SteVo+ 3,702 Posted April 21, 2017 (edited) | | | | Knights of Andreas Part VI Chapter Seventy-Six – City of Angels Inside league headquarters in New York City, twelve nearly identical letters are drafted, folded into envelopes, and sent out via overnight mail. One of these twelve is bound for the opposite end of the country, where it ends up on Wayne Schneider’s desk. Phillips pops his head in to inquire about a free agency report, hoping to spend less than ten seconds in the doorway, but Schneider focuses on the letter in his hands. “‘To Wayne Schneider and the Los Angeles Knights,’” Schneider reads, “‘Congratulations on qualifying for the 2016-17 playoff tournament.’ Third letter in four years, Chance. Not a bad streak.” “Not bad at all,” Phillips says. “But it’s not gonna mean anything if we don’t get that Lombardi Trophy.” “Wow. Hadn’t thought of it that way before.” Schneider looks down from the letter, unfazed by Phillips’ sarcasm. “It’s coming to a head this week.” “When?” “By Thursday, if I had to guess. It could drag into next week, but I think everyone will want a resolution before the games this weekend.” “I guess I’ll keep an eye on the headlines.” Phillips walks back into his office. He will enjoy the next few days without Schneider in the building, but he’s especially relieved this will finally be over, whatever ends up happening to the Knights—and to him. Dean Spanos wraps up his presentation to thirty-one other owners plus Commissioner Goodell, summarizing once again the details of his plan to move the Chargers to Carson, California. He restates the main arguments of why it would succeed, then emphasizes, somewhat delicately, why his plan is superior to that of Stan Kroenke, who wants to move the Rams to Inglewood. Spanos finishes, and the room thanks him with polite (not emphatic) applause. Wayne Schneider is directed to the podium. Unlike the previous two presenters, he does not carry any sort of graphic with him. He has no construction plans to detail, no new stadium to unveil. He has only been granted a formal presentation because his market is the topic of discussion. Schneider reads from papers in front of him, rarely looking down, directing his eyes at his audience. His mind subconsciously targets the owners he knows he needs to persuade, but he stares at all thirty-two of them, not looking between chairs or at the wall. The instant any one of them looks down at their phone for too long, he maintains eye contact until their look up, occasionally providing some awkward tension. After about five of these moments, they get the message, and no one checks the clock again. Word by word, Schneider makes an impassioned pitch against a second NFL franchise in Los Angeles. He talks about the fragility of the Knights’ success in a city he knows, about the glory of the league in danger of succumbing to greed. He knows these are stubborn, committed men, and most of them couldn’t give a damn what he says. But as long as he’s standing here, he’s going to give them their money’s worth. Schneider has organized this argument to avoid, as much as he can, repetition with similar pleas he has made over the last year. This time, though, he has a new angle to take: the 9/9 Pasadena earthquake. Schneider describes the city’s emotional response to the natural disaster that claimed over a thousand lives. He speaks about how the Knights have provided a damaged city with a source of hope. He delivers his words more eloquently now, intentionally getting a little emotional. After a dramatic pause, he says, “The fans of Los Angeles, they are behind us. Mark my words, gentlemen: another team in L.A. will never receive the level of support the Knights do. Never.” He pauses again to let that line hit home—as much as it can. The earthquake card is a tricky one for Schneider to play. Had an earthquake of similar magnitude struck San Diego, Qualcomm Stadium would have been damaged beyond quick repair. Renovating the stadium to earthquake standards would cost the city upwards of $300 million, a figure no one in San Diego has signed off on paying. Schneider wraps up, believing less is more, that rambling can only hurt his chances, and sits down. He tries to read the audience through their applause—no more loud or soft than Spanos’ response—but can’t pick up on anything. The meeting room clears, and cameras capture owners leaving, smiling and waving on their way out, revealing nothing. What little has been leaked to the media is sparse and inconclusive, so speculation runs