Blitzed(36)

"No," Charlie says, and I'm reminded of some of my former teammates, the ones that I overlooked for too long. Guys like Pete Barkovich, who I found out is getting married to Dani Vaughn when she called me up and invited me to the wedding. "But what's it like between the teammates?"

"Each team's different, or so I've heard," I answer. "Sure, there's a bond, but it's not the same as what you've got here. Some of those guys, the long-term guys, have been with the team for ten years, and we've got one dude who's been with the team for twelve. He started with the team when you were in preschool, and that means he's formed deep bonds with some of those other long-term players. But also, it means that he's seen hundreds of young guys like me come and go. Players get cut, players get traded, players retire. It's strange that in the pros, you could be buddies with a guy one year, and then the very next season, you're lining up across the line from him at the Super Bowl. So there's that. And of course, the money."

"It's a lot, isn't it?" Charlie asks, and I shrug. I haven't really thought about it that much. Contracts are contracts, and I make more than enough money to do what I want to do. It takes me a moment to recall some of the numbers and formulate an answer.

"I guess. If you're worried just about the money, my best advice to you is to hit the books harder than you hit the weights, unlike what I did. I mean, look at it this way. My rookie contract, with signing bonus and before taxes and such, is going to be worth roughly six million dollars if I play it all out and don't re-up at some point. And yeah, that’s a lot of money, I won't play you. But there's a classmate of mine, Cory. He's got a job with an investment bank already, and I've kept up with him on the side. He's the same age I am, and he's already making a hundred twenty-five thousand a year."

"Yeah, but you're making ten times as much," he says, confused.

"For the next few years, sure. In ten years, I'll probably be out of the NFL, and having to make it on my savings, investments, stuff like that. Cory's still going to be growing, and with his brains, he might even retire with more money than me. But anyway, what you were saying about the locker room, that plays a part. It's a job, is what I'm saying. You’ve gotta love it, just to put yourself through the pounding and effort that the game demands at the professional level. But it's still a job. You won't have a tighter team bond than you get with these guys you'll play with this year. Even at Clement, I didn't have it. Anything else?"

"No, thanks. And good luck next week. First pre-season game of the year, right?"

"Right. Good luck to you too, Charlie. See you around."

He jogs off, and Coach Jackson comes up, a little grayer than he was last year, but still the same guy. "You didn't blow smoke up his butt. I appreciate it."

"You know how it is. I want them to be successful, not like . . .”

"Like Russ?" Coach asks quietly. Russ died over the New Year's holidays in a car accident coming back from college. He'd been drunk and lost control of his car on an icy patch of road. I was in the playoffs at the time, so I couldn't come to the funeral, but I visited his grave right afterward. It hurt.

"Yeah," I finally say, then force a smile. "But it's not all bad. Pete and Dani . . . that's pretty cool. Did you get an invitation?"

"Sure did," Coach says, kind of embarrassed. "Seems strange though. I didn't think I made that big an impression on you guys."

"You did," I reply. "But then again, since you're getting the checks as my official agent, I guess you know that, don't you?"

He laughs and shakes his head again. "You know my wife is still just about ready to adopt you because of that? You're paying for my son's college, and a big chunk of my retirement fund.”

“You were there when I needed it. It’s the least I could do. You saved my life, Coach."

"It was my pleasure, Troy," Coach says, then looks at the backs of the retreating players, all of them seeming so young, and it wasn’t even that long ago that I was one of them. "So you're going back to practice tomorrow?"

"Yeah. You know how it is. This first pre-season game is the chance for guys like me to prove we belong in the starting lineup. It's tough on the team. They've got four really good linebackers already, and that crew, they've been together for a few years. I'm not going to be given a spot. I'm going to have to take a spot."

He laughs and pats me on the shoulder. "With an attitude like that, I don't doubt you will. In any case, I'll be watching. I think we all will be."

"Thanks, Coach."



I'm feeling the warmth on my shoulders, even through my jersey and pads, and I feel good as I stretch out before the game. There are butterflies in my stomach, but I know they'll go away as soon as the fans really start filing in and the game gets closer.

"Hey, mister!" a kid calls behind me, and I ignore it, figuring that the kid is trying to get the attention of one of the stars on the team. With a team like ours, you've got a few to choose from. I'm still officially a second stringer, although if I do well this game, maybe I can move up a slot for the next game. Still, the first string defense is taking it easy, and today's my first official start as a pro, even if it is pre-season.