Page 74 of Who's Playing You
The whole fucking team was finally working as a unit. Who would have thunk it? Apparently no one but me. I think even the big brains up in the big fancy offices were surprised at the change that was taking place on the field in the last two or three weeks. Yet, they didn’t hesitate in patting themselves on the back and taking the credit for it.
They had only dreamt of the impact that I might make on the team, but in reality they never expected a fraction of the success I’d demand from this team. Sure as shit, they were patting each other on the back, playing that this was their master plan all along. But they weren’t anything but a bunch of empty suits.
Those idiots had nothing to do with any of it, and every person who was on that field with us, or even in the vicinity, knew that it had absolutely 100% everything to do withme. Because I demanded perfection.
You lead my example, and I continued to do that. I didn’t become The Diva just because I loved the spotlight. I became The Diva because I was perfection personified, and I expected everyoneand everythingaround me to be fucking perfect as well. Andthatwas why I was The Diva.
The Rage finally got the memo.
But it didn’t mean that they liked me, in fact, most of the team probably still hated my guts. That was irrelevant though.
With that, I waited to take the field. I stood at the mouth of the tunnel, the first man in the tunnel - always. I high-fived or fist bumped or clapped every single one of my teammates on the back as they passed me and ran onto the field to a roaring applause. Once they were all out there, I calmly jogged onto the field and joined my team where they waited for me at center field.
The team always lined up in two lines, to which I ran down the middle of, slapped every single helmet that I could reach and yelled on repeat, “Let’s fuckinggo!” They were quick to file inline and jog behind me to the bench. Our run off the field was reminiscent of the old war tactic where the emperor acted like the tip of the sword, with his soldiers behind him, and that tip would infiltrate the opposition’s line of defense.
I was the tip of our sword.
The edge.
The sharpest point.
The one to cut through everything.
The opposition took the field first and I paced the sideline like a caged animal, glaring at our defense. Before they hiked the ball, every one of my D-line eyed me where I was very visible from the sideline watching them. I don’t even think that they realized that they did it.
It was as if I provided them with a fortifying breath, because when they took off from that first snap, they were fucking explosive! They sacked the quarterback in about three seconds flat. The opposing O-line didn’t stand a chance: they folded like a cheap suit. Our blue and black colors dominated while the opposing silver, white and green littered the turf. It was comical actually because our guys knocked them down like they were bowling pins.
Normally pre-season games were played by the rookies, or players were being tested to see if they’d make the final roster. The Rage, however, weren’t playing by the normal rules.
Well, neither was I.
And that’s why in our first exhibition game as well as this one, The Rage coaches had every player play in both games, becauseeveryonewas being put to the test. Everyone was replaceable and dispensable. Except me.
That was another shock to the roster, to realize that even the vets weren’t safe. And that we had a whole-team shakeup happening. Might I have had something to do with it? You canbet your ass I did. I was done with the losing mentality of this team, and I’d been nothing but vocal about it.
To say that there was a fire lit under the asses of everyone on the team was certainly an understatement. First they heard me reaming out various teammates, and then management and the coaches started riding them too. It was glorious.
The start of the game was like a premonition of how the rest of the game was going to go. In the final quarter when I took the field for the last play, we had about three minutes left of playing time with the score being 28-3. We were crushing them.
But I wasn’t taking a knee and letting the clock run out.
No mercy.
It was time that The Rage tasted blood, that they could fuckingfeelvictory in their bones. To do so, you needed to get out there and attack with savagery every single time. No mercy.
They needed to tap into their animal instincts, which they’d never done before. They needed to smell blood in the water. Taste it. And then absolutely annihilate the opposition - every-fucking-time!
We set up on the line of scrimmage, I called out the play - a running play that was supposed to go to Micah if he managed to get open - while I scanned up and down the line, eyeing every player. Something was off though. The opposition’s D-line wasn’t feeling defeated. In fact, they were out for payback.
This is where players would get hurt because desperation had set in.
At the last minute, before calling for my center to hike the ball, I changed the play and yelled, “Hike!”
My center, Bubba, hiked the ball perfectly to me, I dropped into the pocket but for a moment and pretended to look to Micah before I took off.
I plowed through a couple of their big defensive players who’d gotten loose from my blockers. I stiff-armed number 19,knocking him to the ground before jumping over number 55, then making a fucking run for it, all 55 yards to the end zone.
Not one fucker could touch me.