rampant. But these men have been presenting, debating, and angling for over a year; by now, it’s clear who supports the Rams, who supports the Chargers, who supports the Knights, and who’s on the fence. Schneider will need everyone currently undecided into his corner, but first, he needs to get one of Kroenke’s most fervent allies. Vallone’s Steakhouse has turned into an unofficial hangout for the owners, a place to prepare and debrief, sometimes at the same time. Schneider strolls in, works his way to the back, and spots a booth with three owners, among them Cowboys owner Jerry Jones. Schneider walks up without a word, getting their attention. “Howdy, Wayne,” Jones says in his Arkansas accent. “May I have a moment?” Schneider asks. Jones rises, and they step away toward a relatively quiet spot in the restaurant, surrounded by empty tables and high-tops. “I’m out of time here, Jerry,” Schneider says. “This is my final card to play.” “Now, Wayne, you know where I stand. Besides, it’s a little late in the game for more options, isn’t it?” “I’ve been working on this for a while, with about five or six others. And with your help, I think we can get it through.” “I haven’t heard about any of that.” “That’s because you haven’t been listening.” Jones shifts uncomfortably, a landed punch for Schneider. “Then I’ll talk, and you listen,” Jones says. “This isn’t just about logistics and economics. Relocation is big, Wayne. There’s no way we can pass it off as a small story. So, whatever move we make, it’s gotta be big. It has to be aggressive.” “I know,” Schneider says. “I’m not going to tell you you’re wrong. I’m just saying I don’t know why we’re acting like it’s the only option that makes a splash.” Jones shifts back at the word ‘splash,’ apparently trying to calculate what Schneider means. Schneider has his attention; now comes the decisive moment. “The Carson project has big balls, I don’t deny it,” Schneider says. “But I can think of something bigger.” Jones raises his eyebrows. Schneider lays out the idea, the very basics of it, and Jones invites Schneider into the booth. The four owners talk and dine for a few hours, sharing a thousand-dollar bottle of wine before realizing they’ll need to be sober tonight. Phone calls are made. Proposals are exchanged. Casual conversations turn serious and linger well into the night. Schneider stays awake until the sun comes up, showers, changes suits, gets a cup of coffee, and keeps working. By the time the next meeting begins, a monumental shift has occurred. The owners take their usual seats, and the proceedings begin. Players have a well-established ritual when significant news hits the wire: text whatever channel is breaking the news to as many teammates as possible, as soon as possible. Maverick is digging through next week’s tentative playbook (to be finalized when the Knights’ opponent is decided) when he gets the text from Wilkes: “ESPN.” He flicks on the TV, keeping his head down, focusing on one particular play with Wilkes and Watson on dual crossing routes. He’s not sure the play would succeed against a good pass rush. He tries to think of an adjustment when urgently spoken words come from the TV: “…not sure when the owners took this new direction, but it is an obviously significant and surprising decision.” Maverick looks up and sees the headline. “Rams relocating to Las Vegas, new stadium in San Diego.” “Wow,” Maverick says. He listens to the coverage a few minutes, so shocked by the news he doesn’t realize the good news for him. When he does, he texts Wilkes back: “No London for us.” A few minutes later, Wilkes texts back: “Fuck yeah!” Javad is walking through downtown Los Angeles when the news breaks. He zips into the nearest building, appropriately a sports bar called Knight’s End, and grabs a spot at the bar. Though the place is as empty as most restaurants are at noon on a weekday, those there buzz about the story shown on most of the televisions in sight. Javad orders a beer, gets out his tablet, and types up an article. A story like this, coming from the very top of the NFL’s food chain, is out of his ring of sources. So he simply summarizes what the national reporters are saying. The St. Louis Rams will officially become the Las Vegas Rams when the league year starts in March. Construction on a new stadium in Vegas will take two years, so the Rams will, in the meantime, split their home games between Farmers Field and L.A. Coliseum. The Chargers will remain in San Diego, playing one or two more seasons in Qualcomm