Dale Denton | The Legacy | Senior Year

[The JZA]

[redsox907]

248 carries and 2,500 rushing yards for a QB

this boy took Justin Herberts crown as Vanilla Vick

[Soapy]

248 carries and 2,500 rushing yards for a QB

this boy took Justin Herberts crown as Vanilla Vick

more like mike alstott

[djp73]

*takes notes for cm realism score*

j/k, keep cooking bro

[The JZA]

248 carries and 2,500 rushing yards for a QB

this boy took Justin Herberts crown as Vanilla Vick

more like mike alstott

redsox907, Soapy, Dang, homie can't even get a 2003 Jamal Lewis reference? Tough crowd.

*takes notes for cm realism score*

j/k, keep cooking bro

djp73, No comment...

[The JZA]

Chapter VII: Standing Shoulder To Shoulder

The jet hummed low and steady, slicing through the clouds like it had something to prove. Dale Denton sat tucked by the window, hood up, Lo-Fi beats murmuring through his headphones. He wasn’t just flying back east—he was flying toward immortality. Alaska Airlines to JFK, six hours of silence, six hours to think. He wasn’t nervous. That emotion had long left his body.

This was about coronation now.

Two years since his first Heisman. Two years of blood, dirt, and redemption stacked on top of each other like bricks in a wall he’d built himself. Now, he was about to do something only legends whispered about—win it again. The whole country knew it too. ESPN, Fox, Bleacher Report—every outlet ran the same headline in different fonts: “Denton’s Destiny.” They talked about his stats, his dominance, his highlight reels that turned defenders into ghosts. But nobody talked about the part that fueled him. The sleepless nights. The doubt. The grind after falling from grace.

Dale didn’t need the noise to know what he was. He could feel it in his bones. The people saw a quarterback. Dale saw a conqueror. A man who took last year’s pain, chewed it, swallowed it, and turned it into power.

When the wheels finally kissed the runway at JFK, the skyline greeting him like an old rival, he exhaled slow. New York. Home soil. Energy different here. The streets never slept, they judged. They cheered success, but they respected hustle more. Dale had both. After grabbing his duffel and letting the cabin clear out, his phone buzzed with messages—Mom, Pops, a few teammates. "Glad you made it safe, baby." "Proud of you, son." He texted back short replies before spotting Coach Danielson near baggage claim, all calm but eyes sharp. The man moved like he’d seen this a hundred times but still respected the moment.

“Ready, kid?” Coach asked, rolling his own carry-on, his tie loosened just enough to show he’d been flying coach too, just to keep it real.

Dale nodded. “Been ready since the last time.”

They made their way out of the terminal, and the chill of the December night smacked Dale across the face like a wake-up call. Taxis lined up in crooked rows, horns blaring in the chaos. The kind of madness he’d missed. They hopped into a black SUV that slid into traffic toward Midtown. By the time they reached 60th and Broadway, the city lights stretched like stars trapped under glass. The Mandarin Oriental towered above them, glass and steel wrapped in arrogance. The kind of place that smelled like old money and exclusivity. Dale couldn’t help but feel out of place. The lobby was all marble and silence, the type of quiet that came from people who didn’t have to speak to show power. Dale walked through it in sweats and a Huskies hoodie, sneakers squeaking against polished tile. He caught their eyes—those looks that said he doesn’t belong here. But he ignored them. He’d been proving people wrong his whole life.

Coach handled check-in like a pro, nodding to the receptionist while Dale scanned the place. Crystal chandeliers hung above him like frozen lightning. The air smelled like perfume and money.

When he finally made it up to his suite, the weight of the moment hit him like a slow tide. The room looked like a magazine spread—king-size bed, floor-to-ceiling windows staring out at the city that never blinked. For a second, Dale just stood there, headphones still around his neck, staring out at the skyline. The view was unreal. Manhattan glowed like it was waiting for him. And in a way, it was. Tomorrow night, at Jazz at Lincoln Center, under those bright, blinding lights, he’d make history. He’d join a list so short it sounded like myth. He dropped his bag, sank into the king bed, and exhaled. For a kid from the grind, the polished wood and silk sheets still felt foreign—like he was trespassing in someone else’s dream. But then he reminded himself: I earned this.

Even if it was for one night, Dale Denton was home. Back in the city that raised him, back to take what was his. Not chasing validation. Not chasing approval. Just stepping into what he was always meant to be—greatness.


—————————


The next evening came dressed in gold. The Jazz at Lincoln Center gleamed like it knew it was hosting gods, not just athletes. Flashbulbs cracked outside on Broadway as black cars lined the curb, spilling out college royalty in tailored suits and practiced smiles. Inside, it smelled like champagne and legacy.

Dale Denton stepped out in a black tux, diamond-studded watch, his posture screaming quiet confidence. He wasn’t new to this. Cameras flared, reporters shouted questions, but he barely blinked. He’d learned that fame wasn’t something you chase—it was something you wear.

Coach Danielson walked beside him, proud but silent, that father-figure presence Dale had come to respect more than most. “So, you just going to waltz in there and make history on us, just like that??” he asked as they stepped onto the red carpet leading into the hall, looking at Dale with a cocky smirk.

Dale smirked. “Yeah... Just like that. But you, of all people, should already know what I had to pay to get here.”

Inside, the atmosphere hummed with expectation. The finalists sat together near the front—five chairs for five stories. Taylyn Taylor, the senior wideout from Georgia, dressed in a sharp crimson suit with the Bulldog logo pinned to his lapel. Cool, confident, the type that talked with his game. Next to him was Joe Ekanem from Colorado, a junior quarterback with a cannon for an arm and a grin that looked built for the spotlight. Javier Fiedler from Southern Miss, all poise and polish, the quiet storm that made defenses bleed. Then there was Dexter Matthews, Alabama’s golden boy, the wide receiver who made routes look like cursive writing.

And then, Dale Denton—Washington’s leader, the man who came back from chaos to become a household name again.

The lights dimmed. The emcee’s voice rolled over the room like thunder in silk. “Ladies and gentlemen… welcome to the 2029 Heisman Trophy Ceremony.”

A montage flashed across the giant screen—touchdowns, stiff-arms, broken tackles, glory in slow motion. Each finalist’s highlight reel drew roars from their sections, but when Dale’s name hit the speakers—“Dale Denton, quarterback, University of Washington”—the room shifted. His footage looked different. He wasn’t just playing football; he was rewriting it. Runs that looked like artistry, passes that looked like prophecy. He sat still, hands clasped in his lap, but his heart thumped like bass behind his ribs. His parents were in the front row, Mom wiping tears she swore she wouldn’t shed, Pops sitting proud, chin up.

The host continued, “And now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for…”

Time slowed. Every finalist straightened up. Dale’s jaw clenched. He didn’t need it to validate him—but he wanted it.

“The 2029 Heisman Trophy goes to…” The pause stretched long enough to make the audience lean forward. “Dale Denton, University of Washington!”

The crowd erupted. Flashbulbs exploded like fireworks. Dale closed his eyes, breathed once, then stood. The applause washed over him—coaches, legends, teammates, all rising to their feet. Taylyn Taylor dapped him up first, smiling through the sting. “Go get it, champ.” Joe Ekanem gave a firm handshake. “You earned that, fam.” Javier Fiedler and Dexter Matthews followed, nods of respect all around.

Dale walked up to the stage with that calm swagger, every step echoing his journey. The Heisman trophy gleamed under the lights, that familiar bronze figure frozen mid-stride. The same pose Dale had studied as a kid, now holding it as his prized possession for the second time in his college career.

He took the mic, his voice steady but heavy with emotion. “Man… this right here—it’s different. First off, all glory to God. Without Him, I don’t make it out that hole I was in last year. This ain’t just a win for me—it’s a win for my teammates, my coaches, and everybody who stuck around when I was at my lowest.” He paused, scanning the crowd. “To my moms and pops, I love y’all. To Coach Danielson—thank you for believing in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. You told me to keep my head down and work, and look where that grind got us.”

He looked down at the trophy next to him, the weight of seeing it was real, the meaning even heavier. “Last time I stood here, I was a boy celebrating success. This time, I’m a man who understands the price of it.”

The room rose to its feet again. Cheers, claps, even a few whistles from the back. Dale smiled—not cocky, just content.

After the ceremony, as the crowd thinned and reporters swarmed for quotes, Coach Danielson shouted out towards Dale to grab his attention, "Hey Dale! There's someone important here to see you."

As Dale turned his eyes towards his coach, he sees an older man approached from the corner of the room. Crisp suit, salt-and-pepper mustache , and a calm aura that demanded respect without saying a word. Archie Griffin. Ohio State Buckeye legend. The only man before tonight to ever win two Heisman awards.

“I thought I'd never see the day that someone would sit in the same room with me. Congratulations, son,” Archie said, voice low and steady. He extended a hand, his smile genuine. “It goes without saying, but welcome to a club with only two seats.”

Dale froze for half a second, then grinned, gripping his hand firmly. “Thank you, Mr. Griffin. It’s an honor, for real. You're the blueprint that nobody could ever touch.”

"Until you came along", Archie nodded, eyes glinting with pride. “ And now, you're the future, the new blueprint for those to come.”

Cameras flashed again, immortalizing the moment—the legend and the heir, standing side by side, shoulder to shoulder

And in that instant, with the city lights of New York burning behind him, Dale Denton realized this wasn’t just about football anymore. This was legacy. The kind of moment that lives long after the crowd goes home and the muddy cleats hang high...


—————————


Zou Zou’s, the Mediterranean gem tucked into West Midtown, hummed with low conversation and the clinking of wine glasses. The soft glow from the pendant lights painted everything gold—the linen, the laughter, the legacy sitting at the table. Dale Denton, fresh off making history, sat with his parents, Sharnell and Mark, ready to celebrate a night that would be etched in family memory.

They’d been talking easy—sports, plans, small talk that filled the space like warm bread—until the food arrived. Smoked cherry Colorado lamb chops, caramelized cabbage, and Wadi Rum jeweled rice laid out before them, plated like art.

After a short grace, Mark was the first to break the momentary quiet. "I gotta say, this is a hell of a way to celebrate, son." He smiled wide, pride shining through his eyes like headlights in the dark. "Two Heismans. Can you believe it? You tied a legend, Dale. A goddamn legend." Mark shook his head, still half in disbelief. "I knew you had it in you, but to see it play out for real... it’s surreal."

Dale chuckled lightly, leaning on his elbows. "Yeah, Pops, it still ain’t sunk in yet, you know? It’s like I’m still that kid flying home for the first ceremony. Back then it felt like a dream. Now, it’s like the dream’s still playing, just in real time."

Mark leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on his son. "I get it. Life moves fast when you’re doing something big. I remember when I first started my business—man, those nights, those failures. Then one day I looked up and realized I was right where I always wanted to be. Didn’t even feel real. But hear me, son: every bit of it means something. Every yard you’ve fought for, every early morning practice, every hit you took—it’s the work paying off."

Sharnell nodded, her voice soft but steady. "Baby, your father’s right. This moment, it’s not just a formality. It’s a reflection of who you are. Do you remember how you looked when you first touched a football? That spark in your eyes? That fire’s still burning, Dale. It just burns brighter now. You’re standing on the shoulders of giants, sweetheart. Don’t forget that."

Dale smiled faintly, nodding. "Yeah, I hear you. I’ma enjoy it. But truth is, I’m still in football mode. Playoffs coming, maybe another natty on the line. Hard to celebrate when you know there’s still work to do."

Mark grinned, pride curling at the corners of his mouth. "That’s what I like to hear. Hungry, focused. But remember—don’t be so locked in you forget to live in the moment. You’ve done somethin’ most people only dream about. Appreciate that, even if it’s just for a night."

"I’ll try," Dale said, a sly grin appearing. "We still got a bye week, so there’s a little room to breathe. Coach Danielson got me sharp though. Still gotta trust the brothers beside me to carry the load too. Can’t be Superman every week."

Mark laughed, deep and proud. "That’s the attitude. Confidence with a side of humility. Danielson sounds like a good man—keeps you grounded. You got a squad behind you, son, and they got you. That’s leadership."

Dale’s expression shifted, serious now. "Yeah, but what kinda leader thinks about transferring? Or maybe skipping ahead to the NFL? Those thoughts still creep in."

Mark rubbed his chin, thinking. "Leadership ain’t about being perfect, Dale. It’s about being real, making choices that reflect your growth. Thinking about new challenges or the league—that’s not weakness. That’s ambition. Just make sure whatever you decide, it’s for the right reasons."

Dale sighed. "I hear that. Still, feels weird thinking about leaving Washington. I’ve bled purple and gold, gone to war with those dudes. But part of me keeps wondering—what if I tested myself somewhere new? Different conference, tougher schedule. ACC, SEC—new dogs to fight. It's a nagging itch."

Mark nodded slow. "Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that itch. Sometimes, change is the spark you need. But also... loyalty means something too. The bonds you built out there? They’re forever. Don’t take that lightly."

Sharnell leaned in, her eyes soft but sharp. "Baby, I get it. You’ve always chased growth, and I’ll never hold you back from that. But those memories, those friendships, they’re stitched into who you are. If you move on, do it because your spirit needs it—not because you’re running from what’s familiar."

Dale nodded, his eyes heavy with thought. "I got love for Washington, always will. But yeah, maybe one more test before I go pro wouldn’t hurt. Still, I’ll talk to Coach Danielson once the season’s over. See what he thinks. I owe him that much."

Mark smirked. "Good move. He’ll respect that. Might even push you harder."

Sharnell smiled, pride and affection lighting her face. "Whatever you decide, Dale, we’ll be right here. Always."

The table fell into a comfortable silence, filled only by the clatter of silverware and the soft hum of the restaurant. Dale sliced into his lamb chop, the first bite earning a hum of approval.

"Mmm… damn. This right here hittin’. Y’all better grab some before I clean the plate myself. My diet gon’ kill me for this later," he joked.

Mark and Sharnell laughed, their faces glowing in the soft light—three souls bound by love, legacy, and an unspoken understanding that this was more than dinner. It was a moment—a pause before the next chapter, before the next decision that would define who Dale Denton became, not just as a player, but as a man...

(I'm back like y'all didn't care I left. Excuse the long chapter, I tried to streamline as much as I could.)

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

[redsox907]

We knew it was coming, but the story made it even better. Now time to put the cherry on top with another Natty