Knights of Andreas 6.10: Kings of Andreas

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Knights of Andreas

Part VI

Chapter Seventy-Five – Kings of Andreas

 

 

 

Finally home from another shitty Monday at work, Cooper throws off his jacket and prepares for the shower he didn’t have time to take this morning. He turns on ESPN before undressing, but he doesn’t see what fades onto the television, missing the monumental news that broke an hour ago.

 

During the shower, Cooper contemplates what to watch tonight, faced with the usual dilemma. The Kings and Clippers suck, and he’s counting down to pitchers and catchers reporting for the Dodgers. He can only guess what the Raiders, in the wake of Al Davis’ death, are doing. That leaves the Lakers, a first-place team probably headed to the Finals again. And while Cooper doesn’t like the Lakers, they afford him an opportunity to watch high quality sports, something he rarely experiences.

 

Cooper gets out of the shower and hears the Raiders mentioned on the living room TV. Wearing only underwear, Cooper walks into the living room, and he nearly shits his pants at the news: the Oakland Raiders have been sold, and the new owner’s name is Wayne Schneider.

 

Cooper remembers that name, floated amidst the endless rumors that followed Davis’ death and the idea that the team might get sold to a third-party businessman. Cooper opens his laptop and does a quick Google search, learning Schneider was born and raised in Los Angeles. That fact alone piques Cooper’s interest.

 

The next few hours, Cooper, still in his underwear, posts up on his couch, glued to coverage through ESPN, NFL Network, and local channels. A press conference is scheduled for tomorrow, and speculation grows that this may be more than a formal introduction—that Schneider may be moving the team to his hometown. This thought alone keeps Cooper awake, researching, and dreaming well into the night.

 

The next day at work, Cooper takes his lunch break during the press conference and hears the fateful news: after this season, the Raiders are relocating to Los Angeles.

 

Cooper comes home to his apartment, and it’s as if he sees the Los Angeles Raiders posters and memorabilia for the first time. His love of football and the Raiders, born in the late 80s, has at last been rekindled.

 

Cooper spends the next few weeks and months glued to sports coverage, listening to talk radio to and from work, wondering what direction the new Raiders will take, who their coach and GM will be, where they’ll play their home games, and what they’ll be called.

 

 

 

Phillips reclines in his office chair, door closed, and reads through the words printed over three sheets of paper, paragraph by paragraph. The team is currently in film review for the Colts game this Sunday, and this close to January, offseason previews and scouting reports and free agent projections constantly cross Phillips’ desk. But what he reads right now has no official connection to the team. It is, however, the most important document he’ll read this year.

 

He reads and re-reads every word. Very nice work, Adam. He hesitates only slightly before rising and walking towards Schneider’s office. He has put plenty of thought into this, both aware of the point of no return he is approaching and confident in his decision to cross it.

 

He knocks on the open door. Schneider is sifting through paperwork and motions Phillips inside. He closes the door, a sign that makes Schneider stop and sit up in his chair.

 

“What’s on your mind, Chance?” Schneider asks, thinking this conversation could go many different directions.

 

“I have something for you,” Phillips says, holding up the three sheets of paper and stepping closer to Schneider’s desk.

 

Schneider can tell from his tone that the methodical, rational, general manager Chance Phillips is not in his office. It is instead the conniving, sly Chance Phillips, the one who leaked the London story to the world.

 

“Will this conversation end with me turning on that TV, seeing that you’ve sold another story to the press?”

 

“Leaking London was just an appetizer. This is the main course.”

 

Phillips gently places the papers on top of the desk. Schneider, eyebrows raised, picks them up and sees multiple paragraphs printed in basic font, no name attributed to it, though there is a bolded headline at the top, which Schneider reads aloud: “Lies, false promises, and broken dreams: inside the Schneider era of the Knights organization.”

 

“A little long for my taste,” Phillips says, easing into a chair and crossing his legs. “Take your time. It’s best if you read it all.”

 

Schneider does so, eyes moving through the words slowly, deducing very quickly what this is: a firsthand account of the last seven years, told by Phillips. His eyes proceed through the pages, reading details of Caden Daniel’s firing, of Malik Rose’s release, of the trade deadline drama in 2015, of everything. The writing seems to be that of a journalist, not Phillips himself.

