Page 14 of Fumbled Beginning

I was already frustrated and fired up about the whole situation, and we both needed to focus on the playoff game.

“Okay, but just a heads-up, the boys were wondering why you were a no-show last night?”

When the team plane touched down in San Diego last night, most of the guys went straight to the lobby bar after checking into their rooms. A few of them gave me a hard time when I told them I wanted to stay in and relax.

I hated away games, the travel time, the crappy beds, and lousy food. Not to mention, a lot was riding on this game. But as it turned out, I wasn’t good at relaxing. There was nothing on the television to hold my attention, and I got bored scrolling through my phone.

For a hot minute, I debated calling a random girl from my contact list to help take the edge off. I started gathering numbers in every city early on in my career, but with the last game of the season approaching this weekend, I needed my focus to be on the field. At least, that was the excuse I was telling myself. It had nothing to do with Rylee.

“Tell them we’ve got bigger problems to focus on. Let’s not waste our time on ones that don’t exist.”

He clapped my shoulder. “Don’t worry, big guy, we’re going to kick San Diego’s ass on Sunday.”

“That’s wishful thinking, but I hope you’re right.”

* * *

The entire team was assembled in the locker room the next day. The flight back to Atlanta last night was long. The coach was pissed, and I couldn’t blame him. The final score was 31-28. San Diego was advancing to the next round in the playoffs; we were out.

We all racked our brains, wondering what we could have done differently. Aside from the interception, there wasn’t much we could have done. A fumble in the first half cost us a touchdown. We slowly came back but never managed to get ahead. I hated playing from behind.

“You guys were so close,” Coach shouted while pacing the locker room. “But you weren’t hungry enough for that championship. You can’t win if you don’t want it. You should all be embarrassed. One bad play, that’s all it took.”

He was wrong, but I wasn’t stupid enough to call him out. One play didn’t cost us the game; we blew it because San Diego outplayed us. We, as a team, lost. It didn’t matter how hard he ran us at practice or how many hours we spent reviewing film; we walked in knowing we were the underdogs.

“You had the score tied up with less than two minutes left. You had possession of the ball. All you had to do was run the clock down and kick for a field goal, not get hit with a holding penalty.” He pointed to Rosa. “Your job was to hold on to the goddamned ball so we could get another play. Instead, you carried it on your outside hip where anyone in the city of San Diego could have ripped it away. Fuck, their mascot could have knocked it out of your arms. You might as well just have handed it to their safety.”

Rosa sank in his seat, embarrassed by the ass-chewing he was receiving. The coach didn’t usually get all fired up and jump all over his players; he allowed his emotions to get the best of him. I’ve been in the league long enough to know why we win and lose some. It was never just one play.

We played poorly, and we lost. We needed time to process and learn from our mistakes so that we could come back better next season.

“And you.” He pointed to our team’s number one hothead, Derrick Howes. “You might have laughed the first time you got fined and had to fork up six grand for throwing a football into the crowd. Let’s see if you’re still laughing from your little stunt today when you have to pay twelve.” He shook his head. “I wish I had your kind of cash to just throw away.”

You could tell it was taking everything in Derrick to honor the code of conduct that the NFL made every player sign. If Derrick wasn’t careful, he was going to find himself in the unemployment line. He was young and full of himself. He was bringing negative attention to the team, and the front office has taken notice. It didn’t matter how good of a player you were; everyone in this business was replaceable.

“Now,” Coach put his hands on his hips and looked around, “I know I’m being hard on you. I don’t want one bad game to take away all the good you’ve done all season. But if you continue to play the way you did today, odds are, you’ll get the same results. So, before you leave, I want you to type these questions into your phone and share your answers with me during our one-on-one meeting.” He walked over to the whiteboard, where he usually drew up plays, and scribbled out his questions.

1. List five things we did well this season.

2. List five things we didn’t do well this season.

3. What do we need to do to get better?

4. What do we need to STOP doing to get better?

He set the dry-erase marker down and glanced across the room. “Before you leave, remember that bad plays don’t make you a bad player. Failure and setbacks are part of the process, and not a reason to quit or give up. Don’t get lost in your loss. There’s work to be done, room to get better, and games to be won.” He tapped the table. “You’re dismissed. Enjoy the off-season.”

I cleaned out my locker and said goodbye to the guys who were flying home to wherever they lived during the off-season. I loaded up my car and backed out of the parking spot. It was always an odd feeling driving away once the season was over. It felt like I was leaving all the weight and stress behind. My body was tired, and I was ready to mentally relax.

But I knew from experience, after going off a schedule for the past nine months, it would feel weird after the first week of having nothing to do.

My only worry was, with so much time on my hands, I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking of a certain brunette whose brother was ringing up my phone right now.

“What’s up, Mav?”

“Dude, that game was brutal.”

I blew out a breath. “At least you only had to watch it once. You know Coach is going to make us watch it so many times, my eyes are going to catch fire.”

---