Avoidance Is Never Good
#. October 19, 2021
#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA
#-2. University of Georgia
#-3. SAAC
Skipping two full days of classes for the trip to Phoenix had been more than worth it. We'd stayed at a luxury resort in Scottsdale and spent days that were, if anything, warmer and sweeter than ever before. And last night, I'd come back to Georgia.
"If this keeps happening, we're going to have a problem."
"There won't be another one this semester. I swear."
"You'd better hope not."
"Oh, and this."
"?"
"It's a gift."
When I slid the scarf I'd bought in Phoenix across to her, the corner of my teacher's mouth began to twitch upward.
The bribe had landed perfectly. Called it.
"You're lucky I'm good at covering for people."
"You're my savior, honestly."
"Flattery will get you nowhere. Anyway... thank you for this."
"Yes, ma'am. You will tell me my quiz results, right?"
"Of course. What are you doing now?"
"Heading to BMH."
BMH stands for Butts-Mehre Heritage Hall. There's no team training, but plenty to do.
This being a bye week, team practice was wiped off the schedule entirely, and the ten hours we saved had already been half spent as far back as Week 7 — I figured I'd burn through the other half by the end of the season. The NCAA's practice-hour limits run on an aggregate system, so hours saved on rest days can be redistributed and used on other days. It isn't policed all that strictly — going over by a few hours gets quietly overlooked — and teams usually skip practice entirely during weeks without games.
So that stretch is mostly individual training, and when we need field work, the players hash it out among ourselves and form groups ourselves. Having spent three-plus days living it up since Saturday evening, I planned to hit the workouts hard from today through Friday.
The moment I finished changing in the practice locker room and stepped into the BMH player lounge, my friends greeted me the second they spotted me. JC, who was closest, reached out a hand.
"Well, well, look who it is. Somebody's glowing."
"I'm always dashing, thank you."
"Hot nights?"
"Hot doesn't cover it. I was on fire."
"Daaamn! That's my boy!"
After trading greetings with each of the teammates I hadn't seen in four days, I grabbed the vitamins off the table, popped them in my mouth, and headed to the gym to lift. A few of the guys were already grinding away inside.
"Darnell. My best friend."
"This Saturday, right?"
"Yep. You ready to hook some big ones?"
This Saturday, I was planning to go fishing at Sandy Creek Park with Darnell, Jordan, and Brock. Travis Hunter, a recruiting target for next year, had agreed to come, and we'd pay the two-dollar entry fee and pull up catfish, bass, and crappie. There's a limit on the catch and you have to release everything at the end, but fishing was never really the point.
Fishing was just the excuse — I wanted to spend good time with friends and get a better read on this Travis Hunter character. Coach already knew about the schedule too.
"You doing deadlifts with us?"
"Nah. Still in my warm-up phase."
I had no intention of matching the others' workouts today. Having rested Monday and Tuesday, heavy lifting was off the table. Besides, a quarterback's throwing motion is deeply tied to external rotation, which sets our training apart from other positions in a lot of ways.
For bench work, dumbbells beat the barbell for effectiveness, and if that felt lacking, push-ups were the better substitute. If I truly craved a barbell press, once every two weeks or so was plenty. On the flip side, the one non-negotiable was band pull-aparts with thumbs pointed up — from the time we were kids, we were taught we needed at least a hundred reps, minimum.
Beyond that, we learned that pressing movements shouldn't exceed a third of total upper-body volume, and just how crucial shrugs and bicep curls are. That's why the bodies of trained quarterbacks tend closer to a pleasingly athletic build than to hulking, slab-of-meat mass.
Call it looking good in clothes. The visually appealing muscles happen to be the ones that matter most for us.
"Shiiit. What do you bench, man?"
"238."
"I will never understand where your strength comes from."
"Korean-Samoan, remember."
"There you go with the bloodline talk again."
"Dude. Both of them are strong peoples."
"Okay, now you're just flexing your DNA."
I hear actual Koreans aren't like this, but living in America, people of color all get obsessive about their roots. Why? Because rude white folks are forever hitting you with that "Where you REALLY from?" nonsense, so you have to be able to explain you're American while also stating your heritage precisely.
Connect rude white people with it happens often and you could argue there are simply a lot of rude white people out there — and if that's the conclusion you reached, congratulations on your sharp instincts. The people doing the asking are, ironically, always German, Irish, Italian, or Scandinavian themselves.
But there's no helping it. The roots of American culture lie in racialism. Other cultures would find it hard to understand. The same way we can't understand them.
"I'm going in! Going in!"
"Fuck. Don't run."
"Yeehaw—!"
SPLASH!
After lifting, we spent time in the pool to recover, then moved to the sauna and finished off by rotating between the hot tub and the cold plunge. A bye week in the wake of COVID. We were making plans to go out.
* * *
#. October 22, 2021
#-1. Atlanta, Georgia, USA
#-2. Tongue & Groove
Friday night, I arrived at the club Tongue & Groove in Atlanta with four friends in tow. Of all the nightclubs in the city, this was the most famous — a spot that had been featured in major outlets like the New York Times and USA Today. Tonight it was hosting a famous rapper's birthday party, and we'd been invited.
Naturally, I'd reported all of this to Coach in advance and gotten permission on the condition that I keep several promises. When I stepped out of the car, I spotted the man of the hour a little ways off and called out cheerfully.
"21!!"
"?"
Shéyaa Bin Abraham-Joseph. AKA 21 Savage. I'd assumed he was an American born in Atlanta until it came out a couple years back that he was actually from London, England, and in the country illegally — which caused quite the uproar. He's awaiting trial now.
In my experience, cases like this get settled with an enormous pile of money, so he'd probably suffer a few years, then land his citizenship. That's how a guy ends up booking out Atlanta's top nightclub for his own birthday party.
"Yo. Was the ride all right?"
"You sent a car, didn't you?"
"Gotta do at least that much for a king. Thanks for coming. Those your boys behind you? Damn, they're all built like safes."
"Yep. Let me introduce you."
The guys who came with me tonight were, exactly as 21 said, the big bodies of our team.
Jordan Davis. Travon Walker. Justin Shaffer. Broderick Jones.
By pure coincidence we ended up with two from the O-line and two from the D-line. No agenda there, honestly.
"Let's go. Champagne, women, whatever you want, it's ready."
"We'll behave ourselves."
"Heh heh. There's nobody else inside. Just me and my people, you and yours — and nobody brings their phones in. Anyone taking photos or videos gets tossed out on the spot. You feel me? I'll have a limo take you back too, so enjoy yourselves."
"That's classy. Let's go."
Whoa. My first club in this life. And I stroll in with VIP status, no less.
A hazy smoke drifted through the interior — weed or cigars, judging by the smell. I wouldn't be burning anything in here. That crowd usually smokes outside.
21 introduced us to his friends first, and beyond the crew he'd known since childhood, some familiar Migos were in the house to see me too.
"Well, look who it is—!!"
Quavo, who'd been seated among the women, climbed right onto the table, came over the top of it, and threw his arms around me.
Ugh—
The smell. How long has this man been smoking?
But I didn't let it show. He's a guy with a fairly nasty temper, after all.
"Daaamn. You didn't even show for my birthday."
"You were in Europe then."
"Huh? Was I? Kikikik."
The friends were buzzing with excitement at the sight of Cardi B sitting with Offset, and I watched 21 lead them over to make introductions.
And I remained captive to Quavo.
"What about your girlfriend?"
"She went to the club tonight too."
"With the girls?"
"Yep."
"Be careful. You know how it is... sorry. You know how girls all go to the club in a pack and everything? All problems start right there."
I tried to peel Quavo off me — he seemed slightly tipsy, whether from liquor or something else — but I couldn't exactly be rude to him, and suddenly I found myself summoned to his table.
Cardi B took an immediate interest in me.
"Good to meet you. I've heard plenty about you."
"Oh, likewise."
Cardi B held out her hand like a princess expecting it kissed, and after taking it lightly, I shook hands with Offset beside her too.
"Normally I wouldn't let another man touch my woman's hand."
"I was watching my step, believe me."
"Kukukuku. Make yourself at home."
After a bit of small talk while I sipped a glass of champagne, Cardi B came over and asked if I had a girlfriend. Offset answered for me.
"Hannah Palmer? She got an Instagram?"
"Yes. Her handle is... this one."
When I showed him my phone, Cardi B labored to work those famously long nails of hers and pulled up Hannah's account.
"Girl, she WHITE!!"
"Yes."
"Why you dating a white girl when you could have a fine Black woman? You never tasted dark chocolate, have you? Have you?"
Hmm.
There's no way I can say Black women aren't my type here. I'd get shot.
Fortunately, Offset stepped in, played it up as if I had a bit of a white-girl thing, and the mood shifted back to playful.
But Cardi B does not give up.
"Mm. Mm. Mm. That won't do, boy."
Won't do what, woman. Please.
"I got every finest Black girl in Atlanta on lock. All my followers, all my friends. I'll show you — want to pick one out? Or should I just introduce you to somebody here right now?"
Cardi B's persistence was more ferocious than I'd bargained for, and sweating out a polite refusal took real effort. If I were single right now, I might have pretended to lose and taken an introduction. But I wasn't casually seeing someone like before — this was a real relationship, and I had no intention of straying.
Huh? What's that.
"Excuse me a second."
"Where you going? Hey!"
I popped up from my seat, strode forward quickly, and snatched the cigarette one of 21's friends had passed along.
This is not a cigarette. He rolled it himself, too.
"Sorry, but I've got testing tomorrow."
"Yeah?"
"Yep. All of us."
"Well, can't be helped then."
Justin, looking disappointed, smacked his lips and asked if he couldn't take just one drag, and I told him to get his head on straight. That's a one-way ticket to a scandal.
"But he's holding one right now?"
"What? Fuck. I said no."
"Not even one puff?"
"NO! Not in public! Excuse me."
Fortunately, what Travon had been holding was a thin cigar, and aside from Justin, nobody seemed to be actually giving in to temptation.
A little alcohol? OK. Women, drugs — not happening. I'm telling you, just come, have fun, go home. Can't you even manage that much self-control?
"Hoo—"
"Kikikikik."
"Something funny?"
"Everything. You were straight-up the babysitter in there."
Damn it. Demoted from king to babysitter. Status decline: complete.
Still, the fun outweighed the stress, and a party with no guns and no phones just kept getting hotter as the night went on. Part of me wanted to stay longer.
But it was about time to go.
"Oh, almost forgot."
"?"
"Got you something."
The birthday present I'd prepared for 21 Savage was a pair of diamond earrings bought from a jewelry store in Phoenix. Though called diamonds, the quality wasn't anything special — they'd run me about four thousand dollars.
"Damn. Did NOT see this coming."
"Sorry it's nothing much."
"Boy, stop. Can I put 'em in right now?"
"Of course."
"Hold up."
Having swapped out the pair he'd been wearing for my gift, 21 hugged me in thanks, and I apologized once more for leaving first before climbing into the limo and heading back toward campus. The guys grumbled about not getting to stay longer, but we were already a full hour past what I'd promised Coach.
On the ride home, the guys traded stories about the party, and I was looking at my phone screen when I turned my head toward the window.
Messages I'd sent: eight.
Meanwhile...
"..."
Not a single message from Hannah since 10 p.m., all the way past 1 a.m. now.
* * *
* * *
#. October 23, 2021
#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA
#-2. Sandy Creek Park
Drive ten minutes north from campus and you come to Sandy Creek Park, all 782 acres of it. One of the most popular spots for Athens locals, the surrounding community, and UGA students alike, come autumn the foliage around the lake is absolutely stunning.
We come here to hike or lounge on the lawns with our pets, and on warm days people swim or take out canoes and kayaks. I'd visited many times with friends, and come here on a couple of dates with Hannah too.
"! Fish on!"
"Again?"
"Told you. I'm a professional."
I don't exactly fold anywhere when it comes to fishing myself, but disappointingly, Travis was ahead of me on freshwater.
Bzzzt—
"..."
"What?"
"...Could I maybe not check that?"
Travis had noticed my phone buzzing and gestured at it, looking a little uneasy. I long-pressed the button, powered the thing off entirely, and told him to ignore it.
Right now, the only thing that matters is fishing.
That was, of course, a lie.
"Did you two fight?"
"No — we didn't fight. Casting your way."
"Thanks."
With rods draped over both sides of the two-man boat, I tried steering the conversation elsewhere.
But.
"Avoiding it is never good."
"Are you trying to give me relationship advice right now?"
"Just speaking in general terms."
"...It's not like I'm avoiding her, though. Will you believe that?"
"Sure, whatever you say."
Cool response. Cute kid.
Travis, who'd already landed six bass, wasn't far from the daily limit of ten, and I looked over at my friends fishing a little distance off and asked how many they'd caught.
"Three!!"
"Two over here!!"
Damn it. If this kid weren't here, I'd be in first.
I had four.
"Oh!"
"Aw, dammit! Again?"
"It's going, going—!"
Travis owned his own personal rod, his own personal lures, even his own little sonar device. Connect it to your phone over Bluetooth, fire up the app, drop the sonar into the water, and about a minute later it shows up on the screen.
Before long, Travis reeled in his seventh bass, laid his rod down inside the boat for a moment, and — the absolute gall of this kid — said he'd wait for me to catch one more before moving on.
Regretting that already?
...
Still, losing is losing.
Different positions or not, I had every confidence my football wouldn't lose to this guy's even if it killed me — but fishing? I didn't see myself beating him.
"Come to Georgia."
"...Are you allowed to say that?"
"Nope. Why? Gonna read into it?"
"Kukukuku. Come on now."
"I'm serious. Come to Georgia. We're a great team, and we'll be even stronger next year. Getting your college career started on the right foot would be good for you too, right?"
"That's true, but I'm not sure about Coach Kirby."
"Which part?"
As I'd expected, the biggest reason Travis hesitated about coming to UGA was the dual WR/cornerback question. On top of that, he's the kind of guy who wants to be on the field for special teams too — so in effect, he wants in on every single snap. If he pulled off that style in the pros, he'd become an unprecedented player and draw colossal popularity, but unless his body was truly blessed, he'd struggle with injuries after reaching the NFL.
Pro defenses are a different dimension entirely. Truly, genuinely different.
But.
"I'll keep working on Coach for you."
"You'd really do that?"
"Yep. In exchange, you tell me you won't decide anything before Signing Day. That you'll consider us one more time at the end. You can do that much, right?"
"If I go to UGA, we'll still hang out, right?"
"Fishing? Or football?"
"Both."
"Obviously."
From the first time we met back in the first week of October, Travis and I hit it off instantly. Something like kindred spirits, I'd say. This kid is every bit as football-crazy as I am.
"So? What are you going to do?"
"About what?"
"Your girlfriend."
"...Damn it. So we're going there after all."
"I told you — don't avoid it."
It's less that I'm avoiding it. More that it's just tiresome.
The process of trust between two people breaking down, and the feelings that come out of that — with one side forced to swallow it all unilaterally.
Still, Travis had a point.
Avoidance is never good.
I'd woken up around eight, seen Hannah's messages, and felt let down. I told her I needed time to think, sent word that I'd reach out in the evening and that she should rest — and I haven't checked for a reply since.
"I'll face it properly. Properly."
"Good. Oh! Right now!"
"Huh? Oh no!"
A fish that swallowed the bait and made off with it. Whether it was a bass or not, who knows.
Next time, I'll land it for sure.
"Kukukuku. How are you THIS bad at fishing?"
"Shut it. You're the one who's good."
"Kuku."
Beneath a crisp autumn sky, two fishing boats floated on the lake.
We were enjoying the fall right now.