 

“Who wrote this?” Schneider asks once he’s finished reading, though his eyes still study the pages in case there’s something he’s missed.

 

“A prominent sports journalist. Does it matter who, specifically?”

 

Schneider’s eyes break from the page and find Phillips, conveying, as best Schneider can, his disdain.

 

“This is betrayal, Chance. Complete and utter betrayal.”

 

“Wrong. It’s a threat of betrayal. Until it’s published. Then it’s for real.”

 

“You’re threatening me? With what?”

 

“I know there are owners meetings next week. I know the official vote is the week after that. You keep this team in Los Angeles, or—”

 

“Stop,” Schneider interrupts, finally understanding Phillips’ play—and seeing through it. “You realize, I hope, that this type of story only has value if it comes from a GM. This story from a recently-fired GM reads much differently.”

 

Phillips’ smile fades, a deliberate gesture, giving Schneider a moment to think he’s won. Phillips anticipated this and has his counter ready.

 

“Not if the firing is controversial. Has a GM ever been fired the same season he won Executive of the Year?”

 

Schneider sighs. He decides not to respond vocally, hoping Phillips understands this is his chance to state his demand. He does.

 

“You keep this team in Los Angeles, or this story destroys your reputation.”

 

“Are you strong-arming me?”

 

“You’re damn right I am.”

 

Schneider leans back, purses his lips, then contorts his face into a crooked smile. “Good for you, Chance. Good for you.”

 

Phillips stands up, not wanting a prolonged conversation now that everything is out in the open. As he approaches the door, Schneider says, “I need you to understand something, Chance.”

 

Phillips turns around slowly, one foot in the doorway.

 

“I’ve said this before. As the owner of this franchise, it is my responsibility to place it in a viable market. If things don’t go our way—and believe me, I’m doing everything I can—I will do that, be it in London or someplace else. You want to publish your story anyway? Go ahead. You’re a fool if you think that’s a career killer. But I promise you this—whatever piece of my reputation that story takes, it takes you with it.”

 

Phillips keeps calm. He figured Schneider wouldn’t take his willingness to leave football seriously.

 

“I understand,” he says, and walks out the door, back to his office to dissect Stein’s latest free agency summary.

 

 

 

Knights fans pack Farmers Field for the penultimate game of the year, one of great consequence, even by week 16 standards. A win takes the Knights to 15-0, clinches home-field throughout the playoffs, and puts them one game away from an undefeated regular season.

 

Any worry about a possible letdown following last week’s exhilarating victory in Pittsburgh evaporates throughout the first quarter. Maverick has his way with the Colts secondary, and the Knights lead two seventy-five-yard touchdown drives with both two-point conversions for an early 16-0 lead. The Knights defense dominates Indy’s offensive line, putting constant pressure on Andrew Luck and preventing their secondary from being beat.

 

The Knights add a touchdown in the second quarter, missing the two-point attempt, for a 22-0 lead at halftime. The opening possessions of the third quarter show no hope for the Colts, and even the most nervous Knights fans don’t fear a meltdown. Wilkes adds to the lead with his second touchdown of the day, his 23rd of the year, tying Randy Moss’ single-season record.

 

The fourth quarter ticks away with the Knights on top, 34-3, a blowout reminiscent of their Monday Night Football game against Houston. And while players and coaches on the home team’s sideline are confident and relaxed, their thoughts inevitably dwell on next week, when the Chargers will be in this building.

 

The proposition of resting players with the playoffs clinched is nothing new in the NFL, but the Knights’ record puts a unique spin on it. And players and fans alike don’t know what to expect. Nine years ago, Bill Belichick faced the same dilemma and played his starters en route to a 16-0 season. Will Merle Harden make the same choice?

 

 

 

Players take their seats in the auditorium for the last time this regular season. Unlike last year, their season will continue into January, and they will be two home wins away from their third Super Bowl appearance in four years. Additionally, the Knights have the honor of six Pro Bowlers on their roster (Maverick, Wilkes, Grodd, Penner, Grantzinger, Randall), tied with Atlanta for most in the league.

