SEC Championship Game (1)
The area around the bus carrying the football team was always packed with people from campus.
When our bus pulled away from Butts-Mehre Heritage Hall, the crowd sent up a cheer as loud as if it were game day itself, waving the signs they'd brought.
7:40 in the evening.
We were heading to Atlanta.
"Shiiit. Isn't that basically the whole campus out there?"
"COVID My Ass."
"Hey, Moi."
"What?"
"So which girl's coming to cheer you on this time?"
"Like I'd tell you."
"Damn. That's a shame."
I hadn't been in contact with Madison lately.
I'd mentioned before about that guy Nick Austin.
This was probably because of him.
We'd promised each other that if one of us ever found someone we were serious about, we'd wish the other happiness — so that's exactly what I was doing.
Instead, I was talking to someone new.
Not the Hawaiian Lei, though.
Cindy Kimberly.
A model and influencer from the Netherlands.
She lives in L.A. now.
And she'd decided to come cheer at the game.
From the very first DM she sent me, when we'd started talking, Cindy had made it crystal clear that she had a thing for athletes.
"…."
On the road to Atlanta.
I turned on my tablet.
Maybe it was the tension of playing in the SEC Championship, or a full week spent around teammates deliberately acting looser than usual to shake it off, but this quiet atmosphere felt strange.
Everyone was nervous.
Especially the guys who'd been here two years ago.
At the very crossroads where winning the SEC Championship meant a road straight to the National Championship, we'd suffered a gut-wrenching defeat two years ago.
People say Alabama will remember the Mac Jones Who? and sharpen their blade of revenge — but the more painful loss is actually the one we Georgia carries.
If the stage had been different, who knows.
But it was the same stage.
How dare anyone compare the regular season to this?
We're hungrier for the win, after all.
The bus pulled up to the Fairfield Inn & Suites near the stadium, and the fans greeted us with a huge cheer as we stepped off.
We waved to them and headed inside.
A table in the lobby caught my eye.
On the long table at the very front sat white envelopes with each player's name written on them — inside each one was a room key card.
And a little further along.
There were two more long tables.
Snack stations.
We each grabbed whatever snacks we wanted, found our rooms, unpacked, changed clothes, and headed for the meeting spot.
Taking the elevator would just annoy everyone else.
So we usually took the stairs.
"I hate stairs. So much."
Grumbling came from the linemen's mouths, and I moved quickly down the steps to the conference room on the fourth floor.
The first night in Atlanta — and our last.
Our start, as always, began with a meeting.
"This is the SEC Championship!!"
Listening to Todd Monken's voice boom through the conference room, we wrapped up the evening's only scheduled event.
#. December 18, 2020
#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA
#-2. Atlanta Falcons Training Camp
Visiting the training facility of the NFL's Atlanta Falcons on the day of the SEC Championship was entirely Coach's idea.
He wanted us to remember what our foundation was going into such an important game, and he'd judged that seeing an NFL team's training facility would help with that.
Todd Gurley, the running back who'd played at Georgia from 2012 to 2014, came out to greet us.
"Go Bulldogs. Haha—"
Todd Gurley could have become the greatest running back in the NFL.
He was named Offensive Rookie of the Year in his debut season of 2015, made the PFWA All-Rookie team and second-team All-Pro that same year, and caused a sensation.
But he wasn't just a one-season wonder — in 2017 he took home the NFL's Offensive Player of the Year award and earned first-team All-Pro honors two years running.
And in 2017 and 2018, the years he made first-team All-Pro, Todd Gurley also led the NFL in rushing touchdowns.
Quite literally the best running back in the NFL.
The best rushing option in the league.
But even though his knee injuries had started early, he'd gutted it out on the field for the sake of his contract, and after grinding himself down to the bone for the Rams' Super Bowl run in 2018, he'd fallen to the level of an average running back.
"Let me tell you — your body is your greatest treasure."
"I'm doing alright now, though?"
"Well, it's about time I started thinking about what comes next."
Todd Gurley answered with a bitter look on his face.
He probably knew it himself.
That his NFL career didn't have much time left.
Todd Gurley was born in 1994, just seven years older than me, but despite a successful early NFL career, he was now setting out to find a life beyond football.
Call it the fate of football players.
Their active careers are brutally short.
Torn MCLs and ACLs — the equivalent of a baseball pitcher wrecking his elbow — happen to us far more often.
And the most devastating of all is concussion.
There are rules in place to protect players.
But the sport itself is just that violent.
The average NFL career for a running back is 3.7 years.
90% of them never make it past their rookie contract.
That's why they're the assault troops.
Human battering rams for gaining yardage.
Running backs trade their bodies and careers for it.
Throughout the tour of the Falcons' facility.
Todd Gurley kept repeating the same thing.
