Rose Bowl (2)
AT&T Stadium
Thirty-three playoff appearances.
Twenty-three division titles.
Ten conference championships.
And.
Five Super Bowl victories.
The Dallas Cowboys—ranked by Forbes as the most valuable sports team in the world every single year since 2016—carried a price tag of roughly $5.5 billion.
That was more than a billion dollars above Real Madrid, the globally renowned soccer club valued at around $4.2 billion, and their worth was still climbing year after year.
America's Team.
The home stadium of the most popular franchise in the nation had opened its doors today to the coaches and players of the two schools set to face off in tomorrow afternoon's Bowl game.
"Damn. This team is legendary."
"How 'bout them Cowboys. Isn't that our catchphrase?"
"It's their original, you moron."
"Oh— really?"
"And you call yourself a football player. Unbelievable."
Georgia's players were following their guide on a tour of AT&T Stadium's interior, taking in the finest facilities the NFL had to offer.
The same scene was playing out in the sections where Notre Dame's players were gathered, and in a little while, the two teams would come face to face across opposite sections of the stands.
Moving among the Georgia players was a stocky, broad-framed man.
Mike McCarthy.
A head coach whose credentials spoke for themselves—he had delivered the Super Bowl trophy to the Green Bay Packers in the 2010/11 season.
These days, he commanded the Cowboys.
"Everyone, it's a pleasure to meet you."
"Damn— it's Mike McCarthy."
"A Super Bowl-winning coach just walked in."
McCarthy, who had seized the attention of every Georgia player in an instant, introduced himself briefly, wished them an exciting football game, and moved along.
The Georgia players assumed he was headed to visit Notre Dame next—but where he actually went was the owner's office.
Jerral Wayne Jones.
(Jerral Wayne Jones)
Or simply, Jerry Jones.
He had amassed an enormous fortune through insurance and oil drilling ventures, and aside from on-field results, his business acumen as an owner was widely regarded as exceptional.
"1989!"
"…Here we go again."
"Yes. Just bear with him."
"Ahem."
Having heard Jerry Jones's voice even before taking his seat—the man was standing at the window, gazing out—Mike McCarthy lowered himself into his own chair.
And still, Jerry Jones kept talking.
"1989! With a single trade, we grabbed hold of a bright new future! Four players! Three first-round picks! Three second-round picks! And one third and one sixth-round pick on top of that!"
The trade Jerry Jones was recounting is known to this day as the most lopsided trade in NFL history.
It was the trade centered on Herschel Walker—the man who had led Georgia through its golden era in college, earning three All-American selections, three SEC Player of the Year awards, and the Heisman Trophy.
At the time, Dallas had received first- and second-round picks spanning 1990 through 1992 from the Minnesota Vikings as part of the deal.
And with the players selected from those picks, the Cowboys went on to win three championships across the 1992, 1993, and 1995 seasons.
It remains, to this day, regarded as the greatest single trade ever executed—the one that transformed a franchise with no Super Bowl hopes into the very best in the shortest time imaginable—and it stands as Jerry Jones's crowning achievement.
"So tell me—how far do you think we can go?"
"…Dad, what's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like, Charlotte. I want you all to judge for yourselves: what kind of team is Dallas right now, and given the assets we hold and the future ahead of us, how far can we actually go?"
Having finished his speech, Jerry Jones turned around.
Then he spread both arms wide.
Something about the gleam in the Dallas Cowboys owner's eyes and the smile hanging at the corner of his mouth sent a small chill down Mike McCarthy's spine. He coughed a few times and hastily glanced around the room.
Everywhere he looked.
There were Joneses.
The Dallas Cowboys are the only team in the NFL without a general manager—the owner, Jerry Jones, commands everything himself.
His eldest son, Stephen Jones, serves as president and oversees operations; his eldest daughter, Charlotte Jones, works as executive vice president supporting her brother; and the youngest, Jerry Jones Jr., handles marketing.
The Jones family, a clan so obsessed with football it would be no exaggeration to call them fanatics, runs the most valuable sports franchise on the planet.
"In my opinion, it's time we engineered a second Herschel Walker trade."
"Father, what you're saying is…"
"It means it's time to hit the reset button."