Stadium before their new downtown complex opens. The complex will be financed in part by Wayne Schneider. Further financing details will be put to a citywide vote in 2017, and Schneider’s contribution may increase, but the league apparently feels confident enough in what is already official to break ground. It’s a lot of take in, so Javad finishes his article and sends it to his editor, browsing on Twitter in the meantime, speculating along with the rest of the football world. Another hurried sip polishes off his beer, and he is about to put some cash on the bar and leave when a thought occurs to him. The Phillips story. He still doesn’t know what Phillips is up to, but he’s smart enough to figure this has something to do with it. The Knights staying in Los Angeles has to be good news for Phillips, doesn’t it? So, what does that mean for the fate of the story Javad has been sitting on? He suspects this could be another step toward his greatest fear, that a career-altering story will have to be buried. When the bartender passes by, Javad says, “I’ll have one more.” Flipping through channels eventually lands Merle on the story, which he watches for a few minutes. Melinda eventually pops in, apparently overhearing. “What does this mean?” she asks. “It means we don’t have to worry about moving across a goddamn ocean,” Merle says. “I thought you said we weren’t moving regardless.” “We weren’t. I just mean I didn’t want this shit hanging over us in the playoffs.” Melinda lingers for a minute before leaving Merle alone. He gets tired of the coverage and resumes his search for a good movie, but his mind attaches to the story. He thinks to himself, At least Mac won’t have to move. Chance catches the wobbly pass from Jack before throwing it about thirty yards toward Max, who jumps and brings it down. His catches have grown more impressive with every game of backyard catch, but he hasn’t shown a desire to play football yet. High school is only a few years away, though. Melissa heads out the back door, almost breaking into a jog. Chance assumes she has heard the news. He saw it on his phone a few minutes ago but wanted to enjoy tossing the football around as long as possible. “Did you guys hear?” Melissa asks. Max: “No!” Jack: “Hear what?” Max and Jack each whip out their phones, and before Melissa can figure out how to explain, they find the news on their Twitter feeds. Jack: “Vegas?!” Max: “Let’s watch the TV!” The brothers break into a sprint towards the house. Melissa instinctively follows them, turning to Chance as she heads back into the house. “Now what?” she asks. Chance stands in the backyard, alone, football in his hands. “Yeah,” he says to himself. “Now what?” Schneider spends the rest of the week bouncing between Las Vegas and San Diego, finalizing the master deal he miraculously conjured, so the MedComm Center resumes relative normalcy with buzz from the story fading. As far as the Knights are concerned, the most pressing story is the football game to be played next week. Wild Card Weekend begins with the Chiefs visiting the site of the recent owners meetings to play the Texans. What unfolds is an inauspicious start to the playoffs, a one-sided game the Chiefs control from start to finish thanks mostly to ineptitude at quarterback for the Texans. The fifth-seeded Chiefs win, 30-13, and advance to the Divisional Round. The Knights await them unless the Dolphins upset the Patriots tomorrow. In Seattle, Lions/Seahawks opens with a scoreless first quarter, making fans wonder if the Lions can actually pull off the upset. But the Seahawks defense is its usual dominant self, holding the Lions under 200 yards of offense. Russell Wilson leads an unspectacular-but-efficient offense, and the Seahawks roll, 26-3, setting a date in Atlanta next week. The Dolphins take the field in Gillette Stadium Sunday with thoughts of a franchise-defining upset, feeding off their victory against New England in week 17. But the Patriots have other ideas, jumping out to a 14-0 lead on their first two drives. Miami narrows the gap to 14-10, but an injury to Ryan Tannehill dooms them, and New England runs away with it. The final score of 35-13 sets up a Patriots/Steelers rematch and officially sends the Chiefs to Farmers Field. The most hyped matchup of the weekend, Giants/Packers, begins as advertised, with a close game in sub-freezing temperatures, but Aaron Rodgers takes over the game, and the Giants can’t find a way to stop him. A 14-6 halftime lead grows into a 38-13 win for Green Bay, and