SteVo+ 3,702 Posted May 19, 2017 | | | | Knights of Andreas Part VI Chapter Eighty – And Miles to Go… Most mornings, Chance rushes through his routine to get on the road as quickly as possible. Today, he takes a long, hot shower before pouring himself a cup of coffee downstairs. He looks out the back windows into the yard of the home he has somehow already lived in for seven years. Melissa comes downstairs. Chance hears the thuds of the kids shuffling around upstairs, getting ready for school. He pours Melissa a cup of coffee. “So,” she says, “today’s the day.” “Always a big day when the players clean out their lockers,” he says, a modest deflection. “Well, it’ll be good to finally know whether I should start looking into real estate agents or additions for the patio.” “Fifty-fifty. I’ll call you as soon as I know.” He checks his watch. “I should go. I love you.” “I love you. And the kids love you. No matter what happens.” “I know.” Chance gets in his car and, instead of driving in silence to gather his thoughts, turns on sports radio. Hosts are still going wild over the Super Bowl. Fans are calling in deeming this Knights team the greatest the NFL has ever seen. Chance savors every glorious second, unfazed by traffic on his way to the MedComm Center. The National Football League consists of thirty-two teams, and at the end of every season, thirty-one leave their locker rooms in disappointment. The Knights were fortunate to be the victorious team two years ago, but this is different. There is nothing surreal, no delayed euphoria today. Players walk into the locker room fully aware of their achievement, something epic, something that will last. With no film to watch and no game next week, players trickle into the MedComm Center throughout the morning. This is their final official day as Knights for the 2016-17 season, and they want to enjoy it. The team is required to allow media time, but they’ll keep the reporters waiting as long as they want. They own the league today. The first players to arrive pick up where Sunday night left off. Everyone has had a day to process the victory with their families, so they now relive the game with their teammates again. An inevitable gathering occurs between Maverick, Bishop, and Watson, the architects of the double-lateral, fifty-five-yard touchdown pass that ultimately became the game-winning touchdown, a play pundits are already labeling as one of the most exciting in Super Bowl history. “I figured Logan was just gonna take off with it,” Maverick says. “But then I saw Joe downfield and knew if I could get the ball back we had a touchdown.” “I thought I was past the line of scrimmage,” Bishop says. “After I threw it back to you, I looked to see if the ref threw a flag, but he didn’t.” “I’ve watched the replay a million times,” Maverick says. “I actually overthrew it a little bit. It was a hell of a catch, Joe.” “Thanks,” Watson says. “I didn’t see you dump it off to Logan, so I kept running around. Eventually the safety broke off, and I just kept running.” For Watson, the only bad thing about that catch is how it will overshadow a disappointing season in his memory. But it gives him motivation for next season, where he won’t let his confidence get the better of him. The locker room is nearly full now, and players break off for other conversations. Maverick gets a moment alone, admiring once again his Super Bowl MVP trophy, one he (unlike two years ago) unquestionably earned. His solitude is brief, however, as Wilkes comes bursting into the locker room, ignoring multiple greetings on his way to Maverick’s locker. Wilkes looks tired but radiant, bearing the same smile that was on his face after the game, as if he walked out of NRG Stadium and into this locker room. “My man, Mav!” he says, extending his arms. No time to question it, Maverick braces for impact as his receiver hugs him. When they separate, Maverick says, “I still can’t believe we did it. 19-0.” “Fuck yeah, man. Best team of all-time.” “You’re a hell of a receiver, man. I always knew, coming into this league, I’d need a star number-one. I just…a few years back, I never could have guessed it’d be you.” “I got you, I got you. I always thought you were a cocky little bitch.” “What, always?” “Nah, nah, I mean, after a while I knew you was legit. You’re a great quarterback, Mav. One of the best.” Wilkes’ smile fades into sadness, a sight so odd Maverick doesn’t get a chance to appreciate that compliment. “What?” Maverick asks. “What’s up?” “It’s just…Everything we did this year, I don’t think we’re ever gonna top that. This could be it, you know?” Maverick puts his head down, pursing his lips. He has thought about that