Requiem for a Broken Dream.

[Soapy]

Kyrie down bad.
Rutgers in the playoffs?

hell nah them boys started strong but faded away

[Soapy]

Season 8, Episode 22
Mark stood at the entrance of the luxury suite, his broad smile a stark contrast to the nervous energy radiating from Yassy as she approached. Her family — her father Ahmed, her mother Layla, her sister Amina and her brother Omar — trailed behind her.

"Welcome, welcome!" Mark's voice boomed, cutting through the excited chatter of other guests already mingling inside. He extended his hand to Yassy, then to the rest of her family. "I'm so glad you guys could make it.”

Yassy managed a small smile, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her modest blouse. "Thank you for having us.”

“There she is,” Kwame stood up, accompanied by his wife Taylour and youngest son Manu, hugging Yassy and introducing himself to the rest of the family.

“You raised a great young man,” Layla commented to Kwame, unaware of their dynamic.

“I don’t know if I can take credit,” Kwame smiled, half-kidding, “This is my wife, Taylour, Kam’s step-mother.”

“You are just gorgeous,” Layla kissed her on the cheek.

“This is some fly sh..dope stuff,” Omar corrected himself, in awe of the ostentatious nature of everything around him.

Amina took mental notes as well, but more disgusted by the extravagance over a sport more than anything else.

Mark chuckled, ushering them inside. "Of course, of course, I’m sure Kam’s ready to put on a show for you guys.”

The suite was a world away from the standard stadium seating. Plush leather couches faced floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the field below. A spread of gourmet snacks and drinks covered a long table, the aroma of freshly baked pastries mingling with the sharp scent of craft beer.

Ahmed's eyes darted around the room, taking in the signed jerseys adorning the walls and the flat-screen TVs silently broadcasting pre-game analysis. "This is quite impressive," he said, his accent more pronounced in his awe.

Layla nodded in agreement, her hand resting protectively on Yassy's lower back. "We are very grateful for your hospitality, Mark."

As they made their way further into the suite, Mark caught a moment with Yassy separated from the rest of her family, “You spoken to Kam today by chance?”

“Yes,” she answered, already knowing what was going to follow, “And no, he hasn’t decided.”

“No pressure,” Mark forced a smile, “I just want to make sure we all recognize the opportunity he has here.”

“I don’t know what he’s going to do,” she told him, “They’ve already guaranteed the rest of the deal, do we really need to go through with this…plan? I mean, they’ve already done alright by him.”

“I know it may not seem like much and I’m sure that Kam is going to have a lengthy NFL career,” Mark explained, “But half a million dollars is life changing money, no matter how much money you make. God forbid something were to happen…”

The thought sent a shudder down Yassy’s spine, not at the loss of income or spending power but she just had a hard time imagining Kam without football. She had seen glimpses of it during his time away from the team when he was back in Lexington and it wasn’t a pretty sight.

“It’ll all work out,” she told him, reassuring herself just as much, “Can we just enjoy the game?”

…

“Yeah, nigga, going up your rank…”

Kam muttered the lyrics to himself as he eyed the opening sideline, stretching his neck as he let his chinstrap rest on top of his forehead. He felt fine physically despite carrying the ball over three hundred times already but mentally, he couldn’t shake the feeling. He wasn’t nervous, he wasn’t anxious, he wasn’t scared. He just didn’t feel anything, emotionally, not like he was about to play a game.

The season had crescendo, in his mind, against Ohio State; beating the rival that he was brought to Ann Arbor to beat, likely clinching the Heisman. The days off didn’t help, allowing him to entertain a world without practices, team meetings and other mundane things that went into a football game.

“Know you’re a God even when they say you ain’t,” he muttered to himself in an effort to hype himself up as he brought his helmet down.

…

Kam shook his head as he walked to the sideline, not bothering to give chase as the USC defender sprinted into the endzone for the touchdown.

“What the fuck we’re getting cute for?” he waited for the rest of the offense to join him on the bench as he threw his helmet in frustration, trying to psyche himself into the game as much as anything, “Just give me the fucking ball, ain’t no fucking complex shit to our offense. Give 3-4 the ball and get the fuck out the way.”

…

Yassy avoided eye contact with her mother, keeping her eyes fixated on the field as she could feel her stare and judgement.

“Is he always this angry?” Layla muttered to Yassy, keeping a watchful eye on Kam as he paced the sidelines, cursing up a storm.

Yassy ignored her comment.

“They should have given him the ball. He’s the Heisman for a reason,” Omar scoffed.

“You still have to respect your coaches,” Ahmed commented, “You know that.”

“Yeah but I ain’t Kam,” Omar laughed, “If I was, coach can’t tell me nothing.”

“Omar,” his father shot him a stare.

…

Kam slammed the football into the turf as he saw the yellow flag on the turf, using it to push himself off the field as he walked back to the huddle.

“Can we lock the fuck in, please? They’re not even good,” Kam told Kyree, who had gotten called for a holding penalty, “I don’t even need you to block for real, just get in their way.”

“Chill out, man, you’re on one today,” C.J. told the running back, trying to restore order to the huddle.

“You’re the motherfucker with two picks,” Kam scoffed, “How about you chill the fuck out and stop throwing that bitch to them?”

“We’re good,” Desmond’s voice ended all chatter, “Kam, let’s get rolling, baby. It’s Heisman time, enough of this shit.”

“You right, big Dez,” Kam slammed both of his palms against the top of his helmet, “Let’s turn the fuck up, my bitch in the stands watching this shit.”

…

The suite erupted in cheers as Nate, Kam’s backup, crossed the goal line. Yassy watched as Kam was the first one to run out onto the field to celebrate with him, despite being taken out after getting them to the red zone. It was her turn to watch her mother as she clapped, a coy smile on her face.

“He’s much happier now,” she teased, acknowledging her daughter’s stare with a slight head turn.

…

Out the corner of his eyes, Kam caught a glimpse of the defender being thrown to the ground by Desmond, clearing the cutback lane. The force defender was still there but Kam trusted his speed, cutting inside with a seamless jump cut and turning on the burners, pumping his arms with all of his might as the endzone came into picture.

He felt a tug on his hip just as he crossed the goal line, spinning him into the ground. He quickly got back up, wanting the reassurance that it was indeed a touchdown as the official held both hands up.

“Yeah, nigga! It’s money time, fuck nigga!” he continued to scream to the sidelines as he jogged over there, pointing to his watch, “Break out the fucking checkbook, motherfucker! Fuck is y’all talking about?!”

…

“Holy fucking shit!”

“He’s gone!” Mark stood up out of chair, spilling his Manhattan onto his suit.

“Did y’all see that?” Omar turned to the rest of the suite, his father with a sour look on his face due to his cursing, “He’s Him, yo!”

“Are you sure he’s your boyfriend and not Omar’s?” Amina joked, drawing a hidden midden finger from Omar as he took out his phone to record the celebration.

Yassy couldn’t help but be filled with pride as she clapped her hands, finally beginning to feel relief as the suite continued celebrating.

…

It was a routine play with the strongside tight end coming down and sealing the weakside edge as Kam followed his offensive line to the second level, unable to beat the linebacker to the edge as he was tackled two yards shy of the marker following the eight-yard gain on first down. He was caught off guard as the stadium erupted into cheers, seemingly everyone — including the USC side — getting to their feet and applauding.

Kam wasn’t sure what was happening as he handed the ball to the official only for him to toss it right back to Kam.

“Welcome to the record books, son,” he told him with a sign, motioning to the jumbotron.

He had broken Barry Sanders’ forty year old record, becoming college football’s record holder for most rushing yards in a single season. The officials signaled a timeout, allowing Kam to jog off the field with the record breaking football and hand it to someone from the College Football Hall of Fame, who had been on site just in case Kam had broken the record, needing one hundred and seventy-six yards to break the record.

“Best ever,” Coach Reeves greeted him on the sideline, “Now finish this shit off.”

Kam nodded, tossing the ball to the staffer before jogging back onto the field, holding his hand up in acknowledgement of the standing ovation. He felt overwhelmed with emotion as he joined the huddle, his teammates clapping it up the entire way through.

“Don’t get soft on me now,” Desmond remarked, noticing the glossiness in Kam’s eyes, “We still got a game to win, bitch.”

“Say less,” Kam laughed, clearing his throat, “I need two-hundred today anyway.”

…

“Congratulations,” Ahmed shook Kwame’s hands who was overwhelmed with tears, harkening back to their time together in that dingy gym that summer.

“Thank you, thank you,” Kwame told him and the others that came over to congratulate him, including boosters that made the trek from the nearby suite.

He had began to compose himself when Yassy hugged him which completely tore down his walls, opening the floodgates as the tears came rushing back out, “He does it for you, you know that, right?”

…

“This is prime Seidu-Harris time right now as they hand the ball off to the senior running back who picks up the first down, forcing USC to use their first of three timeouts with less than two minutes left, needing a stop here.”

…

Yassy was practically leaning against the window as she watched with baited breath. The ball was snapped and as expected, the quarterback placed the ball in Kam’s belly who trudged forward, following the seal that Desmond had created to pick up the first down and send the entire stadium into a frenzy.

“Yes!” she screamed for the first time all night as Kam came to his feet, pointing to the suite and began blowing kisses towards them.

…

Kam stood at the center of the chaos, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Sweat glistened on his forehead, mixing with the confetti that clung to his face. He looked around, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and pure joy, as teammates slapped his back and ruffled his hair.

As the initial surge of celebration began to ebb, Kam's eyes scanned the throng of people, searching for familiar faces. He pushed his way through the crowd, mumbling "excuse me" and "sorry" as he gently shouldered past jubilant fans and reporters thrusting microphones in his face. His dreadlocks, damp with sweat and confetti, swung with each turn of his head.

Finally, he spotted her. Yassy stood at the edge of the field, her eyes locked on him, a brilliant smile lighting up her face. She was practically bouncing on her toes, barely contained excitement radiating from her entire being. Kam's heart swelled at the sight of her, and he quickened his pace, nearly breaking into a run.

When he reached her, Kam swept Yassy into his arms, lifting her off her feet in a crushing embrace. She laughed, the sound like music to his ears, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Without hesitation, Kam pressed his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. The world around them seemed to fade away, the roar of the crowd dimming to a distant hum as they lost themselves in the moment.

As they broke apart, both slightly breathless, Kam gently set Yassy back on her feet. He kept one arm wrapped around her waist, unwilling to let her go completely. They turned to face their families, who had gathered nearby, watching the reunion with warm smiles and misty eyes.

Kwame stood tall, his chest puffed out with pride, one arm draped over Taylour's shoulders. Tears glistened in his eyes as he gazed at his son, the living embodiment of their dreams he thought were once shattered and broken, forever unrepaired.

Ahmed and Layla stood close together, their initial reservations about Kam melting away in the face of his obvious devotion to their daughter. Ahmed's usual stern expression had softened, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“New York’s next,” Mark came over, tapping him on the chest, “Congrats on winning the Heisman, sir.”

---

USC (10-3, 7-2) | 10 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 10
MICH (12-1, 9-0) | 0 | 7 | 7 | 0 | 14

USC QB Aidan Chiles: 3-14, 25 yds
USC HB A'marion Peterson: 17 att, 41 yds
USC LB Jadyn Walker: 11 tkl, 3 TFL, INT, TD
MICH QB CJ Carr: 15-22, 193 yds, 2 INT
MICH HB Kamaldeen Seidu-Harris: 26 att, 212 yds, TD
MICH WR Josh Boger: 5 rec, 78 yds

Season Stats 344 att, 2664 yds, 23 TD, 21 rec, 247 yds, 2 TD (NCAA single-season rushing yards record)
1986 Barry Sanders' Season 344 att, 2628 yds, 37 TD, 19 rec, 106 yds
Chasing Barry Conquered.
Remaining Schedule Playoffs

[djp73]

[The JZA]

Congrats on the honor, job well done

[Captain Canada]

Damn, that Michigan o-line really elite

Congrats on the record, brodie.

[Caesar]

“You raised a great young man,” Layla commented to Kwame, unaware of their dynamic.

Got the whole family fooled.

[Soapy]

Congrats on the honor, job well done

Damn, that Michigan o-line really elite

Congrats on the record, brodie.

made momma proud

“You raised a great young man,” Layla commented to Kwame, unaware of their dynamic.

Got the whole family fooled.

outstanding young man wym lol

[Soapy]

Season 8, Episode 23
The private dining room at Le Bernardin hummed with an air of exclusivity, its walls adorned with abstract paintings that seemed to shimmer in the soft lighting. Kam leaned back in his chair, his muscular frame filling out the tailored suit he'd reluctantly donned for the occasion. Across from him, Yassy sat with perfect posture, her fingers idly tracing the stem of her wine glass as her eyes darted periodically to the door.

Jamal's deep laugh reverberated through the room as Trevor recounted a particularly embarrassing fumble from their last game together. "Man, I thought Coach was gonna burst a blood vessel right there on the sideline," Trevor chuckled, shaking his head.

Kam smirked, but his mind was elsewhere. Truth be told, he had never cared for awards and certainly didn’t expect them. But now he did and the feeling was a nervous one that made him uneasy, as if he was Charlie Brown sprinting towards the football just to have it rip away. He had begin the year as an inmate, ending it as a Heisman winner just didn’t seem real.

"Yo, Kam," Jamal called out, snapping Kam back to the present. "That spin and burst was kind of crazy against SC, my nigga. You know I’m your biggest hater but that was tough.”

Kam shrugged, a hint of his old cockiness creeping into his voice. "Just doin' what I do, man. It ain’t nothing to a real one."

As the men fell into an animated discussion about their respective seasons, Yassy's gaze continued to flit between the conversation and the door. Her fingers now drummed a silent rhythm on the crisp white tablecloth, betraying her growing impatience.

The waiter glided in, presenting a array of appetizers that looked more like works of art than food. Kam noticed Yassy barely touched hers, her usual appreciation for fine cuisine overshadowed by her preoccupation.

The conversation around them ebbed and flowed, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clink of silverware against fine china. Trevor was in the middle of a story about a disastrous team-building exercise when the door to the private room swung open.

The conversation stuttered to a halt as Lana swept into the room, her presence commanding attention like a spotlight. Her emerald green dress shimmered with each graceful step, the fabric clinging to her curves before flowing out dramatically at her knees. But it was her eyes that caught everyone off guard. Those familiar amber orbs, usually sparkling with mischief or warmth, now seemed glazed over, almost vacant. The usual light behind them was dimmed, as if someone had drawn a veil across her gaze. It was subtle, but to those who knew her well, the difference was jarring.

Trailing behind her was Richie, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. He cut a striking figure in a charcoal gray suit that looked like it cost more than most people's monthly rent. His salt-and-pepper hair was artfully tousled, giving him a roguish charm that belied his years.

"Sorry we're late," Lana said, her voice carrying a forced brightness that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Moving around in the city this time of the year is a fucking nightmare."

Richie stepped forward, flashing a million-dollar smile that revealed perfectly straight, blindingly white teeth. "Richie Caldwell," he announced, extending his hand to the group. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you all. Lana's told me so much about you."

As introductions were made around the table, Kam found his gaze drawn back to Richie again and again. He watched as the older man smoothly navigated the social niceties, noting the easy charm and confidence that seemed to ooze from every pore. But there was something else there too, something that set Kam's teeth on edge.

Maybe it was the way Richie's hand never left Lana's waist, his fingers digging in just a little too tightly. Or perhaps it was the calculated way his eyes scanned the room, assessing each person as if mentally cataloging their worth. Whatever it was, Kam couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Richie Caldwell than met the eye.

As they all settled back into their seats, Kam caught Jamal's eye across the table. A silent understanding passed between them - they had both noticed the change in Lana, the subtle wrongness in her demeanor. But neither said a word, instead plastering on smiles as Richie continued introducing himself to the room.

…

"Mark, my man!" Dave's voice boomed across the room as he extended his hand. "Let's make some fucking money, shall we?"

As they settled into their seats, the lawyers began spreading documents across the table. Mark's eyes widened at the sheer volume of paperwork involved in what seemed, on the surface, a straightforward deal.

"Alright, let's cut to the chase," Dave said, leaning forward. "Two hundred and fifty grand per playoff game. That's more than he made the whole fucking year, maybe his whole life, if we make it to the championship, which, let's be honest, they better with a fucking beast like Kam on the team."

The collective’s coordinator, Sarah, cleared her throat. "We need to be clear that this agreement in no way pay for play. That would be a violation of-"

Dave waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, we know the rules. It's all above board, blah blah blah. But let's not bullshit each other here." He fixed his gaze on Mark. "This is an investment in Kam's future, and Barstool's. When he goes pro - and we might be talking about a goddamn top ten pick by the time we’re done here - we expect him back in the Barstool family."

Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Dave, you know I can't make any promises on Kam's behalf. His future decisions are his own."

Dave's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of steel beneath the jovial exterior. "Of course, of course. But let's just say it would be... mutually beneficial for everyone involved if Kam remembers who believed in him from the start. We’re talking podcasts, right after the game. He can connect with our guys, Big Cat, PFT, I mean the brand is fucking strong man and when we add him to our sauce? I’m not missing out on the next Travis Kelce, I can guarantee you that.”

"Now, about the social media requirements," Sarah was saying, her finger tracing a line of text. "We need to ensure that any sponsored content doesn't conflict with university guidelines or NCAA regulations."

Dave snorted. "Christ, you people and your regulations. Just get him signed and we’ll bankroll it. Scared money don’t make money and there’s nothing bitch made about me.”

…

As the dinner wound down, the private dining room buzzed with satiated conversation and the clink of dessert forks against porcelain. The rich aroma of espresso mingled with the lingering scents of truffle and seared foie gras. Kam leaned back in his chair, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his water glass, when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.

The dining room attendant, a slender man with a neatly trimmed mustache, leaned in close. "Excuse me, Mr. Seidu-Harris," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the din of conversation. "Mr. Caldwell has requested to settle the bill for the entire party this evening."

Kam's jaw tightened imperceptibly, a flicker of annoyance passing through his dark eyes. He nodded curtly to the attendant and rose from his seat, his movements fluid despite the heaviness of the meal. As he made his way towards the front of the restaurant, he caught sight of Richie emerging, adjusting his tie with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Yo, Richie," Kam called out, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable edge. "I appreciate the gesture, but we got this covered."

Richie turned, his smile widening to reveal those unnaturally white teeth. "Nonsense, you’re the man of the hour," he said, clapping Kam on the shoulder with a familiarity that made Kam's skin crawl. "It's the least I can do to celebrate your incredible season. After all, any friend of Lana is a friend of mine.”

Kam stepped back, subtly shrugging off Richie's touch. "Nah, man. We good. This dinner was our thing, you feel me? No disrespect, but you’re a guest.”

A flash of something cold and calculating passed through Richie's eyes, so quick Kam almost missed it. But when Richie spoke again, his voice was smooth as honey. "Come now, Kam. There's no need for false modesty. You're a star now, and stars deserve to be treated as such. You’ll have plenty of nice dinners to pay for in your future, trust me.”

The air between them crackled with tension, like the moments before a thunderstorm. Kam's fingers curled into fists at his sides, then slowly relaxed. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but firm. "I said I got it, Richie. Thanks, but no thanks."

Richie's smile never faltered, but it no longer reached his eyes. "Fair enough. You’re an interesting guy." He paused, letting the words hang in the air between them. "We should connect some time, you and me. You’re about to enter a new stage in your life and man, I would have wanted someone to pull me aside and pass on the knowledge, you know?”

Kam met Richie's gaze, unflinching. "Where I’m going, I don’t think you’ve been, buddy.”

…

The sound of sniffling filled the air, punctuated by the sharp intake of breath. Lana's shoulders tensed at the intrusion, her head snapping up to meet Yassy's gaze in the mirror. For a moment, time seemed to freeze as their eyes locked, Lana's pupils dilated and glassy.

"Oh, hey Yassy," Lana said, her voice unnaturally high as she fumbled with something on the counter. "Just, uh, powdering my nose, you know how it is."

Yassy watched as Lana's trembling hands swept across the marble surface, hastily brushing away telltale white residue. A small, silver vial disappeared into her clutch with practiced ease. The contrast between Lana's graceful movements and the desperation in her eyes was jarring.

In that moment, something shifted within Yassy. The jealousy and insecurity that had plagued her throughout the evening melted away, replaced by a wave of compassion. This wasn't the confident, vivacious Lana she had met before. This was a woman struggling, drowning in circumstances Yassy could only begin to imagine.

[Caesar]

Being a crackwhore sugar baby as a Black woman to a white man is crazy work. That’s who Kam was simping for

[Captain Canada]

Yikes, lots of downfalls in this damn story.