"If a chance to achieve something ever comes your way, you never, ever let it slip. You know what I'm saying? In life, you don't get many of those chances."
So that's why Coach had planned today.
Because of what this man had to say to us.
As long as we played football, any game could be our last — and he seemed to want to impress upon us just how precious and vital the opportunities in front of us were.
Sure enough, some of the guys got serious.
Mostly the running backs.
Because it could be their future, too.
The glamorous reality and the future that seemed guaranteed.
Gone in an instant.
It sat a little uncomfortably in my chest.
But at the same time.
Another thought occurred to me.
Zamir, James Cook, and McIntosh had just drawn huge inspiration from Todd Gurley's words — and if I exploited that psychology of theirs, it would be a big help in tonight's game.
So I asked.
"If I think it'd be smart to use their motivation for tonight's game… does that make me too much of a son of a bitch?"
"…No. Not at all."
To Coach Monken's answer.
I said thank you.
There wasn't really anything else to say.
What kind of coach had I been in my past life?
Had I traded players' careers for my own glory?
Had I cleverly deceived the men under me?
I already knew the answer.
Only too well.
Tonight.
I was ready to pour my body into the fire.
Hustle&Grindin'
As always.
【"Thirty years ago, the college football universe was in a state of great excitement. Because the stars collided and realigned. That was the birth of the SEC Championship Game. And in its earliest days, Alabama was there so naturally it hardly needed saying. The old Tide took the first victory, and it took them a full seven years to reclaim the glory they'd ceded to Florida and Tennessee. And in the following century, Georgia would rise to stand shoulder to shoulder with Alabama. A new SEC rivalry was born."】
.
.
【"Alabama's history of winning began with the Nick Saban dynasty. Over the past several years, Alabama's suffocating defense and innovative offense have shifted orbits again and again, delivering victory after victory. And standing across from them: Georgia's head coach, Kirby Smart. Kirby Smart built the foundation of Alabama's defense — and then planted that same suffocating defensive DNA in Georgia."】
.
.
【"In the most electric year of them all, nothing could be more thrilling than this. Alabama. VS. Georgia. For the Championship. Of the. S. E. C. Alabama has marched ahead with their legendary coach Nick Saban. Four titles in five years. Five titles in seven. Alabama was the absolute ruler of the SEC, and Georgia knelt before them twice along the way. Today, no one believes Georgia is the master of the SEC. Until… Today."】
#. December 19, 2020
#-1. Atlanta, Georgia, USA
#-2. Mercedes-Benz Stadium
Three hours before kickoff.
We arrived at the stadium.
"Hey, Pete!"
"?"
"Not over there. Here."
"Ah…."
When I steered Pete — who'd been headed the wrong way toward the bathroom — to the right spot, he asked me how on earth I knew my way around so well.
How did I know?
Because I'd been here in my past life.
Of course, I couldn't exactly say that.
"Saw someone heading in earlier."
"Really?"
"Yup."
After taking care of business alongside Pete.
We walked down the corridor and stepped out onto the field.
The first warm-up.
As always, I scanned my surroundings.
In my past life, this place wasn't called Mercedes-Benz — it was Luzia-Vogel Stadium.
One thing I'd learned living this new life: aside from the people, most things tend to be pretty similar.
Mercedes-Benz here is Luzia-Vogel there, just as Coco Chanel is Maeve Blanc there.
Set aside those few differences.
And everything is identical.
Starting with the exterior that looked like triangular panels stitched together, the circular roof ringed by the jumbotron, the interlocking rotating panels of the retractable roof — all of it matched my memories from my past life.
Everything the same.
And yet everything different.
Living in a world like that while remembering a past life gave me a strange pleasure in comparing them one by one.
Every corner my gaze drifted to.
Kept bleeding familiarity.
And the more familiar it felt, the more certain I became.
That I could play well here.
For a quarterback, vision is everything — so having the scenery around me burned into my eyes meant I could focus even deeper on the field.
"Moi!"
"?"
"Time to warm up, no?"
"Yeah."
Once again, my catch partner today was Jackson.
I moved to one side with him.
Fans were already filling the stands.
"Mo-ii!!"
"I Love You!!"
"Beat Bama—!"
I gave a light wave to the fans shouting their support, then slowly loosened up, tossing the ball back and forth.
During the first warm-up.
I usually goofed around in one way or another.
Running routes like a receiver.
Or making a shooting motion like I was playing basketball.
There were always guys lingering around me besides Jackson — and they did a lot to keep my mood light.
Before we headed back to the locker room.
Coach Monken came up to me.
"How you feeling?"
"Not great."
"What?"
"Heart's telling me I want to throw ten touchdown passes, but somehow it feels like I'll only manage five."
"Ha! Seriously. Go check yourself into a psych ward."
At Coach Monken's talk of the psych ward.
A movie line suddenly popped into my head, and I recited it.
"Clarice? Have the lambs stopped screaming?"
"FUCK!! What the hell have you been watching, R-rated movies?"
"With my aunt. Ah — my aunt's an adult, obviously."
"Given the nonsense you spout, I suppose you're fine."
"I'm telling you, I'm genuinely worried here?"
"Fuck Off."
"Haha."
But honestly.
Five touchdown passes might not be enough.
Chris Smith had filled the gap left by Richard LeCount, our starting safety, reasonably well — but the guy had zero interceptions, and Mac Jones would be targeting exactly that.
Considering that Alabama's primary attack route runs through DeVonta Smith, if Tyrique Stevenson gets beaten, our secondary could become extremely vulnerable.
If things unfold that way, I'd have to read tonight's game as a shootout and attack with everything I had.
Which is why, honestly.
Five touchdown passes might not be enough.
"Wow. That's all?"
"Yeah. And that's the minimum I brought."
"Could I get a pen?"
"Take as many as you want."
With COVID regulations limiting contact between fans and players, autographs usually worked like this now: each school's game-day volunteers or staff collected the photos or jerseys fans held out, laid them on a table, and we were handed pens to sign.
Before signing, it was mandatory.
Hand sanitizer and a mask.
Otherwise it was a rule violation.
Today I quickly signed around ten jerseys and three photos, waved to the fans shouting toward me, and stepped back into the corridor.
One more shower to get completely clean.
Then the uniform on.
Finally, the taping done and secured.
As preparation to step onto the field neared its end.
Coach stood before us.
And he said this:
Today was not the end of the season.
But today, he told us, we were to play as if it were.
Even if we lost our motivation and drifted starting tomorrow.
He would be there to grab us and pull us back up.
So don't hold anything back — pour out everything.
And remember who we were.
Who should be fearing whom.
If we wanted to make them fear us.
Then walk out onto that field and do it.
"I love this team so much. This team has fought countless battles. Truly, so many battles. We might do great things in this game. Or we might make too many mistakes to deserve the win."
"I love this team so much. I don't know what's going to happen from here. And neither does anyone else. The only thing we can control is moving forward. You are fighters, and you are challengers. Think about what you can accomplish. Think about what you can take hold of."
"We will not stop. We will not stop moving in the right direction. I can see the people who love this right in front of me now. If you made a mistake, never look back at it. All you have to say is this: I make a better choice every time. I make the right choice every time. With me! We do not crumble here! Composure. Toughness. Resilience. And what else? Connection. You got that?"
"Believe in me! When we win! Only think of yourselves standing tall when the victory is won! I love every single one of you. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you! So! Let's go out there and fight!!"
With every word Coach laid down in that locker room, I could feel something piling up inside it.
Will.
Trust.
Unity.
Family love.
When that vast space was finally filled to the brim with those things, we all raised our hands high above our heads and roared for victory.
"ONE TWO THREE!!"
"WIN!!!!"
And now.
We were ready to take the field.
Standing before the closed locker room door.
We waited for it to open.
Coach stood at the very front.
Yeah.
I used to stand exactly there, once.
I don't think there's another sport where the phrase "the seat of responsibility" fits the head coach better than football.
Just as Coach says, we are fighters and we are competitors — which means we feel an even deeper disappointment when the leader we trust and lean on makes the wrong call or falls short of the job.
What kind of coach had I been in my past life?
Had I traded players' careers for my own glory?
Had I cleverly deceived the men under me?
No.
Not for a single moment had I ever done that.
Just as Coach Kirby Smart, the man standing there now draped in all my respect, loved every player who ran for him — I too had loved each and every one of my players and been ready to do anything for them.
On the field alone.
I had lived as a sane man.
Only.
In that place.
But not in this life.
And I had no intention of being that way going forward.
Right now I had a family I loved.
And they were out there right now, beyond those walls.
Bad weather in Hawaii had delayed their takeoff, so I hadn't seen them earlier — but when I came back to the locker room, I got a message from Aunt Mel saying she'd arrived at the VIP lounge.
My father's and grandfather's cheers.
Mom's simple plea to come home safe.
And my toughest grandmother — she told me to take it.
My maternal grandmother, as expected, hadn't come.
But she'd called last night, and we'd talked.
I was ready to beat the hell out of Alabama.
Pound their backsides without mercy.
And flatten that pride of theirs into the dirt.
Walking the entire length of the corridor.
My teammates barked like dogs.
WOOF.
WOOF.
This is our identity.
It tells you everything we are.
We are the Georgia Bulldogs.
We tear everything apart without mercy.
In the past, we were the butcher's guard dogs and watchdogs.
The fiercest fighting dogs of them all.
Alabama's players took the field first.
And soon, we ran toward it too.
The SEC Championship Game.
Today, we stand at the very top of the SEC. No matter what.