they will head to Dallas to take on the NFC’s top seed. With Chiefs/Knights scheduled for primetime on Saturday, the Knights begin their week of preparation on Monday. Though this is the Knights’ third battle with the Chiefs this year, it will be the first under normal circumstances. The first game, half the team was vomiting and underweight; the second, Coach Harden was hospitalized. Despite the familiarity, every player and coach approaches the game as the must-win that it is. The Knights have no illusions about their 16-0 record; they have coasted through the season undefeated for a reason, but now it’s all down to one game. One bad day from a handful of players, and it’s over. Things are tense on the second floor too, where offseason preparations are well underway. The Knights will face a challenging offseason no matter how this season ends. The team’s dominance has brought attention and accolades, and it will soon bring elevated salaries. Multiple agents have already told Phillips they will pursue a raise for their players in the offseason. Meanwhile, five starters are free agents to be, and the two best players from that group (Penner and Flash) likely won’t return. If Schwinn, another free agent to be, also leaves, the safety position could be in crisis. And all of this will probably occur under a head-coaching change. Bracing for a turbulent offseason means plenty of study, analysis, reports, and meetings. But eventually, Schneider finds himself in his office with Phillips and Stein with no pressing report or serious conversation, finally able to dive into the chaotic events of the past week. “It went down to the wire,” Schneider says, reclining in his chair and reliving every detail. “Had I not spun Jerry toward my side, the league would look quite different right now. And I only got him because of the support I’ve been building up over the last few months. It all came together brilliantly, I must say.” “Outstanding work, Wayne,” Stein says. “Really incredible stuff, truly. But what about Dean Spanos?” “He got nervous. Kroenke had built up a lot of momentum over the last month. Spanos figured if it came down to a vote, he would lose. And he was right. So I got him behind the Vegas idea with the kicker of financing his stadium for him.” “Which was admirable,” Stein says. “Is admirable.” “Thank you, Allan,” Schneider says, glancing at Phillips, who doesn’t look the least bit impressed. They have something to discuss and Stein is in the way of that, Schneider knows, but he is angry Phillips will never be able to appreciate his actions over the past few months. “Unfortunately, this deal isn’t all good news for us. Getting Kroenke off his Carson project was near impossible, so I had to let the Rams in for a few years. To Kroenke, that’s their way of strengthening the Vegas market—by pulling fans from here. We’ll have to fight very hard for fans the next two years. They will be very important years for this franchise.” “We’ll be up to the challenge,” Stein says, smiling before looking at Phillips in shock, as if he just noticed his presence. “You’re unusually quiet today, Chance, on a day where we should be celebrating.” Phillips glares at Stein for only a second before turning his head to Schneider, confident he will understand. “Allan,” Schneider says, “could you finalize those free agency projections and show it to me? Meet me back here in thirty minutes.” “It’s ready right now, sir.” “Go over it again. We shouldn’t let the good fortune of current events dilute our level of thoroughness. Free agency still starts in seven weeks.” Stein nods and gets up, strolling through the hallway down to his office. He leaves the door open, so Phillips gets up and closes it. He expects Schneider to go first, but he doesn’t. “Well?” Phillips says, arms extended. “I’m wondering what happens between us, Chance.” “What do you mean?” “You blackmailed and strong-armed me into action. You threatened me with a story that would have significantly affected my reputation. You breached my confidence and the confidence of this building by leaking private information to the press. Did you expect we would forget all that just because I was able to fend off relocation?” “You want to win Super Bowls with Allan Stein as your general manager? I wish you the best of luck.” “Let me worry about the future of this franchise, if it doesn’t include you.” The conviction in Schneider’s voice worries Phillips, who tries to look poised. Unsure of a confident response, he hesitates. “What do you