Page 3 of Catch
I wondered why I was just hearing about it now. “Wow. When did this happen?” I asked. When the Cheetahs joined the NFL, they were given first draft pick and negotiated a hotshot quarterback from Notre Dame to build the new team around. I thought he was good, but not great. They wanted him because he was young, fast, and hungry. Now that I was officially part of the coaching staff, I had a say in who stayed, who got traded, and who was cut. I wasn’t expecting this kind of decision on day one.
“Last Friday. We wanted to wait until we heard back from the doctor to see if it’s repairable, but he’s toast. So, first thing today we’re going to see what scraps are left and who can take us to the playoffs.”
My mind was running through a list of possible names I could throw out if they were open to suggestions. The best players were taken, but I was sure there were a few free agents who could fill thespot. Our backup quarterback was average. There was no way he could bring our team to the championship game. He was third-string talent.
I walked into the large meeting room where players and coaches sat waiting for the meeting to start. Bill introduced me. It was a warm reception.
“I’m Sutton McCoy. I’m excited to be here at the ground level of this new team and anxious to get started on our journey.” They didn’t need to know my résumé. If they cared, they already knew. And I sure as hell didn’t want to bring up why I was there. This was a fresh start for everyone. The room rumbled with “Hey, Coach” and “Welcome” and even some applause.
“Okay, let’s get down to business,” Bill said. He brought up the need for a new quarterback and how it was so important to not make decisions that could result in ending a career before it began. “Meet with your coaches, get taped up, and be careful out on the field today and every day.” When he was done with his somber pep talk, we walked across the hall to a small conference room.
“Here’s your staff. They’ll take good care of you.” He opened the door where three guys dressed in Cheetah polos and khaki shorts sat around a table staring at a list of names on a computer screen. The search for the quarterback’s replacement had already started. “I think you know everyone,” he said before issuing me a final nod and closing the door.
I smiled and shook hands with my staff members. We would expand our staff as we got further into pre-season and regular season, but today, I was meeting with the coaches I would work closest with. I had met with all of them over the last two weeks. Joe Crooks was the wide receivers coach. He was probably my dad’s age and sported a stunning comb-over and a mustache he neglected to trim. How the poking, wiry hairs didn’t bother his lips or nose astounded me. Brandon Trust was the running backs coach. He was a muscular white guy with the start of a gut. Jamal Pierson was the youngest coach on the team, and the only Black guy on the offensive staff. He was the quarterbacks coach and looked miserable at the hand fate dealt him.
“Great to see you again, Sutton,” Brandon said.
“I’m glad to be a part of this. I understand there’s a scramble for a new quarterback,” I said. I sat and stared at the eight names on the screen that our scouts emailed Jamal.
“Of all the luck. Myers goes four-wheeling, pops a wheelie, and the ATV rolls back and crushes his leg. Even if the ACL heals properly, his knee will never be the same.” Jamal sighed and leaned back. “This whole list is nothing but college kids. What about hiring a veteran? Is anybody decent still a free agent? Maybe a veteran can help solidify our team over the next year or two. At least until we can find another young hotshot.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Brandon said. He flipped through a three-ring binder in front of him. “What about Tommy Colvin or Grayson Moats? They both have been in the NFL for about ten years and have played with different teams. It shows they’re versatile.”
Today started out amazing. I kissed my sleepy girlfriend good-bye, scratched my dog behind the ears, had a great cup of coffee, found my parking spot, and walked into a spiderweb named Grayson Moats. As a previous quarterbacks coach, and one with a grudge, I was very aware of him over the last decade. His numbers were good, but not great. He played for Miami, Pittsburgh, and had been riding Baltimore’s bench the last year before recently announcing his retirement.
“Moats just announced his retirement. Where’s Colvin now?” I asked. I already knew but I wanted the focus to be on him, not Grayson. The idea of seeing Grayson with Parker O’Neal at his side made my insides twist painfully.
“He’s third string for Kansas City. He’d probably love the opportunity to start at ground level,” Jamal said. His sagging shoulders lifted somewhat at the news that there was light at the end of the tunnel. “Should we make some calls? Invite them both?”
“Do we want to let them know they are competing for the same job?” I asked. “Let’s bring in Tommy and then if he’s not the right fit, we’ll invite Grayson.” My voice sounded calm even though my anxiety was threatening to explode.
“I’ll give him a call right now,” Jamal said. He gathered his things and stopped to look at me. “I’m glad you’re a part of our team, McCoy. I feel like with you here, we’re already improving.”
“Thank you. My goal is the same as everyone else’s. I want to win games and make the Cheetahs a formidable team,” I said. It sounded rehearsed but I meant it. I also wanted to prove that women could do this job, too. I knew everything about football. When I had the opportunity seven years ago to intern at the NFL, I jumped at the chance. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. Women in the NFL weren’t popular, but I was more than willing to fight my way to the top and prove to the world that I was just as capable.
“I’m glad you are here, too,” Joe said.
My initial conversation with Joe wasn’t warm. He believed in old-school football where men were players and coaches, and women were cheerleaders or wives. He refused to shake my hand when we first met and quizzed me on stats of certain players, coaches, and the league. After fifteen minutes of grilling me and me getting every single answer right, he warmed up. By the end of the interview, we were laughing about incredible football games from before I was born.
“Thanks, Joe. I’m happy to be here,” I said.
“How about we head outside and see what the team is doing?” Brandon asked.
“I’m in.” I jumped up and followed Joe and Brandon out to the field. The Cheetahs had a new stadium, but the training facility and office building needed work. The tax increase on the ballot this fall would give us money for a new office complex. Right now, everything was a Band-Aid, from the fresh paint in our old offices to the hodgepodge equipment room full of secondhand weights and core strengthening machines. For now, training camp was on location, but that would change. Next year we were contracted with a college about two hours away.
“What do you think of the stadium?” Joe asked.
We stood on the fifty-yard-line and looked around. “This is top notch.” It was impressive.
“We’ll get an upgrade for next season on the rest,” he said.
Jamal waved a rolled-up wad of paper he had in his hand to get our attention and jogged over to us. “Colvin is out, but Moats will be here tonight. I’ve made reservations at the steakhouse for all of us.” He turned to me. “You’re good with that, right?”
Fuck me. Day one and I was going to be face-to-face with my high school nemesis. It was bound to happen. When the Vikings played against whatever team he was on, I always made it a point to be up in the booth working out plays. I was never down on the field. Now I was going to have to bump elbows with him at dinner.
I forced a smile and nodded. “That sounds great.” My stomach churned. “Just coaches or families, too?” I couldn’t bring myself to say wife or spouse. Even fifteen years later when I should have been over everything, I couldn’t let go of the tug Parker had on my heart.
“Just us and him. It’ll be a quick meeting. We’ll send a car to pick him up tonight,” Jamal said.