too, but he’s not sad about it. “You know what? Right now? Fuck next year. Let’s just enjoy this one for a while.” “Yeah, yeah. You right.” “Besides,” Maverick says, throwing his arm around Wilkes’ shoulder, “undefeated or not, MVP or not, there are still Super Bowls to be won.” Across the room, the defensive players gather, eager to relive the goal line stand that saved the Super Bowl. They keep to themselves at first, but eventually, Bishop crosses over toward Luck’s locker. These two are under contract, like most of the team, but each is about to begin an offseason unlike any they’ve faced before. “Get any sleep last night?” Bishop asks. “About five minutes,” Luck says. “Every time James fell asleep I’d just lay in bed with my eyes closed, but I couldn’t fall asleep.” “Me too. Hopefully things get better on that front before training camp.” “I’m sure they will.” “Listen, let’s keep in touch the next few months, yeah? I like the idea of James and Eli playing catch someday.” “Yeah man, I’d like that. Sounds like a plan.” Labeling this process as “cleaning out” of lockers is a bit of a misnomer; most players will be back in April for OTAs. But there are still some with uncertain futures, and they must take their belongings. One of these men is Penner, but unlike other players with expired contracts, he doesn’t give a thought to free agency. He packs his things slowly, old memories of this locker uncontrollably running through his mind. “Alright, I’m gonna ask,” says a voice from the next locker over. It’s Grodd, who won’t be cleaning out anything today. “You sure you’re retiring?” “Yep,” Penner says. “Any regret?” Penner shakes his head. “Really? None at all?” “Well,” Penner says, thinking, “I’m sure sometime around July or August, you know, training camp time, I’ll start feeling that itch.” “And then what?” “And then I’ll crack a cold one, sit back, and watch you guys work up a sweat.” Grodd laughs. “Anyway, Fitz can take over for me just fine, but you’re lead dog in the trenches now.” “I’m ready,” Grodd says honestly. He has grappled with this responsibility over the last few years, but not anymore. Still, one thing bothers him. “I worry, though, about the game, the way it’s changing.” “What do you mean?” “NFL football’s not a run-driven game anymore. I got no problem being a run-blocking guard; I just wonder if linemen like me are going out of style, you know?” Penner chuckles and puts his bag down. “I don’t give a damn what year it is. It’s football. If you can run the ball behind a badass O-line, you’re hard to stop.” Grodd smiles. He looks forward to testing that theory many months from now. Another thought occurs to him, but Ripka walks up to them, staring at Penner in a way that indicates he has more to say than congratulations. Grodd takes the hint and walks off. “How do you feel?” Ripka asks. “Tired,” Penner says bluntly, already getting sick of questions about retirement. “How’s your boy?” “Better now that football season’s over,” Ripka says. “You know, he can’t go out to the game Friday night with his friends and come home pouting.” “Ah, the teenage years. I’m not looking forward to those for my boys. I mean, I am, but, you know. In the meantime, I’ll get to enjoy watching them grow up.” “I hear you. You gonna let them play football?” “Yes I am. I lived my own life, took my own road. And so will they.” Ripka nods. He figured Penner would make this choice, and he respects it. Every father parents his children differently; he and Penner are no exceptions. Another player facing an uncertain future is Schwinn. A free agent to be, he removes everything from his locker. This inevitably gathers attention from teammates, who remember Schwinn mentioning an extension earlier in the year. “I wanna be back here,” Schwinn tells players who ask, “but my agent said it’s proper to clear out. Never know what’s gonna happen, you know? So, I hope to come right back to this here locker, but if I don’t, I’m gonna miss y’all.” Players with an understanding of how the NFL works know they should fear the worst and assume Schwinn gone, so they say goodbye to a player whose presence will be missed in the locker room as much as on the field. Around this time, front office personnel begin circulating the locker room. Phillips, as per his custom, first finds lockers of men no longer under contract. Some he intends to keep, some he intends not, but he wishes all of them well. First in this group is Flash, a player he essentially forced to stay in Los Angeles this year. “Flash, I want to thank you again for your professionalism,” Phillips says, shaking the free safety’s hand. “Thanks,” Flash says. “It’s been fun this year.” “Fun