propose?” Schneider asks. “I don’t think expanding on any of this will be good for the team while the playoffs are ongoing. So, we table it until season’s end, which, hopefully, is after the Super Bowl. At that point, you and I sit down and talk.” “And until then?” “Business as usual.” This is a power move on Phillips’ part, remaining in control of the Knights’ offseason preparations for at least a few days and as long as another month. If Schneider is hell-bent on firing Phillips as soon as possible, he has to do it right now. “So be it,” Schneider says. “Business as usual.” Knights fans stroll through the Farmers Field concourses as confident as sports fans facing single-elimination can be. Not only have they watched their team dominate the league for seventeen weeks; they’ve spent the last two weeks absorbing waves of media coverage talking about how great the Knights are. The 16-0 record alone is legendary, but all the statistics that come with it place the 2016 Knights in conversations among the best teams in NFL history. All award prediction articles cite Maverick as the clear favorite for Most Valuable Player and Offensive Player of the Year. Grantzinger is a strong contender for Defensive Player of the Year. Harden will almost certainly win Coach of the Year. The Knights are the best team in the league, plain and simple. Fans pack the stadium and get fired up for the second game of Divisional Weekend, ready for a bonus AFC West victory. What happens next is tragedy in slow motion. A sack derails the Knights’ opening drive, and they punt. The Chiefs respond by showing more flare on offense than they have all year. Alex Smith fires deep passes for Jeremy Maclin and Travis Kelce, getting the Chiefs in the red zone. Kelce gets open again, this time in the end zone, and the Chiefs have a 7-0 lead. Maverick drops back and fires a bullet to Wilkes for twelve yards, and the Knights look primed to answer. The next play, NesSmith takes a carry up the middle, and a defender strips the ball. It bounces backward, covered by Penner after a six-yard loss. Consecutive pass attempts fail to make up the yardage, and the Knights punt again. The Chiefs keep rolling, reaching midfield in two plays. Harden is so confounded he doesn’t scream at anyone. They’re doubling Grantzinger, and Harden can’t find a way to get pass rush elsewhere. Even worse, the Knights’ pass coverage is making Smith look like Joe Montana. Luck finally breaks through for some pressure, forcing Smith to throw it away on third down, and Andy Reid chooses a punt over a sixty-yard field goal attempt. Pinned near his own goal line, McKenzie dials up some quick passes that get the Knights breathing room. Watson makes a tiptoed sideline catch that nets the Knights their second first down of the drive, bringing the crowd back into it. Banks takes a carry, cutting through a gaping hole in the trenches and into the secondary, where a corner gets his helmet on the ball and pops it loose. A white jersey is at the bottom of the pile this time, and the Chiefs set up shop where their last drive ended. The Knights offense watches nervously as the Chiefs run the ball up the middle, slowly crawling toward the end zone. On third and goal from the two, Smith hands off to Spencer Ware, who runs through a wall of black jerseys, somehow getting the ball across the goal line, and the first quarter ends with the Chiefs on top, 14-0. The ensuing commercial break is nearly unbearable, a solemn hush saturating the stadium with no one sure what to do about it. NesSmith and Banks, the pair of fumbling running backs, sit next to each other on the bench, listening to the usual pick-me-up from coaches. Then they hear more encouragement from behind them. “Stay in the game, guys!” Jameson says. “Three quarters to go. Stay in the game.” The running backs nod and fist-bump the injured Jameson, wandering the sideline in a knee brace. He was offered a luxury suite upstairs, but he’d much rather be here. NesSmith starts the drive on the field, but the Knights are in pass-only mode, desperate to get back in the game quickly. The Chiefs are operating a confusing scheme on Wilkes, sometimes doubling him and sometimes not, which Maverick finds hard to detect. This leads to the Knights looking more like a West Coast offense than the vertical attack they like to be. Still, Bishop and Johnson rack up catches underneath, with Bishop particularly effective gaining yards after the catch, and the Knights reach field goal range. Consecutive end zone shots to