Who Danced the Best Again?
#. September 13, 2021
#-1. United States, Athens, Georgia
#-2. University of Georgia
#-3. Rankin M. Smith Center
I'd finished morning practice and come to the SAAC to knock out an assignment that was due tomorrow.
SAAC.
The Student-Athlete Academic Center.
I dropped my bag carelessly onto the floor, pulled out the snacks and drinks I'd grabbed from the lounge, and set them on the desk. Then I opened the laptop I'd placed out in front of me.
"Working on an assignment?"
"Huh? Oh, hey."
"Want me to help?"
"No, I'm good. Thanks."
"...If it were you asking, I'd help anytime."
"It'll be done in no time. Really, I'm fine."
The girl who turned away, disappointment written all over her face, was an academy mentor named Sherry Krause. Besides the assigned tutors, there were sixteen mentors here who helped UGA athletes with their coursework — all of them regular students, and most of them did it for the credit and the evaluation.
But every year there were one or two girls who were more interested in the honey than the job, and this year Sherry was one of them. The one from last year, I heard, dated a pitcher on the baseball team for a while, and it didn't end well at all.
Anyway.
I had class in an hour, so I needed to finish this fast and get out of here.
Tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap.
...
Click.
Done.
I emailed the assignment off right away. I pulled up my phone to check the time — the whole thing had taken roughly forty minutes.
Nice.
Very satisfying.
I tossed the snack container into the trash, picked my bag back up, and headed out of the SAAC.
"Hey, Moi."
"Hey."
Strangers greeting me — by now I was completely used to it. When it happens a dozen times a day, that's just how it goes.
And it wasn't something only I dealt with, either.
At UGA, football players are the kings of campus.
For the record, the university's other athletic programs weren't particularly strong — it's no exaggeration to say football is the only sport that consistently sends players to the pros every year.
There was a brief spike in the basketball team's popularity back in 2019 when a guy named Anthony Edwards arrived, though.
Come to think of it, I think he DM'd me once, too.
Did I reply?
I honestly don't remember.
"Hi, Moi."
"Hey."
The desks in the lecture halls were a little small, which got uncomfortable.
If it was like this for me, I could only imagine how the linemen felt.
"You made quite the plays on Saturday."
"Thank you, sir. You were there?"
"Section H. Was at Sanford."
"Haha. It was a fun game."
After the UAB game, all kinds of entertaining stories started circulating.
First, UAB's head coach Bill Clark gave an interview: "If you look at nothing but the score, it's obviously an embarrassing loss — but the teams that face Georgia from here on out are going to understand exactly how we felt."
Then he added that we'd be making it to the National Championship again this year, though whether that was an attempt to salvage something from the blowout, I couldn't say.
Beyond that, AD and Brock started drawing some media attention of their own, and our defense was showered with lavish praise — talk that at least nine of the eleven starters would get drafted by NFL teams, that this might be the greatest defense in NCAA history, that kind of thing.
As for me, I received shoutout messages from a great many people. ESPN and every other major national media outlet plastered my UAB stat line and my photo across their social media accounts, and a few NFL teams posted similar content of their own.
People were already talking about which team would draft me in 2023 — though the names on that list were uniformly depressing.
The Giants.
The Jets.
Detroit.
Houston.
Carolina.
Chicago.
If I really did end up on one of those teams, I'd prefer Houston or the Jets, ideally.
Houston because it's in the South, so it's warm. And the Jets — sure, in this life they're counted among the worst franchises in the NFL, but they mean something to me, so they held a certain appeal.
College and the pros are completely different animals, after all.
Going from high school to college, a player can weigh every factor and choose his team. Going from college to the pros, you just take whatever comes.
Ended up on the worst team in the league?
Lose twelve or more games a year, that's all.
Obviously it wouldn't be pleasant, but grind through five years or so of it and you'd get your shot at free agency.
You might even get traded before then.
Raise my value, and anything becomes possible.
"Well then, let's stop here for today."
Finally!
Monday's classes were done.
Watching me snatch up my bag and bolt from my seat, the professor asked whether football meant that much to me.
"What about you, Professor?"
"I love it to the point of madness."
"Well — multiply that by ten, and that's me."
"Astonishing. Don't get hurt, now."
"Yes, sir."
I walked out of the building feeling refreshed, and was about to head for Butts-Mehre when it suddenly occurred to me I hadn't had my coffee today. I changed direction and walked to Jittery Joe's.
When I got there, I was waiting in line to order when one of the baristas inside beckoned me over.
What's this?
"Cream latte with three pumps of caramel syrup, right?"
"Yes."
"One moment."
"Oh — thank you."
The barista, Jenkins, handed me my coffee right away.
"It's on the house. My treat."
"I... don't even know what to say."
"Just think of it as a gift from a fan."
Free coffee.
Never saw that coming.
I wouldn't be getting gifts like this every time, of course, but considering it was Monday, it was the most perfect possible way to start the week.
All right, that settles it.
I have to ask his name.
"Really, thank you. Your name tag said A. Jenkins...?"
"Andrew. Andrew Jenkins."
"Thanks, Andrew."
The moment I got to Butts-Mehre, I figured I'd swing by the equipment room, grab a jersey, and give him a gift in return.
And I'd tell him it wasn't going to be a regular thing, too.
Couldn't have everyone believing free coffee and jerseys were a fair trade, after all.
The afternoon energy dip was starting to creep in.
The sweet latte jolted me awake.
"Ah — that's the stuff."
#. September 15, 2021
#-1. United States, Athens, Georgia
#-2. University of Georgia
#-3. Butts-Mehre Heritage Hall
#-4. Quarterbacks Room
The team we'd be facing this weekend was the South Carolina Gamecocks, whom we'd also met last year. Being fellow SEC members, they'd obviously be tougher than UAB — but this year's Gamecocks had taken a step back from last season's squad.
Cornerback Jaycee Horn and his counterpart at the same position, Israel Mukuamu, had both been drafted — by the Panthers and the Cowboys respectively — and a hole had opened up at inside linebacker too. Ernest Jones had been drafted by the Rams as well, and the consensus was that South Carolina had failed to properly fill the vacancies.
We thought so too.
Meaning me and the coaches.
"The corner quality is garbage."
"Yeah — plenty to attack there."
"How about we run it one more time?"
"Hmm?"
Commando.
Operation Commando was the play we'd used against UAB — the one JB scored his touchdown on.
"JB's underrated."
"...That kid is way too cocky."
"I know. He's got a temper, too. But on the field? He's the real deal. I like working with JB. He's the best on the team at coming down with my deep balls."
Even assuming every wide receiver on the roster stayed healthy, what Jermaine Burton brought to the table was absolutely essential. He was a little lacking in route-running craft and technical refinement, but JB was faster than anyone in our receiving corps and had the best hands on the team.
His ability to reliably secure balls coming in over his shoulder was among the best in the nation, and on jump-ball catches, I'd put him alongside George in the top five I'd seen anywhere.
Jordan was out until at least Week 4, and AD was still a freshman — so I wanted to target JB more often.
The only problem was his work ethic, and his conduct off the field left something to be desired, so the coaches weren't thrilled about him.
That part was a shame to me, too.
"You saw it yourself. The Gamecocks are weak on the back end."
"All right. Fine. We'll use Commando."
"Good."
Corners who got beaten clean off the line, safeties failing to communicate — in many ways it all looked a lot like UAB. The difference was that the D-line and linebackers were clearly better, so I expected far more pressure in the pocket.
"We'll need a little more of the run."
"How about RPO?"
"Looks good to me."
The Run-Pass Option had become a staple of every college football team's offense these days. At its core it was a run-first concept, but the quarterback could read the movements and alignment of the defensive lead man and switch into a play-action pass instead.
Once upon a time, this kind of play was considered wildly inefficient — but that changed in 2009, when the NCAA revised its rules and the RPO entered its golden age.
Before 2009, offensive linemen could only block up to one yard downfield before a forward pass; when that limit was extended to three yards, it became much easier for wide receivers to pick up yards after the catch.
The NFL, however, still enforced the one-yard rule for linemen, which meant the RPO was all but unusable at the professional level.
"Let's practice it tomorrow morning."
"Yes, sir. Is that everything?"
"That's all."
"Thanks for your time."
I gathered my notebook and play book and stepped out of the quarterbacks room.
Someone had asked me recently what the biggest difference was between my freshman season and my sophomore one. I'd wanted to say COVID, obviously, but that didn't seem to be the spirit of the question, so I'd answered like this instead:
"I picked up minions."
Wherever I went in Butts-Mehre, they were attached to me — starting with Vandergriff, who'd been tagging along with me since the beginning, and then Brock and AD, who never left me alone for a second.
They were at it right now, in fact.
Van had been in my meetings from the start, so fine — but how on earth did those two know to be here?
"Are you stalking me?"
"Yep. That a problem?"
"...Fuck. It's almost artistic, the sheer shamelessness."
"Kukukuku. So? What are we doing?"
What are we doing, he says.
It was Wednesday today. The first day of real preparation for the next game — and with everything from Monday and Tuesday piling up on top of that, my plan was to pack some food, head back to the dorm, and go through film at a leisurely pace. Maybe squeeze in an hour or so of online gaming with the guys before bed.
Except, well.
"Just forty minutes. That's it."
"We've got something prepared."
"You're hilarious. Same thing yesterday — and then you made me go ninety minutes."
"Come on. We're seriously hooked these days, I'm telling you?"
"..."
These two were wrecking my plans.
They wanted to throw the ball around at the practice field together. Naturally, I'd be the one throwing — they'd be the ones catching, after all.
I could point out that Brock helped me a ton before the season started, so shouldn't he return the favor? And for the record, I always said yes — I considered it work for the team, even when I was dead tired.
But if I did it again today, that would be three days in a row.
"Fine. Thirty minutes."
"...Deal. But you keep your word this time."
"I swear on my life."
The reason those two were torturing me like this was that they'd both experienced touchdowns against UAB. The moment they crossed into the end zone with the ball in their hands, ninety-some thousand fans erupting in passionate cheers — they remembered it.
That's not something you get to experience in high school.
It must feel like a whole different world.
Come to think of it, I'm probably the calm one here — I actually remember the moment I lifted the Super Bowl trophy, and it left me pretty indifferent.
Their reaction is probably the normal one.
"So? What'd you two come up with?"
"It's called Pat and Matt, and—"
"Oh, that fits you two perfectly."
"Huh? What does?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. Keep going."
"Right, so—"
When the receivers on your team are this diligent, a quarterback's days get more painful than you'd think.
They're working this hard — so I can't just sit around either.
And on that note, these two were...
"You two are NOT helping my life in any way whatsoever!"
"Kukukukuku."
"Eat shit. Dammit. Another full hour gone."
"Come on — you enjoyed it too, admit it."
"Please don't pretend I was having fun with you."
"Bullshit. You loved it."
"Ugh. I need to end this conversation with you gays right now. I'm going to shower. You two can shower in ten minutes. Don't follow me."
"Thanks, Moi!!"
"Fuck you!"
Dammit.
It was already 9:30, wasn't it?
If we couldn't get the job done properly this weekend, I was going to have to put my foot up those damned kids' asses.
#. September 17, 2021
#-1. United States, Athens, Georgia
#-2. University of Georgia
#-3. Butts-Mehre Heritage Hall
#-4. Head Coach's Office
At lunchtime, a summons came from Coach Smart.
Knock knock.
"You called for me?"
"Yeah. Come in."
"..."
Inside were Coach Smart, President Morehead, and a red-haired woman — someone I'd never seen before.
"Our marketing manager."
"Makayla."
"Nice to meet you."
"Have a seat, son."
"Yes, sir."
Once I was seated, Coach Smart brought over a bottle of water for me, and the moment he'd taken his own seat, the President launched straight into it.
At me.
"You, young man, are our Georgia's Ray Lewis."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"First, just take a look at this."
The woman who'd introduced herself as Makayla pulled a tablet out of a black Gucci bag and held it out toward me. Then she tapped the screen and played a video.
"What is this?"
"Fan footage from the UAB game — the moment you took the field, and the hype speech you gave with the team gathered around you."
"Ah..."
Shot from far away on a phone, the footage quality itself wasn't great.
But still.
Why show me this?
"It's already at 320,000 views."
"On YouTube?"
"Yes. The comments alone show the reaction has been explosive. Nothing but praise for your energy. And people are dying of curiosity — wondering what on earth it is you're saying."
"It's just a hype speech."
"And that's exactly what people want."
"..."
Getting down to business, Makayla explained that if I made my entrance ritual a little more special, it could be a huge boost to the school's publicity and image.
So in other words, they were telling me to dance on my way out of the tunnel. Like Ray Lewis.
"It's for the school, after all."
"...And you're okay with this, Coach?"
"Considering the influence you have on this team, I judge it could turn into something quite remarkable."
Unbelievable.
These people, honestly.
"Everything we do is for the team and the school."
"Well, it seems I've walked into a trap."
"Isn't that so?"
"Yes, sir. I'll give it some thought."
"Splendid. Then if you'll excuse me."
"Of course. See you next time."
"Anytime."
Well, putting together an entrance routine wouldn't be a bad thing, honestly.
It wasn't as if I'd never considered it.
The signature entrances of players like Ray Lewis and LeBron James had become icons in their own right, and I'd always planned to think seriously about it once I reached the NFL.
It was just...
I never expected it to happen at the college level, and that's what had thrown me.
In the pros, each player is respected as a business in his own right, with every consideration given to growing his brand value. In college, where amateurism is the sacred creed, no such thing exists.
True, with the NIL restrictions now lifted, the amateurism the NCAA had always preached had grown fuzzy at the edges.
But pivoting this fast?
And this was SEC Georgia doing it?
"You don't seem too thrilled, son."
After the President and the school's marketing manager left the head coach's office, Coach Smart closed the door, came back, and we had a much more honest conversation.
I'd only said what I'd said because the President was standing right there, after all.
"It's not that I'm not thrilled. I'm worried."
"Worried? About what?"
"Whether it actually makes the team better."
"The team will rally around you. Honestly, it runs against my own values — but it's not something I can refuse, and my belief that it'll be good for the team? That part was sincere."
"..."
When Coach Smart put it that way, there was nothing left for me to do but accept it.
Now — who danced the best again?
That's where I'd have to start.
03 00 00 07 – 10 South Carolina
21 23 17 00 – 61 Georgia (#1)