enough to stay?” Flash’s respectful smile slowly fades into a blank stare. He shakes his head. “No.” “I understand,” Phillips says. “Thanks again.” Phillips walks off, wanting to speak with Brock next, but he’s busy talking to Grantzinger, so he goes elsewhere. “That play you made on third and goal was epic,” Grantzinger says. “Thanks, man,” Brock says, the strap of a packed bag pressed against his shoulder. He will soon navigate free agency for the second time in his career, but this time, the Knights have shown no desire to retain him. “Hey, for whatever it’s worth, it’s been fun busting your balls all these years.” “Yeah, man, me too.” “Good luck, wherever you go.” “I’ll miss it here, to be honest. And congrats again,” he says, pointing to Grantzinger’s Defensive Player of the Year trophy. “As much as I don’t want to admit it, I wouldn’t have won it without you on the other side. Even if Coach benched your ass for half the season.” They both laugh before shaking hands and embracing. When they separate, Brock walks toward the locker room exit. “Not sticking around for the media?” Grantzinger asks. “Nah, I’m gone.” Brock walks slowly past lockers of teammates. Some nod politely, but no one engages him in conversation. He reaches the edge of the locker room without speaking to anyone else, so the words from Grantzinger, of all people, are the only words he hears on his way out of the MedComm Center. After speaking with each of the players one by one, Harden finds himself on the edge of the room, watching over his players. He wonders if this is the last time he’ll see all these men together. “You alright?” says a voice. Harden snaps out of it and sees McKenzie standing next to him. “Fine,” Harden says. “Ready to have the challenge flag in your pocket?” “Ah, yes,” McKenzie says. “It’s been a lifelong dream to be named interim head coach of an NFL team.” Harden sighs uncomfortably at the word interim. McKenzie needs to understand what’s happening. Harden needs to leave no doubt here. “Mac, I know you still don’t believe me, but I’m out. This is your team now.” “I’ve been thinking about that, and I think you’re full of shit.” “Oh yeah?” “You go home, you start up treatment again, you enjoy some family time. You don’t have to start living here again until August. That’s six months you get to spend at home, Merle.” Harden wants to tell McKenzie, “I’m not sure I’ve got six months left,” but he can’t bring himself to speak the words. He says instead, “Ah, football and family, the great balancing act.” McKenzie crosses his arms. “I’ve been doing it my whole life, Mac, and I’ve been picking football for years. Time for the clouds to start rolling in the other direction.” McKenzie doesn’t protest, looking back at the players, unable to look Harden in the eye. “Like I said, it’s your locker room now,” Harden says. “Best if they start realizing that.” McKenzie understands. He takes a breath and bellows out, “Listen up, ladies!” The locker room goes quiet. “Keep your pants on and ease up on the profanity. Time to let the reporters in.” Once the players have gone, Phillips arranges everything on the second floor, making sure everyone else is busy enough so he and Schneider won’t be bothered. He walks through the hallway to the adjacent office and knocks on the open door. “In the middle of something?” Phillips asks. “No, just signing checks,” Schneider says. “Super Bowl bonuses for everyone in the building, right down to the janitors. It’s rather tedious, I must say, but very much worth it to be signing over a hundred checks.” “None as big as the one you wrote Dean Spanos, I assume.” Schneider smiles, aware Phillips intended that as a compliment. Phillips closes the office door, and Schneider slides his chair away from his desk. “You had your eyes on the Raiders for a while,” Phillips says, stepping closer. “Years probably. Right?” Schneider isn’t sure where Phillips is going with this, but he doesn’t see the downside in letting him drive the conversation for now. “Many years,” Schneider says. “You were the newest, freshest, most exciting owner in the league. You could have picked anyone you wanted to lead the construction of your team. You picked me.” “I did. I saw a man who understood football, who could lead a front office with the utmost integrity and intellect. I did not, however…” Schneider opens a drawer from his desk, removing a packet of paper and standing up. “…see a man capable of this.” Phillips doesn’t bother for a closer look at the papers. He knows what it is. “Who was it, anyway?” Schneider asks. “Adam Javad.” “Really? I thought that bridge burned down.” “As did I.” Phillips raises his hand before Schneider can