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Kendall
One play had fuckedup everything.
After being promoted to starting quarterback halfway through last season and then taking the Skyhawks from a losing team to a playoff-bound one, I thought for sure the position would be mine to keep. But one costly interception was all it took for the compliments about how good I was to turn into questions about if I was good enough, the commentary damn near impossible for me to ignore even though I’d done everything I could to block out the noise.
I was mostly off social media.
I’d completely stopped watching some of my favorite sports debate shows.
Hell, I’d even banned my own family from giving me updates on what “they” were saying about me.
But now that training camp had officially begun, it was obvious that, regardless of the measures I’d taken to protect my psyche, the front office -the coaches- had heard it all. And not only had they heard it, but they were giving so much consideration to the critiques of my game that instead of naming me the starter at the beginning of camp like I’d expected, they had me going toe-to-toe with the former starting QB, the two of us competing for the position as if it hadn’t already been mine for a reason.
Yeah, it was bullshit. But it was what it was. And really, I could only blame myself since I was the one responsible for how our season had ended.
The game was tied with less than a minute left in regulation, plenty of time for my offense to make something happen. And after an incredible kickoff return that put us in Buffalo territory, all we had to do was get a few more yards that would set our kicker up with an easy field goal to either win the game or send it into overtime.
Either way, we weren’t losing.
When I dropped back for a pass, our tight end was coming so wide open that it only made sense for me to deliver him the ball. But what I thought would happen next and what actually happened were two very different things.
In my mind, he was going to catch the ball, fall to the ground, and then we’d immediately call timeout so that we could get our kicker into the game. But what really happened was, I threw the ball, it somehow got tipped by a lineman, and it fell right into the hands of Buffalo’s safety who ran it back for a touchdown that ended our season.
It was a devastating moment, followed by a rough few days of having my social media pages inundated with hateful comments from people who called themselves Skyhawks fans. And even though I understood that was a part of the game, that didn’t make it hurt any less, especially since I knew there was some truth to what they were saying.
Iwastrash for throwing a pick six in the final seconds of the game, and itwasmy fault that our season had ended early. But I also knew that if it wasn’t for me, we probably wouldn’t have been in the playoffs at all. And even if the “fans” wanted to act like that wasn’t the case, I wasn’t about to let the coaches forget it, turning week one of training camp into something like a highlight reel and putting my competition on notice that if he really wanted his spot back, he was going to have to take that shit.
Of course, in the end, it wouldn’t be my decision to make. And the coaches had already made it very clear that they wouldn’t be officially naming a starter until the end of the preseason. But after my first week showing in camp, I felt good about my chances, lowkey on a high as I made my way into the team cafeteria to grab a late lunch and was greeted by one of the defensive tackles, Gerald, with a loud ass, “There he go! Just the man I needed to see.”
Shaking my head with a grin, I grabbed my boxed meal and carried it over to where he, Hunter, and Hawk were already parked at a table, taking a seat in one of the empty chairs as I asked Gerald, “What’d you need to see me for?”
When he started, “I just wanted to congratulate you,” I assumed he was going to be talking about football stuff until he continued, “I mean, of all the Instagram baddies, Kiki Knight isdefinitelya first-ballot Hall of Famer.”
Wait, what?
Out of pure confusion, I chuckled as I replied, “I legit have no idea what you’re talkin’ about, bruh.”
“Now this nigga wanna play dumb,” Gerald grumbled as he pulled out his phone. And after a few swipes, it was clear he’d found whatever it was he was looking for, his face filled with skepticism when he asked, “So you really tryna tell me this ain’t you in this picture giving Kiki’s fine ass one of those,“Meet me in the bathroom in two minutes”looks?”
Hearing her name for a second time was when it hit me that he was talking about Shakira. But even with that revelation, I still didn’t know what picture he was referring to until he slid his phone my way, and…damn.
Itdidkinda look like we were making plans for a bathroom quickie.
Obviously, nothing had happened between us. And even in the moment, I was pretty sure we were just being…friendly. But I guess in the court of internet opinion, the half-lidded look I was giving her and the way she was grinning back at me meant the two of us were definitely fuckin’, the caption on the picture that had been shared to one of those Instagram gossip pages all but confirming our alleged involvement even though it was the furthest thing from the truth.
“Looks like Kiki Knight is flying with a new Skyhawk these days.”
Don’t get me wrong, Shakira…Kikiwas fine as fuck.
Like, somehow even finer in person than she was in this picture of us fine.
But for people to assume we were thatacquaintedbased off of one picture was wild as hell, the entire thing laughable until I saw some of the shit they were saying in the comments.
“Fuck sloppy seconds. This nigga is getting like, sloppy twelfths lol.”
“K.K. done got her another one, huh? Smh. #NotMyQuarterback”
“At least now we know why he threw that playoff game last season. Had to cash out his future pops-in-law at the bookie joint.”
