Page 3 of Who's Playing You
She’s in New York.
SoobviouslyI couldn’t be going clear across the country, especially not after I decided that it was now finally time to get what I’d been wanting for almost ten years. Ergo, I needed to be in New York. To get the girl.
That is why, leading up to the draft, I was taking somecalls. Having somemeetings. Not necessarily on the up-and-up and the stuff you’re supposed to be doing during that time or when you were in my position. But let’s be honest: I was set to go not just in the first round of the draft, but damn near the top. Every team wanted me. And most teams wanted all three of the Trickie Nickies. So I had some serious fucking leverage.
When it came to the New York team though, they only wanted me. Theyneededme. I was going to be their saving grace.
Even though they were impressed with what the three of us had done, and the magic that we had together, they didn’tneed two more receivers, let alone replace the two that they had nor their backups. What they did need, however, was the best quarterback to enter the draft in a decade.
And that was me.
San Francisco on the other hand was dying for our trio. That is what their organization desperately needed: our brand of magic and winningness. They had a sweet deal they were willing to make us too. Long-term. High figures. Record-breaking signing bonuses. Extended contracts. You name it.
But individually, other teams were offering us better deals. But together we had wanted San Fran… and their deal was pretty damn sweet.
But I walked away from it all.
Nik and Nic don’t even know about it, the deal of a lifetime - the opportunity - our dream coming true - or me blowing it up. This is the first and only secret I’ve ever held from them. It makes me sick every day. But… I couldn’t do it. Ineededto be in New York.
So I’m here. The new QB1 for the New York Rage, while Nik is in South Carolina playing for the Warriors, and Nic is in Texas of all fucking places, and he’s now a Houston Driller.
And me? I’m a fucking New Yorker, a Rager to be precise… is it even called that? Rage-r? So fucking weird.
As that realization hits me while I sit on this bench next to the Rage practice field, all by myself, I realize that I am in fact all by myself. My brothers aren’t here. None of my old teammates. My usual fan club… I got jack shit.
I got a new team and a roster of team mates who honestly couldn’t give two shits about me, because they’re pro athletes and look at me like some spoiled little bitch that’s straight out of college and doesn’t know jack shit about shit. They have zero faith in me and that I can lead them to any sort of victories, let alone all the way to the big game.
They think my draft pick and hype around me is ridiculous. They’re also offended that The Rage have put so much faith in me.
They’ve probably heard about The Diva. My reputation does precede me, but this is the first time it’s affecting me in a negative way. People always love The Diva. And I’m sure that they think my reputation is not an attribute but a detriment to the team. With that attitude, they obviously think they know more than management, which is who drafted me. Management saw my stats. They saw what I did in the combine. They saw this physique. Iama specimen after all. But I’m getting the impression that these guys - my new team - they’re not all about it.
They’re skeptics.
And what’s annoying as fuck is that now I may potentially have to work for it. Oh the horror. I snort-laugh at my own sarcasm.
I’ve become accustomed to being a primadonna and haven’t had to work for shit since before I grew pubes. So yes, the sigh I let out when I realized that I needed to schmooze some people just rubbed me the wrong way.
My way of “working” and “working people over” is to just be myself. I literally just show up and demand perfection, throw the ball, make the best plays that college football has seen in… well, forever. But it’s become evident with the cold shoulders and under current of animosity that I’ve gotten from my new team, that they’re so far from fucking impressed. That reality bites.
It was an ego check, for sure. And to tell you the truth, I didn’t really appreciate it - didn’t care for it. It’s a “do not recommend”, zero out of five stars.
But alas, here I sit - by my-fucking-self - contemplating if I made an error in judgement. If being selfish and self-centeredby making this decision was a mistake. And the question I really hate having to ask myself is ifshe’sworth all of this.
I really hate that I’m questioning that because she’s been the end goal for the better half of a decade. Total end game.
The thing is though, she barely knows I exist.
2
SCOTTIE ANDERSON
I’m going to be late to class. Again.
I really need to remember to plug my phone in so it doesn’t die. Or remember to set an alarm… that might also be helpful. I got so wrapped up in my latest project in my studio that I completely lost track of time and the fact that I have to teach a class at two o’clock.
I try to put the fear of God in my students by lecturing them at the start of the semester that tardiness will not be tolerated, so it’s not quite a good look for me to be showing up late.
It’s at times like this that I wish I were more tech-savvy or cared about things like that, which would aid me better in organizing my time and work - or setting alarms. But at the end of the day, I wouldn’t want the intrusion of material things and technology invading my space more than it already has to.
