, and dumps it off to Ware in the flat. White jerseys surround the running back, bringing him down two yards short, and the Knights have a two-point lead. McKenzie sticks with what has worked, pounding away with the inside running game. The Chiefs have finally clued into this, though, stacking the box. McKenzie changes gears and leans on Maverick, more than happy to air it out. Wilkes is still struggling to get open, but Harper and Johnson rack up a few catches, taking the Knights into field goal range. Facing third and six, Maverick drops back against a blitz. He can’t spot his quick read in the flat. He backpedals, looking deep, and bombs it. Wilkes has separation, but the pass sails out of bounds. The Knights settle for a forty-five-yard field goal attempt by McCabe, which bangs off the right post, no good. Knights 29, Chiefs 27, 11:31 to play. The Chiefs come out on offense and gain eighteen yards on their first play, so Ripka fears the worst. The defense tightens up, though, forcing consecutive incompletions and finally notching a sack when Randall breaks through on a blitz. The ensuing punt, however, is a beauty, bouncing out of bounds at the two-yard-line. “Alright, no secret here,” McKenzie says to his offense before they take the field. “Jam it down their throats and run this clock out. Let’s go.” Jameson lines up behind Maverick, standing in his own end zone with over ten minutes of clock to chew. He gets the ball twice, gaining eight yards. Maverick hurries the snap on third and two, sneaking it for a first down. 8:18, 8:17… Jameson gets it again, chewing up yards behind dominant run blocking. The Chiefs stack the box, but Jameson doesn’t go down easily. On third and one, the Knights line up in an I-form with Jameson at fullback and NesSmith at tailback. Maverick fakes a quick handoff to Jameson and tosses it out to NesSmith, who gets the first down easily, going down in bounds. 6:05, 6:04… Now on their own twenty-five, the Knights have enough breathing room for a good punt if they fail to get first downs. But they keep pounding away up the middle, getting at least four yards per play. “This is beautiful football,” McKenzie says to himself. Third and two. Jameson takes it inside, but the blocking isn’t there. He cuts outside into open grass, getting the first down as he runs toward the sideline. Stay in bounds, stay in bounds. He cuts back toward the middle, going down as his leg buckles slightly. He gets up, feels some stiffness in his knee, and hobbles to the sideline. Grateful to avoid an injury timeout and clock stoppage, McKenzie has NesSmith continue the clock-running strategy, confident his offensive line can get it done. They do. Another three runs up the middle get a first down, and the clock finally stops at the two-minute warning. Chiefs fans boo, angry and incredulous that they haven’t gotten the ball back yet. During the break, McKenzie consults the trainers examining Jameson’s knee. “Well?” he asks. “Don’t think it’s serious, coach,” one trainer says, “but there’s some swelling. Could be a sprain.” “Alright, rest up, Marcus,” McKenzie says. “We got this one.” NesSmith takes two carries up the middle for three yards each, followed by the Chiefs’ last two timeouts. Third and four, 1:47 on the clock. Maverick fakes a handoff to NesSmith, and the defense bites hard. Maverick spots an open Bishop running down the seam and hits him between the numbers. Bishop goes down without further contact, and the stadium begins to empty as the Knights’ celebration begins. A few more kneeldowns end the game, and the Knights march to the locker room, 2016 AFC West Champion hats and t-shirts waiting for them. After the MRI, trainers reapply the brace to Jameson’s right knee and have him wait in the exam room while doctors look at the scan. The swelling has gone down sooner than expected, a good sign. When he woke up and couldn’t bend his knee this morning, Jameson knew he hurt something. But he doubts it’s anything significant. MCL sprain, he keeps telling himself. MCL sprain, I’ll be fine for the playoffs. Coach McKenzie enters the room, no doctors in tow. Jameson tries to read his face as the coach stands in front of him. “It’s the ACL,” McKenzie says. “What about it?” “It’s torn.” Jameson’s head sinks down. He stares at the floor, unable to look at anything else. Tears fill his eyes, and he doesn’t bother fighting them. All the dreams he had tied into this season…going for 16-0 under the Farmers Field lights, chasing another Super Bowl… Gone. Just like that. Jameson looks up and realizes that McKenzie is crying too, a surprising sight. He has never showed any emotional vulnerability to any player before. Jameson isn’t sure what to make of it, and neither man knows what to say. Players take their auditorium seats for Coach McKenzie’s address. The opening slide on the projector screen is titled, “Chiefs Recap,” the typical opener, addressing the major strengths and weaknesses from the previous game. But McKenzie opens on a different note. “By now, you’ve all heard about Marcus, I’m sure.” Indeed they have, and they don’t want to dwell on it. Every player hopes McKenzie moves on quickly. “He’s in good hands with the medical staff, but let’s keep him in our thoughts and prayers. As far as this season goes, this team has survived worse injuries, and we all know it. Next man up.” McKenzie finds Maverick in the crowd and stares him down. He hopes the players understand how serious he is. If they won the division with a backup quarterback and first-year offensive coordinator, they can survive an injury to their starting running back. “Now, before we talk about Denver, let’s get something out of the way. No looking ahead this week.” Players who had been bowing their heads in sad reflection about Jameson now look up again, intrigued. This is a topic they wouldn’t mind McKenzie dwelling on. “I know we all can read the schedule, and we all know what’s in two weeks,” he says, referring to a Sunday Night Football game against the 12-0 Steelers. “But we’re not here to prepare for two weeks. We’re here for this Sunday, for the Broncos. And I swear to almighty Jesus, if I even think any of you assholes are looking ahead, this week will become unpleasant for all of us. Understood?” A few players mutter, “Yes, sir.” A few nod. Satisfied, McKenzie moves on. “Alright, let’s talk about Kansas City. We—” The auditorium doors open, a jarring sound to McKenzie, who knows that all players were on time and are accounted for. But it is not a player who walks down the aisle, commanding the entire auditorium’s attention as he takes a place at the head of the room, next to McKenzie. “Thanks for holding the fort, Mac,” Harden says. “I’ll take it from here.” 8 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Thanatos 2,847 Posted March 24, 2017 Chills. You keep outdoing yourself on this, man. 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
seanbrock 1,684 Posted March 25, 2017 I like that McKenzie is becoming more of a character. Can't wait to see Ripka and Harden have a moment. Was hoping Chet would get his time to shine this chapter but I'm sure you have something good in store for him. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
SteVo+ 3,702 Posted April 5, 2017 Hump Day Bump Day. We're back on schedule this Friday, and the final run begins. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites