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Tarek:No, you idiot. Because I need to go to the store, not enough food for Ramiro, you know how much he eats.
My out-loud laughing fills the silence in the room. He’s not kidding, either. I’ve seen Ramiro eat half the team under the table. Every year we bet one of the rookies to see if they can match him in a BBQ ribs challenge. These kids will do anything to join in. So, year after year, we see them puking their guts up as Ramiro is still finishing off his plate—andthat of the rookie.
Jordan:Why don’t you just order in the whole store? Then we might have a chance.
Tarek:Good idea.
Jordan:Swing past when you’re heading out and I’ll come with you. I’m ready whenever.
Tarek:Sounds good. Be there in thirty or so.
Jordan:Okay.
That gives me time to do some of my social media posting. It’s part of the job I hate but a necessary evil. Keeps the sponsors happy and pays the bills. Sasha has been good at helping me get better at it. I mean, I have a PR person who is always there in the background, but I don’t want to hand over my accounts or give out my passwords. Everything I post I want to be authentic me. One of the things I promised myself when I got drafted was never to lose sight of the real Jordan and get wrapped up in all the fame. I’ve made sure there are no scandals, secret videos or pictures, stories that make their way out into the public at the worst time.
It’s called integrity.
Never forget where you came from.
* * *
“So how many are we feeding, anyway?” I’m pushing the shopping cart as Tarek is throwing more and more food in, and we haven’t even started with the alcohol yet.
“Rhett, Levi, Calder, AJ, and Ramiro.”
“Shit, we need two carts then.” We both start laughing and of course we aren’t quiet. It might have something to do with our size too, but we are hard to disguise. The clowning around starts attracting the stares and of course the cameras. Life before phone cameras is a distant memory.
“Lucky we’re off season, otherwise Coach would know every piece of crap food we are about to eat before we make it outside of this store.” Tarek gives a chin lift to the couple of teenage boys trying to inconspicuously film us.
“Better than the two chicks over in the frozen aisle who are trying to dare each other to come ask for a selfie with me.” Tarek gives me a shove in the shoulder, and it has me off balance and almost running into the huge pile of toilet paper rolls on the end of the aisle.
“Well, that would have been ashitshow if I wasn’t so good on my feet.” Laughing at my own joke has him just grunting and throwing a packet into the cart.
“That was the worst joke of the day so far.” Tarek rolls his eyes at me.
“Come on, it was perfect timing. Not even Lonigan could have topped that one. It was on point!” I try to tell him as we keep walking, and his hands are reaching for more food. “Surely we have enough now. We just need a fuck-ton of beer.”
“No one said this was a party, buddy, we’re just playing X-box…” He’s looking at me and the smirk must be giving it away. “Yeah, okay, whatever. You’re right, we need beer, and a lot of it!”
“You know this needs to stop soon, right? Otherwise, we are going to get our ass handed to us when we show up for training camp in July.” I push the full cart toward the checkouts.
“You are so full of it. Look at you. You can’t tell me you aren’t still training as hard as normal. You aren’t the one on the team we need to worry about, we both know who that is…”
“Ramiro,” we both say at the same time.
One of the best things about playing football is teammates. When we’re on the field life is serious and all our jobs depend on having each other’s backs. But off the field, life isn’t taken too serious and not a day goes by without a good laugh.
Looking across the kitchen counter in Tarek’s house, half the food is already gone. I never should have doubted him when he was buying so much.
“Fuck you!” AJ screams out as Calder, Levi, and Rhett kill him in the game.
“That’s your own fault, dumbass. You need to keep up.” Calder smirks.
“Yeah, and you assholes are supposed to have my back. I’m out, Tarek you’re up.”
“Better luck next time, dickwad.” Rhett slaps him on the ass as he walks past him from the theatre-style couch seats that are set up in front of the biggest screen that Tarek could manage to fit in his media room.
They say professional sportsmen are still big kids at heart. One hundred percent that’s right. We might be twenty-eight and some of us married with little ones, but at the end of the day, we are just kids on the inside who live our lives playing sports.
