SteVo+ 3,702 Posted May 5, 2017 | | | | Knights of Andreas Part VI Chapter Seventy-Eight – Last Words Situated on the shore of Lake Washington across from Mercer Island, the Virginia Mason Athletic Center opens early Monday morning, and various members of the Seattle Seahawks, headquartered inside, begin to arrive. First in the door is head coach Pete Carroll, who got about four hours of sleep and will be lucky to top that tonight. Carroll and his team are still riding high from yesterday’s win in Dallas, a win no one expected, and they’ll have to maintain that energy for two weeks to engineer another upset. Carroll, of course, knew his opponent would be either the Knights or Patriots if he beat Dallas, so he already has a few ideas about where to lay the game plan’s foundation. The Knights’ strength is their offense, so Carroll, a defensive coach by trade, starts there. Not long after he gets going, defensive coordinator Kris Richard joins him, and they bounce ideas off each other, watching film and scribbling notes. Richard mentions a few tactics they used in their previous matchups against the Knights, in Super Bowl XLVIII and the regular-season game the following season. “Let’s not fall in love with that,” Carroll says. “We can use what worked in 2014, but we shouldn’t stick with it. Two years have passed, you know? This is a different team. They’re different, we’re different, it’s gonna be a different game.” They watch tape from throughout the Knights’ season, collectively showcasing an offensive clinic. The league’s highest-scoring offense will be difficult to stop, but Carroll knows the Knights haven’t faced a defense as good as his yet. He pauses the tape to make another point. “They have so many playmakers, so many guys, but it really all hinges on 81,” he says, referring to Da’Jamiroquai Jefferspin-Wilkes. “It’s a different game if he plays.” “I haven’t heard anything,” Richard says, “but you’d think, with two weeks, he’ll be ready.” “We might as well assume so. You know, the only defense that really gave them fits this year was San Diego.” “Rose.” “Exactly. We need Sherman to duplicate that.” Unknown to Carroll (though it wouldn’t surprise him), Richard Sherman has been praying for a Knights rematch. He has shut down Wilkes the only two times he’s faced him and fully expects to shut him down again. “Let’s get him fired up, too,” Carroll says. “I want him rattled, I want him uncomfortable. Get in his head.” Carroll and Richard eventually transition from containing the Knights’ receivers to exploiting their weakness. And while their 18-0 record makes them look invincible, Carroll finds one. “You know, they get credit for a great O-line, but their tackles are weak,” Carroll says. “They give up a lot of pressures. They don’t give up sacks because Maverick is so mobile—people don’t talk about that enough, his ability to escape—but that’s a point of emphasis for us.” Carroll is right. The Knights’ strength in the trenches is their interior trio of maulers. But tackles Tristan Adams and Evan Fowler have been relative weak links this year. If Carroll listened to Los Angeles talk radio, he’d know the most critical of Knights fans have been complaining about them since week one. “I want to push Michael this week,” Carroll says, referring to Michael Bennett, “push him real hard. He has the potential to change the whole game.” Eventually, Carroll leaves Richard for another film room. By now, the day is in full swing inside the building, and players are beginning to arrive. Carroll links up with offensive coordinator Darrell Bevell and quarterback Russell Wilson to check on their progress. When Seattle last played them in 2014, the Knights were a defensive powerhouse. They have since become an offensive team, but Carroll knows never to underestimate a defense coached by Merle Harden. “He blitzes every play and gets away with it,” Carroll says. “I’ve never seen anyone else do that and not get burned.” He looks away from the monitor, towards his quarterback. “They’re gonna come after you hard. You’re gonna be running around.” “I’m good with that,” Wilson says. “I think we have to double 52, coach,” Bevell says, referring to Zack Grantzinger. “We just have to.” “So be it,” Carroll says. He doesn’t want to commit to a double-team, but he knows his offensive line is his biggest weakness and must find a way around it. “We just have to get you out of contain, Russ. If, when you’re pressured, you can escape into the flat, someone will break open. And if they spy extra guys to cover you, that’ll leave receivers open downfield.” “Not Harden’s style to have a spy,” Bevell says. “I know. And that favors us.” They soon move beyond the front seven and into the secondary, where everyone likes Seattle’s matchups on the outside. “Doug can make pays,” Wilson says, not seeing any film on starting cornerbacks Julian Stone and Ken Lucas that worries him. “We just need to keep him away from 20,” Carroll says, referring to Griswold Johnson. “Also, Harden’s the kind of coach who likes simplifying the game with matchups. I want him out of his comfort zone on that. Let’s mix up formations and matchups for sixty minutes. Jimmy, especially. I want him lining up all over the place.” “Hang on a second, coach,” Wilson says. “What about their hybrid?” “I have a few ideas for that, actually,” Carroll says. As soon as Logan Bishop lunges over the goal line to win the AFC Championship, Las Vegas is taking bets for Super Bowl LI. The Knights open as 5-point favorites and receive the majority of early action. The spread slides to -5.5, then -6.0. Seattle’s upset victories over Atlanta and Dallas have not bought them legitimacy, it seems. The sports world sees them as a streaking team whose luck will run out against a superior opponent, a team that simply doesn’t have the talent to keep up with the Knights. The media dissects the game from every angle, laying the groundwork for two weeks of analysis that will become excessive days before kickoff. Many pundits, of course, make repeated mention of the fact that this is a Super Bowl XLVIII rematch, a catchy tidbit that makes for good advertisement taglines, but not much more. The Knights are looking to cement their place in NFL history with an undefeated season, but the Seahawks have the same idea: a win in two weeks would be their second Super Bowl in four years, prerequisite to a dynasty. The official definition of the word “dynasty” is again debated. A Seahawks win would give them two Super Bowls in a four-year period including three NFC Championship appearances and four ten-plus-win seasons. The Knights’ case, with a win, is just as compelling: two Super Bowls in three years, three appearances in four years. The largest draw for Super Bowl LI is, of course, the Los Angeles Knights’ 18-0 record, one win from perfection. As it did with the Patriots in 2008, the sports world examines the Knights’ legacy with a 19-0 season, where they would rank in both NFL lore and the sports world as a whole. And the Knights have other factors of interest. Record aside, the 9/9 Pasadena earthquake put them at the top of news reports all season, and Merle Harden’s cancer has kept them there. Altogether, the league expects record-breaking ratings for the Super Bowl, even if most fans aren’t expecting a good game. McKenzie strolls through the MedComm Center lobby, coffee in hand, finally forced to think about the task before him after a peaceful drive. In just his third year in the NFL, he is coordinating one of the league’s most prolific offenses, so of course he faces one of the league’s most formidable defenses in the Super Bowl. God help him if Wilkes can’t suit up. He opens his office door and puts his coffee down, freezing in place as he spots a piece of paper taped to his desk. He pauses at the eerie sight, eventually deciding to grab the paper, nothing underneath it. On it is written a single question: “How did you get here?” “What the hell?” McKenzie says aloud. Alarmed and perplexed, he looks around the office. Nothing else appears out of order. A thought occurs to him. He steps back into the coaches’ hallway and pops his head into a few offices. Sure enough, a piece of paper bearing the same question is taped somewhere in each office. His wits returning to him, McKenzie rereads his paper and identifies the handwriting. He makes a beeline for Harden’s office. “Merle,” says a voice from the doorway, distracting Harden from his white board, littered with X’s and O’s. “Yeah, Mac.” McKenzie holds up the paper even though Harden isn’t looking at him. “What the hell is this?” Harden spins in his chair, sees the mystified look on McKenzie’s face, and laughs. “I figured you’d like that.” “What’s the matter with you? This isn’t your style, Merle. You go off the deep end or something?” “Calm the hell down, Mac. Drink your coffee and take a goddamn seat.” McKenzie does so, no less disturbed, and Harden puts down the marker, relaxing as he faces his friend. “I had a dream about ’85,” Harden says, reliving the details of that night in his mind yet again. “Devil’s Lake?” “Mhmm. My first state championship. I was nervous as hell, and the game got the best of me. I blitzed when I should have dropped back, I played it safe when I should have blitzed.” “So what happened?” “We won, by the grace of God, and the grace of the opposing quarterback totally shitting himself.” McKenzie leans back in his chair, not knowing where Harden is going with this and knowing he’ll get there any second. “We haven’t lost a game this year, Mac. Think about that. Not one game.” “So?” “That scares the hell out of me. We’re up against something big with this game, and we can’t let it beat us. We can’t overthink anything. We have to play our game. Because you can bet Russell Wilson ain’t gonna shit himself.” “Understood. Would you like me to communicate this to my side of the coaching staff, or would you rather tell that dumb story another twenty times?” “Your choice, Mac. Now get out of here. Some of us have work to do.” McKenzie cracks a smile as he leaves the room, and Harden gets back to balancing film from the Seahawks and Patriots. Normally he would focus fully on his upcoming opponent, but something nags him about yesterday’s game. And sure enough, the longer he watches film, the harder he analyzes, one thing becomes clear. Harden finds Ripka’s office empty, so he walks back through the lobby in search of more water. Ripka happens to be walking in, and Harden stops him. “Chet! Get over here a second.” “Good morning, Merle,” Ripka says. “What’s on your mind?” “I want you to call the plays against Seattle.” Ripka’s eyes widen. “You…I…what?” “I fucked us a couple times yesterday, and it almost cost us the season. Can’t let that happen.” “But I—” “I watched the K.C. game when I was stuck at home. Took the film apart too. You were fine. You made calls on all the big plays I would have made. So, you call the plays, and if you’re ever not sure, we decide together. I figure we start working on this now so we’re not burning timeouts in Houston.” Ripka is astonished and humbled, working through the shock to thank Harden for the incredible opportunity. Two years ago, he walked into this building with no coaching experience hoping for a role where he could contribute. Now, he’s about to hold play-calling duties for the Super Bowl. “Merle,” Ripka says, “I can’t begin to—” “Don’t make a big fucking thing out of this now,” Harden says, and walks away. Spirits are high as players take their seats in the auditorium for one last introductory address. Players relive exciting moments from Sunday’s game, make a few comments about Seattle, and enjoy the freedom that everyone can finally speak openly about the upcoming NFL Honors, a show the Knights should dominate. Maverick is the universal favorite for MVP, and he figures to win Offensive Player of the Year as well. Wilkes wants that award, and Maverick thinks he deserves it, but history is against him. The last time a receiver put up numbers like him was Randy Moss in 2007, and even then, Tom Brady won Offensive Player of the Year. For the moment, though, the award centering discussion amongst the players is Coach of the Year, which Harden will absolutely win. There are several coaches around the league with compelling cases, but like Bill Belichick in 2007, going 16-0 wins you the award on principle—even if the Knights were technically 15-0 in regular-season games Harden coached. Naturally, players are eager to see their limelight-hating head coach get up on stage and accept the award in what will certainly be a short speech, if it can be called a speech at all. Spearheaded by Schwinn, players bet on the length of the speech, with the initial line set at 10 seconds. Schwinn, despite the uneducated vibes his redneck accent projects, is well versed in the mathematics of odds and gambling, able to perform the calculations mentally. “Place your bets, cowboys, place your bets!” Schwinn announces as sums of cash change hands and frantic bets are made as if the MedComm Center auditorium has turned into Wall Street. During a lull in the action, Luck, who has not placed a bet yet, steps up. “What about this,” Luck says. “What are the odds he goes Steven Wright and just says ‘Thanks’ and walks off the stage?” “Depends how confident you are, partner,” Schwinn says. “What’s the shortest bid right now?” “Shortest one on the books is Zack. He took four seconds.” “Alright, hell with it. I’ll take one second.” “I like your style. I’ll give you eight-to-one.” “Sold.” “Hang on,” Martin says, entering the mix. “What’s the longest bet on the books?” “Logan has thirty seconds.” “Give me forty-five seconds. Ten-to-one.” “Eight-to-one, same as Sam.” “Nine-to-one.” “Oh, a hard bargainer. I like it. Nine-to-one it is.” The round of betting seems poised to continue until Harden assumes his position at the front of the auditorium, and the chatter slowly dies down. “We’re gonna talk about where we fucked up against New England in a minute,” Harden says, “but for now, I got something to say about Seattle. In fact, I got news for you all. You do not want to win this game more than them. Don’t make it about that. As much as we want to finish what we started, as much as we want to go undefeated, they want to be the ones to stop us just as much. This game will come down to who plays better football, plain and simple. That should be us, if we don’t fuck it up. And don’t give me that ‘unfinished business’ crap either. Anyone wants to make this about what happened three years ago, leave that shit here before we fly to Houston.” Despite Coach Harden’s words, some players can still feel the agony of that Super Bowl defeat, and they have wanted vengeance ever since. “We got this far on good plans by the coaches and good execution by the players. That’s how we’re gonna finish it.” Finished with his opening spiel, Harden talks about New England, highlighting only a few items before moving on and officially beginning the Knights’ preparation for the Seattle Seahawks. Players hit the practice field after learning the basics of a game plan that will evolve over the next few days. Harden is licking his chops to take on Seattle’s offensive line, a very poor unit outside of center Justin Britt. Harden considers and abandons a passive approach, instead opting to make this the focus of the game. He plans on throwing everything at the Seahawks’ front five: blitzes of every sort, stunts, the hybrid, everything. This, of course, will put Russell Wilson on the run, a much greater concern. To prepare for Wilson’s mobility, the Knights defense practices their blitzes with Watson as their Wilson clone. Watson is faster than anyone on the scout team, and based on his recent funk, the reps at wide receiver won’t do any good anyway. Even with all these blitzes, Wilson will get his shots downfield, and the Knights secondary must be ready. The Seahawks will undoubtedly look at what Danny Amendola did out of the slot a few days ago and try to duplicate that with Doug Baldwin. In response to this, Harden will have either Schwinn or Flash covering Baldwin on passing downs. He’s confident Stone and Lucas can handle Paul Richardson and Jermaine Kearse on the outside. The wild card in all of this would typically be Jimmy Graham, but Randall has quietly had a career year by shutting down tight ends. On any play where Randall is blitzing, that duty passes to Flash. This creates potentially complicated variations (on plays when Flash is covering Baldwin, for example), but the complexity is nothing new for Harden’s defense, and his players have an extra week to learn it. McKenzie faces the greater challenge in planning, but he doesn’t show it. The Knights offense hasn’t scored over 500 points by being afraid of opposing defenses. McKenzie tries to convey confidence to his players with a simple game plan. His primary refrain during the first few practices of the week is, “We’re going to set the tone. They will adjust to us, not the other way around.” Upstairs, Phillips resists the urge to spend time on the field Tuesday, giving Harden the first day to work with the team. Wednesday, however, he seeks relief from the tension between him and Schneider and hits the field. The team’s offseason plan is basically set, and Phillips isn’t confident he’ll be the one orchestrating it anyway. He enjoys watching the players work awhile, particularly intrigued by all the blitz combinations Harden has crafted. When whistles declare a water break for the players, Harden and Ripka converge to discuss some details. Phillips decides to make that his first inquiry after the two separate. Harden notices Phillips’ presence and begrudgingly walks over to him. “Heard you handed play-calling to Chet,” Phillips says. “I did.” Phillips turns his head, studying Harden’s face closely and waiting for elaboration. “It was the right thing,” Harden says. “I don’t want to be responsible for fucking up my last game.” “Last game? Merle, when we talked about this a few months ago, I recall you saying McKenzie would take over in a year or two.” “Well, it ain’t gonna be two, I guess.” Phillips steps closer, lowering his voice even though no one stands close to them. “Merle, you still haven’t told me what the doctors said the last time you went in for evaluation.” “Oh, those assholes. They want to slice my whole neck open and play Operation.” “So? What’s the downside?” “I’d probably lose my voice. Sixty to eighty percent chance, they said.” Phillips considers the possibility of a mute Merle Harden, an enormously odd proposition but still preferable to an early death. “You could still coach, you know.” “Are you retarded?” “I’m serious, Merle. Coach from the booth, let McKenzie run the sideline. You can communicate through text, I don’t know. We can figure it out.” “Coaching without a voice…I’d kill myself.” “Merle.” “Alright, I’d retire, sit around at home a few weeks doing nothing. Then I’d kill myself.” Phillips sighs, this particular line of conversation very much hopeless. “So, here’s another dumb question, then,” Phillips says. “Fire away.” “Do you want us to put anything together, a ceremony or a party, something? To commemorate your last game?” Harden frowns, looking at Phillips as if he just spoke an ancient Aztec language. Phillips sighs again. He figured. “I’ll put it this way,” Harden says. Phillips raises his eyebrows. “I fell asleep on the couch the other night. When I woke up, there was some damn program on about Marx, something Marx, that communist asshole. Anyway, right before he died, he said, ‘Last words are for people who haven’t said enough.’ That sounds about right.” Appropriately, Harden walks away to end the conversation, leaving an amused Phillips to get back to work. However, faced with the thought of dissecting scouting reports with Stein, Phillips finds a spot on the sideline and keeps watching. Later in the week, players have just finished stretching and are about to get practice going when another purple jersey emerges from inside the building. The man wearing #81 sprints onto the field with trainers keeping a close eye on him. “Oh, shit,” Penner says, getting the offense’s attention. “Look who decided to join us.” “Fuck yeah!” Wilkes yells, running around wildly. “I’m back, baby! I’m back! I’m back!” Wilkes is indeed back, but conditionally so. With extra time before the Super Bowl, the Knights are being extra cautious to ensure he clears the league’s concussion protocol. Since the slightest issue could lead to a disastrous setback, the team will limit his practice time (for now) and continue monitoring him regularly. Officially, Wilkes is listed as questionable, and doctors communicate to the coaches that, barring anything unforeseen over the next week, he should be cleared well before Super Sunday. McKenzie happily scraps many West Coast elements from the playbook in favor of a vertical, downfield attack. With the limited practice reps he has, Wilkes makes his presence known. Maverick is thrilled to be throwing to his best target again, relieved he won’t spend the Super Bowl throwing to checkdown targets for five-yard passes. The doctors manage to drag Wilkes off to the sideline for a scheduled break, and he waits impatiently as his teammates practice without him. The doctors do their usual crap, shining lights in his eyes and such. Then, someone from inside the building taps him on the shoulder. “D-Jam, there’s someone on the phone for you.” “Not now,” Wilkes says firmly, sending the man inside. He certainly doesn’t want to deal with Uncle Lincoln pretending to care about him. He doesn’t want anything or anybody ruining the exhilaration of stepping on the field again. Cleared for action, Wilkes rejoins the offense, this time tested by Coach McKenzie. Everyone knows Wilkes can play, but McKenzie needs to know if he’s been studying the playbook. He has. Wilkes has most of the plays down, even the complicated ones McKenzie drew up for this game. Wilkes will be lining up against Sherman most plays, and Maverick will be calling plenty of hot routes to try to get him open. Wilkes has so much fun the next segment goes by in a blink, and he soon catches his breath under observation again. He can’t wait for this dumb stuff to end so he can practice like normal. “D-Jam,” says a voice from behind him. “Someone’s calling for you again, says he’s your uncle.” Wilkes looks out toward the field, gets the thumbs up from the doctors, and puts his helmet on. “I don’t have an uncle,” he says, jogging back onto the field. Vegas’ spread varies throughout the week, but reports of Wilkes’ health give the Knights a boost, and it seems to solidify at Knights -6. The week’s end arrives, and both teams prepare to travel to Houston. The Seahawks fly to Houston Sunday, the Knights Monday. Selected players and coaches of both teams participate in introductory press conferences, where nothing noteworthy occurs save for an exchange between Coach Harden and a reporter about Wilkes. The reporter asks for an update on Wilkes’ health, and Harden tells him, “You’re a reporter. Shouldn’t you pay attention to the news?” Then comes Media Day, a circus of interviews that mostly circle around the same questions both teams have been asked for weeks or months. The Seahawks face questions about being underdogs, about being up against an undefeated team, about containing a historically prolific offense. The Knights face questions about the pressure of going 19-0, about Coach Harden’s health, about being a source of inspiration for Los Angeles after the 9/9 earthquake. Phillips is relieved when his interviews conclude, undertaking the challenging task of finding a spot out of sight from cameras and out of reach of microphones. Once he does, Javad joins him for a brief conversation. “That thing you mentioned,” Javad says. “Is it still happening?” “Yes,” Phillips says. “After the Super Bowl.” “When?” “Days. Months, maybe. But you’ll get it. I promise.” The day ends without a buzzworthy quote circulating in the press, and both teams spend the rest of Media Week fulfilling the act-like-you’ve-been-here-before cliché. Final walkthroughs take place Saturday afternoon, and the Knights suit up for the NFL Honors. Ten miles from NRG Stadium, the Wortham Theater Center fills with well-dressed players and coaches for a who’s who of the NFL world, an event that serves as both celebration and reflection, one last look at the season as a whole before its final game tomorrow. The Knights take seats near the front and garner plenty of attention. Most wear conservative suits, but Wilkes, as if to announce his return, dons a shiny purple tuxedo and bowtie. The Seahawks are not present, an acceptable absence given their participation in the game, now less than twenty-four hours away. The Knights could have skipped out too (if Harden had his way), but Schneider insisted they go. The ceremony’s host, Keegan-Michael Key, delivers a rousing opening, throwing humorous jabs at the NFL’s elite before giving way to the awards. The league has a lot to pack into the two-hour show, including the Pro Football Hall of Fame Class of 2017. After one hour, the Knights’ only victory has been Maverick winning FedEx Air Player of the Year, an award that will soon be forgotten. Then, J.J. Watt takes the stage to announce Defensive Player of the Year. Unlike traditional awards ceremonies that utilize envelopes to announce winners, the NFL has embraced modern technology. Each award presenter takes the stage with a wireless tablet and simply swipes the screen to unveil and announce the winner. Watt waits while a video montage highlights the nominees: Grantzinger, Von Miller, and Landon Collins. When it finishes, Watt speaks into the microphone. “The 2016 Defensive Player of the Year is…” He swipes the tablet. “…Zack Grantzinger.” Everyone applauds, especially the Knights, who cheer on their star defensive player as he walks up to the stage, shakes Watt’s hand, and takes the trophy. Watt backs off as Grantzinger stands before the microphone. “Thanks to everyone who voted for me, I really appreciate it,” Grantzinger says. “And thanks to my teammates, who share this award with me, but we still have a game to play tomorrow. Thank you.” Everyone applauds again. Among the Knights crowd, Schwinn checks his watch. “Ah, a true Merle Harden understudy,” he says. “That was nine seconds, if anyone’s curious.” A few players are, hoping to soon collect on a bet, some with longer odds than others. The next marquee award is Offensive Player of the Year, for which Maverick and Wilkes are both nominated, plus three others. A trio of celebrities takes the stage to present the award. “The 2016 AP Offensive Player of the Year is…” Wilkes shoots one last look at Maverick, who gives him the thumbs up. “…Jonathan Maverick.” The cameras focus on Maverick, who stays in his seat. From the row in front of him, Wilkes jumps to his feet and runs on stage. Nobody is sure what’s happening as Wilkes grabs the mic and the awkward applause fades. “Shout out to my man Mav for letting me accept this for him,” Wilkes says. “I mean, y’all know he’s gon’ win MVP, so, he’ll get his speech.” The hall erupts in laughter as Wilkes goes on. “I got to thank everyone who helped me get here, y’all know that. But I especially want to thank everyone who doubted me, everyone who told me I wasn’t good enough. You were trying to bring me down, but you only made me stronger, and that’s what it’s about, baby! Best receiver in the league! Richard Sherman, I’ll see you tomorrow!” Wilkes jogs back to his seat after delivering what will almost certainly be the night’s most memorable moment. Next up is Man of the Year. Kurt Warner takes the stage, without a tablet, and delivers an eloquent tribute to the nominees and the work they have all done in their respective communities. “It is my pleasure to introduce the two Walter Payton Men of the Year…” Warner pauses for dramatic effect, allowing everyone to react to the surprise. “…Mr. Larry Fitzgerald, and Mr. Sam Luck.” Fitzgerald and Luck take the stage to a rousing applause that turns into a standing ovation. Both men give short words of thanks, deeming this award inappropriate for a personal speech. At last, only two awards remain. This year, the league has altered the traditional order, tabling Coach of the Year for last. Peyton Manning is greeted with applause as he presents the MVP nominees: Maverick, Matt Ryan, Tom Brady, Aaron Rodgers, and Ezekiel Elliott. “The 2016 AP Most Valuable Player is…” He swipes the tablet. “…Jonathan Maverick.” Maverick stands up, shaking hands and high-fiving his way into a walk towards the front of the theater. He focuses on his steps as he strolls across the stage, trying to look cool but forgetting the speech he had planned. In a blink, he’s holding the trophy, facing the crowd, words forgotten. Ah, screw it, speak from the heart. “Wow, um, this is really humbling, to walk up here and be handed MVP by Peyton Manning. This is really awesome.” The crowd applauds, giving him a brief rest during which he remembers his speech. “When I came into this league, I don’t think I really understood what it would take to win a Super Bowl, as much as I thought I did. I didn’t really grasp the amount of work it would take to consistently win at this level. But now I do. And I’m proud to say I didn’t get here alone. So, I share this award with my teammates, particularly my offensive line for keeping my jerseys clean, and my receivers, for making my throws look good. I also want to thank my coaches, and the guys upstairs for putting together a hell of a football team. Thank you.” Maverick leaves the stage, and the ceremony has one award left. Longtime head coach and recently hired executive Tom Coughlin takes the stage to a warm applause, presenting the nominees: Harden, Jason Garrett, Mike Tomlin, and Bill Belichick. “The 2016 AP Coach of the Year is…” He swipes the tablet. “…Merle Harden.” All the Knights players practically jump to their feet, and the rest of the audience follows suit. Schwinn is the first to stop clapping, readying his watch. Harden sighs, no longer able to hope that the league spare him, and makes his way to the stage. He enjoys seeing Coughlin, who he respects immensely, but when he faces the crowd, everyone is standing and cheering rousingly. “Sit down, you saps,” he says. The applause tempers in favor of laughter. “I’m going to assume—I’m going to hope, anyway—that this is for football and not because you all feel sorry for me. There’s no room for sympathy in football, as everyone in this theater knows.” Schwinn’s eyes bounce between the stage and his watch, his free hand ready to stop the clock. “I’m proud to have watched some of my players come up here and win awards, and I’m especially proud that all of them have mentioned sharing the honors with their teammates. Because that’s true for all of us, me especially. Hell, I even missed a game this year and you still gave me this.” Harden motions as if he’s about to walk off the stage. Schwinn hovers his finger over a button on his watch, fixated on his head coach as his teammates are, stunned the speech has lasted this long. Suddenly fighting back emotion, Harden looks around at the faces in this crowd—players, coaches, even the journalists. They’re football people. They’ll understand. “You know,” Harden says, “as long as I’m standing up here, I would like to say something, because it’s been bothering me, and this is as good a place to get it out there as any. Going through the cancer and everything—once everyone found out, anyway—so many people have told me things like, ‘Oh, this really puts everything in perspective. This makes you realize that football is only a game.’ You know something? They’re wrong. It does put it in perspective, yeah, but it actually makes you realize how important football is. Going through all my treatment this year, the best medicine I get is stepping out onto that field. I mean, chemo is supposed to be helping, but that crap just makes me feel dead. Football is what makes me feel alive.” Everyone’s mouth hangs open in shock. Schwinn has forgotten about his watch. “So, to the men who have put it all on the line on the football field this year, thank you. But don’t go soft, because we’ve got one game left. Thank you to the front office for giving me a roster of great football talent, and great men. Thank you to the rest of my coaching staff for putting up with my crap more hours than anyone else. And finally, thank you to Melinda and Trisha, my wife and daughter. I’ve coached a lot of teams, a lot of men, on three levels of football, but those two women have been with me through it all, and they have helped me more than they will ever know. Thank you all.” Harden walks back to his seat, and everyone stands to applaud him again. This ovation lasts even longer than the first, and once it finally quiets down, Schwinn notices a few players looking at him. He realizes he left his watch running, though it doesn’t matter. “Well, Marlon…Uh, I guess you win the, uh, the money, so…” Martin waves his arm. “Keep it.” For the third time in four years, the downtown restaurant called Knight’s End floods with football fans ready to watch their team in the Super Bowl. Cooper gets there early to secure the high-top with Sampson stuck in traffic, but he barely touches his first beer of the day. “What’s the matter with you?” Sampson asks once he gets there and orders a beer of his own. “I’m nervous,” Cooper admits. “Yeah, me too.” “Can’t come all this way just to lose in the Super Bowl.” “Sure you can. Ask Patriots fans.” “Fuck the Patriots.” Sampson’s beer arrives, and Cooper finally finds the courage to take a few deep swigs. He looks around at the scene; every seat is filled, and a standing-room-only crowd gathers around the main bar. Kickoff is less than an hour away. The pre-game hours fly, as they have all year, and the Knights soon find themselves back in the NRG Stadium locker room, an uncomfortable silence hanging over them as they look up at Coach Harden. “Not much left to say, men. There’s really not. Well, one thing, I guess. All that shit we won last night? Meaningless. Fucking meaningless. I think you all know that, but I’m gonna say it anyway. Not a good feeling hanging that MVP award on your mantle, knowing every time you stare at it you’ll think of a Super Bowl loss.” Maverick scoffs. Thanks for the subtle jab, coach. “We’re already legends. Making it this far without a loss does that for you. So all that’s left to be decided is this: do you want to be remembered as the team who almost went all the way? Who got to the Super Bowl and blew it? Because whether you realize it or not, it’s only gonna take a few bad plays or a few things not bouncing our way and that’s what’s gonna happen. Or, do you want to be the team who finished the job? Who did what no other team ever could. It’s that simple. So let’s finish it.” The Knights march to the end of the tunnel, waiting to be introduced. In minutes, both teams take the field. The NFC is the designated home team, so the Seahawks are in all blue, the Knights in their road whites with black pants. The roof to NRG Stadium is closed, and nearly every seat is already filled. The typical Super Bowl buzz hovers over the stadium as pre-game protocols build to the national anthem. Luke Bryan’s words ring throughout the stadium. Players feel their hearts beating against their chest pads. Captains meet at midfield for the coin toss. The Seahawks win and defer to the second half. Both kickoff units take the field, and the gravity sets in. Roughly three hours from now, the lives of everyone on both sides will be changed significantly and forever. Players savor their final moments before kickoff: one last look to the crowd, one last whiff of the smelling salts, one last prayer to God. Hauschka’s arm rises and falls before he runs up to the ball. Cameramen, fans, players, coaches, and officials look to the sky, faked out as the kick bounces sideways, traveling about twelve yards and landing in the arms of a blue jersey. 5 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
RazorStar 4,025 Posted May 5, 2017 Oh we got Sherm pissed. Gonna be a wild finish, that's for sure. 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Thanatos 2,847 Posted May 6, 2017 ONSIDE KICK!!! Dear god! And the Hawks got it! Man oh man Stevo. I'm really gonna miss this when it ends. 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
SteVo+ 3,702 Posted May 10, 2017 ONSIDE KICK!!! Dear god! And the Hawks got it! Man oh man Stevo. I'm really gonna miss this when it ends. Thanks, man! I'm gonna miss writing it as well, but it's best to finish before wearing out your welcome. I hope the last three chapters (plus this one, really) form a fitting conclusion. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites