AllFreeNovel
Share Us
There is constant speculation about me. Judging. Questioning. Doubting. And it isn’t just the sports media. I’m enough of a celebrity that everyone has an opinion.
As if aware I’m too stunned to speak, she says, “Strictly speaking, I don’t know much about football.”
I frown. “Define much.”
“You score points when you get a touchdown. The quarterback throws the ball.” She looks up and away. “Oh, the kicker kicks the ball. Everyone else uses their hands. Just like soccer.” She wrinkles her nose as she considers her last statement, then shakes her finger. “Nope. That’s wrong. In soccer you can’t use your hands. I guess that means football is the opposite of soccer.”
For a second, I’m sure she’s pulling my leg. A deliberate study of her face reveals she’s one hundred percent serious. She doesn’t know anything about football. Or soccer, for that matter. I’m strangely charmed by this development.
She bites her lip. “You can teach me. I’m a quick study.”
A laugh slips out. It’s cute that she thinks I can take a couple of hours and teach her what I know. After all, I’ve been trying to master the game of football most of my life.
I wonder what Cam told her about me.
“I don’t always lose, you know?” I say, changing the subject. I have the chance to convince her I’m a decent football player and I’m going to take it.
“No one loses all the time,” she quips, not missing a beat.
“You know my record as a starter?”
She raises an eyebrow. Stupid question. Yesterday she didn’t even know my name.
“Thirty-four and twenty-six.” I’m fudging a little—my first game, I wasn’t technically a starter. But I won the game, so I’m counting it.
“Thirty-four wins?” she asks. At my nod, she puts her finger on her chin. “I wouldn’t have guessed that based on your notoriety. I suppose it’s the games you didn’t win that fuel the narrative.”
Bullseye.
The world of sports has changed in the era of social media. Thirty years ago, I’d be relegated to a few sentences at the end of an article. Local fans would care. And some people would know my name.
But now, in this digital age, fans know the players. They have direct access.
I was a media darling my first year. I worked hard to gain even more attention, posting nonsense on my accounts almost every day. Everyone wanted a piece of me.
Then came the eight interceptions. The tides changed quickly. The haters came, fast and furious. And their vitriol, even through my phone screen, felt so real. I couldn’t handle it, so I deleted all my accounts.
Judy made me reopen them. She’s an expert at setting up filters to curate what I see, and she’s taught me to ignore the negativity. It usually works.
For some reason, it’s harder this time. I had to stop looking. My accounts are currently being managed by one of Judy’s employees. I owe him a bottle of scotch. Or a case. Or a truck full.
Ellie interrupts my meandering mind. “Why do you think new teams keep taking you?”
It’s a great question. One that doesn’t have an easy answer, although that isn’t stopping it from being debated in living rooms across America. Franchise quarterbacks aren’t common. Everyone is looking for someone to build their team around, but not everyone finds the right guy.
Two teams have voluntarily traded for me. I’m still on my rookie deal so my contract is small compared to other quarterbacks, but they still chose me. They must have felt there was a chance I could make a difference.
How many more opportunities do I have to be a starter? I don’t know the answer to that question. My upcoming free agency will be the real test. Will a team be willing to offer me a contract? For some reason, I don’t try to explain all that to Ellie. I just shrug again and say, “I don’t know.”
FOUR
ELLIE
After I go home, I spend the evening giving myself a crash course in everything football. I need to get a wider view of the sport. My knowledge clearly didn’t impress Slater. Not that I blame him. The soccer comments were embarrassing. It might have been nerves that caused my confusion, but I still know almost nothing about the game.
A sports show ran some highlights of Slater’s best plays earlier in the week and I find a clip on the internet. I watch it and rewatch it. Even with my limited knowledge, he looks talented. His movements seem crisp and precise, and his throws are right on target.
On one play, he darts to the side to avoid a tackle and then, while falling, throws the ball thirty-five yards into the arms of his waiting teammate. How does a guy who can do that fail to find a receiver from the four-yard line when the game is at stake?
