Page 62 of Tight End

23

Brody

I had a shitty game. And then I had a shittier conversation with Taylor. I was mad at her for brushing aside my problems to focus on her own, but I was even more mad at myself for snapping at her like that.

I went home, crawled into a bottle of Tito’s vodka, and tried to forget about everything that had happened.

But the next two weeks were even worse.

First we had a road game in Denver. Our rivalry with the Broncos was more electric than ever, especially after how last season ended with them knocking us out of the playoffs. Not to mention we were both tied for the division lead with 4 - 0 records. The media was already calling this game a preview of the AFC Championship Game.

And we got absolutely stomped.

Mile High Stadium was so loud that we could hardly hear ourselves think when we were on the field. Our entire team played like shit. The wide receivers couldn’t get open. The Broncos defense was blitzing on every play, which kept Dallas from getting into a groove. He was sacked four times in the first quarter, a franchise record. After one hit, he was cradling his shoulder a little bit—the same shoulder he’d had repaired in the off-season.

I wasn’t any better. No matter how many times I juked and stutter-stepped, I couldn’t get open on my routes. The Broncos safety clung to me like stink on manure.

And the few times I did manage to gain some breathing room, I dropped the passes thrown to me. Nothing felt natural to me. It was like I was controlling someone else’s body, and there was a little bit of lag. After every play, my attitude got worse and worse until I was cursing and screaming at myself.

It didn’t help that I kept thinking about Taylor back home, and whether or not she was watching the game.

We lost 36 - 7, and that lone touchdown came during garbage time at the end of the game when the Broncos defense stopped caring. And just like that, our winning streak was over, and the Broncos were at the top of the division.

The week after that wasn’t much better. It was a road game against the Packers, played underneath a gloomy Wisconsin sky. The clouds suited my mood, and the mood of the rest of the team.

As the game went on, the backup tight end, Andrew Stark, started taking my place on more plays. Normally, this wasn’t a big deal. Most teams swapped out players all the time in order to keep players fresh. But I was the kind of tight end who liked to play every snap, both because I was elite at my position, and because I was in good enough shape that I rarely got tired.

I tried not to let it get to me. I told myself that the rookie deserved some experience every now and then. But deep down, I knew it was because my performance hadn’t been up to par.

The problem with this is that it made me antsy on the sideline. I hated watching my teammates line up without me. And then, when I did get sent out for a play, I tried too hard. I jumped before the snap, causing a false-start penalty. I sprinted too fast along my route, causing Dallas’s pass to be thrown behind me and nearly intercepted. Then, when I tried to adjust on the next play, my timing was way off in the other direction.

The coach swapped me out for Stark, who immediately made a fantastic leaping catch to gain a first down. It hurt to admit, but the kid was playing better than me. Thanks to him, we were tied 7 - 7 going into halftime.

But things took a turn for the worse in the second half. The gray Wisconsin sky finally broke open and we found ourselves in a torrential downpour. Within minutes, the field was a swampy mess of water and mud. Players slipped and slid and fell. Dallas couldn’t throw the ball accurately. Both offenses ground to a halt.

The Packers, however, had one of the best running backs in the league. Although the muddy conditions affected him, he was able to grind down the field a few yards at a time and score a touchdown.

It was the only scoring play of the second half, and the Packers won, 14 - 7.

The locker room was a quiet, solemn scene. I didn’t want to talk to the press after the game, so I sat in front of my locker and browsed Twitter. People were buzzing about Andrew Stark’s performance during the first half, and some fans were even calling him Ironman, since he shared a name with the superhero Tony Stark.

But for every positive tweet about Stark, there were three negative tweets about me. Some fans said I was overpaid and overrated. One person speculated that my heart wasn’t in it anymore. Another famous Salt Lake City athlete, a player for the Utah Jazz, joked that I should switch to Nike shoes. That tweet had over a hundred thousand likes.

Adidas isn’t going to be happy about that.

I usually let that sort of thing roll off my back. It wasn’t healthy to dwell on the negative fans out there. But now that I was playing poorly, the comments had a way of sticking in my head more than before.

“God-fucking-damnit,” Kincaid cursed a few lockers down from me. “The Chiefs won again.”

I followed his gaze to the television mounted on the wall, which was showing the current AFC West standings:

Broncos: 6 - 0

Chiefs: 5 - 1

Stallions: 4 - 2

Chargers: 2 - 4

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