"…"
A bombshell, out of nowhere.
Mike McCarthy's eyes went wide.
What in God's name is this nonsense?
Hit the reset button? Now?
He wants to tank next season?
And the Cowboys, of all teams?
They said this place was like New York's cutthroat media circus multiplied tenfold—but only on the football field. If Jerry Jones, of all people, openly declared a tank job here in Dallas, he'd be staring down a firestorm of backlash unlike anything he'd ever seen.
More than anything else.
He never told me about any of this.
Back when McCarthy had interviewed for the Dallas head coaching job, Jerry Jones had talked about a modest retooling—building a team capable of jumping back into Super Bowl contention.
And now, not even a year later, the man was suddenly declaring a full-on rebuild.
The reason wasn't hard to guess.
Dwayne Moi Stone.
The greatest freshman quarterback in college football history, widely credited with carving his own middle name into this year's Heisman Trophy.
But.
He won't be draft-eligible until 2023.
The senile old coot.
Mike McCarthy deeply disliked where things were heading, but there was no one in this room who could stop Jerry Jones from steamrolling his own children's objections like this.
Within this organization, Jerry Jones was God.
And from the mouth of that very God came another bombshell.
"We're selling Dak Prescott."
Watching his owner announce his intention to trade away his top priority for re-signing in the upcoming offseason, Mike McCarthy found himself seriously questioning whether he had made the right career choice at all.
A third NFL team would be entering the race to acquire Moi.
And that team, it appeared, would be the Dallas Cowboys.
Hyatt Place Dallas / North Arlington
Any other night, I'd have been asleep hours ago.
But tonight was New Year's Eve, so I stayed up.
Out in the hallway beyond my wide-open door, teammates were running around in a frenzy, and a few of them had trumpet-like things clamped between their lips, blaring obnoxious noise.
And I sat at my desk.
On a video call with my family.
"Can you hear me okay? I'm telling you, it's a total madhouse out here."
"Haha. I can see that. Aren't you tired?"
"A little. I have to be up at 5:40 tomorrow morning, too."
We'd rise before dawn, eat breakfast right away, get through the morning meeting, and then catch a bit more sleep. The second meeting came at 10:40, followed by a quick lunch at the hotel, and at noon we'd arrive at AT&T Stadium to prepare for the game.
"They're a good team, but we're going to win."
"We believe it, too."
"Moi? What about your grandmother?"
"She's coming. You're scared already, aren't you?"
My maternal grandmother had arranged to come to the stadium with the folks from her motorcycle pub, the ones who normally cheered for the Dallas Cowboys.
My friends were beside themselves with anticipation over it.
"A romance novelist. With a villa that comes with its own truffle field. And a Harley on top of that. She acts like meeting her is like meeting a superhero. It's so ridiculous it's not even funny."
While we were talking.
Aunt Mel popped up on the screen.
"Moi!"
"Mel! How've you been?"
Aunt Mel was still working in Kahuku, and she was slated to become the football team's academic advisor starting next year or the year after.
"The boys had better behave themselves."
"They will. They've got you, after all."
"Me? I'm way out here."
"Even these days, whenever I'm walking around school, students come up and ask me about you. The football boys behave reasonably well in my classes, too. They all want to meet you so badly."
"I guess I'll have to swing by. If only for your sake."
"Haha. People are going to love it."
It hadn't even been a full year since I graduated high school.
And yet it felt like something from a lifetime ago.
I missed the people around the school, too.
No—
Truthfully.
I missed Hawaii.
"Mel."
"Yeah?"
"The ukulele in my room—that one. Could you send it to me?"
"Of course. I'll tune it up and ship it out."
"Thanks. Really."
Once this Bowl game and the upcoming National Championship were over, winter break would end too.
Which meant, naturally, that I couldn't go back to Hawaii until the spring semester wrapped up in May—and if I wanted to fill the emptiness that nothing else quite could, I figured I'd need to pull out the ukulele from home now and then.
I also wanted to hold on to the parts of myself that had been growing a little hazy lately—my Samoan identity, and the fact that I was a child of the Hawaiian islands.
Roots matter. A lot.
"Oh, and one more thing."
"?"
"Lately, tour agencies have been reaching out. Says Korean tourists want to come eat at the restaurant. Who knows if they'll actually manage the trip, but it's an odd thing. You know as well as anyone—Paia isn't exactly a neighborhood Koreans flock to."
Aunt Mel figured it was because articles about me had been getting heavy coverage in Korean media recently.
When I asked how she knew that.
She'd investigated it herself, apparently.
"Isn't the internet a wonderful thing?"
"Fair point. Dumb question on my part."
"Mm. Besides, everyone in our family speaks at least some Korean, don't we? With a little help from a translator, we found out there's quite a buzz about you. It doesn't seem like anything overwhelming, mind you."
Hmm.
So that explained it?
Recently, more and more comments on my social media had been coming from unfamiliar usernames.
Not all of them, obviously.
But there were quite a few Koreans, it seemed.
Speaking of which.
Korea, huh.
In my past life, an accident had taken my parents before anything about my roots ever came up—but in this life, I'd heard plenty of stories about my heritage from Grandma, from my maternal grandmother, and from Mom.
Thanks to them, I spoke Korean, ate Korean food, and had developed a genuine interest in Korean culture.
K-pop and dramas.
Movies, and the like.
I'd also built friendships with Korean-American players—those who'd made it to the NFL, or who were playing in the NCAA like me.
Nothing earth-shattering, maybe.
But Korea did feel like a special place to me.
"TEN!!!!"
"Huh?"
"NINE!!!"
Caught up in conversation with my family.
I'd lost track of time, and the countdown had already begun.
I snatched up my tablet, hurried out into the hallway to show my family the scene, and even though Hawaii sat four hours behind us, my family counted down right along with me—just for my sake.
"FOUR!!"
"THREE!!"
"TWO!!"
"ONE!!"
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!
It had been a brutal year thanks to COVID, but we'd held up. We'd fought through it, all of us.
Jordan sidled up beside me and threw an arm around my shoulder, and we cheered together. Then I turned back to the screen and, slowly and clearly, spoke the Korean sentence I'd known since I was a child.
"Saehae bok mani badeuseyo."
The hallway was so loud my voice never made it through.
But my family on the screen was smiling radiantly.
That was enough for me.
However bittersweet it felt.
From here on out, I knew there would only be more and more New Year's Eves spent this way.
"I love you. All of you."
"I love you too!!!"
"Haha. You hear that, everyone? Zamir says he loves you all too!!"
It was a far less lonely New Year's than I'd expected.
And I promised my family.
I'd give them a victory.
(Reece Davis) — ESPN Studio Host
"We are live from a slightly overcast Arlington, Texas! Happy New Year, everyone!! I'm Reece Davis, and you are watching ESPN's very own College Football GameDay. As always, this broadcast is brought to you by The Home Depot."
"It's the Rose Bowl Game! The most-watched college football bowl game since 1945. Every year, two universities clash in a fierce battle for the Leishman Trophy. Today it stands as one of the six New Year's Six Bowls, and on occasion, it becomes the game that decides who advances to the National Championship. This year is exactly one of those occasions."
"The Georgia Bulldogs! And the Notre Dame Fighting Irish! Two teams representing the SEC and the ACC go head to head. Of course, Notre Dame is only ACC-affiliated for this season—but I digress. We'll be right back after a short break!"
AT&T Stadium
00 – 00 Notre Dame (#5)
00 – 00 Georgia (#1)
"Damn—! Is that your grandmother?"
"Yup."
"Damn—!! Who are all those people next to her?"
"Friends."
"Whoa-oh. Your friend group is wildly diverse, man."
I agreed.
One hundred percent, in fact.
It was true—my friend group was genuinely, spectacularly diverse.
My maternal grandmother had planted herself smack in the middle of the student section behind us, and she was surrounded by a crowd of people I'd never seen before in my life.
There's a phrase in English—men and women, young and old, all alike.
I doubted anywhere on earth embodied it better than that spot.
"She looks so young."
"I'm sure she hears that a lot."
"She looks about the same age as my mom, I swear."
"Where's your mom, then?"
"Uh… over there. Mom!!"
Zamir pointed to one side, broke into a huge grin, and waved. I waved along with him.
