Page 2 of Who's Playing You
My reaction is Oscar-worthy.
My parents and Nadine are on their feet, jumping up and down, hugging each other. Nic looks half shocked, half pissed in the seat across from me, while Nik’s jaw is still on the ground and his right hand is permanently stuck in his hair - where it’s holding up his forehead.
“Whaaat the actualfuuuuuck,” Loving hisses out as I start to stand. He steps to me, forcing a smile for the spectators and cameras, and bro hugs me while whispering in my ear, “What in the fuckingfuckjust happened?”
Papas is still sitting so I slap my hand into his, pulling him up, bro hugging him while I continue to grin. Knowing he needs the reinforcement I say to him, “It’s all going to be okay, buddy.” I draw back from our half hug and look him in the eyes so he sees my truth, because I made sure that my boys were taken care of. “This might not be what we planned, but it’ll be okay.”
With that I turn to my family, splay my arms out and hug all three of them at once while they give me their congratulations.
I then take the lonely walk through the tunnel, pick my hat up and cheese to the cameras before taking one calming breath and walking through the smoke to the stage.
I’m now part of the New York Rage.
1
NICK SOBA
They call me The Diva. To say that I wear that title with pride is the understatement of the century. In fact, I’ve leaned so far into it that it’s become my whole personality.
And being the diva that I am, I fucking love it!
Give me the star treatment. Gush and fawn over me. Worship the fucking ground that I walk on. And just fucking deal with my temper tantrums and diva behavior - I really don’t give a shit. I get what I want, when I want it, and how I want it. I’m just that fucking good.
And I suppose that’s the difference too, I have absolutely every-fucking-thing to back up all my arrogance, all the chatter, all the claims, all the rumors, and my entire diva personality. So let me just say it again: I’m that fucking good. Which is also why I’m not a narcissist by clinical diagnosis and terms because I amthatgood - I know it and I also show it.
But The Diva isn’t my only nickname. Oh no. You can’t get through twenty-some years of life without acquiring a handful of other select names in the process. Some of which might not be entirely as flattering. Unfortunately.
But with my inflated ego and a precisely chosen moment to throw a temper tantrum or a distraction, that negative chatter seems to go away.
Does the fact that those things just seem to disappear have something to do with the network I’ve built around me? That my “team” helps handle things in my life? Perhaps. But I’m like the sun: I’m the center of the Universe. Without me there would be no solar system, no planets, no life. And likewise, without me, there’d be no team.
I’m not completely delusional though. Again, not a narcissist.
I haven’t drunk all the Kool-Aid by myself - despite appearances. I’m aware of the importance of the people I’ve been lucky enough to get into my orbit. And my college football teammates had my back, no matter what. Specifically my two best friends. Nic Loving and Nik Papas who are my brothers. We might not be blood, but we’re more than that. We met and started playing together during pee-wee football and played together all through high school, cinching a state title or two. No big deal.
We were then recruited together to play for Zeiders University in Arkansas where we continued our winning streak for all four years. And boy did we win! Both on and off the field. Arkansas is now the mecca of college football.
You’re welcome world!I did that.
So now, as I sit on a bench on the sideline of the practice field of the New York Rage, I’m thinking maybe I made a mistake. My Diva armor might have a crack or two in it (internally of course) and I might be having an existential crisis because, right now, I don’t feel likethe shit.
I’m flying fucking solo… for the first time ever.
I bid farewell to my college teammates last spring after we won the title, and just a few months ago when I sat on thosecouches during the first round of the draft, my two best friends and I were separated for the first time in our lives.
It really fucking sucks.
But what no one knows is that I’m sort of to blame for us not having gotten drafted together to San Francisco, which is what we had hoped would happen. Well, in fact, we weren’t just hoping that would happen but we were wheeling and dealing to make it happen.
But I did a thing…
I fucked us all over.
Knowingly. Willingly. Consciously. Call it what you will.
All over a girl.
Well, to be fair, not agirl, but a woman. Because Scottie Anderson is nothing if not the most spectacular specimen of a woman that this planet has to offer. And she’s not in San Francisco.