 

All of this should inspire confidence among the team, but they feel instead a tension in the air. Harden feels it too, and he plans on killing it immediately.

 

“Alright, let’s get this out of the way,” Harden says once everyone has settled in. “Before we talk about mistakes from two days ago or what we’re gonna do against San Diego, we have a decision to make.”

 

All the players sit up, at full attention. They’ve always admired Harden’s policy of addressing lingering or awkward questions head on, and this is no exception.

 

“We’re 15-0, got the AFC clinched. Nothing that happens this Sunday can help us. On paper, anyway. And there’s a whole lot that can hurt us. Now, I’m generally not much for democracy when it comes to these things, but I think you all have earned the right to make this decision for yourselves. So, what do you say, men?”

 

The auditorium is silent. Each player has already thought about this and knows where he stands, but nobody wants to be the first player into this conversation.

 

“Fuck it,” Penner says, happy to take the lead. “Let’s go for it.”

 

Most of the players nod their heads and murmur in agreement.

 

“Think of it this way,” Randall says. “How many teams actually get to experience this? Are we really gonna be one of those few, and then just bow out? We have to go for it.”

 

“We don’t have to,” Flash says. His contrarian opinion turns plenty of heads. “I don’t wanna get hurt in a game that doesn’t count.”

 

Players pipe up, louder now, to disagree. The auditorium gets rowdy. This is what Harden wanted to avoid, but he refrains from intervening, allowing the players to work it out themselves.

 

“Hold on, hold on!” Wilkes yells, able to settle everyone for a second. “Ease up on Flash, y’all. The goal is the Super Bowl, right? This Sunday don’t get us no closer to the Super Bowl. I’m not saying we shouldn’t play, I’m just saying I see where you’re coming from, Flash.”

 

Flash nods toward Wilkes, grateful for the temporary support.

 

“What about this?” Grantzinger says. “Let’s say we rest up, lose, then go all the way. Champions with an 18-1 record. Do we want to look back and say, ‘Why didn’t we go for 19-0?’”

 

Everyone reacts silently, considering that angle of the debate.

 

“Should we vote?” Maverick asks.

 

Harden steps in. “This ain’t the goddamn senate. No votes. Just look here and listen, everyone. If things go wrong, if anyone gets hurt, I don’t want to hear any bitching.”

 

He looks around, into everyone’s eyes, and sees what he was hoping for. They’re with him.

 

“Alright, that’s it, then. We’re going for it.”

 

 

 

A cold front pushes the temperature in Houston into the 40s, colder than usual, even for December. Inside Vallone’s Steakhouse, next to the Westin where NFL owners will meet over the next two days and thirty minutes from the site of Super Bowl XLI, sits Dean Spanos, Chargers president and representative at this week’s meetings.

 

At a booth by himself, Spanos munches on a chopped salad and broods over the next forty-eight hours. The consolation that all the drama will soon be over somehow provides little relief.

 

“Good afternoon, Dean,” says a voice. Spanos looks up, barely processing Wayne Schneider’s presence before the Knights owner occupies the opposite side of his booth. “Mind if I join you?”

 

“Jesus, Wayne,” Spanos says, “you could have told me you were stopping by.”

 

“I’ve been leaving voicemails in San Diego for weeks. But now it’s sort of the eleventh hour, isn’t it?”

 

“I would ask you to get to the point, but I’m sure you’re about to.”

 

“There will never be three teams in one city. Can we agree on that?”

 

Spanos shrugs as if to say, Of course.

 

“Then it’s you versus Kroenke. Chargers versus Rams. One is moving to L.A., and one is getting fucked. You’re a nice guy, Dean, and you’re well respected, but your odds of getting fucked are higher than fifty-fifty, and I think you know it.”

 

“Here just to criticize me?”

 

“Of course not. I’m here to offer a solution.”

 

Spanos looks skeptical, and fairly so. The league’s owners have been wheeling and dealing for Los Angeles over a year; Schneider needs to convince Spanos this isn’t the usual banter.

 

“To what, exactly?” Spanos asks.

 

“I want you to say in San Diego. I want the Chargers in San Diego. Permanently. I believe that’s best for everyone.”

