Page 9 of Zone
“It’s his first year. The offensive line is still coming together.”
“Maybe… and maybe it’s time to stop treating him with kid gloves. He can clearly dish it out. Let’s see if he can take it.”
“I’m afraid this is the tequila talking.” Lindsey’s tone is worried. “What are you going to do?”
I scamper across the mahogany floors to where my computer sits on a small desk. Pulling on my headset with the attached microphone, I click a few times and start to record. Lifting my chin, I close my eyes and remember everything about last night’s game.
“What about that playoff game, Saints Nation?” I pause a moment, infusing my voice with gravitas. “How much more sloppiness are we going to tolerate from this rookie? Knox Bradford had a clean shot down the field and a wide-open receiver, yet he threw it into double coverage like he was autographing the ball and handing it to the defense.”
Lindsey’s eyes blink even wider, and she clasps her hands over her mouth.
“K-Brad wants to be Cher and turn back time to when we wore black electrical tape over theSs on our ball caps. In one season, he’s trying to turn theSaintsinto theAints, and I think we all should be asking WWDD, What Would Drew Do? I’ll tell you what: He’d have found an open receiver.”
I continue on, recapping what went down on the field tonight. Die-hards want a full picture, and I’m happy to focus the entire show on our number one hot shot.
When I’m done, I take off my headset and quietly place it on the countertop. Then I lean back in my chair, steepling my fingers in front of my lips as I think about this.
I’ve never gone low. I’ve never dogpiled a player for making mistakes. I’ve never come down hard, but the gloves are off. I’m not a shy violet, and he shat on the wrong girl.
I’ve got one job?He’sgot one job, and whydidn’the use his car service?
“You sure you want to do this, Mellow?” Lindsey’s voice is quiet, but I catch a hint of excitement creeping into her tone.
We’re sailing into uncharted waters, but I didn’t say a single false word just now.
My jaw is set, and I give her a curt nod. “Send it.”
Go lefton that, Knox Bradford.
CHAPTER 3
Knox
“K-Brad? What the…” It’s a week later, I’m back home from my trip to the Bahamas leaning forward on the bench in the workout room, reading the words on the screen. “Nobody calls meK-Brad.”
The story is one of those TMI recaps of whatever buzzy hot take everyone’s talking about this week. In this case, it basically summarizes the transcript of some sports podcast under an enormous headline in all-capital, black letters with four exclamation points reading, “K-BRAD NUKES THE PLAYOFFS!!!!”
“I didn’t nuke the playoffs. I played my best.”
“You did throw that last pass straight to the defensive back.” My left tackle, Gill Mixon huffs under his breath as he curls the bar.
A flash of anger heats my neck. “I was about to get sacked.” I push off my legs, walking to grab a bottle ofGatorade. “I had no choice but to throw it away. Where was my coverage? Is anybody talking about that?”
My chest is tight, and I can’t seem to unclench my jaw. It was a tough first season. I thought I was ready to step into the spotlight, lead this team, but I wasn’t ready for every good play to have half the life of every mistake.
Rather than noting how we made it all the way to the fucking playoffs for the first time since the infamous Number 9 retired from the team, all I hear is “WWDD?” I’m haunted by a ghost who never goes away, and now I know it’s all fueled by this “Quarterback Princess,” this Melody Dunne and herGirl’s Got Gamepodcast.
“If you wanna talk turkey, Jeff Dupree’s not doing us any favors.” Alfonso “The Fonz” Spears steps up beside me.
He’s the best right guard I’ve ever played with, and I couldn’t agree more. Protection around me is weak, but our defensive line is shit. Any armchair quarterback will tell you, offense can be top rate, but without a strong defense, we’re never going to make it to the Big Game.
“At least they’re talking about you.” Fonz taps me on the shoulder, grinning as he heads for the showers. “We’ll get ‘em next year.”
“Next year, I want Baker downfield.” Recruitment season is still a few months away, but I’m doing my best to lobby the coaches for my wide receiver, best friend from college to join the team.
Baker always found an opening and he never missed a pass.
We’re wrapping up for the long break between February and July, and usually I look forward to the time off to recharge, visit family, relax. This year, I’m frustrated and ready to get to work right now.
