No Father's Son
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Caesar
- Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16226
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
No Father's Son
Buddy gotta be getting a rep for not being loyal at this point. Nose always turned.
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redsox907
Topic author - Posts: 5588
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
No Father's Son
certainly a dilemma
can’t call it here
temper!? Jessica is anything has been depicted as calm and collected throughout the story. Maybe, there is a reason for her sudden increase in angerShireNiner wrote: ↑17 Mar 2026, 10:23Sox making his character marry a hot blonde with a temper. No way you are escaping the allegations.
He won’t leave but the visit will get out, Maryland will start to turn, recruits see he’s all talk and no substance. World is about to fall apart. Next thing you know, the team is running a train on Jessica and the letter was all a fun hoax.
running a train on Jessica
its a knock to be ambitious now??? Or is there a deeper reason Senor Leon keeps moving so much
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redsox907
Topic author - Posts: 5588
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
No Father's Son
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Sooner Savior?
I hadn't been back to Oklahoma since I was fourteen, when Mom and I used it as a waypoint between one fear and the next. And now, here I was. Being courted into town like a conquering hero, a far cry from the boy who nearly lost his way with no one to guide him.
I’d spent that night at the Embassy Suites, after my swift departure from College Park, searching for reasons why the Sooners would be the wrong move.
What I found instead, was a program searching for an identity. A program that was still living off the 2001 National Championship, which was in a way worse than the USC Trojans and their refusal to acknowledge that the glory days of Pete Carroll were nearly twenty years ago now.
Because the Sooners had succeeded; recently even. They won a Big 12 Title in 2020, they had made the College Football Playoff six times since its induction. They were a premier enough program for the SEC to entertain a request from the Sooners, along with the rival Longhorns, to join what many believed to be the highest level of football in the country.
Yet, here they were. Discarded and mostly forgotten about. No one talked about Oklahoma as a power in the SEC. That talk was reserved for the Alabamas, Georgias, LSUs, and of course, the rival Longhorns. Oklahoma’s name still had the draw of a blue-blood program, but the truth was, they hadn’t performed like one in a long while.
And that, more than anything, drew me in. I didn’t want to go to a tailor made situation. Deep down, I wanted to prove myself. In fact, I’d never stopped trying to prove myself. Once I pulled myself out of the depths of despair, my drive was to always prove I was worthy. Worthy of being saved, of the blessing given to me, of the adoration and accolades I received.
I’d elevated both the Oregon State and Maryland programs in a short time, but there were no expectations. Oregon State was a program on the verge of leaving the FBS entirely, anything that kept them relevant was enough for them. And maybe that’s where Jonathan Smith’s motivation, that I saw as complacency, developed. He didn’t need to be the best, he needed to be good enough to save them. And that ultimately, wasn’t good enough for me.
Maryland was in a similar, if less jarring, situation. They didn’t expect to compete with the upper echelon of the Big Ten, they were content to carve out their little pie in the middle. Enough to not be a footnote, but they never had illusions of grandeur. They knew what they were.
I pushed that status quo almost immediately, elevated the program to new heights. But, there was no pressure. Making the college football playoff in College Park was something I could coast on for five years, maybe more if we stayed fairly competitive. Mike Locksley hadn’t had a winning season in five years, but the team was competitive; the players graduated and stayed out of trouble. He didn’t even get fired, he left for another job.
There was no complacency like that at Oklahoma. Not in the SEC. Outside of Vanderbilt, there were no easy passes in the SEC. No Purdue, or Rutgers to unload on early and coast till the end. Every game had the potential to be a dog fight, to test your abilities and push you to the limits.
They needed someone like me, ready to push the status quo and not be content to just be in the SEC, but ready to win the fucking thing. Someone that demanded a level of play worthy of SEC football and never wavered from that standard.
I’d spent the entire flight to Oklahoma, the night at the hotel, and the trip around Oklahoma’s facility with the nagging question in the back of my head: “was I running toward something, or away from something?”
The more I toured the Sooners’ facility, I was sure I was heading towards something. This was the most logical next step. Strike while the iron is hot, while I’m the hottest commodity in the country.
‘Before they realize you’re a fraud,’ whispered my own voice, interrupting the thoughts.
‘This wasn’t faking it until I made it, I told myself, dismissing the quiet insecurity that kept rising up throughout the morning, I’d already made it. Denny knew it. I knew it. The entire country knew it.’
‘Or have you never given them the opportunity to see you fail,’ the voice answered back, not in a sarcastic way. But a finite way.
And the voice was right. I’d never stuck around long enough to see if the innovations would keep working, or if it was merely a flash in the pan. In fact, since Havre, I’d never stayed somewhere more than two years. I always came in, set the world on fire, then left for the next best thing.
There would be none of that in Oklahoma. There were only so many rungs on the ladder before you hit the top, and Oklahoma was one of the last. No quick-out before the honeymoon phase was over. Only proving it, again and again.
I said that was what I wanted. But when it was time to prove how tough I was, could I?
“Of course I can, I’ve done it everywhere. This would be no different,” I said out-loud to myself, waiting for the critic in my head to counter.
It never did, which was more unsettling than an answer.
‘Jessica would agree with me,’ I added, hoping it would lay the argument to bed.
Instead, the image of her and the kids standing in the doorway, watching me leave, suddenly rushed to the forefront. The happiness on her face when I told her I wasn’t taking the Oregon job, the slow shift to neutral when she found out I was flying to Norman. She’d agreed, but at what cost.
‘She’d agreed, that tells you she’ll be on board in the end, she always is,’ I reaffirmed to myself, brushing the reemerging doubt away. She’d put her foot down before, in South Carolina. Surely, if she was dead set on staying in College Park, she wouldn’t have agreed for me to fly last minute to Oklahoma.
‘You didn’t exactly give her time to protest either, Armando,’ my subconscious countered, suddenly reinserting itself into the inner monologue at the last minute, deciding it wanted the final word.
The thought lingered as I entered Denny’s office, once again filled with doubt if this really was the next best thing.
The meeting with Denny quickly dissolved my reservations, and with them, any lingering thought of Jessica's expression in the doorway, as I was once again sold on the idea of being the savior of Oklahoma football. We spent thirty minutes talking about his vision for the future of the Sooners, how my defensive ingenuity could transform a program that had gone stale since Riley left.
“No imagination, none. We can’t keep thinking the same old thing is going to work, when it hasn’t since we arrived in the SEC. Hell, hasn’t since we won a championship 28 years ago,” growled Denny, slamming his index finger into the stack of papers on his desk for emphasis.
“We need change, Armando. We need someone who is going to challenge the status quo and innovate, not conform. I want Oklahoma to be THE program people point to about success, not one that is following someone else’s formula.”
Denny glanced at the clock, recognizing that slowly time was running out. I had five, maybe ten more minutes in his office until I had to catch my flight back to College Park. This was his chance to close the deal, one way or the other.
"I ain't gonna lie to you and say we always had you on our short list, Armando. You know we were looking elsewhere, you know we got stood up for prom, and now we're scrambling to find a date. But the more I look at the facts, the more I think you should have been one of our first calls. You've got what I think Oklahoma needs. Energy. Innovation. And most importantly, an unyielding desire to be the best."
"So whatchu say, partner? We dancing, or am I flipping the rolodex to the next name? Either way, I need an answer before you get on that plane back to College Park."
I hadn't been back to Oklahoma since I was fourteen, when Mom and I used it as a waypoint between one fear and the next. And now, here I was. Being courted into town like a conquering hero, a far cry from the boy who nearly lost his way with no one to guide him.
I’d spent that night at the Embassy Suites, after my swift departure from College Park, searching for reasons why the Sooners would be the wrong move.
What I found instead, was a program searching for an identity. A program that was still living off the 2001 National Championship, which was in a way worse than the USC Trojans and their refusal to acknowledge that the glory days of Pete Carroll were nearly twenty years ago now.
Because the Sooners had succeeded; recently even. They won a Big 12 Title in 2020, they had made the College Football Playoff six times since its induction. They were a premier enough program for the SEC to entertain a request from the Sooners, along with the rival Longhorns, to join what many believed to be the highest level of football in the country.
Yet, here they were. Discarded and mostly forgotten about. No one talked about Oklahoma as a power in the SEC. That talk was reserved for the Alabamas, Georgias, LSUs, and of course, the rival Longhorns. Oklahoma’s name still had the draw of a blue-blood program, but the truth was, they hadn’t performed like one in a long while.
And that, more than anything, drew me in. I didn’t want to go to a tailor made situation. Deep down, I wanted to prove myself. In fact, I’d never stopped trying to prove myself. Once I pulled myself out of the depths of despair, my drive was to always prove I was worthy. Worthy of being saved, of the blessing given to me, of the adoration and accolades I received.
I’d elevated both the Oregon State and Maryland programs in a short time, but there were no expectations. Oregon State was a program on the verge of leaving the FBS entirely, anything that kept them relevant was enough for them. And maybe that’s where Jonathan Smith’s motivation, that I saw as complacency, developed. He didn’t need to be the best, he needed to be good enough to save them. And that ultimately, wasn’t good enough for me.
Maryland was in a similar, if less jarring, situation. They didn’t expect to compete with the upper echelon of the Big Ten, they were content to carve out their little pie in the middle. Enough to not be a footnote, but they never had illusions of grandeur. They knew what they were.
I pushed that status quo almost immediately, elevated the program to new heights. But, there was no pressure. Making the college football playoff in College Park was something I could coast on for five years, maybe more if we stayed fairly competitive. Mike Locksley hadn’t had a winning season in five years, but the team was competitive; the players graduated and stayed out of trouble. He didn’t even get fired, he left for another job.
There was no complacency like that at Oklahoma. Not in the SEC. Outside of Vanderbilt, there were no easy passes in the SEC. No Purdue, or Rutgers to unload on early and coast till the end. Every game had the potential to be a dog fight, to test your abilities and push you to the limits.
They needed someone like me, ready to push the status quo and not be content to just be in the SEC, but ready to win the fucking thing. Someone that demanded a level of play worthy of SEC football and never wavered from that standard.
I’d spent the entire flight to Oklahoma, the night at the hotel, and the trip around Oklahoma’s facility with the nagging question in the back of my head: “was I running toward something, or away from something?”
The more I toured the Sooners’ facility, I was sure I was heading towards something. This was the most logical next step. Strike while the iron is hot, while I’m the hottest commodity in the country.
‘Before they realize you’re a fraud,’ whispered my own voice, interrupting the thoughts.
‘This wasn’t faking it until I made it, I told myself, dismissing the quiet insecurity that kept rising up throughout the morning, I’d already made it. Denny knew it. I knew it. The entire country knew it.’
‘Or have you never given them the opportunity to see you fail,’ the voice answered back, not in a sarcastic way. But a finite way.
And the voice was right. I’d never stuck around long enough to see if the innovations would keep working, or if it was merely a flash in the pan. In fact, since Havre, I’d never stayed somewhere more than two years. I always came in, set the world on fire, then left for the next best thing.
There would be none of that in Oklahoma. There were only so many rungs on the ladder before you hit the top, and Oklahoma was one of the last. No quick-out before the honeymoon phase was over. Only proving it, again and again.
I said that was what I wanted. But when it was time to prove how tough I was, could I?
“Of course I can, I’ve done it everywhere. This would be no different,” I said out-loud to myself, waiting for the critic in my head to counter.
It never did, which was more unsettling than an answer.
‘Jessica would agree with me,’ I added, hoping it would lay the argument to bed.
Instead, the image of her and the kids standing in the doorway, watching me leave, suddenly rushed to the forefront. The happiness on her face when I told her I wasn’t taking the Oregon job, the slow shift to neutral when she found out I was flying to Norman. She’d agreed, but at what cost.
‘She’d agreed, that tells you she’ll be on board in the end, she always is,’ I reaffirmed to myself, brushing the reemerging doubt away. She’d put her foot down before, in South Carolina. Surely, if she was dead set on staying in College Park, she wouldn’t have agreed for me to fly last minute to Oklahoma.
‘You didn’t exactly give her time to protest either, Armando,’ my subconscious countered, suddenly reinserting itself into the inner monologue at the last minute, deciding it wanted the final word.
The thought lingered as I entered Denny’s office, once again filled with doubt if this really was the next best thing.
The meeting with Denny quickly dissolved my reservations, and with them, any lingering thought of Jessica's expression in the doorway, as I was once again sold on the idea of being the savior of Oklahoma football. We spent thirty minutes talking about his vision for the future of the Sooners, how my defensive ingenuity could transform a program that had gone stale since Riley left.
“No imagination, none. We can’t keep thinking the same old thing is going to work, when it hasn’t since we arrived in the SEC. Hell, hasn’t since we won a championship 28 years ago,” growled Denny, slamming his index finger into the stack of papers on his desk for emphasis.
“We need change, Armando. We need someone who is going to challenge the status quo and innovate, not conform. I want Oklahoma to be THE program people point to about success, not one that is following someone else’s formula.”
Denny glanced at the clock, recognizing that slowly time was running out. I had five, maybe ten more minutes in his office until I had to catch my flight back to College Park. This was his chance to close the deal, one way or the other.
"I ain't gonna lie to you and say we always had you on our short list, Armando. You know we were looking elsewhere, you know we got stood up for prom, and now we're scrambling to find a date. But the more I look at the facts, the more I think you should have been one of our first calls. You've got what I think Oklahoma needs. Energy. Innovation. And most importantly, an unyielding desire to be the best."
"So whatchu say, partner? We dancing, or am I flipping the rolodex to the next name? Either way, I need an answer before you get on that plane back to College Park."
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djp73
- Posts: 12841
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
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ShireNiner
- Posts: 1375
- Joined: 29 Sep 2025, 10:06
No Father's Son
They don’t want you. They are desperate and at the bottom of the barrel. Tell them to stick it and go home and bang the hot blonde.
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redsox907
Topic author - Posts: 5588
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
No Father's Son
I'll admit, this ended up getting dragged out longer than I wanted, but became necessary for the thematic beats
I mean, he banging the hot blonde either wayShireNiner wrote: ↑17 Mar 2026, 12:41They don’t want you. They are desperate and at the bottom of the barrel. Tell them to stick it and go home and bang the hot blonde.
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redsox907
Topic author - Posts: 5588
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
No Father's Son
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Hell or High Water
The meeting with Denny ran just long enough to make my departure a scramble to catch my flight in time to land back at Reagan with enough time to arrive at the Maryland facility and not arouse suspicion. I had to hand it to Denny and his staff, they’d planned the impromptu visit down to the wire; I landed at Reagan National promptly at 10:30AM with just enough time to get to the facility for the ESPN Selection Show and viewing party.
The downside to the meticulously planned trip? Absolutely no time to fill Jessica in on the happenings. I’d planned on calling her at the airport as I waited to board Oklahoma’s private jet, but with Denny’s final sales pitch coming down to the wire I barely had time to fire off a quick text as I crossed the parking lot.
Jessica’s response to my quick “Love you. Ran out of time, will call when I land,” text? A thumbs up emoji.
‘I’m in trouble,’ I thought to myself as I powered off my phone for the flight.
I made it a point to call Jessica as soon as I pulled out of the parking garage at Reagan National, but instead of Jessica, Tara Lydia’s high pitched voice greeted me.
“Daaaaaaaaaaaaddy,” she squealed into the phone—a sound I normally cherished, but with my phone connected to CarPlay and the volume at max from blasting 21 Savage to hype myself up on the way to the airport, it was instead a jarring sound while attempting to navigate DC traffic.
“Hey sweetie, less yelling, more talking,” I laughed into the phone once I had my hearing back.
“Are we still going to get a Christmas Tree and MISTER FROSTY!?” She bellowed, seemingly ignoring my plea for less yelling and instead, turning it up to 11.
“Of course sweetie, I’ve got an event at work, then it’s Sunday Funday, okay?”
The sound was less an answer and more a primal shriek, but the message was understood.
“Put Mommy on the phone now, okay?”
The sound of her tumbling off the couch, or perhaps the bed, could be heard before the rapid shuffling of feet down the hall. AJ yelled out a “Hi Dad” as she passed, but Tara Lydia was on a mission and could not be bothered for her little brother to have a word, not when Dad needed to talk to Mom.
A few moments later and I could hear Jessica thanking Tara Lydia for her haste as a delivery carrier, before finally taking the call herself.
“Hey hun,” she said with a neutral tone. No ‘Flyboy.’ Not a good sign.
“I’m heading right over after the viewing party and then we’ll head out, okay?”
“Mmhm.”
“I do want to talk to you before we head out, okay?”
Another “Mhmm.”
“Okay, I’ll call you when I’m heading that way. Love you.”
“You too.”
‘I may be in more trouble than I thought,” I thought with dismay. Thankfully, half the team was already at the facility in anticipation of the viewing event, giving me little time to wallow in my own despair.
By the time the ESPN Selection Show kicked off at promptly 12PM, the entire auditorium was packed with anyone and everyone involved in the football program as Rece Davis kicked off the telecast.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re getting right into it. Taking the #1 overall seed in the 2028 College Football Playoff……”
“The Oregon Ducks! Behind a perfect regular season and a new five-year extension for Dan Lanning after his brief flirtation with the Oklahoma Sooners, the Ducks enter the playoff as the odds-on favorite to hoist the Championship Trophy in Tampa Bay.”
The telecast continued, listing the teams one by one. Texas at #2, Georgia at 3, LSU at 4.
We went into Selection Weekend ranked 8th, but as the teams ticked farther down, the anticipation in the room started to swell.
“At number five, the ACC Champion Clemson Tigers and right behind them at sixth, the ACC runner up Miami Hurricanes.”
“At 7th, the NC State Wolfpack.”
Boos broke out around the auditorium at the Wolfpack ranking ahead of us. They had precisely no AP-Ranked wins on the season and had lost to the two ranked teams they played this year, with a significantly easier schedule based on overall record.
The boos didn’t last for long, however.
“And at number eight, perhaps the darling of the season, the Maryland Terrapins!”
The ending of Rece Davis’ announcement was drowned out by the deafening boom that erupted in the packed auditorium that only quieted to a low murmur as myself and the coaching staff started shushing the players to see who could come in at 9th, opposite of us in the bracket.
“And we’ll get an All-Big Ten first round matchup as Big Ten runner up Penn State will be the 9th seed, meaning the Rose Bowl against the 1st seeded Oregon Ducks will also be an all-Big Ten clash.”
The last bit of applause in the room turned into a quiet recognition. We weren’t getting the G6 auto-bid school, or Big 12 champion Arizona State; we were getting another Big Ten heavyweight that wasn’t on the schedule this season.
“We grind out one of the most brutal schedules in the Big Ten and this is the bullshit we get?”
No one knew where the voice came from, but it came from near the back of the room. A reserve lineman, or maybe a conditioning coach. The room had been too blindsided to be paying attention.
“Just another opportunity to show why we belong,” I roared, stepping to the front of the room as an uneasy silence went across the room.
“The talk all year was we’d be lucky to get eight wins, nine at most. Went into The Big House and handed the Wolverines their asses, hung with Washington, held our own against Ohio State. This ‘bullshit’ is what good teams do, they line ‘em up and knock ‘em down.”
“Is this what we fought all year towards, to be upset we get another challenge? Is that who we are?”
Malik Washington was the first one on his feet, whirling to speak to the team with fire in his eyes.
“I don’t want to hear one more motherfucker cry about what’s next. Y’all forget all the time on the field, in the weight room, huddled in desks watching film? This is what we said we wanted. All year. We wanted this.
“Who’s ready to show how tough they are.”
It wasn’t a question that needed answering, not out loud at least. The looks of disbelief and shock had turned into a steely resolve, an understanding that this is what greatness entailed. Running through as many brick walls as they laid in front of you, until you either ran out of walls, or out of steam.
If there was ever a time to address the elephant that only I saw in the room, there was no better time than the present.
“Listen up guys, there are 28 men in this room who are preparing like each game is going to be their last representing the great school of Maryland. We get one more home game to show them we do it different in College Park now. We show Penn State first, then we head to the Rose Bowl to show Oregon just how tough a Terrapin shell is.”
Coach Shanahan quietly approached me from the side midway through my sentence, quietly correcting me that we had 27 seniors on the roster, not 28.
“Coach Shanahan just informed me that we only have 27 graduating players,” I continued after giving Shanahan a dismissive nod. “But I did not misspeak, there are 28 men in this room preparing for the next game we lose, to be their last.”
I surveyed the room, making eye contact with the captains, the guys I’d personally brought into the program last spring. Malik, Emanuel Ross, Zymear Smith. My eyes stopped on Isaiah Patterson. The man who'd chosen UNLV over Oregon State when I came calling the first time, only to follow me to College Park when his second portal window opened.
“When our season ends, so does my time as the head coach of the Maryland Terrapins. I’ve been offered a job with the Oklahoma Sooners, but I told them the only way I would accept is if I was allowed to finish our playoff run.”
Before I could continue my planned monologue, Malik quickly interjected.
“Wait, so you staying for the run? For real for real?”
“I’m here til the end boys, hell or high water.”
Not everyone was shocked, or even mildly surprised. This was a program that had just watched Mike Locksley leave without so much as a goodbye, in one of the most fluid landscapes in college football history. There was some murmuring, a few guys standing up to congratulate me, others simply sitting in their seats, waiting to see if there was more to the story.
Isaiah was the first to speak up out of protest, slowly standing to make sure there was no doubt where the disappointment was coming from this time.
“So, that building a standard of excellence was just bullshit, yeah?” He surveyed the room, looking for any teammate who was nodding in agreement. There were a few, but perhaps less than he’d anticipated, because he turned back to me instead of looking to rally more to his cause.
“I mean, game recognize game. I ain’t going to front like I haven’t hopped in the portal twice in two years,” he said, raising his hand in an act of accountability, “But I kept it a buck. I was looking for an opportunity to play and to win.”
“You,” he said, lowering the same hand to point at me, two fingers extended like a gun, “knew exactly what you were doing. Three teams in five years, right Coach Mando? Same story everywhere, same coach who bails before that standard is even built.”
I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Isaiah quickly raised a dismissive hand to cut me off, “Save the salesman’s speech for someone else, coach. Congrats on being another dude that manipulated his way to the top. I’m just wondering, where you think you’re going to keep running once you run out of real estate?”
He didn’t stay long enough for an answer, turning and quickly vacating the auditorium while the murmurs still raced through the crowd. Coach Orlando stood to go after him before I signaled him to sit down with a quick hand motion and a head shake.
It was Malik who finally broke the silence, once again rising to the occasion to put what was needed into perspective.
“Listen, whatever happens after the season, doesn’t change what we’ve still got to accomplish. Tomorrow comes, but we worry about right now. Next game, next opponent, next chance to show these Terps bite back.”
Telling the team had been hard. What came next would be even harder.
Jessica.
An hour after the confrontation with Isaiah in the auditorium, I slowly pulled into our driveway with a light snowstorm already filling the ground with fresh powder.
The kids were already bundled up to go tree hunting, romping around the backyard between snowball fights and attempting to make their own snowman before the inflatable one arrived.
“Mine is going to be bigger than the blowup Mr. Frosty,” shouted AJ to no one in particular, before turning to fire a snowball at Tara Lydia as she hissed “As if pipsqueak.”
The familiar commotion brought a smile to my face, slow at first, but by the time I’d reached the snow covered back deck, where Jessica stood against the railing watching the commotion, a full on grin had spread.
Until she turned around.
No welcome back hug, no warm embrace with a soft kiss. Not even a change in her facial expression. Just Jessica, in all her beauty, unmoved by my arrival. I knew then, that she already knew how my trip to Oklahoma ended.
“Hey,” I whispered to her—barely audible enough for even her ears, as I slid a white chocolate mocha with raspberry into her hand—her go-to order from the shack up the road. “Got a minute to talk?”
“You don’t need to tell me, Armando. I know you took the job.” No emotion, just a matter-of-factness that was somehow worse than the anger I’d anticipated. She’d known, maybe even before I did, and wasn’t angry. Just disappointed.
I tried to hide my surprise—she never ceased to amaze me—she’d already figured out the outcome before I’d spoken a word. She saw it, but refused to elaborate, content to watch the gears slowly spin in my mind as I searched for the next right thing to say.
“Listen, I know the timing could be better, with you applying for that job with Riverdale Park, so I did some research,” I finally blurted out, frantically searching for the right combination of charm and compassion to soften the hurt I could see festering just below the surface.
“There are a ton of pediatric offices sprinkled around Norman and the surrounding area, I even found a few with job postings,” I said, producing a stapled together packet of job postings and presenting them to Jessica, like a trophy meant to appease her.
Instead of a look of adoration, or appreciation, I was instead met with a look that could only be described as disappointment. Raw and unfiltered disappointment.
“Oh, Armando,” she sighed, emotion finally cracking through her neutral facade. “I know you think you’re being sweet, but don’t. Just don’t.”
She turned and leaned into the rail again, looking out over our children playing in the backyard from our snow-covered deck. We both stood there; her watching the kids with a quiet sadness while I stood dumbfounded, wondering what the right answer was. I looked down again at the packet of job applications in my hand; proof that I had found a solution before the problem had presented itself, like I always did. But this time, somehow, I was wrong. And I couldn’t figure out what I should have done differently.
Slowly, I crossed the deck to Jessica, wrapping my arms around her from behind as I rested my head against her neck.
“I wanted to tell you sooner, sweetheart. I just didn’t have time,” I sighed.
“I knew you were taking the job before you left for Reagan, Armando,” she exhaled, whirling around to make eye contact.
“Listen, what’s done is done. But, I’m not going with you this time, not following along behind like the doting housewife. I wanted to be more than that and you’re taking that away before I could even get started.” Her words weren’t filled with anger, or frustration—those I could deal with, eventually smooth over and erase, this was something different. Like a quiet acceptance, almost a despondency that this was what each decision would be like.
“I’ve followed you four different times, Armando. Turned a house into a home, moved the kids across country, made sure that everything behind the scenes kept ticking like clockwork while you preached setting a standard and building with excellence. But, every time you run to the next opportunity before you’ve even tasted failure, I’m left to figure everything else out. Not this time.”
“I’m not leaving you,” she quickly clarified, a small glimmer of the love she had for me showing through—perhaps recognizing where I thought the conversation was heading, my confidence and composure dropping with every sentence.
“But I’m not packing our kids and heading off to Norman, living in a hotel for months on end. You wanted to move us again for the third time in four years, you can do the heavy lifting this time. Find the house, the neighborhood, the child care. Turn the house into a home, then, and only then, will your family join you in Oklahoma.”
It wasn’t a request, not that I would have attempted to argue with her at that point anyways, I knew that once Jessica made up her mind, there was no turning back. And besides, for a moment I thought I would really have to hold Harvey over the fire to find me a new wife.
“Okay, I understand. I’ll make it work,” I said with a quiet nod, hands instinctively reaching out to pull her in. She held her ground for a moment, perhaps a final effort to make me understand the chasm that had slowly built between us by one monumental decision, before finally falling into my embrace and allowing me to pull her close.
“I promise,” I breathed against her lips as we kissed. The moment quickly evaporated as the kids finally noticed me on the porch, each hollering for my attention as they streaked across the yard.
“I’m not leaving for Norman until the playoff run is over,” I whispered as the kids slowly bore down on us, “Until then, let’s make the most of it.”
She nodded in agreement, but the disappointment had already begun to creep across her features, furrowing her brow and pursing her lips even as she tried to feign happiness for the kid’s sake.
As Jessica corralled the kids into the house to grab last minute snacks before we left on our Christmas tree hunt, a sudden revelation hit me.
‘When does chasing ambition start to look like running from failure?’
The chill that crept down my spine wasn’t from the cold, but from the sobering realization that I didn’t have an answer.
The meeting with Denny ran just long enough to make my departure a scramble to catch my flight in time to land back at Reagan with enough time to arrive at the Maryland facility and not arouse suspicion. I had to hand it to Denny and his staff, they’d planned the impromptu visit down to the wire; I landed at Reagan National promptly at 10:30AM with just enough time to get to the facility for the ESPN Selection Show and viewing party.
The downside to the meticulously planned trip? Absolutely no time to fill Jessica in on the happenings. I’d planned on calling her at the airport as I waited to board Oklahoma’s private jet, but with Denny’s final sales pitch coming down to the wire I barely had time to fire off a quick text as I crossed the parking lot.
Jessica’s response to my quick “Love you. Ran out of time, will call when I land,” text? A thumbs up emoji.
‘I’m in trouble,’ I thought to myself as I powered off my phone for the flight.
I made it a point to call Jessica as soon as I pulled out of the parking garage at Reagan National, but instead of Jessica, Tara Lydia’s high pitched voice greeted me.
“Daaaaaaaaaaaaddy,” she squealed into the phone—a sound I normally cherished, but with my phone connected to CarPlay and the volume at max from blasting 21 Savage to hype myself up on the way to the airport, it was instead a jarring sound while attempting to navigate DC traffic.
“Hey sweetie, less yelling, more talking,” I laughed into the phone once I had my hearing back.
“Are we still going to get a Christmas Tree and MISTER FROSTY!?” She bellowed, seemingly ignoring my plea for less yelling and instead, turning it up to 11.
“Of course sweetie, I’ve got an event at work, then it’s Sunday Funday, okay?”
The sound was less an answer and more a primal shriek, but the message was understood.
“Put Mommy on the phone now, okay?”
The sound of her tumbling off the couch, or perhaps the bed, could be heard before the rapid shuffling of feet down the hall. AJ yelled out a “Hi Dad” as she passed, but Tara Lydia was on a mission and could not be bothered for her little brother to have a word, not when Dad needed to talk to Mom.
A few moments later and I could hear Jessica thanking Tara Lydia for her haste as a delivery carrier, before finally taking the call herself.
“Hey hun,” she said with a neutral tone. No ‘Flyboy.’ Not a good sign.
“I’m heading right over after the viewing party and then we’ll head out, okay?”
“Mmhm.”
“I do want to talk to you before we head out, okay?”
Another “Mhmm.”
“Okay, I’ll call you when I’m heading that way. Love you.”
“You too.”
‘I may be in more trouble than I thought,” I thought with dismay. Thankfully, half the team was already at the facility in anticipation of the viewing event, giving me little time to wallow in my own despair.
By the time the ESPN Selection Show kicked off at promptly 12PM, the entire auditorium was packed with anyone and everyone involved in the football program as Rece Davis kicked off the telecast.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re getting right into it. Taking the #1 overall seed in the 2028 College Football Playoff……”
“The Oregon Ducks! Behind a perfect regular season and a new five-year extension for Dan Lanning after his brief flirtation with the Oklahoma Sooners, the Ducks enter the playoff as the odds-on favorite to hoist the Championship Trophy in Tampa Bay.”
The telecast continued, listing the teams one by one. Texas at #2, Georgia at 3, LSU at 4.
We went into Selection Weekend ranked 8th, but as the teams ticked farther down, the anticipation in the room started to swell.
“At number five, the ACC Champion Clemson Tigers and right behind them at sixth, the ACC runner up Miami Hurricanes.”
“At 7th, the NC State Wolfpack.”
Boos broke out around the auditorium at the Wolfpack ranking ahead of us. They had precisely no AP-Ranked wins on the season and had lost to the two ranked teams they played this year, with a significantly easier schedule based on overall record.
The boos didn’t last for long, however.
“And at number eight, perhaps the darling of the season, the Maryland Terrapins!”
The ending of Rece Davis’ announcement was drowned out by the deafening boom that erupted in the packed auditorium that only quieted to a low murmur as myself and the coaching staff started shushing the players to see who could come in at 9th, opposite of us in the bracket.
“And we’ll get an All-Big Ten first round matchup as Big Ten runner up Penn State will be the 9th seed, meaning the Rose Bowl against the 1st seeded Oregon Ducks will also be an all-Big Ten clash.”
The last bit of applause in the room turned into a quiet recognition. We weren’t getting the G6 auto-bid school, or Big 12 champion Arizona State; we were getting another Big Ten heavyweight that wasn’t on the schedule this season.
“We grind out one of the most brutal schedules in the Big Ten and this is the bullshit we get?”
No one knew where the voice came from, but it came from near the back of the room. A reserve lineman, or maybe a conditioning coach. The room had been too blindsided to be paying attention.
“Just another opportunity to show why we belong,” I roared, stepping to the front of the room as an uneasy silence went across the room.
“The talk all year was we’d be lucky to get eight wins, nine at most. Went into The Big House and handed the Wolverines their asses, hung with Washington, held our own against Ohio State. This ‘bullshit’ is what good teams do, they line ‘em up and knock ‘em down.”
“Is this what we fought all year towards, to be upset we get another challenge? Is that who we are?”
Malik Washington was the first one on his feet, whirling to speak to the team with fire in his eyes.
“I don’t want to hear one more motherfucker cry about what’s next. Y’all forget all the time on the field, in the weight room, huddled in desks watching film? This is what we said we wanted. All year. We wanted this.
“Who’s ready to show how tough they are.”
It wasn’t a question that needed answering, not out loud at least. The looks of disbelief and shock had turned into a steely resolve, an understanding that this is what greatness entailed. Running through as many brick walls as they laid in front of you, until you either ran out of walls, or out of steam.
If there was ever a time to address the elephant that only I saw in the room, there was no better time than the present.
“Listen up guys, there are 28 men in this room who are preparing like each game is going to be their last representing the great school of Maryland. We get one more home game to show them we do it different in College Park now. We show Penn State first, then we head to the Rose Bowl to show Oregon just how tough a Terrapin shell is.”
Coach Shanahan quietly approached me from the side midway through my sentence, quietly correcting me that we had 27 seniors on the roster, not 28.
“Coach Shanahan just informed me that we only have 27 graduating players,” I continued after giving Shanahan a dismissive nod. “But I did not misspeak, there are 28 men in this room preparing for the next game we lose, to be their last.”
I surveyed the room, making eye contact with the captains, the guys I’d personally brought into the program last spring. Malik, Emanuel Ross, Zymear Smith. My eyes stopped on Isaiah Patterson. The man who'd chosen UNLV over Oregon State when I came calling the first time, only to follow me to College Park when his second portal window opened.
“When our season ends, so does my time as the head coach of the Maryland Terrapins. I’ve been offered a job with the Oklahoma Sooners, but I told them the only way I would accept is if I was allowed to finish our playoff run.”
Before I could continue my planned monologue, Malik quickly interjected.
“Wait, so you staying for the run? For real for real?”
“I’m here til the end boys, hell or high water.”
Not everyone was shocked, or even mildly surprised. This was a program that had just watched Mike Locksley leave without so much as a goodbye, in one of the most fluid landscapes in college football history. There was some murmuring, a few guys standing up to congratulate me, others simply sitting in their seats, waiting to see if there was more to the story.
Isaiah was the first to speak up out of protest, slowly standing to make sure there was no doubt where the disappointment was coming from this time.
“So, that building a standard of excellence was just bullshit, yeah?” He surveyed the room, looking for any teammate who was nodding in agreement. There were a few, but perhaps less than he’d anticipated, because he turned back to me instead of looking to rally more to his cause.
“I mean, game recognize game. I ain’t going to front like I haven’t hopped in the portal twice in two years,” he said, raising his hand in an act of accountability, “But I kept it a buck. I was looking for an opportunity to play and to win.”
“You,” he said, lowering the same hand to point at me, two fingers extended like a gun, “knew exactly what you were doing. Three teams in five years, right Coach Mando? Same story everywhere, same coach who bails before that standard is even built.”
I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Isaiah quickly raised a dismissive hand to cut me off, “Save the salesman’s speech for someone else, coach. Congrats on being another dude that manipulated his way to the top. I’m just wondering, where you think you’re going to keep running once you run out of real estate?”
He didn’t stay long enough for an answer, turning and quickly vacating the auditorium while the murmurs still raced through the crowd. Coach Orlando stood to go after him before I signaled him to sit down with a quick hand motion and a head shake.
It was Malik who finally broke the silence, once again rising to the occasion to put what was needed into perspective.
“Listen, whatever happens after the season, doesn’t change what we’ve still got to accomplish. Tomorrow comes, but we worry about right now. Next game, next opponent, next chance to show these Terps bite back.”
Telling the team had been hard. What came next would be even harder.
Jessica.
An hour after the confrontation with Isaiah in the auditorium, I slowly pulled into our driveway with a light snowstorm already filling the ground with fresh powder.
