“So subs and salads?” I ask, hoping to get him out of the house and get some food in him.
He huffs out another laugh and shakes his head. “If that’s what you want, then that’s what you’ll get.”
The deli place isn’t really all that grand. It’s full of pastel brown, pinks, and peaches, with booths on one side and high-top tables on the other. But while the decor is a bit bland for my taste, the food is phenomenal. I snag my favorite Italian hoagie while Marcus settles on a plain grilled chicken one.
“I heard congratulations are in order. Are you excited about the starting position?”
Marcus smiles for a moment before setting the sandwich down as a heavy emotion crosses his face.
“Yeah,” he says.
“You don’t sound very convincing,” I point out.
He picks apart his napkin a bit and nods.
“I mean, yeah, I’m excited. It’s a very good step toward my dreams. So, very, very excited...”
“But–” I prompt when he drifts off, obviously having more to say.
He stays quiet for a beat before letting out a sigh.
“But it’s just a lot of pressure. I know I’m good enough to be out there, and everyone watching me in practice knows it, too, but my brain can be rude sometimes. And honestly, I was so hyped for itearlier, and then Kingston kind of killed my mood,” he huffs out a bit.
“Is all of the rudeness in your brain because Kingston was a grade A prick when you got picked to start in Holt’s place?” I ask, hoping to dispel the bad energy Kingston injected into Marcus.
He slowly shakes his head. “No, it’s not. I’ve always had haters. And I’ve had them for the same reason Kingston is hating. They don’t think I belong out there.”
I raise a curious eyebrow at that because I don’t know much about football, but all I’ve heard since they got here is how amazing Tristan and Marcus are, and how they are football prodigies that everyone is waiting to see them play more with the certainty that they’ll blow the competition out of the water. So the concept that anyone would think he doesn’t belong out there doesn’t quite compute.
“Why not?”
Marcus shrugs and sits back a bit. “Take your pick. Because I was born poor, because I don’t have the same background or level of training, because I don’t have a bunch of championships and competitions aside from school games under my belt, or even that there are still a lot of people out there that really don’t like it when a Black person takes a spot away from a white one,” he says.
I snort a disdainful laugh at that. All my life it’s always come down to race and money. Sometimes I forget that while Marcus is wealthy now, he wasn’t always, and regardless of how much money he has in his pocket, he’s always been and always will be proudly Black, just like I’m proud of my Asian heritage, despite the blatant racism that exists in the world.
“Heaven forbid talent and dedication win on the field. Isn’t that what sports are supposed to be about?”
Marcus looks up at me with a smile full of affection before leaning forward.
“In theory, sure. And when you’re in grade school and somewhat in middle school, then yes, that’s what it’s about. But starting in middle school, and even more so in high school, sports go from being fun to being a business. Yes, I get on the field and play my heart outbecause I love the game, but there’s still that knowledge in my head that every step I take is toward a future career.
“The training and competitions are about winning in front of eyes that are paying attention to the next generation of professionals. The more you have, the more you’re seen. It’s not just about the games. Some people who will play a significant role in whether you get chosen will never see you play. Not even once. Because it’s no longer about talent and dedication; it’s about whose face is going to bring people to the stadiums to watch.
“So there are always going to be haters. There are always going to be people like Kingston who get pissed off when he has all those eyes on him, and then gets overlooked for someone who doesn’t have half the training and accolades he has. And there are always going to be people pissed off because the person they put their lot in gets overlooked for someone like me,” he explains.
“And you want to do this as a career?” I ask, my voice full of skepticism after hearing how unfair choosing who gets to play and who doesn’t sounds.
Marcus lets out one of his trademark smiles and meets my eyes with enthusiasm.
“Absolutely, because I love the game; it’s so deep in my blood I don’t think I’m O positive anymore. I think I’m like O positive raised to the love of the footballth degree,” he says, and I can’t help the snort that comes out of me at that.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t recognize the problems that exist within it, but playing ball as a living is my dream. There are bad things when you get into the underbelly of it, but that can be said of almost any career; the trick is staying in your lane and staying true to yourself and your dream.”
I nod slowly, taking it in a little at a time. It still seems unfair, but I can also understand what he’s saying about most careers having an immoral underbelly somewhere, and about learning to stay true to yourself and not travel to those places. Honestly, I can easily see Marcus as the type to stay out of trouble in that regard simply because of how thoughtful and respectful he is of himself and his wants.
“And that foot in the door that starts you towards your future dreams hinges on whether you win the game on Saturday, since it’s your first as a college starter?” I clarify.
Marcus shakes his head. “Not necessarily, but it definitely makes a statement as to whether I deserve the position. I mean, yeah, I earned the shot at it, but I’ve got to prove I deserve to keep it.”
