War of the Roses: Redux Edition
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
#wherecaesargoing
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 2208
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
The Waiting Game
“It’s officially 2052 and somehow in the dead of winter, we still have something high school football-related to talk about down here on the bayou. Spring camp is still a few months away, but no one’s worried about that because number one overall recruit in all of the country, Caesar Jenkins, has yet to announce where he will be playing on Saturdays. It’s not completely whack-brained that we’d get this far into the process without some top recruits making their choices. Hell, nine of the top 25 are still out there to be picked up. But considering who we’re talking about, you’d think he’d have an easy choice with every school being an option.”
“Mais, I’m goin’ to be honest with ya. I’m sick of the show. The kid won’t even play in the All-American games. Won’t even go to them! I don’t know who’s in his ear but you gotta think that these schools ain’t gonna want that distraction coming.”
“Au contraire, mon frere. In this era of college football and college athletics in general, athletes are more marketable than ever. That’s why everyone is still on the edges of their seats, waiting for the decision of a 17-year-old kid. And we know who’s in his ear, Deion Jenkins. You know he’s been orchestrating this entire thing.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it comes out that’s a little more problematic than an overbearin’ daddy, me. Our much older listeners will remember the controversy around Cam Newton. I think something much worse than that will surface in the next few months.”
“You think so?”
“Mais, I think so. By the end of the year, you’ll see. Somethin’ don’t smell right to me about all this and my paran always told me that if it don’t smell right, it ain’t right.”
Caesar threw his feet out of the bed, scratching his chin as he stood up. He walked over to the dresser on the opposite side of the room, picked up a half-empty beer can and chugged the now-warm remnants before tossing the empty into a waste basket.
In the bed, Kaley stretched before snuggling into the pillows. She sighed. “I think you should order us something to eat.”
“I got all I need to eat laying in my bed. And you got all the meat you need to eat right here,” he said. He gestured down at this crotch. “I know it’s a lot, but you’re welcome to have multiple servings to make it work.”
“It’s not that big.”
He looked down then back up. “I didn’t know you’ve been fucking horses to say that I’m not well-endowed.”
“Just put on some damn clothes and order some food. If you wouldn’t have wasted all that time running, we could’ve eaten hours ago.”
Caesar grabbed his joggers off a lamp and pulled them on. “You were the one that wanted some dick as soon as I got back. It’s your fault that we didn’t eat ‘hours ago.’ And you know I’ve been slacking on my workouts. I’m not trying to get to someone’s campus and be shit.”
“Someone’s campus? Are you going to do like Devin did to Carla and not tell me where you’re going until after you made your decision?”
“We don’t say that name in this house. And no, because that whole dragging the shit out thing King did was fake. Cool, TCU wants him to fill out the ass-end of their depth chart. He could’ve announced that in June and saved us all the trouble of that circus. I haven’t made a decision yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”
“You could always just come to Tulane.”
Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he sat down on the edge of the bed. “What do you want to eat?”
Kaley kicked him in the back. “Are you just going to ignore me?”
“I’m not ignoring you. I’m doing what you told me to do. You said to order food. I’m ordering food. So again, what do you want to eat?”
“What’s wrong with Tulane?”
“Nothing besides Tulane is a school you go to for an education not to get to the NFL. I’m trying to get to the NFL.”
“What if you get hurt and can’t play anymore?”
He held his hand up and waved it around. “I’m not trying to get to the NFL to be rich, Kaley. I think I’d be okay without a football scholarship to go to college and get an education the old fashioned way. It might stretch my parents’ pockets, but they’ll get through the struggle.”
“I just don’t get why getting to the NFL is such a big deal. It’s not like your life would end if you didn’t. It’s not like everyone in your family played professional football. Isn’t your uncle an accountant or something?”
“That’s my mom’s side of the family. My dad is an only child so it’s 100% on men on his side of the family playing professional football. I might as well jump into the Mississippi if I’m the one who fucks that up. Thirteen-year career, Hall of Fame career. Oh, you sell insurance. Yikes. I’d have to change my name.”
“You don’t think you’re being a little dramatic?”
He looked over his shoulder. “You’ve met my dad. How do you think he would take me going up to him and saying ‘hey, dad. I’m going to a school that hasn’t produced a pro who lasted in the league in fifty years.’?”
“It doesn’t matter how he takes it because it’s not his life. You should go where you want to go. If you were going to go where he wanted, you’d be in Oklahoma already.”
“Maybe I should go to TCU so I can keep an eye on King and make sure that he doesn’t get too crazy in the library or handing water bottles to people who actually get on the field,” he said, laughing.
“Maybe so. You never know. You might actually have more in common with Devin than you think if you’d stop being a dick for no reason and get to know him.”
“If you want to start lining up the next one of your cousin’s exes, just let me know and I’ll give your sister a call to knock the dust off it whenever she’s feeling lonely. I can just go through the whole family. Carla, you, Kara, your mom, y’all got any other cousins?”
“That’s fucking disgusting. I’m just saying Devin seems like a nice enough guy. Not that I’ve ever really hung out with him because y’all don’t get along.”
Caesar stood up, walking around the room to pick up his shoes. He grabbed his keys and beckoned for Kaley to get up. “C’mon.”
“What?”