continue. He doesn’t want conversation dwelling on this for too long. “I did what I had to do. When you fired Daniel, wasn’t that part of your rationale?” “It was also that I considered you, at the time, a young general manager who had not yet developed the experience or courage to know it was the right move.” Phillips isn’t sure how to reply. That’s an angle of the Daniel firing Schneider has never shared before. “So,” Schneider says, “as I read this story, it becomes obvious to me you now have that courage. The only question is whether you’ve outgrown your welcome in this building.” Phillips hesitates, unsure of Schneider’s intentions for the first time. He seems to be undecided about keeping Phillips in Los Angeles. “I was never going to be a GM in London. The players would have revolted. Some of the coaches, too.” “These are all my concerns, as an owner, not yours! The general manager title places many responsibilities at your feet, Chance. Take caution in gathering more.” “I saw an opportunity to keep the team in Los Angeles, and I—” “Did you not seriously think I was already maneuvering behind the scenes? It’s a miracle I was able to pull it off.” “As far as I know, it was a lucky break.” “Lucky break!” Schneider screams, his face turning red. Phillips is glad he’s finally gotten him rattled. Schneider, though, contains his anger, knowing it doesn’t benefit him to be self-serving on this subject. “Even if it were, you think I’m the only one in this building who’s gotten by on luck?” Phillips purses his eyebrows, wondering how Schneider is going to turn this back on him. “You signed Logan Bishop to be a third-string tight end. You signed Marlon Martin to be a special teams captain. You picked Merle Harden to succeed Daniel just to piss me off. And you drafted Jonathan Maverick because the Rams had the first pick and took Bradford instead.” “All part of the business. Not every draft pick or signing works out.” “That’s right. That’s exactly right. No matter how much research, no matter how much dedication, no matter how much effort you put into your decisions, some work out and some don’t. Life in the NFL. But this…” Schneider holds up the paper one last time before throwing down on his desk. “…has no part in the NFL.” “I don’t disagree, Wayne. You’ll notice that report hasn’t seen the news wire yet.” “I have noticed. Must be quite a tightrope you’ve been walking the last few months.” Phillips takes a step back, breaking eye contact to look out the wall-to-wall windows towards downtown. He has enjoyed very little of the scheming over the last few months, and he wants Schneider to know that. “All I ever wanted was to manage a football team,” Phillips says. “Draft who I want to draft, hire who I want to hire, without any background noise.” “And by now you’ve learned that’s impossible.” Yes, indeed he has. “Doesn’t mean we have to do this every year.” “No, we certainly don’t.” “So, what then?” Phillips asks. He senses an opportunity, but he won’t push it now. This has to come from Schneider’s mouth. Schneider looks out the windows too, preferring not to answer that question directly. “It’s a shame, Chance, that we’ve been somewhat at odds with each other the last seven years.” Phillips turns from the window, facing Schneider. “You look around the league, and so many coach-GM or GM-owner tandems, so many organizations fail simply because men can’t work together.” Phillips pounces. “It’d be a shame if that happened here.” “Indeed it would,” Schneider says, facing him. “A terrible shame.” “You want me to stay,” Phillips guesses. “You’re goddamn right I do. Luck aside, we didn’t just go 19-0 for no reason. Imagine what the next seven years could bring.” Phillips takes a breath, unafraid to show his relief. After all the conniving and subterfuge, his long-term future in Los Angeles is moments from being fortified. “So what’s it going to be?” “I want security,” Phillips says. “Security? You’re the highest paid GM in the league thanks to a contract that’s only two years old.” “Oh, I don’t want a raise. I want a buyout written into the language of my contract. A big one. No offense, Wayne, but if you reverse course on this I’d like it to hit your wallet hard.” “Fine by me. Anything else?” Schneider’s cavalier concession freezes Phillips a moment, but an obvious demand comes to him. “Allan Stein. I think we should let him go.” “Fire him?” Schneider takes a step back. He didn’t expect this. “That’s a bold move, Chance.” “Stein will tell you what you want to hear. I’ll tell you the truth. I think, deep down, you prefer to hear it straight.” Schneider smiles. “You’re right, I do. Still, it seems unfair to displace the man and his