Wilkes and Watson fail, and they settle for a forty-yard kick that McCabe makes, putting the home team on the board at last. Harden searches for a game-breaking play on defense but doesn’t find it. The Chiefs continue warding off the Knights’ pass rush, moving the ball at will. The secondary tightens up, though, cutting off any downfield throwing and limiting Kansas City’s offense enough to force a punt. Two inconsequential drives and a trade of punts later, the Knights get the ball back with 2:33 left in the half. In two-minute mode, McKenzie presses for deep throws, but the Chiefs have everything covered. Maverick is forced to get multiple first downs with his legs, and the offense burns the rest of the clock just to get in field goal range. The half ends with McCabe shanking a forty-five-yard kick, and the score holds at 14-3. Fans decide they’ve had enough, shelling their beloved Knights with a round of boos. The home team’s locker room is eerily still. Not since these players filled the Good Samaritan emergency hall waiting area have they sat together in such a morbid silence. The position coaches have gone around and detailed second-half adjustments, but they provide no comfort to anyone. Harden debates his words before halftime ends, but he sticks to his instincts: these players don’t need to be yelled at; they need to turn things around on their own. The Knights refill the sideline with Farmers Field booming. Apparently, the halftime pump-up videos have worked, and the fans are ready for a big comeback. Players feel energy returning to them, ready to retake the field, when Tyreek Hill surges out from his own end zone and takes the opening kickoff all the way. Fans can’t find the strength to boo this time. The extra point makes it 21-3, and Farmers Field is strikingly quiet. Not a single Knights fan entered this stadium scared of the Chiefs, figuring they would, at worst, battle through a tough AFC West game and pull away in the game’s final act. Now, they are forced to witness what must be one of the biggest chokes in sports history. Maverick and the offense wait on the field for the commercial to end, hands on their hips, milling aimlessly. “Alright, it’s like this,” Maverick says, commanding everyone’s attention and drawing them into a close huddle. “I’m not gonna go all rah-rah to get you guys fired up. I’ve done enough of that. If we lose this game, if we come all this way just to blow it in our first playoff game, we’ll never forget it. I’m not taking this shit to my grave. And neither are you. But it’s not gonna happen all at once. One block, one catch, one play at a time, we’re winning this fucking game. Let’s go.” McKenzie can’t help but stick with his pass-first approach, but he embraces the short passing game, hoping to play the Chiefs’ deep coverage against them. It works. Wilkes gets going on some crossing routes, and Maverick gets in rhythm, firing to open receivers left and right. Across midfield, Maverick drops back for a deep shot to Wilkes, but he spots safety help at the last second. Under pressure, he rolls right, finding Watson open in the flat. Watson’s speed gets him upfield in a hurry, and the Knights are in field goal range again, though Harden has no intention of kicking one. A few runs to NesSmith get another first down (without any fumbles), and Maverick lines up in shotgun. He studies the defense, recognizing something. He takes the snap expecting double coverage on Wilkes—he gets it. He pumps, then looks left, where Bishop breaks toward the corner of the end zone. Maverick’s pass hits him in stride, and Farmers Field comes back to life. Maverick looks back to McKenzie for the two-point call, but McKenzie and Harden hold a single finger in the air. Without a shred of protest, Maverick nods and jogs back to the sideline. “I got ‘em now,” Maverick tells McKenzie, eager to see the pictures from that drive. “I knew D-Jam would be doubled. Unless they change it up, we can break this thing open.” “Okay, let’s look at it,” McKenzie says. McCabe’s extra point makes it 21-10, and Randall spends the ensuing commercial break firing up his defensive teammates one by one. When Randall gets in formation for first and ten, he sniffs out a run, bolts through the trenches, and lights up Ware with a vicious hit. Second and thirteen. Smith drops back as a screen develops, but Martin and Brock have it covered. Smith looks deep, but Flash is tracking Maclin step for step. Smith spots Kelce, open, and throws. Schwinn covers the ground and dives, swatting