 

“Great, Wayne, I don’t disagree. But where’s the money coming from? You’ve seen the proposals. We’re short between—”

 

“I’ll finance the fucking thing myself.”

 

Spanos’ face remains still except for a brief moment where his eyebrows raise very slightly, and Schneider notices.

 

“That’s a bluff,” Spanos says.

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

“How far are you willing to go?”

 

“As far as it takes to get this done without hurting your pride too badly. Because I enjoy working with you, Dean. I mean that.” He pauses to let that line sink in. “I need you in San Diego. Once you’re locked up, I can take on Kroenke one on one. But I can’t fight a war on multiple fronts here.”

 

“You’re asking me to give up on the Los Angeles fight and risk Kroenke going there anyway.”

 

“I’m giving you a financially feasible and prosperous way to stay in San Diego. Do you really care about anything else?”

 

Spanos puts down his fork and wipes his mouth with a napkin. No, he doesn’t. Schneider smiles. One down; now, onto Stan Kroenke.

 

 

 

The Chargers travel to Los Angeles Saturday, as they always do for their annual trip to Farmers Field, but once set up at a hotel near the stadium, head coach Caden Daniel leaves, a prior obligation scheduled. He drives a rental car away from downtown Los Angeles and toward a house he has visited before, though not in several years. He parks in the driveway, and there to greet him at the door is a raucous Doberman pinscher and a man who once called Daniel his boss.

 

“Good to see you, Caden,” Merle says, shaking his hand. “Glad you could make it.”

 

“Same to you,” Caden says. “Last time I was here, you didn’t have the vicious guard dog.”

 

“Vicious. Yeah, that’ll be the day. Mel! Caden’s here.”

 

Caden and Melinda share a warm greeting, and the three make smalltalk before dinner is served. Between bites of food, Caden and Merle find plenty to discuss. These two men have dined in a similar situation before, where one was the other’s subordinate. Tonight, they dine as friends who happen to be in the same business. They talk in a relaxed, free-flowing way, a conversation they could never have when they were on the same coaching staff.

 

Once dinner is over, Caden and Merle step out to the back yard, multiple acres of land around which Bowser enjoys running, chasing tennis balls that Merle throws. They finish one of their earlier conversations, and then finally turn to football.

 

“I know better than to think you care,” Caden says, “but for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing playing your starters.”

 

“That goes two ways, coach. You’re doing the right thing too.”

 

“I guess.” Caden chuckles. “After giving Cleveland their first win last week, I thought the guys would shut down. But they haven’t. Apparently an opportunity to crack 16-0 is enough to keep them going one more game.”

 

“I’m sure we’ll get your best shot.”

 

Caden doesn’t say anything. He enjoys no part of any mentioning of the Chargers or their record, but his frustration and regret has slowly evolved into acceptance. In a league where losing coaches generally don’t finish the third year of their contract, Caden is carrying a 5-10 record in year four.

 

“I’m not surprised to see you guys running the table,” Caden says after Merle throws another ball for Bowser. “I always knew we could build something in L.A. You got a special group of guys in that locker room, Merle.”

 

“You got a raw deal,” Merle says, remembering what Phillips told him about that firing. “They needed a fall guy and made it you.”

 

“It’s business,” Caden says. “If I didn’t want to get into it, I would have stayed at UConn.”

 

“You think you still might head back?”

 

“I don’t know,” Caden says honestly. “I won’t deny I was happier there, but, something’s keeping me in this league. I guess I don’t want my only Super Bowl ring to be won as a backup quarterback.”

 

“It’s not a bad deal. Hell, I’d consider going back to college or high school if…” His words trail off. Caden looks over. “…if I had more time.”

 

Caden doesn’t know what to say on that topic, so he sticks with his coaching prospects. “I imagine I’ll still get an interview or two for head coach, but who knows.”

 

“You and Mac would get along, I know it. If it’s kosher to take a step down, you’d fit in perfectly at coordinator, QB coach, whatever.”

 

“You’re talking as if you won’t be there next year.”

 

Merle doesn’t say anything. This time, Caden doesn’t look at him.

 

“That bad, huh? I’m sorry, Merle.”

 

“Not bad enough to keep me off the field the next month or so. And that’s all that’s gonna matter.”

 

 

 

A massive traffic jam shortens Cooper and Sampson’s tailgating time in the north parking lot, so the duo consequently walks toward the stadium much more sober than intended. As they make their way through droves of fans in black and purple (and a few powder blue), they feel the energy in the air. Everyone enters the stadium firmly aware of the gravity of this game. Neither Cooper nor Sampson has gone to a playoff game, but they imagine this must be what a playoff atmosphere feels like.

 

Neither man says a word as they ascend spiral walkways to the upper level, where they buy a couple beers and a pretzel and find their seats. The next thirty minutes seem to drag and fly at the same time. By kickoff, nearly every seat is filled, and the 70,000-plus fans watching pale in numeral comparison to the millions watching Sunday Night Football at home.

 

The Knights come out firing. Maverick drops back and hits receivers with quick strikes that keep the home crowd energized. After reaching midfield, Maverick takes a sack on third down. Reynolds tries a coffin corner that lands in the end zone, and the Chargers take over.

 

Showing more balance and less urgency, Philip Rivers leads a balanced drive, going down the field one small gain at a time. With each third-down conversion, the Farmers Field crowd loses enthusiasm. Jerome Jaxson catches a screen pass and darts upfield, juking between several of his old teammates into the end zone. Small patches of fans wearing blue jerseys celebrate while most of the stadium is silent.

 

Cooper: “We’re doomed. Might as well just quit now.”

 

Maverick picks up where he left off, taking three-stop drops and firing into tight coverage. Apparently, the Knights have no desire to run the ball today. They get a much-needed break when Watson catches a pass in traffic and his defender falls down. Watson surges into field goal range, and a few plays later, McCabe gets the Knights on the board.

 

Cooper: “Where the hell is Wilkes?”

 

Sampson: “Rose is all over him. He hasn’t been running deep, though.”

 

The Knights keep up the pass-happy attack, soon facing third and one. Maverick lines up under center as Chargers stack the box and creep toward the line of scrimmage. Maverick takes the snap, fakes a handoff to NesSmith, and fires for Wilkes on a post. Wilkes catches the pass as Rose falls on top of him, and the stadium cheers for a big first down—and Wilkes’ presence on the stat sheet. Two plays later, Maverick sells a play-action fake and rolls right, plenty of green grass around him.

 

Sampson: “He’s got him! He’s got him!”

 

Maverick sees Harper, open by a few yards downfield, and slings it. Harper catches the pass with defenders closing, but they can’t catch him before he reaches the end zone, and Farmers Field goes wild. The celebration has barely stopped when Maverick sneaks it into the end zone for the two-point conversion.

 

Cooper: “Fuck yeah, baby!”

 

Sampson: “Can only contain this offense for so long, man.”

 

Cooper: “We’re going 19-0. We have to. We’re not losing.”

 

The ensuing Chargers drive only lasts two plays before officials stop the game, and fans realize the first quarter has ended.

 

 

 

Chargers 14, Knights 11, 5:32 to go in the second quarter. The Chargers line up to punt as McKenzie preps his offense for their next drive. So far, the Knights’ passing game has been effective but limited. Still, McKenzie pumps up his quarterback and receivers as they take the field, ready for another pass-happy drive. Harden, who has been listening, walks up next to McKenzie.

 

“Gonna force it until it works, huh?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“They have a fearsome secondary, Mac.”

 

“We have Maverick.”

 

The Knights quarterback commands the huddle and leads the offense with poise. He desperately wants to win this game, but it’s far too early to be nervous. His confidence grows after hitting Bishop and Watson on consecutive plays for a first down.

 

Wilkes lines up against Rose yet again, running a post-in route. He gets a little separation, and the pass comes flying. He catches it and turns upfield, but Rose latches himself to Wilkes’ legs and brings him down. The fans celebrate, but that’s only Wilkes’ second catch of the day. He only needs one end zone catch to break Moss’ record, but it doesn’t seem likely.

 

Maverick is chasing history too, currently at 46 touchdown passes on the season. It would take an offensive explosion for him to hit 50, and there’s no way he touches Peyton Manning’s record of 55, but he wouldn’t care if he could. He wants to win.

 

The Knights move the ball with purpose, taking a lot of clock in the process. Maverick takes a sack that appears to doom the drive, but on third and fifteen, he throws a dime to Bishop on a wheel route, and the chains reset. Two short completions and two runs later, McCabe nails a forty-five-yard kick, tying the game.

 

The Knights defense retakes the field with 1:35 on the clock, a seemingly obvious situation to play conservative, but Merle Harden is calling the plays.

 

Rivers tries to connect downfield, barraged with pressure. After being hit twice on two incompletions, he finds Keenan Allen for a first down, taking an even harder hit from Grantzinger in the process.

 

Another completion gets the Chargers close to Hail Mary range, but Rivers can’t find anyone, and the first half ends with the score locked at 14-14.

 

The Knights locker room is tense, much tenser than it should be for a team that has home-field advantage secured. Few players expected an easy win over a division rival, but they all feel the determination they took into this game. They will not be remembered as the team who fell one game short of 16-0.

 

Chatter between lockers is minimal, and nobody quells the uneasiness in the air, simply resting and waiting to hear about the second half plan. Coaches are more relaxed, thankful to escape the first half without injuries. A few minutes later, though, Penner reports tightness in his lower back.

 

The home team’s sideline repopulates, with coaches and players shouting generic chants of “Let’s go” and “Let’s get a good start now.” The half begins as Jaxson catches the kickoff, reaches full speed through a wave of perfect blocks, spins past the kicker, and coasts into the end zone. A winded Jaxson throws the ball into the stands toward one particular Knights fan who, as if at a Dodgers game, throws it back.

 

The Knights sideline takes in the 21-14 score stoically. Maverick simply grabs his helmet and says, “Back to work.”

 

Maverick takes the field without Penner, who is still being evaluated but seems fine, lining up behind Fitzsimmons. After an off-tackle run to NesSmith goes nowhere, Maverick drops back, tracking Harper on a corner route. Pressure comes up the middle as Maverick stands in and throws, hit as he lets it go. The wobbly pass sails toward Harper but lands in the arms of a white jersey, and the Chargers offense takes the field.

 

Fans, players, and coaches consider the reality of the situation, now forced to wonder if this simply isn’t their time. Their MVP quarterback just threw his third interception of the season. Their 23-TD receiver has only caught two passes. Their opponent has a 5-10 record and is on the verge of a two-touchdown lead.

 

Randall, however, fills the field with screams, trying to motivate his teammates, who need a stop here. Jaxson takes a carry up the middle, running into Randall and Martin for a one-yard gain. Rivers drops back looking for the end zone, but Luck and Brock break through, forcing an incompletion. On third and nine, Rivers floats one deep, but Flash undercuts it, getting his hands on the ball before it bounces out of bounds.

 

Fans and teammates curse in frustration at Flash dropping an interception, but the Chargers settle for a Nick Novak field goal, taking a ten-point lead.

 

 

 

The change-of-possession commercial break lingers forever, seemingly, until the Knights line up from their own thirty. Chargers 24, Knights 17, 12:17 to go. Everyone in the stadium hangs on each play as if it will decide the Super Bowl.

 

Fans watch, excited and nervous, as Maverick leads another aggressive drive, throwing one dart after another, generally into tight coverage. Penner has re-entered the lineup, bolstering the pass protection, but Maverick does take a huge hit and stays down for a lingering, horrifying moment that makes everyone wearing black and purple want to pull the plug on the whole thing, rest every starter, and concede the game. But Maverick gets back up, and everything is fine.

 

The Knights enter the red zone. Wilkes runs a wheel route with Rose all over him, looks back, and sees Maverick flushing out of the pocket. Wilkes cuts back toward the middle of the field, beating Rose, and Maverick fires. He catches it at the one-yard-line, gets hit, and pushes as hard as he can for the extra yard, extending the ball before being thrown backward. The stadium celebrates a touchdown, but officials spot the ball about a foot short. First and goal.

 

The next play, Maverick tosses it wide to Banks, who runs for the pylon before cutting back between blocks, diving over the goal line. Touchdown.

 

McKenzie holds up two fingers and glances sideways at Harden. “Any veto, coach?”

 

“Hell no,” Harden says.

 

Maverick lines up under center, working a hard count unsuccessfully. He takes the snap and stares down a covered Wilkes before looking toward the middle and getting swallowed by a linebacker.

 

Chargers 24, Knights 23. 6:40 to go.

 

Cooper: “Why not just kick the extra point there? Now we’ve gotta score on these assholes again.”

 

Sampson: “Only a field goal wins it, though.”

 

Cooper: “Which McCabe will probably fucking miss.”

 

The Chargers take over, and Randall leads the vocal charge again.

 

“Let’s go, boys! We gotta finish this! Big stop here and the offense wins it, let’s go!”

 

With the lead and time on their side, the Chargers slow things down. Rivers deliberately milks the play clock between plays, and a few short throws get a first down.

 

5:21, 5:20, 5:19…

 

Jaxson takes a handoff up the middle, surging through an open hole until Schwinn comes out of nowhere and decks him. Jaxson gingerly walks to the sideline after the three-yard gain.

 

After another short run, Rivers finds Antonio Gates over the middle, but Randall is there to tackle him immediately, one yard shy of a first down. Fourth and one.

 

Caden Daniel and his offensive staff give their offense the signal: stay on the field.

 

Harden smiles. Good call, Caden. He calls his play and sees Jaxson re-enter the game. He and Randall both suspect run, so the Knights crowd the line against a three-wide formation. Everyone around the stadium stands and screams as the play clock winds down.

 

It looks like Rivers is about to call a timeout. Then he snaps the ball, hesitates as if to sneak it, and pitches it wide to Jaxson. Everyone bites up the middle except Grantzinger, who lines Jaxson up in the open field. Jaxson accelerates, building speed, and makes his move, faking left before cutting to the outside. Grantzinger is faked out, but he plants his right foot in the ground and dives for Jaxson’s ankles, tripping him up just enough. Jaxson stumbles, unable to regain his feet, and falls to the ground two yards short.

 

The Knights sideline goes ballistic. Every player rises from the bench in celebration. The trainers wave towels in the air. Even Harden lets himself get fired up.

 

“That’s how you fucking tackle, men!” he screams. “That’s how you fucking tackle!”

 

The energy around the stadium persists through the commercial break, and the crowd is still in a frenzy when Maverick lines up in shotgun, forty yards from the end zone.

 

McKenzie finally dials up the run game, spelling NesSmith and Banks, who find enough room to move the chains.

 

Just before the two-minute warning, Maverick drops back against a three-man rush, looking deep with no pressure. Everyone’s initial routes are covered, so Maverick waits for guys to come back to him. Wilkes does so, attracting more attention but pulling defenders from the end zone, where Harper runs over the middle, open by a step. Maverick sees him, plants his feet, and fires to the corner of the end zone. Harper runs on the edge of the purple grass as the corner narrows the gap, leaping for the ball and grabbing it, touching his toes down in bounds before hitting the ground. The nearest official makes sure he’s still got the ball and puts his hands in the air.

 

Cooper: “OHHHHH!”

 

Sampson: “What a throw! Holy shit!”

 

Maverick withholds a celebration, setting the formation for the two-point try. The Knights get set while the Chargers are scrambling, so he hurries the snap and hands off to NesSmith, who runs through the middle untouched.

 

Knights 31, Chargers 24, 2:00 to play.

 

Graphics on the stadium screen prompt fans to get loud, but they’re already on their feet, screaming with whatever’s left of their vocal chords. A touchback puts the Chargers on the twenty-five, and the Knights defense takes the field, history just a few plays away.

 

Harden sends outside blitzes, with Grantzinger and Brock collapsing the pocket around Rivers. Two hurried throws land incomplete, and it’s third and ten. Harden calls a weak-side blitz, dropping Randall and Grantzinger in coverage.

 

Rivers drops back. Looking deep, he feels pressure and rolls right. Brock dives for a sack, and Rivers flings one toward the sideline. Grantzinger turns around in time to tip it into the air, and Randall catches it in stride, running towards the end zone. Farmers Field sounds like an explosion as Randall jukes a few linemen and runs across the goal line. McCabe’s first extra point of the day is good, and it’s over.

 

Knights 38, Chargers 24.

 

Everything sinks in immediately. The Knights high-five and hug each other on the sideline, savoring every moment of their 16th win. The Chargers run a few more plays, managing a few completions before the clock runs out, and Farmers Field celebrates.

 

The post-game handshakes resemble nothing of a rivalry. Both teams are professional, and the Chargers are genuinely congratulatory of the Knights’ achievement. Daniel and Harden meet at midfield for a long handshake, promising another dinner sometime soon. Maverick meets Rivers and resists telling him off, instead thanking him for some great quarterback duels over the years. Both Rose and Jaxson enjoy friendly conversation with old teammates, some insisting they will get together this offseason.

 

In the stands, Cooper and Sampson stay in their seats, in no hurry to join the traffic-jam exodus. They talk with nearby fans who are sticking around, trying to figure out where this Knights team is best placed among the chronicles of NFL history.

 

Almost off the field, Maverick is waving to fans when he sees Wilkes, who looks dejected.

 

“What’s up with you?”

 

“Bummed I couldn’t get the record, man. One yard away.”

 

“I know. But hey, season’s not over. And we’re chasing bigger records now.”

 

Wilkes thinks about that for a second, and his eyes light up.

 

“Yeah. Yeah we are.”

 

Maverick and Wilkes bump fists and head to the locker room, where a wild celebration awaits them, a celebration the Knights have earned and will enjoy. This isn’t a team that needs to be reminded of what lies ahead. They just went 16-0, and they’re going to celebrate that for a few days, then they’ll get to work on finishing what they started.

 

 

 

The transition between the Oakland Raiders and the Los Angeles Knights has been a demanding one.

 

Daniel and Phillips are eager for some sleep at the conclusion of another fourteen-hour workday, but Schneider insists he’s got something to show them. He has his limo driver take them south through downtown, past Farmers Field, still under construction, and they get off the highway, seemingly into the middle of nowhere. After sequence of turns toward a security station, however, Daniel and Phillips realize where they are.

 

The limousine stops in front of the building, which, as far as anyone can tell, looks finished. They all get out and look. It’s difficult to admire it at night, but Schneider wanted them to see it as soon as possible.

 

“Bidding for sponsors and naming rights is ongoing,” Schneider says, “so for now, ‘Knights Headquarters’ will have to do.”

 

The trio walks through the glass doors and into the lobby. The building smells of new tile and paint. Every detail is meticulously crafted, per Schneider’s vision.

 

“Upon this rock…” Phillips says.

 

“Let’s all take a moment for ourselves, shall we?” Schneider offers. They agree.

 

Daniel paces through the hallway of offices, though he doesn’t walk into any of them, eventually winding up inside the locker room. It smells new and fresh, like the rest of the building, a luster that will soon give way to odors of sweat and blood. Each locker is identical, no names assigned. Daniel imagines how different they’ll look in a few short months, which lockers he’ll need to visit most frequently, what sort of speeches he will give.

 

Phillips spends a few minutes in the large room that will be his office, but he finds himself wandering the second-floor hallway, wondering whose names will be on which doors. He ends up in the war room, a massive, square-shaped conference room with a big table at the center. One of the walls is suspiciously plain, soon to be decorated with names of college prospects. This is where Phillips’ team will be built, he knows. In just a few months, he will sit at the head of this table, making phone calls to other teams and newly drafted Knights. This is where his legacy as a GM will either be born or killed.

 

Schneider finds his office immediately. He takes in almost none of the individual details, focusing on the fact that the door is engraved with letters declaring him the Team Owner. It took years of patience, a little good luck, and brilliant maneuvering, but he is the owner of an NFL team. He steps past his desk to the far side of the room, staring out the wall-to-wall glass windows toward the Los Angeles skyline. These windows were the first idea he had for this building, and he will gaze out them many times in the years to come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Sarge+ 3,436]

So many things happening in so little time. But you pulled it off! Way to go, Steven. The dinner with Daniel and Harden was awfully sad, but I knew you had to do it. I still can't wait to see the fallout from the Phillips-Javad stuff.

[SteVo+ 3,702]

Only one comment? You guys are all banned words.

 

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