family so suddenly just because you’d rather not work with him. This is not a move I would expect Chance Phillips to make.” Phillips shrugs. “Life in the NFL.” “It most certainly is.” “I think we are in agreement, then,” Phillips says, emphasizing the word think. “I think we are, Mr. Phillips.” The two step closer to each other, extend their arms, and, against the backdrop of the sun shining over downtown Los Angeles, they shake hands. “I suppose we need to speak with Allan,” Schneider says, “let him know he should be putting his house on the market. Would you like the honor?” “I think we should do it together.” “Very well.” Phillips walks away, ready to knock uncomfortably on Stein’s office door for the last time. “One last thing,” Schneider says, halting Phillips in the doorway. “What about Javad?” “What about him?” “How’d you string him along for months only to bury the story of his career?” Phillips smiles. “Oh, I gave him a little something.” Two men, a technician for the L.A. Mobile and a friend who owes Javad a favor, shuffle around the living room, setting up the lighting and audio while Javad scrolls through Twitter on his phone. The technician adjusts one of the lights, steadying his hands to set it perfectly, when he feels the thump of a furry dog walking past his legs. He flinches, and the light angles downward, shining in his face. “Damn, I almost had it!” Javad looks up from his phone. “Bowser, here boy!” The Doberman happily trots across the room and sits down while Javad pets him. Harden appears from around the corner. “You dickheads ready yet?” “Just about, coach,” Javad says. “You want to look at the questions one last time?” “No,” Harden says, standing over two chairs in the middle of the room. He sits down in the one facing the cameras. Javad looks around at everything, marveling especially at the sight of Harden. This is a man who rebuffs the media at every turn. And in a journalism era where national reporters get every big scoop, a small-time beat writer is about to interview Merle Harden in his home. The ground rules have been agreed upon: Harden knows the base questions, but Javad may ask follow-ups at any time. The idea is to have an authentic, organic conversation. Harden may request to stop recording at any time. The tech guys give Javad the thumbs up, and he positions himself in the chair opposite Harden. Bowser circles everyone for a moment before laying down at Javad’s feet. “Alright, asshole,” Harden says. “Let’s get this over with.” The cycle of the NFL season/offseason is relentless, stopping for nothing. It is neither surprising nor unnatural, then, that after a second Super Bowl parade in three years marches down Figueroa Street, the Knights get to work on defending their title. The firing of assistant GM Allan Stein is announced as a mutual parting of ways and gains little traction in the media. Phillips enters the offseason in full control and puts his plan into motion. Ron McKenzie is named head coach and Chet Ripka is named defensive coordinator, both indefinitely. The Knights tender restricted free agents Darren Banks and Jeremy NesSmith at the second-round level, a price no team is likely to consider. With Marcus Jameson not expected to be fully recovered until mid-season, the Knights need to be aggressive in retaining depth behind him. Despite the wonderful story of Alex Johnson’s recovery, the Knights let him reach free agency. They’d love to have him back, but they don’t need to invest more money at receiver with Wilkes, Watson, and Harper locked up the next four years. After Brian Penner formally announces his retirement from the NFL, the Knights do not pursue a free agency or trade replacement, knowing they already have his successor in Bruno Fitzsimmons. The Knights also do not pursue Sean Brock, a free agent. Neither the coaches nor management are sold on Andre Harrington as a replacement, so the Knights add competition through free agency and plan to add more in the draft. Though not pressed for cap space, Phillips still evaluates all active contracts, including that of Marlon Martin. Though the coaches fight to keep him, Phillips sees an aging veteran whose play is declining, a young replacement in Scott Sterling, and a $5.8-million cap figure. It’s neither an easy nor a happy decision, but Martin becomes a cap casualty. Most of the offseason intrigue involves the safety position. Despite his desire to leave Los Angeles, Griswold Johnson is pursued aggressively by the Knights. Both Phillips and Ripka understand his immense value to the defense, and Phillips therefore has no problem paying a free-agency premium for him. Johnson is firm in his desire to leave, however, and