Page 21 of Red Zone Realizations
The morning is bright and humid as I move to my position on the line of scrimmage. The hustle and bustle of training camp is in full swing. Everyone is on the second practice field, some watching, some participating. Coaches yell and players stretch or vibe on the sidelines. We’re learning new plays and running them against our own defense after a morning in the weight room and before an afternoon in the media room.
The second I woke up this morning I knew I couldn’t hold off any longer. I needed to see her again. I waited what I feel is an appropriate amount of time—if one could call waiting a whole weekend to reach out playing it cool.
Audrey’s been simmering under my skin since I woke up on Saturday. I close my eyes at night and see her smile instead of the darkness. To either torture myself, or to keep myself busy, I’m not exactly sure which, I texted her right before putting my phone in my locker and heading out to the field. So I’m out here wondering if she replied to me and when I can see her again.
Football is a symphony, and the quarterback would haveyou think they’re the conductor of the whole shebang. They’re pretty important, but a band is nothing without every chair playing the right notes. Football is a sport where every man has to do their job perfectly for things to work. That takes lots of practice, good timing, and walking through the same plays at half speed over and over.
It does kind of all come back to the quarterback, though, as he’s the first note you hear at the concert. The offensive line’s job is to protect him. The receivers’ jobs are to get open for him. Even on defense, the focus is on reading the quarterback and his offense. Football has occupied so much of my headspace for the last fifteen years that I thought my passion for the game would keep my wandering thoughts of Audrey at bay, keep me distracted from anticipating her text back. I wonder if my text was too lame.
Want to go to the museum tomorrow? There’s a King Tut exhibit running that looks super cool.
I want to get to know her and build a relationship. I want her to trust that I’m going to do what I say I’ll do. Some guys on the team would probably drop dead hearing me talk like that, but my mother raised me right. Hard not to when you grow up in the South saying, “yes, ma’am” and “no, sir.” Houston may be a big city, but we have small-town friendliness ingrained in our very souls—which includes manners.
A museum meetup saysI hope we can lean our heads together over an informational placard so I can get to know your mind. I hope the message doesn’t get lost over text. I meticulously planned for the time. It’s late enough in the morning that she will have had time to get to her more immediate businessneeds before getting ready to meet me. It’s not too far from her place, so it won’t take too much time out of her day to get there and back. I know her time is more precious than mine. I get paid regardless of my play time. I want to be respectful of her business. Of her life. Of the hurt she’s experienced before. I want to fold myself up to fit in it. Anywhere and any way that she’ll let me.
I will admit that it’s not a great time for me to be so distracted by a woman. After coming off an injury, I really need to prove my worth. My four-year, five-million-dollar guaranteed rookie deal is hanging over my head. It’s year four already and I was injured in year three. I really want to stay in Houston, so I have to show them that I’m worth another contract.
Houston is home. Playing here is my dream. A broken ankle is a bump in the road, but not a death sentence. So I still have one more season to prove that I’m too good of a producer to be traded.
A girlfriend is a sure-fire way to get your head out of the game. Even in high school, I never had time for girls. I had a date to prom, sure, but she wasn’t my girlfriend. Just a friend. Dad put so much pressure on me to put as much time as possible into football. In college, all the solo weight room sessions and lonely drills on an empty field gave me the best chance at getting into the NFL. When everyone else was sleeping in, hungover from a win, I was running suicides on the field because Dad would call and ask if I shouldn’t be “making up for dropping that pass.”
Now that I’m living the dream, it’s an ongoing fight to stay relevant. That’s the curse of playing at this level. It’s a next-man-up mentality. There’s always someone behind you, working hard to take your spot. All those years of pressurehave worn on me mentally. Pushing yourself that hard without ever looking around and realizing you’ve made it to where you once only dreamed you could be is exhausting. Luckily, my therapist helped me recognize I made it and helped me take it all in. She can’t help me with how lonely it is to not have a partner to share it all with, though. Plenty of NFL players enjoy the money and the bachelor life well into their thirties before settling down, but if there’s a girl out there who perfectly fits into my life, I don’t want to simply walk away from that chance.
I truly love the sport, but I’m not blind to the realities of it. It’s fast paced. Weeks on the road. During the season you work eighteen weeks with only one break. No holidays. Night after night of shitty sleep in four-star hotels, lying awake wishing you were in your own bed. Your fate is always hanging in the balance. The one thing I can’t offer Audrey is stability, and isn’t that what everyone wants?
Hours pass under the hot Texas sun as I soak up time with my team. Getting ready for the start of the season is no joke. You’re not in the shape you were in January. Your body isn’t used to taking hits anymore. Rebuilding that muscle memory is like forging a blade. Melting down the metal and hammering it back into place.
I make myself wait until after my shower to check my phone, just to drag out the sweet heat of anticipation a little longer. Well, for that reason, and because I can smell myself.
When I finally grab my phone out of my bag, my heart leaps when I see her name on my home screen. She agreed to see me again.
Audrey
I low-key love Egyptian mythology. What day?
I pump my fist to my side in victory. Unfortunately, that catches the eye of some of my nosier teammates. I quickly move my shoulder to block the screen from their sight. Colin notices that too. “What do we have here?” A slick smile splashes across his face.
I straighten out my smile. “Nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me. You’ve had a goofy grin and a distant look on your face since the second you walked on the field.” He knows me too well.
“Okay, fine. The dinner with Audrey last week went amazing. I wanted to see her again, so I asked her out and she said yes.”
“You think that’s a good idea? I mean, dinner was for sure, but seeing her again? Making this a thing? I’m not sure now is the right time,” Wyatt pipes up.
“And what makes you say that, asshole? Besides the fact that you’re in love with Nash, but it’s ‘not the right time’ for you either.” Wyatt has been harboring his undying love for his college best friend for years. Yet, even after all this time, she still hasn’t noticed him.
“Did you forget how contracts work?” He’s on the defensive now—ironic since he plays defense.
“Of course I didn’t. My first priority is my career and this team.” I shrug my shoulders. “I can have both.”
At least, I have to try.
“I’m not trying to be a dick, and I know you’re not either. I just want to make sure that you secure your place here next season. I would hate to be a Hurricane without you.”
I nod. I appreciate him telling me my friendship does, in fact, mean something to him.
I’ve always had an easy time telling my friends I care about them. Whatever issue other dudes have when it comes to that,I don’t have. Maybe it’s the way Mom raised me, evening out the overly manliness my dad tried to instill. She always made sure after giving or receiving the hardest hits on the field, I had a soft place to land with her. It kept the sharpness out of some of my edges. Or maybe it’s my undying loyalty. Mom had her hands full with me as a kid. I had a lot of passion, a lot of testosterone, and not many places to go with it. Any dumb kid who ran his mouth about my dad had my fists flying. Got me into trouble, but eventually I learned to control it. Channel it into something useful.
