Dale Denton | The Legacy | Rookie Year

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

[Soapy]

i was gone for a weekend, came back and boy in college already

[redsox907]

i was gone for a weekend, came back and boy in college already

Some tough competition at QB with Carr and Kenney. Dale redshirt season incoming? Does the game even let you do that? Haven't played RTG much

[Chillcavern]

i was gone for a weekend, came back and boy in college already

Some tough competition at QB with Carr and Kenney. Dale redshirt season incoming? Does the game even let you do that? Haven't played RTG much

You auto redshirt if you play 4 or fewer games (at least, you do in 25).

I see you decided to roll with ND. Should be a fun choice and interesting battle

[Captain Canada]

Just caught up with all of this, interesting choice heading to Notre Dame. That first year sitting is going to be something else

[The JZA]

i was gone for a weekend, came back and boy in college already

Soapy, They grow up so fast

Some tough competition at QB with Carr and Kenney. Dale redshirt season incoming? Does the game even let you do that? Haven't played RTG much

redsox907, I'm not feeling all this competition Great for the story's narrative, but we've seen this storyline at GT in my last RTG

I see you decided to roll with ND. Should be a fun choice and interesting battle

Chillcavern, Couldn't let those scholarship bonuses slide. But had I known Dale was going to be this far off on the deep end...

Just caught up with all of this, interesting choice heading to Notre Dame. That first year sitting is going to be something else

Captain Canada, They trying to Ty Simpson our boy. We gonna try to climb this ladder though.

[The JZA]

Chapter II: Tales Of The Red Shirt

The start of the 2026 college football season hit South Bend like a shot of adrenaline to the chest.

The Golden Dome shimmered under the late-summer sun while fans swarmed campus in blue and gold like ants on a sugar spill. Irish pride was thick in the air, damn near suffocating. They was coming off a 9-3 season, still licking wounds from what could’ve been, but hopeful as hell. Ranked #25 in the preseason, expectations were sky-high as usual, which kept the streets wasn’t talking. Nah, they was buzzing—and not just about the team, but about the boy from South Carolina with a rocket arm and something to prove. Dale Denton.

Only thing was… Dale wasn’t even on the field.

He was QB5. Yeah, five.

That shit hit like a gut punch from God. But see, Dale wasn’t soft. Never had been. Where other dudes might’ve tucked tail and cried into their locker towel, he locked in. Eyes forward, jaw tight. Ain’t nobody ever gave him shit, and he wasn’t expecting ‘em to start now.

But still, QB5? That was a long ass climb to the top, and CJ Carr? That man was already sitting on the throne with his crown polished and fastened tight. CJ wasn’t just playing—he was putting on a damn clinic.

Opening night? Notre Dame vs. Michigan State. Rivalry game. Stadium packed with 60,000 plus, loud enough to rattle the teeth out ya gums. After taking in the breath taking scenery of the raving fans, Dale stood on the sideline, pads tight, helmet in hand, eyes glued to the field like he was trying to download CJ’s every move. And what he saw? Bruh…

CJ was surgical.

Final score: 69-24. And that ain’t no damn typo.

Dude threw for 413 yards, six touchdowns, no picks. Cam Williams and Kevin Columbus combined for six of those tuds, looking like Madden glitches. It was art. Beautiful, painful art. Dale clapped with the rest of the team, but his heart felt like lead in his chest. This the part they don’t show on ESPN. The sideline dreams. The quiet doubts.

He knew what that meant: redshirt season. No question.

Still, Dale didn’t pout. He got on his grind. Every morning, up before the sun. First one in the gym, last one out the film room. Coach Freeman peeped it, but praise ain’t the same as playtime. And with CJ putting up god-mode numbers? Ain’t nobody else sniffing the huddle.

Wisconsin? Smoked ’em. 58-7.
Florida State? Wasn’t even close. 47-21.
Purdue? 59-10.
North Carolina? 48-21.

CJ was eating. Feasting. Their backup QB, Kenny Minchey? Got six snaps in one game. That was his all-season highlight.

Dale? Not a single one. Not even a kneel-down to pray.

By Week 8, the battle for QB2 finally popped off. Coach Freeman gave Dale and Kenny some words of encouragement and the green light the battle. Three drills. One spot. Let’s get it.

Round one: pass skeleton. Dale came out swinging, won it clean. Round two: option attack. Kenny lit it up. Three tuds. Pressure rising. Final round: pocket presence drill. Close. Too damn close. Kenny edged him by 200 points. Just like that, Dale’s shot at QB2 evaporated like breath on glass. That one stung. Bad. Not ‘cause he lost, but ‘cause he almost didn’t.

The rest of the season? Dale stayed invisible. Just another body in pads. Another number in the program. But he ain’t let it break him. Instead, he flipped the script. Locked in on his books. Kept his grades up. 3.8 GPA. That ain’t touchdowns, but it made his moms proud. Sharnell Denton don’t play ‘bout education. Dale ain’t forget that.

CJ finished the regular season with 3,933 yards and 39 touchdowns. The team's only blemish came at the hands of SMU (11-2, 6-2) in a gritty 49-48 loss. Dude was damn near unstoppable, and he was only a sophomore. Meanwhile, the five-star from South Carolina was watching from the sideline like a fan with better seats. The whispers started to grow louder. Student reporters asked dumb questions with fake smiles. Fans online questioned Dale’s decision to commit to the Irish. Was he even built for the big stage? Shoulda gone somewhere smaller. Somewhere he could start.

Dale ain’t have answers. Just feelings. And those ain’t easy to translate into press quotes.

Playoffs came. Notre Dame rolled into the Fiesta Bowl against #6 Clemson (12-3, 7-1). The road to Las Vegas ran through them and the winner of the Peach Bowl, Georgia or Tennessee. CJ did what he do—237 through the air, 40 on the ground, two scores. Irish win: 34-17. The next test was the #2 Georgia Bulldogs (12-2, 7-1), and Dale once again had front row seats at the Sugar Bowl. It was nothing new Georgia put Notre Dame through the ringer, giving them every hurdle, but Notre Dame came through, edging Georgia out by 5 points. The final Sugar Bowl score was Georgia: 35, Notre Dame: 40.

And just like that, with only one blemish to the season by SMU, Notre Dame found themselves going to Las Vegas for the national championship. All that stood in the way of Notre Dame and the promise land was the #5 Oregon Ducks. Oregon made their way to Las Vegas on a 13-3 (8-1) season, representing the Big Ten. They ran through #21 Liberty (11-3, 7-1), #4 LSU (11-3, 7-1), and #1 UCLA (13-2, 8-1).

Vegas lights. Big stage. Bigger pressure. CJ Carr vs. Dante Moore. Notre Dame vs. Oregon. Old money vs. new hustle. Dale was there for all of it—watching, waiting, thinking. The night before the game, Dale dipped away from the chaos. Found a quiet balcony at the team hotel. Looking down at Sin City. Lights glittered like stars fallen to Earth.

His phone rang. Moms.

"Hey Ma."

"Hey baby, how's my baby boy doing? Did you make alright to Vegas?"

"Yeah, we're all safe here. I'm just here relaxing on the balcony. How's everything with you?"

"Everything's fine. Just wanted to check in and make sure, you're alright. The people here that knew you since you were in diapers sends their love. They've been talking about you and I've heard about what they've been doing."

"Heard what? Something I don't know about?"

"They're talking about you not playing, a lot of people rooting for you are upset. Now, you know I don't know much about sports, I can't say I have tuned in with all the work shifts I've been picking up, but people aren't happy you're not playing."

"Yeah, it's been tough on that aspect. Too keep it short, there's a guy here that's doing great things, he got us all the way to the championship game."

"Oh, that's great, you don't seem to happy saying that, I hear it in your voice."

"It's that obvious? Yeah, I wanna play. It's the biggest game of the season. But I got red-shirted this season."

"What does that mean?"

"Means if you played less than four games in the season, they won't count it against you. So if I wanted to play four years, I still can while technically being here five years."

"Oh okay, well, have you talk to your coach about giving you some time to play?"

"Nah, I can't do that. I'm one of four other guys trying to get the starting job, it's just something you got to show and earn, Ma."

"I see baby, if that's the case, then you just keep doing your best and I'm sure your time will come."

"I know Ma, that's all I can do. Other than that, I'm just an extra cheerleader in shoulder pads."

"I'm sure you'll make a good looking cheerleader then" Sharnell joked.

"Yeah, real funny."

"Almost forgot to tell you, your father been calling me a few times last month."

"What? No way. You two actually talked?"

"Yeah. He said spending time with you opened his eyes about many things he's done wrong. Of course, I didn't give that thought the time of day, but he seem kind of genuine about it."

"I think he is. We had that same kind of talk before I left South Carolina as well. But, I know it's not my place to dictate, but I think you should hear him out. No one's asking you two to be the best of friends, but you two can be civil."

"Excuse me? Civil? Did that word just come out of a Denton's mouth? You sure you went to school to play football or be a counselor?"

"The way things looking, you never know. Gonna have to put this 3.8 GPA to use somewhere."

"3.8? Look at you Mr. Stephen Hawking." Sharnell giggled.

"You wish! A 3.8 is a insult to his intellect, dead or alive." Dale retorted.

"Well, I'm just glad you're there safe son, and I'm proud you're getting your education, that's most important. But don't be hard on yourself, I know how you get when things don't go your way. Call your father, talk to him, maybe he have some advice for you."

"Yeah, I think I'll do that. I love you, Ma."

"I love you too, son."

Their convo' was all love, all truth. Sharnell was real as always. She joked, reassured, reminded him who the hell he was. That's who Sharnell was, that half of Dale's DNA that was always fighting with a feisty spirit. But Mark and Sharnell. Things was shifting behind the scenes while Dale was away.

After hanging up with his moms, Dale hit up his pops. Another real talk. Mark brought up something Dale wasn’t ready for… the transfer portal.

It made sense. But it didn’t feel right, not yet. Notre Dame was suppose to be the Mecca of all that's holy and football between the cornfields. Even if it felt like a jail cell sometimes. But thing would prove to be the sway in the wind: the championship game.

First half: Notre Dame looked shook. Oregon jumped out, 14-3. CJ looked… human. Kenny got a few snaps. The sideline felt cold. Third quarter: Disaster. Another 14 points from Oregon. 28-3. Dale didn’t even blink. Just stared at the scoreboard like it had a grudge. Fourth quarter: too little, too late. Irish stormed back with 20 unanswered, but time was the enemy. The final score in a clean no-turnover game: Oregon 28, Notre Dame 23.

Ducks went crazy. Their first natty. Confetti flew. Tears dropped. CJ sat on the bench, head low. The perfect perfect playoffs—snatched.

Dale just stood there, uniform spotless. Chest tight. No touchdowns. No mistakes. Just silence.

It wasn't long before the team packed up in the locker room, Dale sat with his helmet in his lap. No cameras. No speeches. Just thoughts. He wasn’t gonna quit. But he damn sure wasn’t gonna stay invisible either. Fight harder? Or fight smarter? That was the question. But one thing was certain... The fight wasn’t over.

[The JZA]

Chapter III: Rewrite The Story

The door clicked shut behind Dale as he stepped into Coach Marcus Freeman’s office. The space was quiet, heavy with the kind of silence that came before big conversations. The walls were lined with plaques and trophies, echoes of glory and grit from seasons past. A thick scent of fresh polish lingered in the air, almost too clean for how dirty things were about to get. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, laying golden stripes across the hardwood floor. A Notre Dame helmet sat like a crown on a small shelf behind the coach's desk, gleaming gold under the light, daring you to earn the right to wear it.

Coach Freeman looked up from his desk, reading glasses sliding down his nose as he studied Dale. He leaned back in his leather chair, folding his arms like he already knew this wasn’t just a social call.

"Dale," he said, voice calm but laced with weight. "What’s on your mind, son?"

Dale stood still for a second, like his sneakers were glued to the floor. His eyes shifted around the office—first to the championship photos, then to the playbook shelf, finally landing on the coach. He slowly lowered himself into the chair across from the desk, his hoodie bunching at the collar. The shadows under his eyes told the story before his lips did.

"Coach," he started, voice low, "I want you to know I appreciate everything. You and this program, I know you believed in me the moment you sent out that scholarship offer. You saw something in me. I tried to return that respect. Worked hard, stayed focused."

e paused. The air grew thick between them.

"But I’ve been thinking. A lot. I think it's time I enter the transfer portal."

Coach Freeman’s face didn’t change immediately. But something in his posture shifted—like someone had just hit him with a sucker punch he saw coming anyway. He sat forward, elbows on the desk, hands clasped like he was praying over the moment.

"You sure about that?" he asked. His tone didn’t raise, but there was a deeper intensity behind the words now. "Once you step into that portal, everything changes. You go from having a home to being a visitor everywhere you go. You sure that’s the road you want to walk?"

Dale nodded slowly. "I ain’t scared of the road, Coach. Been walkin' it all my life. But this one? This road right here? It's startin’ to feel like a cul-de-sac. Ain’t nowhere else to go unless I turn around."

Coach leaned back in his chair again, eyes narrowing, calculating.

"You’re not just another arm in the room, Dale. You work hard. You study film like it’s scripture. You show up early, leave late. That’s why this hurts. Because I know what you could be—for us. CJ’s having his moment now, sure, but what about next year? He might declare. You could be next. That starting job could be yours."

"And it might not," Dale replied, shaking his head. "Might don’t do nothin’ for me, Coach. Might is like hope without a plan. I came here to make plays, not just learn from the sidelines. I didn’t come to college to be a hype man in shoulder pads. I respect CJ, he’s cold, no doubt. But I ain’t come here to clap for him every Saturday in his shadow while he sees all the success."

Coach’s eyes softened. He stood, walked around the desk, and leaned on it right beside Dale.

"Look, I’ve been doing this long enough to know when a player’s mind is made up. But let me hit you with some real game. Every program got its favorite. Its golden boy. You transfer, and you’re the new face—until you’re not. You’ll have to learn a whole new playbook, adapt to a new culture, win over new teammates, coaches, boosters, fans. It’s a reset. You ready for that kind of grind all over again?"

"I’m already grinding, Coach," Dale said, straightening up. "Only difference is, I’m grinding behind closed doors, where nobody sees it. I’m tired of pretending like that’s enough. I need to show it on the field. I need reps, pressure, moments. Can’t get better sittin’ in shadows."

Coach Freeman exhaled through his nose, frustration lining his brow.

"You know what happens to a lotta young quarterbacks who transfer? They get lost in the shuffle. End up at smaller schools with no exposure. They fade out. They disappear. I don’t want that for you. You’ve got a future here."

Dale’s stare didn’t waver. "I hear you, Coach. And I respect everything you sayin’. But this decision ain't just about ball. It's about dignity. About knowing I’m using my time the right way. I got people back in New York and South Carolina who believed in me. Who told their kids to watch me make it. I lost a good friend last summer on graduation day. His name is Amani Toles... He was my wide receiver. And after 37 years in a small city of Manning, we made history winning state championship. Every game I don’t play feels like I’m lettin’ them down. Feels like I’m lettin’ me down."

Coach looked away for a moment, letting the weight of Dale’s words settle. Then he turned back, the edge in his voice softening.

"You already got interest?"

"Yeah," Dale nodded. "Rumors started gettin’ out after half the season. I didn’t reach out to nobody, but they heard the noise. Couple ACC and Big Ten schools, one from the Midwest & SEC. No contacts with anyone yet, but I'm reading the bytes online."

Coach stood up straight, folding his arms over his chest.

"Alright," he said after a beat. "You go, you go with my respect. And you’ll still be part of this family. This jersey—this logo—it ain’t just about who’s on the field. It’s about who we built up while they were here. And Dale Denton? I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to see you play for us. But all the hard work you've done in training and study, we built you right. You remember that. Go with the peace of mind to know what to expect."

Dale rose from his seat, extending a hand. Coach Freeman took it firmly, looked him dead in the eye.

"You got the heart, kid. Always did see that in you. Just don’t lose it out there, chasing the next best thing. This game don’t owe nobody nothing. You gotta snatch what’s yours, but don’t forget who you are in the process."

"Appreciate you, Coach. For real. For seein’ me even when I wasn’t gettin’ snaps. That mattered. More than I ever said."

Coach Freeman gave a small nod. "You go write your story, Dale. But just know—we’ll be watchin’. And if it don’t play out how you hope, this door stays open."

Dale turned toward the door, gripping the handle. He hesitated for just a second, took one last glance around the office—the birthplace of his college dreams. Then he stepped out.

Outside, the sky was painted with the last hints of gold before dusk. The air was cool, crisp, and smelled like winter might last a little longer. But inside Dale’s chest, a different season was starting. One of purpose. One of risk. One where he called his own plays.

Whatever came next, he was ready for it, and ready to be heard..

[Captain Canada]

That tenure at Notre Dame sure was short-lived. Back on the road we go.