the Knights ultimately lose a bidding war. Meanwhile, strong safety Robert Schwinn also hits the open market. Phillips wants him back, but only at the right price. He appears close to a reasonable contract, but a late free-agency surge elevates Schwinn’s price tag, and his agent offers no hometown discount. The Knights face immense pressure to keep Schwinn in the wake of Flash’s departure, but Phillips, ever methodical, refuses to overpay him, and the Knights have holes at both safety spots. Phillips strikes by signing strong safety Tony Jefferson, the best free agent available in the secondary. He also finds a cheap placeholder at free safety, far from an inspiring fix. But Ripka, the newly hired secondary coach, and the scouts all love this year’s draft class at safety. When the offseason hits a quiet spot between free agency and the draft, Knights fans are as optimistic as ever about the upcoming season. In their mind, the Jefferson signing shores up any concern at safety, and more importantly, the Knights are returning ten of eleven starters from a historically prolific offense. Draft night comes, and the Knights, proud owners of the 32nd pick, spectate on most of the first round. When the picks reach the late 20’s, however, a free safety the team especially likes is still on the board, and Phillips spends a mid-round pick to trade up for him, officially filling the last hole in the Knights roster. Phillips spends his second-round pick on a pass-rusher, then drafts his board the rest of the way. Phillips stops by Schneider’s office to discuss the latest round of dialogue with Grantzinger’s agent. Both sides have been working on a long-term deal, and in the summer lull of the offseason, this occupies plenty of time on the second floor. Most of the other time, lately, has been dedicated to previewing the upcoming season as many fans are doing. “Mr. Phillips,” says a voice from the hallway Phillips recognizes as his secretary. “You have a call.” “I’ll take it in here,” he says, waiting for the phone to ring and picking it up. “I don’t know about Denver,” Schneider says, observing pundits on TV calling them a dark horse pick in the AFC. “Obviously that defense is good but I’m not sold on Siemian. Or Lynch, for that matter. We definitely—” He freezes after seeing a horrified look on Phillip’s face. “What?” “Merle’s gone.” Schneider hurriedly mutes the TV and looks back at Phillips. “He went for a walk, when he came back he was a little out of breath, and…” Phillips’ words escape him. Schneider looks back at the TV, then out the windows, staring into the city. Phillips presses the phone against his ear, closing and covering his eyes. He talks with Melinda a few minutes. Word spreads throughout the MedComm Center, and then through a series of phone calls to the players and coaches. Ten minutes later, all sports outlets are reporting that on this day, May 19, 2017, the NFL’s reigning Coach of the Year is gone: Merle Harden has passed away in his home. News travels fast in the NFL. The funeral procession drives off the highway into a sprawling cemetery. The California sun beats on everyone who circles around the recently dug grave. Measures are taken to keep the media far enough away, but cameras still capture many notable faces in attendance. The entire Knights team and organization is there, plus old friends, colleagues, and former players from Merle’s years coaching high school and college. Also present are Jerome Jaxson and Caden Daniel, two men who have seen their time in San Diego end—Daniel to Black Monday, Jaxson to free agency—but come today out of respect for their time in Los Angeles. So do Malik Rose and Griswold Johnson, two men who Coach Harden handpicked to be cornerstones of his defense, two men who would still be in Los Angeles if he had his say. Facing brutally hot temperatures, the funeral itself is short and succinct, the way Harden would have wanted it anyway. McKenzie delivers a beautiful eulogy that brings many grown men to tears, and when he wraps up, everyone is grateful to get out of the sun. Led by a police escort, the procession proceeds south to Beverly Park, clearing security past extravagant houses towards Wayne Schneider’s mansion. Knowing many would attend this funeral, Schneider insisted on providing his home as a gathering instead of overburdening Melinda and Trisha. Unlike the annual Knights holiday party, the mood is somber and reflective. Beverages flow as everyone pours through old memories, happy and sad. Two men who surprisingly hit it off are Rose and Wilkes. They appreciate for the first time that they are very much alike, extremely talented football players with