the pass away. The crowd comes to its feet for third down as the Knights line up in a 4-3. The hybrid hasn’t worked yet, but Harden has something different ready. On the outside, Grantzinger backs off, and the right tackle blocks Luck. Grantzinger sweeps back to the middle, accelerating through an opening and bringing down Smith for the sack. “We’re back, baby!” Randall screams on the sideline to anyone who will listen. “We’re back! Hey,” he says to Maverick, “we got this now. It’s there for you. Go out and take it.” “We’re about to,” Maverick says, brimming with confidence after finalizing the plan for the next drive. McKenzie works the short pass game again, letting Maverick feel out the defensive scheme. After two first downs, Maverick spots what he thinks is single coverage on Wilkes and audibles from the called run. He sells a handoff to NesSmith as Wilkes breaks deep, beating his corner with no safety in sight. He looks up and watches the pass sail toward him perfectly. He catches it as the defender latches on, but Wilkes keeps his feet moving for another ten yards. He spikes the ball emphatically as the Knights set up shop on the Chiefs’ nineteen-yard line with Farmers Field buzzing. Bishop catches a quick pass over the middle, followed by a Watson slant, and the Knights are five yards from the end zone. Three receivers line up to Maverick’s left, so the Chiefs shade that way, anticipating a screen. Maverick takes the snap and tosses it right to NesSmith, who breaks for the pylon and dives through it. Touchdown. The stadium’s celebration continues as the Knights line up for two, trying to make it a three-point game. They use a bunch formation again, but the Chiefs ignore it this time. Maverick hurries the snap, content to fire sideways for Wilkes. With Harper and Bishop blocking in front of him, he literally walks across the goal line. The Knights’ sideline, along with the stadium around it, enters a frenzy, expelling all the energy bottled up over the last few hours. At last, the Knights are awake, trailing only 21-18 with 4:32 to go in the third quarter. Harper catches the pass on a slant, tackled beyond the first down marker. Fans clap as the chains reset for first and ten. Maverick looks up at the clock. 11:03, 11:02… The Knights start a new set of downs on the Chiefs’ thirty. Momentum has completely swung in their favor over the past hour, and they are only a few plays from taking the lead for the first time today. Banks runs left off-tackle for three yards, and neither team changes personnel for second down. Maverick motions Harper left, leaving Wilkes isolated on the right side. Maverick spots double coverage, but he doesn’t care. He drops back and tracks Wilkes, running along the sideline. Maverick sets his feet and fires the back-shoulder fade. Wilkes turns his head as he reaches the goal line—underthrown. He plants his feet in the grass to slow down and spins, extending his left hand and letting the ball hit it. A defender hits him at full speed, and he falls to the ground after planting his toes. The nearest official, only a few feet away, gets a perfect look and makes his call instantly, raising his arms in the air. Farmers Field explodes for the go-ahead score and for an insane one-handed catch that must be one of Wilkes’ best. The receiver springs up from the big hit and leaps into the air. “CAN’T STOP ME!” he yells. “CAN’T STOP ME!” Maverick runs in, mobbing Wilkes in something that’s part hug, part helmet tap. The players in black jerseys are all smiles as McCabe’s extra point makes it 25-21. The Chiefs take over with 9:40 on the clock, and Harden sticks with what has worked in the second half: constant deception and showcasing the hybrid, switching between 4-3 and 3-4 aggressively. Alex Smith finds receivers for short gains that get tackled immediately. This nets a first down, with the clock ticking, before Flash and Stone each break up a pass, and the Chiefs face fourth and seven. Harden signals for his defense to stay on the field, but the Chiefs punt team appears. Knights are cautioned against a fake, but Dustin Colquitt boots it downfield. A fair catch places the Knights at their own fifteen-yard line, 6:55 to play. McKenzie readies his strategy. With a healthy Jameson, he would go into full closer mode, grinding the clock out one run at a time. Without him, the Knights will have to pass. Banks and NesSmith split carries with the Chiefs playing against the run. Maverick drops back to pass on third and five. A doubled Wilkes leaves Watson open over the middle, and Maverick doesn’t miss. First down. 4:48, 4:47, 4:46… The Knights repeat the run-run-pass strategy. This time, Bishop breaks open over the middle on third down, reaching midfield for another first down. The Chiefs call their first timeout, and the clock stops at 2:40. Farmers Field stays loud and electric with the Knights taking control, one or two more Maverick passes away from ending this thing. NesSmith takes a run up the middle for two yards and the Chiefs call another timeout. 