Requiem for a Broken Dream.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 4973
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
I see what's on the horizon
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Season 8, Episode 20
Mark stood at the edge of the sideline, his polished leather shoes a stark contrast to the worn turf beneath his feet. He glanced at his watch, an expensive timepiece that gleamed in the fading light, before turning his attention to the approaching group of men in tailored suits.
The members of the school's NIL collective moved with an air of importance, their eyes scanning the field as they approached Mark. He could see the hunger in their gazes, the barely concealed excitement at the prospect of a complete beatdown of their rivals.
"I see it pays to be a Michigan Man," Mark greeted them with a practiced smile, his voice carrying just enough warmth to be inviting without seeming overeager. "Those certainly aren’t off the rack suits, gentlemen. Glad to see you guys.”
The men murmured their agreement, their attention divided between Mark and the players on the field. Mark's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched Kam go through his warm-up routine, the young running back's movements fluid and precise.
"Kam's looking sharp today," one of the collective members commented, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
Mark nodded, seizing the opening. "Doesn’t he always? I've got to say, gentlemen, you got quite a bargain with that initial deal."
The collective members exchanged glances, a mix of pride and wariness in their expressions. Mark pressed on, his voice lowering conspiratorially.
"But if we're talking national championship - and let's be honest, with Kam at the helm, we are - well, that's a whole different ballgame, isn't it?"
He paused, letting the implication hang in the air. The men shifted uncomfortably, their earlier excitement tempered by the realization of where this conversation was heading.
"What exactly are you suggesting, Mark?" the lead member asked, his voice tight.
Mark's smile widened, showing just a hint of teeth. "I'm suggesting that yesterday's price can never be today's price, gentlemen. Kam's value has skyrocketed, and if you want him leading this team into the postseason, it's time to reassess his compensation."
The collective members exchanged uneasy glances, the reality of Mark's words sinking in. As they watched Kam effortlessly launch a perfect spiral downfield, they knew they were out leveraged. The game on the field was about to begin, but the real match - the one that would determine Kam's future and the team's fortunes - was just getting started on the sidelines.
…
“He’s going to have to show me he’s tough!”
“Where Yasmine at, bitch?"!”
“She leaving with us, fuck nigga!”
Kam ignored them as he slowly trotted onto the field, not a hurried stride in place as he methodically took his place in the huddle. He adjusted his helmet as all five lineman — as was tradition — took turns punching him in his chest plate.
“Look alive,” Desmond chewed on his mouth piece, “I need about four of them bitches, tonight.”
Kam acknowledged it with a simple nod, nothing more.
…
Kam pressed the line of scrimmage, tucking the ball in his right hand as the yard to gain seemed within reach. Just as he got ready to turn up field, his leading blocker drifted left, leaving the safety unaccounted for. Kam caught a flash of movement—too late, the safety was bearing down. It was the kind of error that would’ve set him off in any other game, but this time, he swallowed his frustration. Gritting his teeth, he absorbed the hit, holding tight to the ball as they both went down.
He got up to his feet, checking the sidelines to see their decision. Punt. He calmed his nerves and emotions as he jogged to the sideline, ignoring the chatter from the opposing defense.
…
Kam stood on the sideline, hands on his hips, watching the opposing receiver streak down the field untouched. Eighty-five yards to the end zone, and the Big House silenced as the opponent crossed the goal line. He felt like slamming his helmet down, maybe even let loose a few choice words. But this time, he took a deep breath, feeling the heat rise but forcing it down.
He kept his gaze steady, face unreadable, as his teammates grumbled around him.
…
Kam paced along the sideline, watching as the offense stumbled through another three-and-out without him getting a single touch as they trailed by ten points, nearing halftime. The frustration simmered, then boiled over. Finally, he exploded, throwing his arms up and barking at the coaches.
“Give me the fucking ball!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise.
Coach Reeves, and others, had been keeping an eye on the unusually calm Kam, waiting for his eruption at any minute. Coach Reeves sprung into action, pulling his star running back to the side, “Calm down, Kam, we got plenty of football to play. I got you.”