aggressive personalities, united by Coach Harden. They will happily go back to hating each other tomorrow. For now, they’re mature enough to share a drink and pay respect to a man they both admired. Most of the coaches and front office guys congregate inside, at one of the bars. Drinks and conversation flow faster as the hours pass until a silent moment passes over Phillips, Schneider, McKenzie, and Ripka. Phillips has a thought, and he’s too drunk to consider suppressing it. “You know what I keep thinking about?” No one says anything. “The ’13 season. Coaching staff in shambles after firing Daniel, we were 3-5 at the halfway point…” “So?” McKenzie asks. “So, that team should have fallen apart. But it didn’t. Harden didn’t allow it.” “Wonder if he’ll make the Hall of Fame,” Ripka says. “He’s certainly in ours,” Schneider says. “In fact, he’s the first star in the pavement.” “What pavement?” McKenzie asks. Schneider describes the concept he recently devised, a team hall of fame modeled after the Hollywood Walk of Fame. More minutes pass, and Phillips finds himself alone with McKenzie, who is visibly emotional. Everyone associated with the Knights mourns Harden on a personal level, but McKenzie has known him longer than anyone, family aside. “The toughest part, to me,” McKenzie says in the middle of rambling, “is when the players look up at me, they’re gonna see Merle. Or, they’re gonna want to see Merle. And they’ll be comparing me to him, everything I do.” “You’re never gonna fill that hole, Ron,” Phillips says. “I know.” “All you can do is coach. That’s all Merle ever did, when you think about it. He just coached his way out of anything and everything.” McKenzie finally smiles and takes another drink. Phillips pats him on the back and walks outside to the back yard, standing there only for a moment before he decides he’s had enough for today, and goes home. Some weeks later, the newest NFL season is on the brink of beginning, training camps around the league set to open in just a few days. In Los Angeles, sports fans are tired of the dead zone of summer. Basketball and hockey have long been over. And while the Dodgers are poised for a playoff run, postseason baseball is months away. Los Angeles is gearing up for football season, excitedly counting down to training camp and the Knights’ first preseason game. The second floor of the MedComm Center is gearing up as well, though for different reasons. A relatively boring summer of signing draft picks and foundational negotiations for contract extensions is about to be replaced with a wave of injury news, positional battles, and depth chart analysis. Phillips has just finished talking to another agent, intending that as his last phone call of the day, when Schneider knocks on his open door, something in his arms. “Got something for you,” Schneider says. Interested, Phillips rises from his chair, quickly identifying the black cloth as Schneider unveils it. “Ah, the new jerseys!” “Yes indeed,” Schneider says proudly. “We pushed the deadline a bit, but they’ll be ready for our first game.” Phillips studies the jersey. Like the first one he saw, it bears Maverick’s name and number. Compared to the old jerseys, it has a sleek, postmodern look, added streaks of purple, and a sharp shading to the letters on the back. “Looks great, Wayne,” Phillips says, flipping from the backside to the front. “It’s like—” He freezes at the sight of something he hadn’t noticed, something that was not on the first jersey. Above the number, below the left shoulder, is a circular-shaped patch stitched onto the jersey bearing the initials “MH.” Phillips slides his fingers over the fabric. “Hence the delay,” Schneider says somberly. “Typically the league wouldn’t allow such a late change, but, given the circumstances…” Phillips nods, fighting back tears. He folds the jersey and hands it back to Schneider, who shakes his head. “Keep it,” Schneider says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Phillips presses the jersey to his chest and nods. “Tomorrow.” After some tidying up around his office, Phillips heads out for the day, jersey in hand. He walks slowly through the hallway, down the stairs, and through the first-floor lobby, admiring the pictures and architecture before escaping into the parking lot. Phillips walks through the empty lot to his car, only a few steps away before something stops him. He halts, looks up, and turns around to look back at the MedComm Center. The silhouette of Farmers Field looms in the background. Phillips becomes lost in his own thoughts and memories, reliving their sights and sounds as if they occurred just a moment ago. He gazes at the press room, packed