Just like at the SEC Championship, the stands of AT&T Stadium today were packed with the families of the players.
"Where's home for you again?"
"NC."
"Lucky you—this is way closer for you."
"This whole thing is one big 'screw you' to California."
Strictly speaking, tradition held that the Rose Bowl was played at Rose Bowl Stadium in Pasadena, California.
The game's very name was taken from its venue, and the event itself was part of Pasadena's beloved New Year's festivities—the famed Rose Parade included.
But in early December, California's governor had declared that the game would be played with no spectators as part of the state's COVID-19 pandemic response, and amid a firestorm of criticism, the venue was moved.
Our own head coach had joined that chorus of critics—the school's request to at least allow players' family members into the stands had been flatly denied.
Fortunately, the City of Pasadena and the Pasadena Tournament of Roses Association, who held the rights to the name, permitted its continued use.
And for us, the change wasn't bad at all.
The travel was far easier.
"Moi!"
"They're calling me."
"Go."
I walked off toward one side.
Some unfamiliar man approached me.
An ESPN credential hung around his neck.
A sideline reporter, probably.
Looking to ask me this and that before the broadcast started, no doubt.
"Good to see you."
"Hello."
"I'm Allison. Mind if I ask you a few things?"
"Yes, sir."
Most of the information broadcasters and sideline reporters share during a telecast is gathered exactly like this—by coming up to us directly and asking.
In my past life, back when I was a head coach.
I'd had this experience plenty of times.
"What was Coach's final message in the locker room?"
His final message, huh.
One thing shot straight to the front of my mind.
"Let's go to the National Championship."
"…That was it?"
"There was plenty more, but that's what Coach left us with at the end. Honestly, that one line was more than enough."
"Thank you."
"Anytime."
When the broadcast went live later.
They'd open the show with what I'd just told her.
Ah—
Wait a second, though.
Had she asked for Coach's final message to me?
If so, I'd just given her the wrong answer.
That line had been meant for the whole team.
Coach's message to me, personally, had been.
[ "Go out there and tear them apart." ]
Well.
Then again.
That version probably works better for broadcast anyway.
Thinking that, all things considered, it had worked out for the best, I gave a casual shrug and turned away. I walked back to my spot, picked up a ball resting on the bench, and slowly loosened up my shoulders.
There was still.
Time to burn before kickoff.
(Sean McDonough) — ESPN Play-by-Play
"It is the Rose Bowl Game, presented by Capital One! And it doubles as a College Football Playoff Semifinal! For the first time since 1925—no, the second time in their history—Notre Dame appears in the Rose Bowl. Ranked fifth in the nation, the Fighting Irish! Awaiting them is the number one team in the country, the SEC Champion Georgia Bulldogs, making their first Rose Bowl appearance in two years since their run to the 2018 National Championship."
"A Happy New Year to all of you. And for college football fans, what a thrilling way to start the year—with this game. Hello, everybody! I'm Sean McDonough!"
"Nobody quite expected Georgia to field a powerhouse this dominant coming into the season. As you well know, the CFB has been ruled by Alabama for the better part of a decade. But this year, Georgia became the first team since the dawn of Nick Saban's era to beat Alabama twice in a single season. Are we witnessing the opening of a new era? How do you see tonight's game playing out?"
(Todd Blackledge) — ESPN Analyst
"For Georgia, this will be a tough game in a very different sense. Brian Kelly is a coach who has historically performed well against the strongest teams in any given year, and he knows how to handle the pressure of a stage this big. Notre Dame is going to try to pound Georgia into submission physically—you'll want to keep your eyes on what happens at the line of scrimmage."
(Sean McDonough)
"It would be no exaggeration to say that Georgia's offense this season has been carried by this young man. The frontrunner for the Heisman Trophy—Dwayne Moi Stone! An astounding 46 touchdown passes on the season, 3,920 passing yards, and a jaw-dropping completion rate of 78.8%."
(Todd Blackledge)
"He's the most complete quarterback I've watched in years. His composure in the pocket and his rapid processing are hard to believe from a true freshman, and he brings a full toolkit to the table. Quick passes. Play action. The scramble. If Notre Dame wants to win this football game, they have to do exactly one thing: stop Moi."