“Fuck that! It ain’t time to calm down, it’s time to turn the fuck up!” Kam slammed his helmet to the ground, “Give the fucking best nigga in the fucking word, the ball, how about that?”
A crowd began to form around Kam, each trying to calm him down to no avail as the whistle blew for halftime. Kam remained on the sideline, each teammate giving up as they followed the others into the tunnel.
He felt a familiar tightness in his chest, a lack of air in his lungs.
“No, no, no, not right now,” he told himself, having flashbacks of his panic attack outside of the club, “They ain’t gonna have to kill us today, Kamaldeen. They’re going to have to kill us.”
…
The ball snapped, and Kam exploded forward on the dive play, eyes scanning the field. Just as he hit the line, his fullback stepped up, lowering his shoulder and walling off the blitzing linebacker. The lane opened wide, and Kam burst through with a surge of speed, accelerating past the first wave of defenders. He cut to the outside, switching the ball to his other arm as he tried to execute a stiff arm but he was wrapped up around his legs after the big run.
As he straightened up, he locked eyes with the pesky linebacker, Gabe, a sly grin spreading across his face.
“Daddy’s home nigga,” he taunted, tossing the ball to the ref. “Tell your momma to get that pussy washed up and ready.”
He jogged back to the huddle, letting the defense know that he’d be back—and he wasn’t done yet.
…
Kam leaped up, timing his jump perfectly, hands reaching above the defender’s helmet. For a split second, the ball was his—a sure touchdown. But just as he brought it down, the defender’s arm sliced through, knocking the ball loose and sending it spiraling incomplete.
“Sorry ass nigga!” taunted the defender as he joined his teammates in celebration, “Imma knock Yasmine down just like that, fuck nigga!”
Kam clenched his fists, his face twisted in frustration. He slapped his helmet, muttering to himself about how he should’ve had it. Before he could spiral further, Desmond clapped him on the shoulder.
“Don’t let them knock you off your pivot,” Desmond reminded him, “You’re the best motherfucker in the world, right?”
C.J., the quarterback joined in, nodding. “They can’t keep you out forever, Kam. You’re just getting warmed up.”
Kam took a deep breath, their encouragement grounding him. He managed a small nod, locking eyes with his teammates. “Alright,” he said, the fire still burning but now focused, “Fuck these niggas, y’all right.”
…
“Touchdown Wolverines! Tie game here in the fourth quarter and all the makings of yet another great finish, records be damned!”
…
Relief washed over Kam—they’d evened it up. But a part of him ached, knowing he’d wanted to punch it in himself from the one-yard line. That was his spot.
Still, he pushed the feeling aside, forcing down the pride that threatened to steal the moment. Kam sprinted over to his teammates, a big grin breaking through. He clapped the receiver on the back, joining the celebration with genuine energy. They were back in the game, and right now, that was what mattered most. His moment would come, it needed to.
…
“Oden intercepts the pass and Michigan’s offense takes over a the 43-yard line! That’s the play that Michigan needed!”
…
Kam lowered his shoulder, dragging defenders a few yards before being driven into the ground. He ignored the extra shoves and bumps as he came to his feet, pushing defenders out of the way as he walked back to his huddle.
“Smell like bitch in here!” he couldn’t help himself as he turned around to face defense, “Fuck out the way when a real nigga comes through.”
“I’m going to show Yasmine what a real nigga looks like, don’t you worry,” Gabe fired back, never too far from Kam, before or after the whistle.
…
Kam scanned the linebackers to see if any of them were coming on a delayed blitz as they bailed into their coverage areas. He saw a flash of white out the corner of his eyes, shifting his feet and hurrying himself to pick up the defensive end that had came off his blocker. Kam got in there just in time, almost stepping on C.J.’s toes as he completed the pass.
His face was buried in the defender’s chest as the pass landed in the receiver’s bread basket for a big completion.
“Good shit,” C.J. tapped his running back on the helmet.
“And he can block!” Kam boasted, “The real Boobie Miles, bitch ass niggas!”
…
Kam took a hard cut, bouncing inside the cutback lane as he lowered his shoulder with the endzone in sight. Three defenders wrapped him up, from head to toe, as they pulled him away from the goal line.
“I’m getting in there!” Kam screamed to himself, “On my momma, I’m getting in that bitch!”
“Fuck your momma, nigga!” Gabe quickly jumped in, getting in Kam’s face, “Go dig that dead bitch up, pussy.”
Before Kam could react, Desmond had seen the situation developed and got in between them two, pulling Kam away from the growing scrum, “You’re good, champ! Just ball!”
“Aight!” Kam moved his head around Desmond’s massive frame to face Gabe, “I got something for your bitch ass!”
“We’re good, we’re good,” C.J. told the offense as they huddled up, relaying the play call, “Come on, finish this shit!”
Kam tried to calm himself as he took his place behind C.J., keeping an eye on Gabe the entire time. He only needed a yard to reach the promise land. He had done that two thousands times over this year alone.
He got the handoff and his offensive line went to work, parting the lane open like the Red Sea as he walked into the endzone right pass Gabe who pulled up lame. Kam quickly turned around to face him, giving him an escort to the sidelines.
“Yeah, bitch ass nigga, talk that shit now!”
Gabe continued to ignore him as an official hurried to the two to break it up, “Come on, 34! Hit your sideline!”
“I smoke niggas for real, keep playing with me,” Kam reminded him before turning around to face the rest of the defense that were waiting for the extra-point, “Fuck all you bitch ass niggas and the fuck nigga that plowed your momma.”
…
Kam broke through Gabe’s attempt at an arm tackle, picking up speed as he headed into the secondary before being rolled down to the ground near the Michigan sideline. He nodded towards the sideline, looking directly at Coach Moore as he got ready to signal the next play in.
“Put the team on my back! I got y’all! I promise you! Put the team on my back, I got y’all!”
…
The edge was sealed and Kam sprinted through, cutting inside to avoid a defender before hand fighting with multiple defenders as they tried to wrestle him to the ground. He popped himself right back up, screaming to the heavens.
“On the dead homies, they can’t fuck with me!"
…
Kam could feel the will to compete leaving their body as he ran through another set of arm tackles, needing multiple defenders to bring him to the ground near the fifty-yard line with the clock ticking away, leading by a touchdown. He walked away from the pack, tossing the ball to the ground. He felt a sense of calmness take over as he looked into the crowd, hundred of thousands of screaming fans coming to a feverish pitch. He was the gladiator in the arena, the honorable champion waiting to be crowned but what he felt, what was rushing through his mind, was far from the carries and yards that he had accumulated throughout the past few hours.
What ran through his mind was the loved ones that he had lost, the pain he had endured, the pain he had inflicted. The women he left in the wake of his path, discarded and scarred, thrown to the side after misuse. Would his mother have been proud of him? Would he have been a good role model to his younger sister?
He couldn’t hold back the tears as he tapped his helmet, asking to be subbed out as he trotted off the field to chants he never thought he would ever hear.
“Heisman! Heisman! Heisman!”
tOSU (6-6, 3-6) | 7 | 3 | 0 | 0 | 10
MICH (11-1, 9-0) | 0 | 0 | 3 | 14 | 17
tOSU QB Julian Sayin: 12-29, 210 yds, TD, 3 INT, sacked once
tOSU WR Manu Silatolu: 2 rec, 95 yds, TD
tOSU LB Gabe Williams: 10 tkl
MICH QB CJ Carr: 16-22, 154 yds, TD, sacked once
MICH HB Kamaldeen Seidu-Harris: 28 att, 190 yds, TD
MICH WR Martin Feliciano: 4 rec, 50 yds
Season Stats 318 att, 2452 yds, 22 TD, 19 rec, 215 yds, 2 TD (Michigan single-season rushing yards record)
1986 Barry Sanders' Season 344 att, 2628 yds, 37 TD, 19 rec, 106 yds
Chasing Barry 176 yds remaining
Remaining Schedule Big Ten Championship Game vs. #6 USC
Last edited by Soapy on 06 Nov 2024, 19:10, edited 1 time in total.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
thats just locker room talk #trumpsamerica
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
USC exposing this fraud.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Beat ohio 
Cali boys ain’t ready
Cali boys ain’t ready
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 4973
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Cut it a little close in the rivalry game but still a great performance.