Page 93 of Who's Playing You
With me he was so free and vulnerable - so honest and open. With everyone here he seemed almost closed off, pissed and annoyed. Sure, he was talking and answering questions - talking about the game - but it was his body language that spoke volumes. He was stiff and guarded. Like he was almost putting up a facade or a front.
I wasn’t judging him for it, and maybe I was totally wrong. But it struck me how completely different he looked and the vibes he was giving off in this moment compared with how he was with just me. I made a mental note to ask him once we got home.
As I finished that thought and looked around the stadium once more, in awe that he was just out here and playing a game where everyone was watching him, I heard my name being said right before big arms wrapped around me. “There you are, honey.”
I could feel his smile and joy in the way that his body wrapped itself around mine.
“Congratulations!” I replied, not sure if he could hear me over the boisterous crowds all around us. “You were amazing!”
“That touchdown was for you,” Nicholas whispered in my ear as he pulled back. Once I saw his face, which was all sweaty with his longer inky-black strands sticking to his forehead, I saw thatmyNicholas was back. Not the guy who I’d just seen moments ago talking to the reporters.
“It was?”
“It’s all for you, it’s always been, sweetheart,” he said before he kissed my lips.
The kiss was way too short for my liking, but considering our surroundings, it was probably appropriate. But between his hug and kiss, I was enveloped in Nicholas: his touch, smell, and his joy.
“Congratulations! We’re so proud of you,” his parents said as they waited their turns to hug him.
As he hugged them, Nicholas didn’t let go of my hand. As soon as he finished hugging his dad, his arm wrapped around my lower back, his large hand possessively holding my hip.
That’s when I noticed all the cameras pointed our way, and the looks on the reporters’ faces were what I imagine predators look like once they spot their prey.
“Diva! Diva! Who’s this?”
“You want to introduce us to your lady-friend?”
“Nick, a comment?”
“Is she your girlfriend, fans want to know!”
The questions seemed to come at us from all directions and it left me feeling totally stunned and overwhelmed. All the cameras were back on and pointed at us while the reporters and other people swarmed us.
“Oh come on guys,” Nicholas began. “I already gave you your interviews and answered your questions, give me and my family some space, would ya?”
That’s when I heard one of the reporters yell back, “Since whendoesn’tThe Diva want to talk to reporters?” before laughing.
Sensing my discomfort, Nicholas tucked me into his body and shielded me while he had indicated to his parents to start making their way off the field, but once that question blew over us and the rest of the crowd around us, Nicholas stopped in his tracks and turned to the reporter.
“That may be true,” he said with such ferocity that I’d never seen from him - or anyone for that matter - and pointed his finger at the reporter. “But that doesn’t give you the right to think you own me. I love football and have given everything to the sport. I hope to continue to do so for many years to come. But that doesn’t give you a free pass to assume that you own me or that I’ll give you every detail about my life. I already answeredevery single questionabout the game that I was asked - by every single one of you - and now I’m with my family. Why don’t you show some respect and read the room?”
That seemed to put things into perspective because a quiet fell over the crowd.
“This is also ateamsport. This game was played and won by ateam,and I’m just one member. The rest of my team is right there,” he said as he waved his hand to his left to where almost the entire New York Rage team stood and watched on. “You have every opportunity to talk to every single one of them. Ask them abouttheircontribution to today’s win. Ask them about the hard work and sacrifices thattheyhave made to get us to today. I think you’d be shocked to find how incredible each and every one of them are, and how much their work impacted theoutcome. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to have a private moment with my wife and parents.”
With that he ushered me towards his parents and away from the crowd of stunned reporters.
42
NICK SOBA
Inever would have imagined what referring to Scottie as my wife on what turned out to be national television would lead to.
I mean… sorry not sorry.
We’d barely gotten to the sideline when my mom’s phone was blowing up. She answered and stepped away from us so she could talk, but I could hear the screaming coming from the other end of the phone.
My dad, Scottie and I looked at her as her facial expressions gave nothing away. After what felt like a lifetime, but was probably only thirty seconds, she passed the phone to me.