wall to wall with reporters, tightening his tie as Schneider introduces him as general manager of the Knights. He braces as the Los Angeles ground shakes beneath Farmers Field. The Packers/Knights game halts for a moment before Logan Bishop runs the game-winning touchdown into the end zone. He looks out into the press room again, this time feeling an uncomfortable curiosity among the reporters, wanting to hear why Caden Daniel was fired. He watches confetti rain on the Seahawks, celebrating a Super Bowl the Knights could have won. He feels the wind blowing on his face as Jonathan Maverick holds up the Lombardi Trophy, energizing the crowd watching the championship parade. He hears pads collide on the practice field. He hears fans cheering at Farmers Field. Then he’s back in the MedComm Center parking lot. He looks down at the jersey again and turns to his car, to the drive home, to the road ahead. 4 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Sarge+ 3,436 Posted May 19, 2017 I bawled like a baby. What an ending. I knew you would do it justice, but I didn't know it would be like this. I have many questions, but I will save them for a later time. Thank you for putting so much of your time and energy into writing this, Steven. 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
RazorStar 4,025 Posted May 19, 2017 Merle Harden died as he lived. AS A FOOKING LEGEND, MATE! 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Thanatos 2,847 Posted May 19, 2017 Absolutely fantastic. Stevo man, you should seriously be a writer. That's not me busting your chops, or having you on, that is a real legit statement. My sister is a writer and you honestly write better than she does. 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
SteVo+ 3,702 Posted May 22, 2017 I bawled like a baby. What an ending. I knew you would do it justice, but I didn't know it would be like this. I have many questions, but I will save them for a later time. Thank you for putting so much of your time and energy into writing this, Steven. Thank you, Sarge. I look forward to fielding your questions (and anyone else's) after the last chapter goes live this Friday. Absolutely fantastic. Stevo man, you should seriously be a writer. That's not me busting your chops, or having you on, that is a real legit statement. My sister is a writer and you honestly write better than she does. Thank you, Thanatos. I appreciate the kind words. I'm actually trying to self-publish a college football novel I wrote back in 2013, so stay tuned! Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
SteVo+ 3,702 Posted May 24, 2017 As you all probably know, I often litter the KoA text with little nuggets, references, and such...and leave them for you guys to find. Alas, with this chapter, I can't help but point a few out. Forgive me if this comes off as self-serving. The title of the chapter, "And Miles to Go..." is an allusion to a Robert Frost poem where a man stops while walking through the woods to have a look around, even though there's a lot going on beneath the surface. This is, essentially, what Phillips does in the final scene of this chapter. The final stanza of the Frost poem: The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. From "Game of the Century," a conversation between Harden and Maverick: Harden extends his leg to jog back on the field, but Maverick’s arm holds him back. Harden resists the impulse to smack his quarterback in the face. “Promise me,” Maverick says, “that when the season’s over, you and I sit down.” “I’m gettin’ old, Mav. I got too many promises to keep.” And finally, a long-term connection. From "And Miles to Go..." when Harden dies: He talks with Melinda a few minutes. Word spreads throughout the MedComm Center, and then through a series of phone calls to the players and coaches. Ten minutes later, all sports outlets are reporting that on this day, May 19, 2017, the NFL’s reigning Coach of the Year is gone: Merle Harden has passed away in his home. News travels fast in the NFL. And from the Prologue, the first words of KoA: Word first escapes the residence around 6:23 Pacific Time via a series of text messages. Household members tell the first people who come to mind, and amidst one of the exchanges, the line of communication branches out to a local reporter. He checks with his sources and confirms the news within two minutes. He attaches his name to the report and the rest of the nation soon takes hold of the sudden news that on this day, February 11, 2009, a legend has gone: Oakland Raiders owner Al Davis has passed away in his home. News travels fast in the NFL. 3 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites