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He also has a bad temper and could replace one player at the drop of a hat, due to any crazy whim that crosses his mind. It could be as simple as the fact that they got a new tattoo he didn’t approve of. He’s known to go on power trips over dumb things, so who knows what this could be about.
It could definitely make for a good story, though,I think.
Could it really be that my persistence in hanging around the locker room to try to talk to players long after it was obvious that no one wanted to, or at least, was allowed to, has paid off? Any other reporters had given up and gone home half an hour ago or more.
“Or at least get a dictation app for your phone.”
The stranger is continuing to dole out his unsolicited advice. He’s rather rude, but he’s the best I’ve got, so I’m determined to try to work with him and get a story.
“They make those these days, you know? High tech fancy schmancy devices, that help reporters keep track of their thoughts in a new-fangled way.”
Yeah, but then you would have heard me, you asshole, I think, but I don’t say anything out loud.
My best friend Clarice is always asking me why I don’t do voice dictation, too. I just tell her the truth: I like to keep my cards close to my vest.
No one can read what I scribble down. But for voice recording, you never know who might be listening and stealing your ideas or anticipating what you’re going to ask them in advance.
Case in point: this rude stranger here, whoever he is.
I think about asking him if he’s a Leviathan, but then I think better of it. Of course he is – he just came out of their locker room while I had been trying to follow Mason for a story. There must have been some last-minute change in the roster that I’m not aware of, and I don’t want to look like an idiot for being caught off guard.
I like to act prepared, even when I’m not. It’s something my strict parents taught me. They also taught me a lot of old-fashioned things – not just to always carry a notebook and a pencil in case I had any good ideas and wanted to write them down.
Things like, to never trust anyone, especially men, because they often have bad intentions.
To never watch Rated R movies or listen to rock music, because these things are of the devil.
And to never to have sex until marriage, which is why I’m still a virgin, even though I don’t really want to be.
My V-card has long passed its expiration date, but I haven’t found the right person to give it to. Still, I feel weird, walking around still having it.
This might sound strange, but I swear it makes me feel less confident, which in turn makes it harder to do my job, in which I have to act as tough as a tiger.
Like now, for instance.
I’m not going to show any signs of anxiety over not knowing who this new player is, even though that’s all I feel on the inside.
Fake it ‘till you make it, right?
“You’re a straggler,” I tell him. “You stay behind for extra practice?”
He laughs at me but nods his head as if he appreciates my sense of humor.
I was hoping my rather generic question would get him to open up and say something like, “Yes, as a matter of fact, since I’m brand new to the team and we happen to be playing a very important game in two weeks, I stayed longer to put in some extra time on the field.”
Of course, that isn’t what happens.
It was naïve of me to think it could be.
Instead, he says, “Can’t a man shower in peace? That’s all I was doing in there.”
He nods his head towards the locker room, and I do see that he’s already in his plain clothes, with no football uniform or gear on, so I guess it’s true that he’s just a slow shower-er.
“Fair enough,” I tell him, rather disappointed that he’s clearly not going to give up any juicy information.
“In fact, I have to get my stuff ready so I can leave,” he says. “I was just helping Mason out, due to his limp, but now I have to go back in and deal with my own equipment. Care to come with?”
I look at him in what I hope is the most neutral expression possible, trying not to let my jaw hang open onto the floor. I was dying to get invited into the locker room, but no other player let me in.