2:32. Banks gets the carry this time, getting stuffed but bouncing outside and finding space. A great downfield block from Bishop gets another first down, and the stadium roars while another timeout freezes the clock at 2:22. Three consecutive runs could give the Chiefs the ball back, so Harden has McKenzie go for the kill. Wilkes hears his number called and lines up wide left, apparently in single coverage. Maverick takes the snap. Wilkes runs straight, then cuts across the middle. He sees Maverick release the pass, extending his D-Jam. White fades to black, then white again. D-Jam, can you hear me? Figures, above him. People. They’re people. D-Jam, can you blink your eyes for me? The game. Is the game over? They must have won by now. “D-Jam, can you hear what I’m saying?” He recognizes faces now, doctors he normally sees on the sideline. Normally. Black helmets pop in and out of view, but he can’t make out the faces behind them. An apparent rush of energy flows through his body, and he sits up. He hears the crowd cheer, realizing he hasn’t heard them this whole time. Wilkes doesn’t know it, but he’s been on the ground two minutes, and to the quiet Farmers Field crowd, it seems like two hours. Applause feels like relief, but all eyes are still on #81, sitting on the grass, surrounded by trainers and teammates as a medical cart pulls up next to the gathering. Anyone brave enough to look up at the replay screen sees, in slow motion, the ball hit Wilkes’ hands as he turns his head upfield. The linebacker leads with his shoulder, hitting Wilkes square on the chin as his head snaps forward, backward, then backward again as his back hits the grass. The trainers get Wilkes to his feet, drawing another wave of applause. After they get him seated on the cart, Knights and Chiefs crowd around him for fist bumps of good will. “I’m good,” Wilkes keeps saying. “I’ll be alright. I’m good.” The players disperse, and the cart drives off the field towards the tunnel. Wilkes appears cognizant but does not give anyone the thumbs up. Players and fans try to re-focus for second and ten. McKenzie calls a few simple run plays, and behind the blocking of Grodd and Penner, NesSmith powers forward for another first down. Beyond the two-minute warning now, Maverick takes a few kneeldowns, and the game is over. The injury lingers around the stadium, making a wild celebration feel inappropriate, so the Knights simply congratulate each other and look ahead. Many players, as they leave the field, hold two fingers in the air in the direction of fans, teammates, and cameras. Two more games. | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Edited April 21, 2017 by SteVo 4 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
RazorStar 4,025 Posted April 21, 2017 He still doesn’t know what Phillips is up to, but he’s smart enough to figure this has something to do with it. The Knights staying in London has to be good news for Phillips, doesn’t it? Snafu aside, this chapter was hype. Can't wait for it all to collapse at the end. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Thanatos 2,847 Posted April 21, 2017 I thought, for a brief moment, you were going to have them choke in the first game. I'm lost in seasons though. Packers/Giants indicates its 2017, but Chiefs/Texans indicates its 2016. Unless the fact that the Knights were the 1 seed threw the AFC out of whack maybe? Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
SteVo+ 3,702 Posted April 21, 2017 I thought, for a brief moment, you were going to have them choke in the first game. I'm lost in seasons though. Packers/Giants indicates its 2017, but Chiefs/Texans indicates its 2016. Unless the fact that the Knights were the 1 seed threw the AFC out of whack maybe? Yes. In the KoAverse, the NFC has essentially unfolded like it did IRL, but the AFC is different. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Sarge+ 3,436 Posted April 21, 2017 19-0 is happening. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites