Prove It

February 6, 2021.

Tampa, Florida — Tampa International Airport.

It was around the 25th of last month when the call came in from Patrick Mahomes.

Mahomes wanted to invite me and my friends to Super Bowl LV, and told us we'd be watching the game from a place called the AEROVANTI Lounge.

And so, the away squad was assembled.

George. Jordan. Peter. Darnell.

And last but not least, me.

"Why does it take him so long to change clothes?"

After arriving comfortably in Tampa on business class, the first thing we did was shed our outer layers. Maybe because everyone had already been through the National Championship, they'd all worn short sleeves under their hoodies and coats. I slipped off my zip-up hoodie and stuffed it into my bag.

But Jordan was suspiciously silent. He'd gone into the restroom, and it had already been…

"Is he taking a dump?"

"You go check."

"Me? Why? That sounds like a chore."

"Damn it. What the hell is he even—"

Oh. My. God.

What on earth was that?

Jordan emerged from the restroom looking like a budget-tier Rick Ross. Shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and a chain necklace.

The outfit itself I actually kind of liked.

But the necklace. And those sunglasses. That was a lot.

"Isn't that a bit much?"

"It's exactly the right amount of much."

Jordan strutted out, oozing swagger like he expected applause, while we showered him ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with insults and agreed it was his flavor of ugly.

When had he even gotten that necklace fitted? It didn't look like something he'd brought with him.

"Super Bowl, so I had it made. What do you think? Drippy, right?"

"Is that thing real?"

"No way. I paid seventy bucks for the whole set."

"Real bargain-bin stuff."

"Doesn't matter how cheap the drip is — my radiance is non-negotiable. You feel me?"

"Yeah, yeah. You're so special."

With our very conspicuous Jordan in tow, we headed off to pick up the rental.

"Oh my goodness."

"?"

"Dwayne Moi Stone! Right?"

"Oh — yes. You know me?"

"You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone in the South who doesn't. Goodness gracious — you were the one who made the reservation? One moment. Hey, Mikey!! VIP customer!! Twenty minutes!!"

Normally we'd have just done the paperwork, checked the car, and been on our way.

But the man with the name tag reading L. Willis led us somewhere, then recommended a Chevy Tahoe that was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠more expensive than the Explorer we'd originally booked.

Not that we needed it.

We'd barely be driving at all — just shuttling to the hotel, and then to the stadium tomorrow. That was all we needed the thing to do.

"I'll keep it at the same price."

Well, then.

Best jump on it, obviously.

The Tahoe's a good truck.

"In exchange, could I trouble you for a photo and an autograph?"

"Of course. Absolutely. Although…"

"Yes?"

"Are you okay with the friends standing behind me?"

"…Oh. You're all football players too."

"Hurk!"

At the expression of L. Willis — who clearly hadn't had a clue — I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

The look on my friends' faces was a sight to behold.

Why did they all look like dogs that desperately needed to relieve themselves?

A few of them had visibly taken a body blow.

Delighted, I snapped photo after photo with L. Willis and signed until my hand was sore, then hopped into the driver's seat feeling sunny.

Tap.

Tap.

"Son of a—. This is so unfair."

"Being a quarterback is basically a cheat code."

"Kukkuk. This is hilarious."

"Shut up! It's only funny because it's happening to me!"

"And that's why you're the one driving."

"Tch."

For the sake of my friends, whose pride looked a little wounded,

I decided we should get ice cream.

"Well, in that case, that changes everything."

"Dairy Queen. Let's go."

"Everyone in agreement?"

They all seemed fine with it, so I pulled over onto the shoulder for a moment and searched the GPS. As it happened, there was one right on the way to the hotel.

"Let's roll. To Dairy Queen—"

"LET'S GO!!"

"Dairy Queen Baby!!"

Simple creatures, the lot of them.

Which is exactly why I like them.

And I'm no different.

I hoped this — our first trip outside Georgia with the guys — would be the first of many just like it.

2:50 PM. Downtown Tampa.

We dropped our bags at the hotel Mahomes had arranged, took a short nap, then got all dressed up and headed into the city.

No destination in particular. If we'd been in Atlanta, we might've strolled in and out of pubs and clubs without even flashing an ID, but this was Florida — and the chance of getting tangled up in some pointless rumor was that much higher, so the plan was to keep it wholesome.

Darnell, scrolling through his phone, suggested the aquarium.

"Is it far from here?"

"Hmm — maybe fifteen minutes on foot?"

"Not bad."

One of us could've scoffed — five grown men going to an aquarium? Really? — but living through the COVID era, boxed in as we were, it actually sounded nice to go see one together. The moment we heard there was a dolphin show, we were sold. We checked the price, and everyone chipped in forty bucks.

By the way.

Darnell handled the money.

Because he was the least likely to screw around with it.

"Jellyfish kind of gross me out."

"It's less gross, more painful."

"Painful? For real?"

"Yeah. You've never been stung?"

"Not even once."

"Ah — right. You're from Maryland, my bad."

For the record, Jordan had still never actually played in the ocean. I really need to drag this kid to Hawaii one of these days.

When I told him about getting stung by a jellyfish while surfing, Jordan scrunched up his face and declared he would never, ever swim in the ocean.

Unbelievable.

Scaredy-cat.

Chattering away like that, we soon found ourselves in front of the aquarium, and Darnell went to the ticket booth as our representative and came back with the passes.

Click.

"Hm?"

"What?"

"Someone just took a picture."

"For real?"

Nothing around us was particularly loud, so the shutter sound had come through clearly.

Eh.

Did it really matter?

We weren't doing anything wrong.

Telling George not to worry about it, we headed inside — and while we were busy looking around, a post went up on Instagram.

"I've made up my mind."

"About what?"

"If I make it to the NFL and make it big, I'm raising a beluga whale."

"You lunatic. You think that's happening?"

The time we spent at the aquarium was a blast. Every one of us left satisfied.

It was that awkward hour — too late for lunch, too early for dinner.

We looked up the nearest donut shop.

"So what now?"

"Shopping, maybe?"

"Shiiit. I'm broke."

"Let's go to Nike."

"What? Why?"

Telling them to hold on a second, I placed a call to Leigh Steinberg. There was a Nike store in the nearby Hyde Park Village, and I figured I could treat each of the guys to an outfit and a pair of shoes.

Steinberg said he'd confirm right away.

Soon after, a message came through.

"Let's go. It's a free shopping spree."

"DAMN—! Now that's a beautiful sentence. Free shopping!!"

"Let's go!"

Truth be told, before we'd even arrived in Tampa, I'd gotten a DM from the owner of Qvesoir, a famous nightclub. Word must have spread that Mahomes had invited me to the Super Bowl, because a man named Liavese Geneva was promising the VIP treatment of a lifetime if I'd come through his club. He even mentioned the rapper Kodak Black would be there — but one look at the club's Instagram and I politely declined on the spot.

I could see exactly what kind of place it was.

Booze and drugs.

Prostitutes.

If underage kids like us showed up somewhere like that — in the middle of a pandemic, no less — the fallout would have been catastrophic. It was obvious from a mile away.

And I hadn't told anyone about it either.

No sense letting the guys talk me into going.

Knowing them, they absolutely would have tried.

"We can really pick anything?"

"Yup."

"Goddamn. Moi. As of this moment, you are my best friend."

"Hold on. As of THIS moment??"

"…I'm just gonna go look over there."

Damn it, Jordan. You ungrateful little—.

As of this moment? So I wasn't your BF until just now?

Deciding I'd pay him back for today somewhere on the field next season, I shook my head slowly.

Dude. I'm the quarterback, remember?

Who else is going to put the ball in your hands?

Unbelievable.

"Excuse me."

"Yes, Sir."

"Would you mind taking a photo with us before you go? Our regional manager insists we post it on social media."

"Oh — of course. Absolutely."

Business is business.

I've got a role to play too.

Click.

COVID-era entertainment options were admittedly thin, and just walking around came with plenty of restrictions — but with your friends around, any situation turns into a good time.

New outfits secured,

we strutted out of Nike like a pack of fashion models.

Well.

A pack of fashion models made entirely of dork.

February 7, 2021.

Tampa, Florida — Raymond James Stadium.

Raymond James Stadium — known by the nicknames Ray Jay or The New Sombrero — is the home field of the Buccs.

Like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠every football stadium worth its salt, this one has its signature landmark: the fake pirate ship built into the north end zone. The steel-and-concrete vessel fires its cannons off every time the home team, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, scores a touchdown — noise only, of course. It's not real ammunition.

Setting that aside, the facility had long ranked among the shabbiest in the NFL, so much so that a recent renovation had cost $160 million.

The NFL's message had been blunt: "Your facilities are a joke. No renovation, no Super Bowl."

But you can tell money was actually spent, because these days you'd never know it had ever been a dump.

"MA BOY!!"

"P.A!!"

Mahomes, because pat and fat sound so similar, hated people calling him Patrick that way — so we usually went with Mahomes, or P.A. He came striding down one side of the corridor and pulled me into a warm hug.

"So glad you could make it."

"It's my honor. Thank you for the invite."

"And I'm guessing these are your friends?"

"Yup. Let me introduce you. From this end — George Pickens, Peter Skoronski, Darnell Washington, and Jordan Addison."

The guys were a little—

no, quite a lot— starstruck.

Hard to blame them, though.

Mahomes was a superstar football player. An idol, even if you weren't a quarterback.

One of the greatest quarterbacks alive, he was the highest-paid athlete in all of American major sports. Last July he'd signed a monstrous ten-year, $503 million extension with Kansas City — a deal that leapfrogged not just every contract in the NFL, but every mega-deal across every major sport.

Making that kind of money.

That was every college football player's dream.

"By the way — I heard the news."

"What news?"

"Eric. I'm sorry, man."

"Yeah… it's made things a lot harder, but all I can do is give it my best shot. I've gotta head out now — enjoy the lounge, it's all free eats and drinks in there. Just don't overdo it. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Yes, Sir. You guys have fun too."

Even after Mahomes left, we lingered nearby as the Chiefs players arrived to greet family and friends. A few of them recognized me and came over to say hello first.

We took pictures with them too.

Click.

"Thank you, Travis."

"Anytime. Go win it!"

"Haha. I'll give it my best. The Buccs are a good team."

Since most of my friends were receivers, they actually seemed more thrilled to meet Travis Kelce and Tyreek Hill than Mahomes himself.

Then someone came walking toward us with a bright smile — and it turned out to be one of our own Georgia graduates.

"Well, look who it is!!"

Mecole Hardman.

He'd played at Georgia through 2018. Naturally, I'd known we had two alumni on the Chiefs, but we'd never shared a field, so I hadn't recognized him right away just from his face.

The other receivers were too busy taking pictures with Austin Rieter to even notice this side of the room.

"Heard you were coming out here."

"Yeah. It got kind of loud."

"So, is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"The social media stuff. That you went to the aquarium, hit Nike, grabbed pizza to-go, and went straight back to the hotel?"

"Ah — yup. That's us."

"Kukukukuk. You guys are incredible."

We'd brought the PlayStation from the dorms on the flight out, and last night we'd ordered seven pizzas and a mountain of other food and gamed until dawn. One hotel staffer, apparently at Mahomes' request, had quietly smuggled in beer and wine, so there was a modest amount of drinking involved too.

"Sounds like a blast. Ah — I miss college."

"Well, this year COVID wiped out everything, so."

"Yeah, that tracks. It'll get better, though."

"I hope so."

We were in the middle of a pleasant chat with Mecole when Mahomes came sprinting back over, breathless. He said he'd forgotten something.

"Don't head up yet — come watch us warm up in a bit."

"Oh — is that allowed?"

"There's a zone VIPs can access. As long as your masks are on properly and your group keeps its distance, you're fine. Tom Brady will probably recognize you, so it'd be good for you two to meet."

"Whoa — thank you."

"Came over just to tell you that. See ya."

Tom Brady.

If Patrick Mahomes was the present — and the future —

then Tom Brady was the past. And the present, too.

The undisputed greatest quarterback of all time.

The ten Super Bowl starts Tom Brady had made to this point were at least five more than any other quarterback in history had even appeared in, and his six titles were at least two more than anyone else's.

The first football game I ever watched after being reborn and growing old enough to sit in front of a TV had been a Tom Brady game.

Sorry, Mahomes.

But I want to be Tom Brady.

Not as a player.

In stature. In standing. In how history judges me.

Would I actually get to meet him?

Even if not, this was already a great experience.

Watching a Super Bowl warm-up from this close.

Obviously, I'd seen warm-ups more times than I could count.

But the guys hadn't.

"Whoa—oh. It's TB12."

There was no denying it — Tom Brady carried a distinct aura about him.

It probably came with the GOAT title. As of right now, the number of athletes universally regarded as the GOAT while still playing — not after retirement — was exactly two, and Tom Brady was one of them.

Soccer.

Tennis.

Whatever.

The moment Tom Brady appeared, my friends couldn't tear their eyes off the living, breathing legend — while I, on the other hand, took in his every movement through a slightly provocative gaze.

Once I made it to the NFL, my ultimate goal would obviously be to win more Super Bowls than anyone in history.

But part of me wanted, first, to get past Patrick Mahomes — and then, ultimately, to take Tom Brady's seat.

That's what this second life was for.

And if I couldn't pull that off?

Then I was just an idiot.

I was starting from conditions far more favorable than anyone else's.

And I still couldn't manage it?

Unacceptable. Absolutely not.

"Oh — he's coming this way."

"…"

Just as George said, Tom Brady approached us.

This was the Chiefs' VIP section, technically.

But other teams wandered through all the time without any fuss.

Brady walked over unhurried and broke into a wide smile.

Then he spoke to me first.

"I was wondering why my eye kept drifting over here. It's you."

"Hello, Sir."

"Haha. Just Tom is fine."

"Yes, Sir."

The moment I shook Tom Brady's hand,

I felt something catch fire in my chest.

By the time I reached the NFL, this man would most likely already be retired. But going up against a legend past his prime was nothing compared to the satisfaction of surpassing the records he left behind.

"Hey, Tom?"

"?"

"I'm going to surpass you."

It was not the sort of thing you said at a first meeting.

My friends gasped in horror beside me, all of them staring like — what kind of lunatic— — and of course, I didn't care one bit.

Tom Brady himself looked a little surprised too.

But then he grinned and said,

"Prove It."

"Yes, Sir."

Damn it all.

The season had barely ended.

And already.

My body was itching to play football.