I love talking football with Evan. It sucks he won't be in my league this year, but oh well. After three pitchers of beer, we head back to my apartment and get ready to crash. It had been a long day. But Tomorrow? Tomorrow, I will start looking for gigs.
Carter
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why is Coach calling me into his office? Obviously, this could be anything, but like always, I tend to assume the worst. I've been playing pretty decently throughout the first three seasons since being drafted by the Boston Wolverines.
My first season was statistically the worst, with 350 rushing yards and 100 receiving yards; however, this was mainly due to the limited playing time. My second and third seasons were better, both with around 700 rushing yards and 100 receiving yards. I could admit I should be more consistent. My ability to catch passes must improve if I want more playing time this upcoming year.
As I walk to Coach Boone's office, I already know what I'm going to say. I will tell him that I am working on my receiving routes and my hand-eye coordination. I already know that my biggest issue is constantly being in my head and losing track of the ball as it's thrown at me.
I finally arrived at Coach's office after what felt like the longest walk of my life.
Coach quietly blurts out, "Good afternoon, Carter, take a seat." I grab a nearby chair and can't help but feel it in my stomach. I am trying to push the intrusive thoughts out of my head, which is easier said than done.
"Carter," continues Coach. " These past three seasons, you have been an integral part of our team, which is why this conversation is tough."
As Coach is sitting there explaining to me that I have been traded to the New York Hawks, I allow all the intrusive thoughts in. Repetitive thoughts of not being good enough and being a failure flood my brain.
I manage to get out of my head long enough to hear Coach explain that my flight to New York will be tonight; I can't help but feel depressed about leaving my team and comfort zone.
"How could you be traded, especially for a 6th-round pick!" yells Roman Phillips. Roman is the team's quarterback and is one of the closest friends I've made since joining the NFL. Spencer Daniels, Boston’s best wide receiver, chimes in, "Dude, the NFL is savage! No loyalty. This is why we always have to stand up for what we are worth!"
I reply in a less energetic voice than I typically exude, "This situation is fucked, and leaving this playoff team for a subpar New York team sucks. We better all keep in touch."
As I walk away, knowing I have to pack for my flight, I grin at my two old teammates and shout, “I will see you guys in the playoffs this year, mark my words. The Wolverines will regret letting me go!”
***
I can't be too angry; the Hawks luckily gave me a first-class ticket, even though the flight time is only a little over an hour long. As much as I will miss my team in Boston, I can't help but feel a little excited to head back to New York. The only times I have ever visited New York have been when the Wolverines played the Hawks. My college friend Becky still lives in New York, and I am hoping we can reconnect. Becky is one of the lucky few who know that I am gay.
It took me about a year after I graduated college to accept and admit to myself that I was gay entirely. The first people I told about my sexuality were my college teammates Marcus and Greg. I never intended to tell Marcus or Greg because of how I thought they would react, but I told them because it started to affect my performance on the football field. Their easygoing reaction and acceptance really helped me feel more comfortable playing on the Bobcats during my final season.
This gave me the courage and carefree attitude to tell Becky, my parents, and my two brothers. Surprisingly, to me, at least, not only did they not care, but they were thrilled.
My parents gave their warranted opinion of my coming out prior to or during my NFL career. They tend to be highly cautious parents and are unsure how my teammates or the fans will feel when a gay man is playing football. This is a large reason why I refuse to come out or even date anyone.
As I get off the plane and walk towards the baggage claim, a young female fan, who is holding her mother's hand, asks politely, "Hi, are you Carter Elliot? If you are, please can I have your autograph? My brother and dad love watching you play!"
I find it endearing that someone knows me. Fans asked for autographs randomly in Boston, but not all the time. I have always been a good player in Boston, but I was never flashy or popular among fans.
"Yes, I am, and I would love to give you an autograph, but I have nothing to sign and no pen. I'd be happy to take a picture with you. Are you good with that?
The young girl screams, "Yes, please! Very quickly, the mother took a picture of me and her child, and then both ran off smiling. Honestly, these are the little things that bring me immense happiness and hope in life.
For now, I will be staying in a long-term Airbnb in Greenwich, New York. This area will be perfect because it is closer to East Rutherford, where my new stadium is located, than other areas of New York City. It is around 9 p.m., and I get a call from Marcus. I haven't spoken to Marcus or Greg in at least a year. Life just happens, and sometimes, it's hard to stay in touch with people. The last time I spoke to Marcus, he was bopping around different NFL teams practice squads.
I pick up the phone after about five rings and ask, "Marcus?"
Marcus laughs, "What do you mean, Marcus? Dude, how have you been? Um, were you not going to tell me your news?"
I have no idea what he is talking about. I just found out that Boston traded me a few hours ago; there's no way he would have any idea I was traded to the Hawks.
“What news are you talking about?” I respond by playing dumb.
"It is all over Sports Network that you have been traded to New York! I never told you, but I am in training camp for New York!" yells Marcus. Marcus screamed so loudly, clearly excited that I was now in New York with him. I'm thrilled that I might get to play with Marcus again, and we could hopefully rebuild our relationship to where it once was.
"Dude, fuck yes! I am pumped now. And here I was freaking out that I knew no one on the Hawks team, and unbeknownst to me, you are on the team!" I belted. Thankfully, Iam at my Airbnb, so nobody could hear me tell Marcus, " Before we get too excited, though, just in case you forgot I came out to you years ago, please don't tell anyone about it."
Marcus replies instantly, "Dude, I would never. I’ve got your back. If you ever decide to tell the team and anyone fucks with you, I got your back. But honestly, this team is great, and I wouldn't expect anyone to start shit." Before I can respond, Marcus giggles, "Hey, there are some good gay bars in Hell's Kitchen, I hear. I'll be your wingman whenever you need me; just let me know.”