The kids were already bundled up to go tree hunting, romping around the backyard between snowball fights and attempting to make their own snowman before the inflatable one arrived.
“Mine is going to be bigger than the blowup Mr. Frosty,” shouted AJ to no one in particular, before turning to fire a snowball at Tara Lydia as she hissed “As if pipsqueak.”
The familiar commotion brought a smile to my face, slow at first, but by the time I’d reached the snow covered back deck, where Jessica stood against the railing watching the commotion, a full on grin had spread.
Until she turned around.
No welcome back hug, no warm embrace with a soft kiss. Not even a change in her facial expression. Just Jessica, in all her beauty, unmoved by my arrival. I knew then, that she already knew how my trip to Oklahoma ended.
“Hey,” I whispered to her—barely audible enough for even her ears, as I slid a white chocolate mocha with raspberry into her hand—her go-to order from the shack up the road. “Got a minute to talk?”
“You don’t need to tell me, Armando. I know you took the job.” No emotion, just a matter-of-factness that was somehow worse than the anger I’d anticipated. She’d known, maybe even before I did, and wasn’t angry. Just disappointed.
I tried to hide my surprise—she never ceased to amaze me—she’d already figured out the outcome before I’d spoken a word. She saw it, but refused to elaborate, content to watch the gears slowly spin in my mind as I searched for the next right thing to say.
“Listen, I know the timing could be better, with you applying for that job with Riverdale Park, so I did some research,” I finally blurted out, frantically searching for the right combination of charm and compassion to soften the hurt I could see festering just below the surface.
“There are a ton of pediatric offices sprinkled around Norman and the surrounding area, I even found a few with job postings,” I said, producing a stapled together packet of job postings and presenting them to Jessica, like a trophy meant to appease her.
Instead of a look of adoration, or appreciation, I was instead met with a look that could only be described as disappointment. Raw and unfiltered disappointment.
“Oh, Armando,” she sighed, emotion finally cracking through her neutral facade. “I know you think you’re being sweet, but don’t. Just don’t.”
She turned and leaned into the rail again, looking out over our children playing in the backyard from our snow-covered deck. We both stood there; her watching the kids with a quiet sadness while I stood dumbfounded, wondering what the right answer was. I looked down again at the packet of job applications in my hand; proof that I had found a solution before the problem had presented itself, like I always did. But this time, somehow, I was wrong. And I couldn’t figure out what I should have done differently.
Slowly, I crossed the deck to Jessica, wrapping my arms around her from behind as I rested my head against her neck.
“I wanted to tell you sooner, sweetheart. I just didn’t have time,” I sighed.
“I knew you were taking the job before you left for Reagan, Armando,” she exhaled, whirling around to make eye contact.
“Listen, what’s done is done. But, I’m not going with you this time, not following along behind like the doting housewife. I wanted to be more than that and you’re taking that away before I could even get started.” Her words weren’t filled with anger, or frustration—those I could deal with, eventually smooth over and erase, this was something different. Like a quiet acceptance, almost a despondency that this was what each decision would be like.
“I’ve followed you four different times, Armando. Turned a house into a home, moved the kids across country, made sure that everything behind the scenes kept ticking like clockwork while you preached setting a standard and building with excellence. But, every time you run to the next opportunity before you’ve even tasted failure, I’m left to figure everything else out. Not this time.”
“I’m not leaving you,” she quickly clarified, a small glimmer of the love she had for me showing through—perhaps recognizing where I thought the conversation was heading, my confidence and composure dropping with every sentence.
“But I’m not packing our kids and heading off to Norman, living in a hotel for months on end. You wanted to move us again for the third time in four years, you can do the heavy lifting this time. Find the house, the neighborhood, the child care. Turn the house into a home, then, and only then, will your family join you in Oklahoma.”
It wasn’t a request, not that I would have attempted to argue with her at that point anyways, I knew that once Jessica made up her mind, there was no turning back. And besides, for a moment I thought I would really have to hold Harvey over the fire to find me a new wife.
“Okay, I understand. I’ll make it work,” I said with a quiet nod, hands instinctively reaching out to pull her in. She held her ground for a moment, perhaps a final effort to make me understand the chasm that had slowly built between us by one monumental decision, before finally falling into my embrace and allowing me to pull her close.
“I promise,” I breathed against her lips as we kissed. The moment quickly evaporated as the kids finally noticed me on the porch, each hollering for my attention as they streaked across the yard.
“I’m not leaving for Norman until the playoff run is over,” I whispered as the kids slowly bore down on us, “Until then, let’s make the most of it.”
She nodded in agreement, but the disappointment had already begun to creep across her features, furrowing her brow and pursing her lips even as she tried to feign happiness for the kid’s sake.
As Jessica corralled the kids into the house to grab last minute snacks before we left on our Christmas tree hunt, a sudden revelation hit me.
‘When does chasing ambition start to look like running from failure?’
The chill that crept down my spine wasn’t from the cold, but from the sobering realization that I didn’t have an answer.
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Soapy
- Posts: 15694
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
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ShireNiner
- Posts: 1375
- Joined: 29 Sep 2025, 10:06
No Father's Son
What a bitch. Fucked over the players, took another job without telling his wife and is forcing his kids to move again. Horrible, horrible selfish man.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7375
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
No Father's Son
Don't know if the quick turnaround is the look after finally getting a head coaching gig at Maryland