Page 95 of Zone
“What’s that, Chet?” I do my best to appear interested, but I’m on guard.
Chet’s been antsy and eager all morning like something is coming, and I can’t help thinking about the way hesprung my fallout with Susan on me the last time we were together.
“It’s inspired by you. It’s called,Hit the Checkdown Challenge, and it asks the ever-burning question, ‘Will K-Brad take the easy five yards or not?’” He lifts his chin, barking a laugh. “Spoiler alert: He won’t!”
A flood of laugh-crying emojis fill the big screen behind us. Chet’s segment title is splayed in a playful font across the top of the screen along with his spoiler alert, and the comment bubbles pop up as animations in real time.
I force a laugh, but even I can tell it’s so fake. “I don’t know, Chet, we’ve been seeing a lot of growth this season, a lot less hero ball from our favorite player. I think he might be leaving bad habits behind.”
“Come now, QP, you know K-Brad can’t resist going for the win with every turnover.”
“There’s a lot to be said for drive,” I counter. “You can criticize his mechanics, Chet, and trust me, I have, but his team rallies around him. That demonstrates leadership. The team has his back.”
Text bubbles fill the big screen, but I don’t allow myself to read them. The skin on the back of my neck is tight, and my phone buzzes in my pocket. I know it’s Lindsey, and I can practically hear her screamingYou’re doing it againall the way from New Orleans.
Our eyes are on the field where Knox just fired a pass directly into double coverage. I wince, and the words I should say are on the tip of my tongue. I can hear myself saying them, yet my mouth won’t move.
I don’t have to worry because Chet beats me to the punch. “I tell ya, QP, watching K-Brad throw into coverage is a lot like hearing ‘Sweet Caroline’ at karaoke. It’s painful, unnecessary, and somehow still happening.”
“I’m not going to fight you on that one, Chet.” I shift inmy seat, forcing the words. “Do I think K-Brad is undisciplined? Yes, but he’s talented enough to get away with it. He’ll turn this around.”
The defense trots onto the field, and the Vikings’ O-line is ready for them.
“Let’s talk about the Saints’ defense a little bit,” I happily jump on the mic to let these guys take some heat. “My mom’s an antiques dealer, Chet, which makes me a bit of an expert.”
“An expert in what?” He grins widely.
“I’ve seen two-hundred-year-old grandfather clocks move faster than that pass rush.”
“Ow!” Chet leans back in his chair holding his fist in front of his mouth. “They’re giving JJ Justice all the time in the world out there.”
“Tell me about it,” I grouse. “They’ve recorded as many sacks as I have today. The difference is no one’s paying me ten million dollars.”
I tilt my head slightly to see how the big screen responds to these remarks. Laugh-crying emojis rise up like a volcano erupting, and the text bubbles I manage to see contain things like,Girl’s still got game!andThe old QP is back!andThis is why we come here for game coverage…
Of course, they’re mixed with the few comments letting me have it for daring to criticize our darling Saints, but my brand is built on calling out messy plays.
Finally the Vikings quarterback makes a bad pass, and I’m able to let him have it as well. “Chet, I’d say Justice threw that ball like a drunk guy sends texts.”
“How’s that, QP?” He tees me up.
“Too much confidence and no self-control.”
Chet falls back in his chair clapping his hands, and I don’t have to look at the board to know I’ve clawed something of my reputation back. I can’t seem to direct any hot takes atthe man I’m falling for, but it makes the ones I do give that much stronger.
We’re heading into the end of the fourth quarter, and the Saints have fallen behind by two points. My throat is tight, and I know a lot is riding on how Knox handles these final plays. Last year, his errors cost us the playoffs, and if it happens again… well, I guess I’m back to driving for Uber.
“K-Brad’s coming off the field without moving the ball. We’ll see if the defensive line can keep Justice from scoring any more points.” Chet doesn’t sound as worried as I feel.
I remind myself it’s because he’s not a Saints fan, like I am. Chet’s an equal-opportunity insulter, he built his brand on taking down all the teams.
I’m a local reporter, which focuses my coverage on one team for better or worse. And I’ve specialized it even further to one player in particular.
“It’s like that sometimes,” I say, my eyes still on the game. “K-Brad plays like he was born to stress us out. Can I get an Amen, Saints Nation?”
I look at the board to seeAmensflooding in as well as the thumbs-up and sweating emojis. We’re down to the final minutes of the game, and Brady Armstrong breaks through the line to sack Justice at the twenty-yard line.
I’m ready to jump in with a nice hot take on the way Justice went down like a hooker in Storyville when Chet turns the tables on me.
