Blitzed(63)

"Go, Daddy! Kick their ass!"

"Laurie."

"Sorry, Mama. Get them, Daddy!"

In the first quarter, Troy's play is as dominant as ever as he quickly picks up another sack and tips away a pass. The quarter ends still scoreless, but I'm on the edge of my seat as the game pauses for a TV break during the changeover between the first and second quarter.

Dani turns to me and gives me a high five. "He's having a great game!"

"Too bad it's going to be his last," someone says behind us, and I turn around to see a black woman sitting behind us, giving us a commiserating but perhaps still sad smile. "Didn't you know?"

"Know what?" I ask, confused. "And you are?"

"Kim Winslow. I'm married to number 67, Gerald Winslow," she says, offering her hand. "Sorry, I guess you and Troy are still new together. We didn't have a chance to meet at the team social during training camp. The wire's been full of the news."

"What news?" I ask. "Why is it Troy's last game?"

"The Hawks are trading him to Jacksonville," Kim says. "They're sending Troy and their first and third round draft picks in next year's draft for the 'Cats' starting right tackle, and two of their backup wide receivers and some other picks."

The news hits me like a punch in the gut, and I stare at Kim blankly. "They can do that?"

"Trade deadline is November third. Actually, in some ways, it's not that bad a trade. My best girlfriend's man plays for the 'Cats, and they're in a rebuilding mode this year. They've got the offense, but they need a defense. So they need a young stud to build it around. Your man just got tabbed for the job. Best of all, he's not going to miss any playing time. The 'Cats got a bye next week so he'll have a week and a half to learn their schemes. When Gerald got traded here from New York, he had to miss a game in order to learn his blocking assignments. That hurt him come contract negotiations."

"How . . . how many teams has he been on?" I ask, stunned.

"Gerald's been playing six years now. There was that camp spot with the Fire where he barely had a chance to get his feet wet before they sent him to Miami. Five teams. I think he's finally settled in here, though. He might be able to stay another two or three years before he retires. But with the salary cap, you never know."

Six years, five cities? What sort of life is that for my daughter? I turn back and blankly watch a few minutes of the game but can't focus. "Dani, can you watch Laurie for a minute? I need to get some answers."

Dani, who's been giving me concerned looks, pats my knee and nods. "Don't stress, Whitney. I can see you stressing already, the little gears are turning and the smoke is starting to creep out. Don't stress. Think."

I nod and get up, looking for Timothy Hauser. I find him in his seat, watching the game and laughing along with some other people. "Mr. Hauser?"

"Oh, Miss Nelson! Enjoying the game?" Hauser asks, taking a sip from a beer in his hand. "The team's really fighting hard today."

"Yes . . . and I bet next game's going to be even better with your new right tackle and wideout," I reply, cutting off conversation with the group. One of the other people, a man in his fifties, it looked like, who had a sort of smarmy, lawyer-like look to him, turned around and considered me levelly. I returned his gaze, not backing down. I'd been through too much in the past two months to worry about some suit. "Who are you?"

"Larry Kardarelli, General Manager," he says. "I suppose you're asking about the reports of Troy being traded?"

"Are they true?"

Kardarelli nods and gets up. "The official report hits the networks right after the game. Officially, it doesn't happen until midnight, so that Troy can finish the game for us."

"You're trading him, but still want him out there busting his ass for you?" I ask, shocked. "What the hell gives you the right?"

"The Collective Bargaining Agreement," Kardarelli replies. He waves with his hand, and we leave the seats to go toward the back of the box. "You must understand, Miss Nelson, my job is to make the Hawks the best team they can be."

"So you trade a man who's becoming the best linebacker on the team? Maybe in the league?" I ask, furious and hurt. "Why?"

"You sound like Troy did when he heard the news,” Kardarelli says, then shrugs. "I have good linebackers. But I also have a gaping hole on my offensive line, zero depth at receiver, and a quarterback that's making ten million dollars a year. The Hawks can survive losing Troy Wood. We can't win with the offense we've got right now."

Almost in response to Kardarelli's words, a roar and a collective groan goes through the crowd as a Hawks punt is returned all the way to the two-yard line before the San Francisco returner stumbles and is taken down by a shoestring tackle.

Kardarelli sighs, looks over at the big screen replaying the play, then looks back at me. "All right. I actually like Troy, so I'll give you a promise. If the Hawks are losing at half time, I'll call down to the locker room. He won't dress for the second half. It'll give him a chance to avoid injury. It's not all bad, Miss Nelson. Jacksonville has beautiful weather this time of year, and he's going to be a superstar in Florida. And when we play the 'Cats in week sixteen back here, he's going to get a hero's welcome. I'll probably be burned in effigy, but I've gotten used to that."