What a rush. I've just been notified that I've made the All-Star team for the first time in my career. The level of excitement is insane; I can hardly put it into words. Finding this out right before the Hawks’ first playoff game in years is surreal.
We closed out the regular season with a 10–6 record, capped by a loss last week. Coach McCormick decided to sit me and the other starters, as we had already clinched the third seed in the playoffs. We’re going up against the Kansas City Bears in the first round.
I still can’t believe I’ve made it this far. In my short career, I’ve only made the playoffs once, and we didn’t even win. I would do anything for a win, even just one. We’re favored in this round, the wild-card game, but that doesn’t mean the win is a guarantee. Kansas City is a solid team, and they finished just two games behind us, which is minimal in football terms.
It’s 10 a.m. on Sunday, January 6th, three hours before kickoff, and I arrive at the stadium. I’m a little early for warm-ups, but I don’t care. All I want to do is get ready, mentally andphysically. I make my way through the stadium, past the offices, when I feel a light tap on my shoulder.
I turn around abruptly and realize it’s General Manager Carlos Hernandez. He looks at me with a smile and says, “Ready for today? Are you going to bring us a win finally?”
I smile and say, “Is that even a question? We’re about to demolish Kansas City.”
He grins. “That’s what I like to hear. Do you mind coming to my office for a second? I want to have a quick chat. And don't worry, it's all good news.”
I follow him, with slight nerves, but tempered excitement buzzing through me. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but is this actually happening? Am I really about to get a contract extension? What if I don't like the numbers? Will I still accept it anyway? I have no idea.
We step into his enormous, well-lit office, and I take a seat. Carlos rolls his chair around the desk so he’s next to me, with a sheet of paper in hand. I can feel myself blushing from the close proximity.
“Carter,” he says, “I want to tell you this in person before the game. Not because I think it’ll help you today, but because I want you to know immediately how all-in we are with you, and how much we appreciate you.”
He continues, “1,100 rushing yards. 500 receiving yards. 35 catches. 10 touchdowns. Are you fucking kidding me? And now you’re an All-Star. You were fantastic this season.”
I look at him, eyes wide with excitement.
“I’m going to be honest,” he says. “When we traded a sixth-round pick for you, we did not expect this level of production. But wow, were we wrong. And with that, I want to show you an offer we believe is great.”
He slides a thin white sheet of paper on the desk, then stands up. “I’ll give you a minute to read it over. No pressureto answer now, as I assume you’ll want to talk with your agent before putting pen to paper.”
I nod and smile as he walks out. The door closes, and I look down at the paper. My jaw drops, and I read:Four years with an annual salary of eleven million dollars.
My heart pounds. This means I could play for the Hawks through age thirty and make forty-four million dollars. I was expecting, maybe, three years. This…this is beyond anything I imagined.
I pull out my phone and text Nate:I’ll tell you details later, after you meet me by the lockers after the game, but I got the best offer I could’ve dreamed of.
Nate replies almost instantly:Babe I’m so fucking excited for you. Tell me all about it later. Just focus on the game. Go beat Kansas City.
Still reeling from the numbers on the paper, I look up as Carlos strolls back in like he knows exactly how thrilled I am.
“So,” he says, “tell me your thoughts. I want to hear your initial reaction.”
I flash him the biggest smile and say, “This is perfect. I don’t even need my agent here to agree to this.”
He chuckles. “I knew you’d like it. But for formality purposes, let’s definitely have your agent review it first.”
I nod. “Of course. But I’m so excited to be a Hawk for the next four years, and honestly, hopefully even longer.”
Carlos winks. “Now go kick ass today and bring home a win. Keep doing what you’re doing, Carter, you’re amazing. You’re a superstar.”
I shake his hand, practically buzzing with excitement, and head toward the locker room. Time to get ready for the biggest game of the season.
At 1 p.m. on the dot, the Hawks’ kicker boots a beauty that lands at the one-yard line, right in front of the end zone.The New York crowd goes wild because Kansas City’s offense is starting with terrible field position.
I can’t help but feel pumped. A new contract. The playoffs. Everything I’ve worked for. And I even scored four free first-row tickets, at the 50-yard line. I glance behind me, towards the stands, as our defense rushes onto the field and I spot Nate, his twin Evan, Mel, and Paul.
They’re all jumping up and down. Nate catches my eye, blows me a kiss, and winks.
I catch the kiss playfully and blow one right back.
Miller smacks my ass hard. “Pay attention! Marcus just got a fucking sack in the end zone; a safety!”