“You don’t want to say what you want to eat so we’re just going to drive around all of fucking Houma until you figure out what you want or everything closes and the only thing that you can eat is stale donuts from Mr. Ronnie’s.”
He started walking to the door.
“Can you hold your horses? I’m fucking naked under here, you know? Just give me a few minutes to get dressed,” Kaley said, feeling around the bed for any garments that may have ended up under the sheets.
Caesar grabbed one of his hoodies and threw it to her.
“Caesar. Be serious. It’ll just take a minute. I don’t know what you’re being so impatient for. I’m the one that’s hungry.”
He shrugged. “That shit is going to cover you to your ankles. And we’re going through drive thrus. I think you’ll be alright.”
Kaley stood up and pulled the hoodie over her head. She jabbed a finger in Caesar’s direction. “If you get pulled over and I have to get out of the car dressed like this, I’m going to bite your fucking dick off.”
“Please. That’d probably get us out of tickets knowing the pool applicants TPSO pulls from.”
“It’s officially 2052 and somehow in the dead of winter, we still have something high school football-related to talk about down here on the bayou. Spring camp is still a few months away, but no one’s worried about that because number one overall recruit in all of the country, Caesar Jenkins, has yet to announce where he will be playing on Saturdays. It’s not completely whack-brained that we’d get this far into the process without some top recruits making their choices. Hell, nine of the top 25 are still out there to be picked up. But considering who we’re talking about, you’d think he’d have an easy choice with every school being an option.”
“Mais, I’m goin’ to be honest with ya. I’m sick of the show. The kid won’t even play in the All-American games. Won’t even go to them! I don’t know who’s in his ear but you gotta think that these schools ain’t gonna want that distraction coming.”
“Au contraire, mon frere. In this era of college football and college athletics in general, athletes are more marketable than ever. That’s why everyone is still on the edges of their seats, waiting for the decision of a 17-year-old kid. And we know who’s in his ear, Deion Jenkins. You know he’s been orchestrating this entire thing.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it comes out that’s a little more problematic than an overbearin’ daddy, me. Our much older listeners will remember the controversy around Cam Newton. I think something much worse than that will surface in the next few months.”
“You think so?”
“Mais, I think so. By the end of the year, you’ll see. Somethin’ don’t smell right to me about all this and my paran always told me that if it don’t smell right, it ain’t right.”
-*****-
Caesar threw his feet out of the bed, scratching his chin as he stood up. He walked over to the dresser on the opposite side of the room, picked up a half-empty beer can and chugged the now-warm remnants before tossing the empty into a waste basket.
In the bed, Kaley stretched before snuggling into the pillows. She sighed. “I think you should order us something to eat.”
“I got all I need to eat laying in my bed. And you got all the meat you need to eat right here,” he said. He gestured down at this crotch. “I know it’s a lot, but you’re welcome to have multiple servings to make it work.”
“It’s not that big.”
He looked down then back up. “I didn’t know you’ve been fucking horses to say that I’m not well-endowed.”
“Just put on some damn clothes and order some food. If you wouldn’t have wasted all that time running, we could’ve eaten hours ago.”
Caesar grabbed his joggers off a lamp and pulled them on. “You were the one that wanted some dick as soon as I got back. It’s your fault that we didn’t eat ‘hours ago.’ And you know I’ve been slacking on my workouts. I’m not trying to get to someone’s campus and be shit.”
“Someone’s campus? Are you going to do like Devin did to Carla and not tell me where you’re going until after you made your decision?”
“We don’t say that name in this house. And no, because that whole dragging the shit out thing King did was fake. Cool, TCU wants him to fill out the ass-end of their depth chart. He could’ve announced that in June and saved us all the trouble of that circus. I haven’t made a decision yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”
“You could always just come to Tulane.”
Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he sat down on the edge of the bed. “What do you want to eat?”
Kaley kicked him in the back. “Are you just going to ignore me?”
“I’m not ignoring you. I’m doing what you told me to do. You said to order food. I’m ordering food. So again, what do you want to eat?”
“What’s wrong with Tulane?”
“Nothing besides Tulane is a school you go to for an education not to get to the NFL. I’m trying to get to the NFL.”
“What if you get hurt and can’t play anymore?”
He held his hand up and waved it around. “I’m not trying to get to the NFL to be rich, Kaley. I think I’d be okay without a football scholarship to go to college and get an education the old fashioned way. It might stretch my parents’ pockets, but they’ll get through the struggle.”
“I just don’t get why getting to the NFL is such a big deal. It’s not like your life would end if you didn’t. It’s not like everyone in your family played professional football. Isn’t your uncle an accountant or something?”
“That’s my mom’s side of the family. My dad is an only child so it’s 100% on men on his side of the family playing professional football. I might as well jump into the Mississippi if I’m the one who fucks that up. Thirteen-year career, Hall of Fame career. Oh, you sell insurance. Yikes. I’d have to change my name.”
“You don’t think you’re being a little dramatic?”
He looked over his shoulder. “You’ve met my dad. How do you think he would take me going up to him and saying ‘hey, dad. I’m going to a school that hasn’t produced a pro who lasted in the league in fifty years.’?”
“It doesn’t matter how he takes it because it’s not his life. You should go where you want to go. If you were going to go where he wanted, you’d be in Oklahoma already.”
“Maybe I should go to TCU so I can keep an eye on King and make sure that he doesn’t get too crazy in the library or handing water bottles to people who actually get on the field,” he said, laughing.
“Maybe so. You never know. You might actually have more in common with Devin than you think if you’d stop being a dick for no reason and get to know him.”
“If you want to start lining up the next one of your cousin’s exes, just let me know and I’ll give your sister a call to knock the dust off it whenever she’s feeling lonely. I can just go through the whole family. Carla, you, Kara, your mom, y’all got any other cousins?”
“That’s fucking disgusting. I’m just saying Devin seems like a nice enough guy. Not that I’ve ever really hung out with him because y’all don’t get along.”
Caesar stood up, walking around the room to pick up his shoes. He grabbed his keys and beckoned for Kaley to get up. “C’mon.”
“What?”
“You don’t want to say what you want to eat so we’re just going to drive around all of fucking Houma until you figure out what you want or everything closes and the only thing that you can eat is stale donuts from Mr. Ronnie’s.”
He started walking to the door.
“Can you hold your horses? I’m fucking naked under here, you know? Just give me a few minutes to get dressed,” Kaley said, feeling around the bed for any garments that may have ended up under the sheets.
Caesar grabbed one of his hoodies and threw it to her.
“Caesar. Be serious. It’ll just take a minute. I don’t know what you’re being so impatient for. I’m the one that’s hungry.”
He shrugged. “That shit is going to cover you to your ankles. And we’re going through drive thrus. I think you’ll be alright.”
Kaley stood up and pulled the hoodie over her head. She jabbed a finger in Caesar’s direction. “If you get pulled over and I have to get out of the car dressed like this, I’m going to bite your fucking dick off.”
“Please. That’d probably get us out of tickets knowing the pool applicants TPSO pulls from.”
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 2208
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Playing the long game huh. Watch Caesar end up at TCU.
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Tigerland and Steers
“God fucking damn it!”
“Fuck this shit.” Hasan dropped one side of a sofa and turned around with his hands on top of his head. He watched as a couple girls walked their dogs across the parking lot, giving them a wave and a smile when they looked his way.
Erik crossed over the sofa to get out of the front door of the apartment. “You can’t get them to suck your dick if it has to be done sitting outside.”
“I don’t know how y’all do shit in Texas but I guarantee you some of these chicks would a hundred percent suck ya meat sittin’ outside. You just ain’t find the right one yet,” Hasan said, slapping Erik on his shoulder and laughing.
“Remind me not to take your advice on women.” Erik wiped sweat from his forehead and sighed. “We’re going to have to take the feet off of it to get it to fit through the door. Unless you want to try to get it through the window.”
“How they gonna give you a whole three-bedroom apartment and furniture but not put the furniture in the fuckin’ apartment for you?”
“You’re asking the wrong one. If the most work I have to do is get the shit in the apartment then that sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”
Hasan pointed to a rented box truck parked on the grass near the apartment. “They made us drive the fuckin’ truck, too.”
“Your ass can go stay in the Pentagon if you want.”
“Fuck it. How you take the feet off a sofa?” Hasan asked, walking back to the piece of furniture, and turning it on the side. He pulled at the feet but stopped when he heard a cracking sound and stepped away.
Erik reached down and turned the feet left a few times then right a few times to show that they were screwed in. Then he just stared at Hasan who was nodding slowly as he realized that was probably the first thing that he should’ve tried.
“I hope you’re majoring in ‘communications’ if that’s your problem-solving skills in action,” Erik said, walking back over the sofa into the apartment.
Hasan laughed. “I ain’t come here to play school, bruh. I’m majorin’ in NFL prep.”
“Somewhere on this campus, there is a TA who sensed something off and just popped another Xanax at the thought of another semester doctoring the grades of athletes not here to play school, so they stay eligible.”
“That’s what they signed up for to be on this football school shit, nigga.”
Erik shook his head. “Just take the damn feet off so we can get the rest of the shit off the truck and bring it back.”
Hasan stooped down and unscrewed the feet from the bottom of that side of the sofa as Erik did the same on the opposite side.
After some jostling with it, they finally managed to get it through the doorway and dropped it unceremoniously in the living room. Erik walked to the kitchen and snatched up a bottle of water, chugging what was left.
“Man, this bitch a lot nicer with furniture in here,” Hasan said to which Erik didn’t respond. “It’s gonna be a whole movie in here, bruh. They know freshmen athletes gonna cut up in an off-campus apartment.”
“You talk a lot, you know that?”
“And you don’t talk that much. Balance, bruh.”
Erik threw the empty bottle in the direction of a garbage bag on the floor and started toward the door. “Nothing else should be that much work getting in.”
“Yo, I gotta question that I been wonderin’ about for lil’ while,” Hasan said, as he followed Erik back to the truck.
“I’m sure you wonder about a lot. You know what they say about curiosity.” Erik jumped up onto the truck and started moving the smaller pieces of furniture to the edge for Hasan to grab and bring into the apartment.
“An idle mind is the Devil’s kitchen.”
“Workshop.”
Hasan stopped. “What?”
“Forget it.” Erik waved off the comment. “What is your question so we can get this shit moved in and go find some food because I’m starving.”
“Caesar ya people?”
Erik laughed as he jumped down from the truck. “Caesar Jenkins? How do you think we would be related?”
“Brothers, cousins? I don’t know, nigga.”
“Pull out your phone and see how many siblings Deion Jenkins has then ask me that question again. And I ain’t got no brothers. Just a step-sister that I never see. People been asking me this shit for years. I could see if I had a wild last name that 10 motherfuckers have but Jenkins’s pretty common of a last name.”
Hasan pulled an end table off the truck. “Both y’all play football. Both y’all from around Oklahoma where that nigga daddy played his entire NFL career. Both y’all got the same last name.”
“How is Dallas ‘around’ Oklahoma? And there are motherfuckers out there named Santiago. You related to all of them? This is some conspiracy theory shit.”
“That’s some shit a nigga with somethin’ to hide would say.”
Erik shook his head before picking up a piece of furniture to carry into the apartment. “The motherfucker that made me is in Huntsville. Life sentence. You can look him up if you don’t believe me. Zavion Jenkins.”
“What he do?” Hasan said, raising an eyebrow to ponder if he believed that story.
“Triple murder.”
“Alright, nigga. I guess I believe you.”
“Thanks, your honor,” Erik said, snorting a chuckle as he walked into the apartment.
Ron sat in a chair in the makeshift media area that had been set up on the field of a stadium that had once been jokingly referred to as Jerry’s World, but now bore the man’s name – along with that of its sponsor, Tesla – a couple decades after he’d kicked the bucket.
Reporters surrounded him, each looking for the soundbite that was going to make or break their coverage of the National Championship. TCU had steamrolled through Oregon to get to the final while their opponents, Michigan, had a bit of a tough time with Group of 5 darling Villanova. The bookies expected the Horned Frogs to win, especially in a game that was only a few miles from their campus. And everyone was asking about it.
“Ron, are there any concerns in the locker room that TCU might take Michigan lightly?” one asked, shoving their smartphone closer to him.
“They’re in the National Championship just like we are. They’ve won all of their games just like we have. All of their players are on scholarship just like we are. All of them are four and five star recruits just like we are. Why would we take them lightly? That’s a stupid question. Do they really pay you to ask stupid questions like that?” Ron asked as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and leaned back into the chair.
“Well, you won 49-10 in your semifinal against a P5 opponent and they only managed a 23-21 win against a school from the AAC.”
Ron shook his head and waved his hand at a random reporter. “Next question. Don’t be like this guy.”
“You finished second in Heisman voting in one of the closest Heisman races in modern history. Do you feel like you have something to prove heading into the National Championship?”
“That’s almost a stupid question, too,” Ron said, pointing at the reporter who asked. “I’ve been saying it for weeks now that I never cared about winning the Heisman and I don’t care that I didn’t win it now. Jefferson Gatling is a great quarterback. He had a great game in the Dogecoin Bowl or the Disney Plus Bowl or whatever it was called. My focus is on winning a championship, not winning individual awards.”
“It has to weigh on you that you’ve gone from backup quarterback to starting in a National Championship game all within the course of your true freshman season. How are you personally coping with the pressure of leading your team out on the field in a couple days?”
“I don’t feel any pressure. If we win, and I’ve done all of this in my freshman year, that just means I’m a bit closer to being able to hang up my cleats and know I achieved things that other guys dream of achieving.”
A buzz tore through the gaggle of reporters at that last comment but one of the SIDs gave Ron a thumbs up telling him that he was done with media for the day. He stood up, ignoring the questions shouted at him, and made his way through the sea of people on the playing surface, ready to get back to campus for some much needed shut eye.
“God fucking damn it!”
“Fuck this shit.” Hasan dropped one side of a sofa and turned around with his hands on top of his head. He watched as a couple girls walked their dogs across the parking lot, giving them a wave and a smile when they looked his way.
Erik crossed over the sofa to get out of the front door of the apartment. “You can’t get them to suck your dick if it has to be done sitting outside.”
“I don’t know how y’all do shit in Texas but I guarantee you some of these chicks would a hundred percent suck ya meat sittin’ outside. You just ain’t find the right one yet,” Hasan said, slapping Erik on his shoulder and laughing.
“Remind me not to take your advice on women.” Erik wiped sweat from his forehead and sighed. “We’re going to have to take the feet off of it to get it to fit through the door. Unless you want to try to get it through the window.”
“How they gonna give you a whole three-bedroom apartment and furniture but not put the furniture in the fuckin’ apartment for you?”
“You’re asking the wrong one. If the most work I have to do is get the shit in the apartment then that sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”
Hasan pointed to a rented box truck parked on the grass near the apartment. “They made us drive the fuckin’ truck, too.”
“Your ass can go stay in the Pentagon if you want.”
“Fuck it. How you take the feet off a sofa?” Hasan asked, walking back to the piece of furniture, and turning it on the side. He pulled at the feet but stopped when he heard a cracking sound and stepped away.
Erik reached down and turned the feet left a few times then right a few times to show that they were screwed in. Then he just stared at Hasan who was nodding slowly as he realized that was probably the first thing that he should’ve tried.
“I hope you’re majoring in ‘communications’ if that’s your problem-solving skills in action,” Erik said, walking back over the sofa into the apartment.
Hasan laughed. “I ain’t come here to play school, bruh. I’m majorin’ in NFL prep.”
“Somewhere on this campus, there is a TA who sensed something off and just popped another Xanax at the thought of another semester doctoring the grades of athletes not here to play school, so they stay eligible.”
“That’s what they signed up for to be on this football school shit, nigga.”
Erik shook his head. “Just take the damn feet off so we can get the rest of the shit off the truck and bring it back.”
Hasan stooped down and unscrewed the feet from the bottom of that side of the sofa as Erik did the same on the opposite side.
After some jostling with it, they finally managed to get it through the doorway and dropped it unceremoniously in the living room. Erik walked to the kitchen and snatched up a bottle of water, chugging what was left.
“Man, this bitch a lot nicer with furniture in here,” Hasan said to which Erik didn’t respond. “It’s gonna be a whole movie in here, bruh. They know freshmen athletes gonna cut up in an off-campus apartment.”
“You talk a lot, you know that?”
“And you don’t talk that much. Balance, bruh.”
Erik threw the empty bottle in the direction of a garbage bag on the floor and started toward the door. “Nothing else should be that much work getting in.”
“Yo, I gotta question that I been wonderin’ about for lil’ while,” Hasan said, as he followed Erik back to the truck.
“I’m sure you wonder about a lot. You know what they say about curiosity.” Erik jumped up onto the truck and started moving the smaller pieces of furniture to the edge for Hasan to grab and bring into the apartment.
“An idle mind is the Devil’s kitchen.”
“Workshop.”
Hasan stopped. “What?”
“Forget it.” Erik waved off the comment. “What is your question so we can get this shit moved in and go find some food because I’m starving.”
“Caesar ya people?”
Erik laughed as he jumped down from the truck. “Caesar Jenkins? How do you think we would be related?”
“Brothers, cousins? I don’t know, nigga.”
“Pull out your phone and see how many siblings Deion Jenkins has then ask me that question again. And I ain’t got no brothers. Just a step-sister that I never see. People been asking me this shit for years. I could see if I had a wild last name that 10 motherfuckers have but Jenkins’s pretty common of a last name.”
Hasan pulled an end table off the truck. “Both y’all play football. Both y’all from around Oklahoma where that nigga daddy played his entire NFL career. Both y’all got the same last name.”
“How is Dallas ‘around’ Oklahoma? And there are motherfuckers out there named Santiago. You related to all of them? This is some conspiracy theory shit.”
“That’s some shit a nigga with somethin’ to hide would say.”
Erik shook his head before picking up a piece of furniture to carry into the apartment. “The motherfucker that made me is in Huntsville. Life sentence. You can look him up if you don’t believe me. Zavion Jenkins.”
“What he do?” Hasan said, raising an eyebrow to ponder if he believed that story.
“Triple murder.”
“Alright, nigga. I guess I believe you.”
“Thanks, your honor,” Erik said, snorting a chuckle as he walked into the apartment.
-*****-
Ron sat in a chair in the makeshift media area that had been set up on the field of a stadium that had once been jokingly referred to as Jerry’s World, but now bore the man’s name – along with that of its sponsor, Tesla – a couple decades after he’d kicked the bucket.
Reporters surrounded him, each looking for the soundbite that was going to make or break their coverage of the National Championship. TCU had steamrolled through Oregon to get to the final while their opponents, Michigan, had a bit of a tough time with Group of 5 darling Villanova. The bookies expected the Horned Frogs to win, especially in a game that was only a few miles from their campus. And everyone was asking about it.
“Ron, are there any concerns in the locker room that TCU might take Michigan lightly?” one asked, shoving their smartphone closer to him.
“They’re in the National Championship just like we are. They’ve won all of their games just like we have. All of their players are on scholarship just like we are. All of them are four and five star recruits just like we are. Why would we take them lightly? That’s a stupid question. Do they really pay you to ask stupid questions like that?” Ron asked as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and leaned back into the chair.
“Well, you won 49-10 in your semifinal against a P5 opponent and they only managed a 23-21 win against a school from the AAC.”
Ron shook his head and waved his hand at a random reporter. “Next question. Don’t be like this guy.”
“You finished second in Heisman voting in one of the closest Heisman races in modern history. Do you feel like you have something to prove heading into the National Championship?”
“That’s almost a stupid question, too,” Ron said, pointing at the reporter who asked. “I’ve been saying it for weeks now that I never cared about winning the Heisman and I don’t care that I didn’t win it now. Jefferson Gatling is a great quarterback. He had a great game in the Dogecoin Bowl or the Disney Plus Bowl or whatever it was called. My focus is on winning a championship, not winning individual awards.”
“It has to weigh on you that you’ve gone from backup quarterback to starting in a National Championship game all within the course of your true freshman season. How are you personally coping with the pressure of leading your team out on the field in a couple days?”
“I don’t feel any pressure. If we win, and I’ve done all of this in my freshman year, that just means I’m a bit closer to being able to hang up my cleats and know I achieved things that other guys dream of achieving.”
A buzz tore through the gaggle of reporters at that last comment but one of the SIDs gave Ron a thumbs up telling him that he was done with media for the day. He stood up, ignoring the questions shouted at him, and made his way through the sea of people on the playing surface, ready to get back to campus for some much needed shut eye.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 2208
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
oh Ron on x-games mode? That's wild. Glad to have this updated, brother.
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Change of Heart
Ron walked to the line of scrimmage, licking his fingers as he crouched behind the center. The roar of the crowd was deafening as it had been all night and with the score as close as it was, it was unlikely that the fans would lose their voice anytime soon. A fitting backing track to the end of another college football season.
The ball was snapped, and Ron dropped back with practiced precision. His eyes flicked across the field. His feet shifting as he shuffled forward in the pocket. Rearing his arm back, he rifled a pass through the middle of the Michigan defense. The blue-clad linebackers flailed arms at the ball as it flew by them and into the hands of Jamichael right between the safeties.
Jamichael cut upfield through the closing gap between the defenders and ran into the endzone, sending the crowd noise in the stadium up another few decibels as the TCU fans broke into cheers backed by the fight song.
Ron pumped his fist and slapped a couple of the offensive linemen on the backs of their helmets as they jogged off the field.
…
Eighteen miles down I-30 celebrations ratcheted up as news filtered through the various on-campus parties that the Horned Frogs’ football team had gotten back from their victory over Michigan, National Championship trophy in tow.
The school had organized – unofficially – a watch party of all of its recruits at a frat house, being entertained and supplied with all the alcohol they could desire by students who hadn’t been lucky enough to score tickets to the big game. It was a very blatant attempt to make sure that they didn’t lose any prized recruits ahead of National Signing Day in a month’s time.
Devin had found himself a spot on a balcony some five or six hours ago, choosing to watch the game on his phone by himself away from everyone else instead of inside with the crush of people who may have been too drunk to remember what was going on at that point. A few guys had tried to bring him into the fold and a few girls had offered him some fun, but it just didn’t feel like his scene, and he was alright with sequestering himself overlooking a backyard.
He glanced over his shoulder back into the house and wondered how he would hard it would be to get back to his hotel room with that part of Fort Worth likely having turned into a block party on every street. With a sigh, he turned to lean his back against the railing.
He pushed away from the rail and decided to make the short walk back to the hotel. As he fought his way downstairs, he bumped into Ron who sported the national champions hat that he’d put on after the game and held a massive cigar between his fingers.
“Didn’t expect to run into you here, Devin,” he all but shouted to be heard over the din of everyone in the house. He patted Devin on the shoulder as people came up to him to congratulate him on the win and being named the offensive MVP of the game.
“Yeah, I was just leaving.” Devin nodded toward the door, dodging the growing number of people pushing between the two of them.
Ron beckoned for Devin to follow him as he climbed the stairs, still getting dapped up by everyone that he passed. Devin tried to make his way back up the steps, but it seemed twice as hard as it did before with the crowd forming around the quarterback as if he were Jesus Christ himself.
Eventually, the two of them reached the balcony that Devin had spent his night on. Ron pulled out a lighter to take a drag from the cigar as the two of them leaned against the railing on the balcony.
“Congrats, man. Forgot to say that,” Devin said. “You were killing them out there.”
“Yeah, we played well.” Ron took off the hat, bent it in half and shoved it into his back pocket. “You look like you’re having the worst time of your life. I know big parties like this weren’t your thing back in Houma, but this is more Mardi Gras than standard weekend house party.”
“It’s not that. I—”
“Don’t feel at home.”
“Yeah.”
“Figured. I’m not going to act like I know you, man, because I sure as hell don’t but I don’t think you should’ve committed so soon. Should’ve felt out a few more places to figure out what you were looking for. I honestly think DFW is a little too metro for you.” Ron laughed. “Not saying you’re a country bumpkin or anything but too fast paced.”
“Yeah, maybe. But already made the decision, right?”
The quarterback shrugged. “It’s not life or death. They want us at these schools to play a game. Just tell them that you want to go somewhere else and if they got a problem with it then tell them to get fucked.”
“Shouldn’t you be telling me the opposite right after winning the championship?”
“It’s just a game, Devin,” he said before taking another drag from the cigar. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and shot off a few texts. “Go home and think it over, man. TCU’s not for you and that’s alright. There are more important decisions in life than who you play football for.”
A blonde appeared at the door and Ron patted Devin on the shoulder before disappearing back into the party with her. Devin waited a few minutes for the likely crowd that had reformed around Ron to disperse before making another attempt to get back to his hotel room.
Devin stood at the window of his hotel room, looking out onto a small road just off TCU’s campus. Despite the bustle of the hours before, the morning had quieted to a stillness that belied the partying that only just ended some time ago. It was almost if someone had snapped their fingers, and everything stopped immediately.
He picked up his phone from the small table in the room to check the time and sighed to himself before sending a group text to a trio of Fort Worth area codes. He got a response almost instantly.
’Be here in 10 minutes.’
…
Devin sat outside of the university’s athletic facilities as two weary-eyed coaches got out of a car and walked over to him. Coach Tim Griffin looked none too happy that he’d been dragged out so soon after winning the biggest game of his career but the man with him, Darius Marks, his DB coach, had convinced him to do so with the promise of a vintage bottle of whiskey.
“I hope you didn’t party too hard last night, son. It’s a little hard to schedule trips to clinics in Texas to fix any problems, if you know what I mean,” Marks said as Devin stood up.
“No, sir. That’s not the problem.”
“Well, spit it out, kid. I know it’s nine in the morning but we ain’t get back to campus until two,” the head coach said.
Devin shrugged. “I figured it would be better to tell y’all in person, especially you Coach Marks, since I’m here instead of over a text or something, but I don’t think I’m going to be coming to TCU in the fall. Doesn’t seem like a great fit for me.”
“You signed your LOI,” Marks said, a tinge of annoyance dripping into his voice.
“Hold on.” Coach Griffin held up his hand. “You don’t think the national champions are a good fit for you? You sure you don’t mean that you realized that you aren’t a good fit for us? You know that you can transfer once and play immediately, right?”
“Well, I figured since I haven’t enrolled yet—”
The coach cut him off. “Right. Come on. Let’s talk inside so I can sit the hell down.”
Devin followed the two older men into the building and to an office on the upper level. Coach Griffin sat behind the desk while Coach Marks stood with his arms crossed over his chest. The defensive coach didn’t look very pleased about the entire thing.
Coach Griffin booted up his computer and then turned to Devin, waving for him to sit down which Devin did. “So, if you’ve signed the LOI, tell me again why you can’t just transfer to wherever you want to go and call it day?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t that a lot of paperwork for someone who hasn’t enrolled?”
“It wouldn’t work,” Coach Marks said. “He’s not a transfer student and no school will accept him as one. He would have to enroll then leave and if he enrolls, we lose a scholarship for the fall that we can use on someone who actually wants to be here.”
“Good points,” the older coach said. “So, what we’d have to do is release you from your LOI.”
“Okay,” Devin said. “What do I need to do to make that happen?”
“Well, the NCAA makes you sit out a year if you sign an LOI and then get released from it.”
“What? But I haven’t even come here.”
“That’s the breaks, kid. Of course, that’s only if we fight the release. If we give you a complete release, then you can go anywhere you want and play immediately.” Coach Griffin clicked a few things and started typing.
“So, how do I get a complete release?”
An awkward silence descended on the room as the coach continued to type. After what felt like an eternity, a printer whirred to life and Coach Griffin pointed at it. “Darius, you want to grab that for him.”
Coach Marks handed him a sheet of paper that contained a list of universities. Devin looked it over. It was essentially any Power 5 school that would be considered a championship contender – at any point in the last 30 years.
“I’ll talk to the people who deal with LOI releases and get you a complete release,” Coach Griffin said before leaning back in his chair. “But if you commit to any of those schools in the next month, I’ll tell them to fight it. I think you know your way out. Good luck in your football journey, son.”
Devin sighed and rubbed his forehead before getting up to leave.
Ron walked to the line of scrimmage, licking his fingers as he crouched behind the center. The roar of the crowd was deafening as it had been all night and with the score as close as it was, it was unlikely that the fans would lose their voice anytime soon. A fitting backing track to the end of another college football season.
The ball was snapped, and Ron dropped back with practiced precision. His eyes flicked across the field. His feet shifting as he shuffled forward in the pocket. Rearing his arm back, he rifled a pass through the middle of the Michigan defense. The blue-clad linebackers flailed arms at the ball as it flew by them and into the hands of Jamichael right between the safeties.
Jamichael cut upfield through the closing gap between the defenders and ran into the endzone, sending the crowd noise in the stadium up another few decibels as the TCU fans broke into cheers backed by the fight song.
Ron pumped his fist and slapped a couple of the offensive linemen on the backs of their helmets as they jogged off the field.
…
Eighteen miles down I-30 celebrations ratcheted up as news filtered through the various on-campus parties that the Horned Frogs’ football team had gotten back from their victory over Michigan, National Championship trophy in tow.
The school had organized – unofficially – a watch party of all of its recruits at a frat house, being entertained and supplied with all the alcohol they could desire by students who hadn’t been lucky enough to score tickets to the big game. It was a very blatant attempt to make sure that they didn’t lose any prized recruits ahead of National Signing Day in a month’s time.
Devin had found himself a spot on a balcony some five or six hours ago, choosing to watch the game on his phone by himself away from everyone else instead of inside with the crush of people who may have been too drunk to remember what was going on at that point. A few guys had tried to bring him into the fold and a few girls had offered him some fun, but it just didn’t feel like his scene, and he was alright with sequestering himself overlooking a backyard.
He glanced over his shoulder back into the house and wondered how he would hard it would be to get back to his hotel room with that part of Fort Worth likely having turned into a block party on every street. With a sigh, he turned to lean his back against the railing.
He pushed away from the rail and decided to make the short walk back to the hotel. As he fought his way downstairs, he bumped into Ron who sported the national champions hat that he’d put on after the game and held a massive cigar between his fingers.
“Didn’t expect to run into you here, Devin,” he all but shouted to be heard over the din of everyone in the house. He patted Devin on the shoulder as people came up to him to congratulate him on the win and being named the offensive MVP of the game.
“Yeah, I was just leaving.” Devin nodded toward the door, dodging the growing number of people pushing between the two of them.
Ron beckoned for Devin to follow him as he climbed the stairs, still getting dapped up by everyone that he passed. Devin tried to make his way back up the steps, but it seemed twice as hard as it did before with the crowd forming around the quarterback as if he were Jesus Christ himself.
Eventually, the two of them reached the balcony that Devin had spent his night on. Ron pulled out a lighter to take a drag from the cigar as the two of them leaned against the railing on the balcony.
“Congrats, man. Forgot to say that,” Devin said. “You were killing them out there.”
“Yeah, we played well.” Ron took off the hat, bent it in half and shoved it into his back pocket. “You look like you’re having the worst time of your life. I know big parties like this weren’t your thing back in Houma, but this is more Mardi Gras than standard weekend house party.”
“It’s not that. I—”
“Don’t feel at home.”
“Yeah.”
“Figured. I’m not going to act like I know you, man, because I sure as hell don’t but I don’t think you should’ve committed so soon. Should’ve felt out a few more places to figure out what you were looking for. I honestly think DFW is a little too metro for you.” Ron laughed. “Not saying you’re a country bumpkin or anything but too fast paced.”
“Yeah, maybe. But already made the decision, right?”
The quarterback shrugged. “It’s not life or death. They want us at these schools to play a game. Just tell them that you want to go somewhere else and if they got a problem with it then tell them to get fucked.”
“Shouldn’t you be telling me the opposite right after winning the championship?”
“It’s just a game, Devin,” he said before taking another drag from the cigar. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and shot off a few texts. “Go home and think it over, man. TCU’s not for you and that’s alright. There are more important decisions in life than who you play football for.”
A blonde appeared at the door and Ron patted Devin on the shoulder before disappearing back into the party with her. Devin waited a few minutes for the likely crowd that had reformed around Ron to disperse before making another attempt to get back to his hotel room.
-*****-
Devin stood at the window of his hotel room, looking out onto a small road just off TCU’s campus. Despite the bustle of the hours before, the morning had quieted to a stillness that belied the partying that only just ended some time ago. It was almost if someone had snapped their fingers, and everything stopped immediately.
He picked up his phone from the small table in the room to check the time and sighed to himself before sending a group text to a trio of Fort Worth area codes. He got a response almost instantly.
’Be here in 10 minutes.’
…
Devin sat outside of the university’s athletic facilities as two weary-eyed coaches got out of a car and walked over to him. Coach Tim Griffin looked none too happy that he’d been dragged out so soon after winning the biggest game of his career but the man with him, Darius Marks, his DB coach, had convinced him to do so with the promise of a vintage bottle of whiskey.
“I hope you didn’t party too hard last night, son. It’s a little hard to schedule trips to clinics in Texas to fix any problems, if you know what I mean,” Marks said as Devin stood up.
“No, sir. That’s not the problem.”
“Well, spit it out, kid. I know it’s nine in the morning but we ain’t get back to campus until two,” the head coach said.
Devin shrugged. “I figured it would be better to tell y’all in person, especially you Coach Marks, since I’m here instead of over a text or something, but I don’t think I’m going to be coming to TCU in the fall. Doesn’t seem like a great fit for me.”
“You signed your LOI,” Marks said, a tinge of annoyance dripping into his voice.
“Hold on.” Coach Griffin held up his hand. “You don’t think the national champions are a good fit for you? You sure you don’t mean that you realized that you aren’t a good fit for us? You know that you can transfer once and play immediately, right?”
“Well, I figured since I haven’t enrolled yet—”
The coach cut him off. “Right. Come on. Let’s talk inside so I can sit the hell down.”
Devin followed the two older men into the building and to an office on the upper level. Coach Griffin sat behind the desk while Coach Marks stood with his arms crossed over his chest. The defensive coach didn’t look very pleased about the entire thing.
Coach Griffin booted up his computer and then turned to Devin, waving for him to sit down which Devin did. “So, if you’ve signed the LOI, tell me again why you can’t just transfer to wherever you want to go and call it day?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t that a lot of paperwork for someone who hasn’t enrolled?”
“It wouldn’t work,” Coach Marks said. “He’s not a transfer student and no school will accept him as one. He would have to enroll then leave and if he enrolls, we lose a scholarship for the fall that we can use on someone who actually wants to be here.”
“Good points,” the older coach said. “So, what we’d have to do is release you from your LOI.”
“Okay,” Devin said. “What do I need to do to make that happen?”
“Well, the NCAA makes you sit out a year if you sign an LOI and then get released from it.”
“What? But I haven’t even come here.”
“That’s the breaks, kid. Of course, that’s only if we fight the release. If we give you a complete release, then you can go anywhere you want and play immediately.” Coach Griffin clicked a few things and started typing.
“So, how do I get a complete release?”
An awkward silence descended on the room as the coach continued to type. After what felt like an eternity, a printer whirred to life and Coach Griffin pointed at it. “Darius, you want to grab that for him.”
Coach Marks handed him a sheet of paper that contained a list of universities. Devin looked it over. It was essentially any Power 5 school that would be considered a championship contender – at any point in the last 30 years.
“I’ll talk to the people who deal with LOI releases and get you a complete release,” Coach Griffin said before leaning back in his chair. “But if you commit to any of those schools in the next month, I’ll tell them to fight it. I think you know your way out. Good luck in your football journey, son.”
Devin sighed and rubbed his forehead before getting up to leave.
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
N C double assholes