Same Boat (1)

#. December 2, 2021

#-1. Atlanta, Georgia, USA

#-2. Heirloom Market BBQ

Thanks to my exemplary, hardworking parents, I had grown up in Hawaii always free to eat whatever my heart desired.

Meat.

Fish.

Vegetables.

Fruit.

Everything, quite literally.

In my past life I'd never paid much mind to what went into my mouth, but having eaten properly cooked food made from fresh ingredients since childhood in this one, I'd developed a genuine interest in gourmet cuisine.

Which is why I recommended this restaurant to my family.

Home to some of the best BBQ in Atlanta.

Heirloom Market BBQ.

Of course, Atlanta had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠plenty of other places to get delicious BBQ — but the reason I'd picked this one in particular was simple.

"This is the real deal? It tastes like proper spicy pork stir-fry."

"See? I told you it would."

"Who's the chef again?"

"Ji-yeon. Lee Ji-yeon."

That's right.

The chef here is Korean.

She had filled this tiny space with fantastic flavor by blending the culinary heritage of the American South with the tastes of Korea.

The signature plate was spicy Korean pork stir-fry served alongside a beautifully charred bun holding Texas brisket — the most beloved barbecue meat in America — and they also sold a kimchi slaw, a Korean twist on the classic coleslaw.

And yet she hadn't neglected the traditional Southern spirit either, faithfully putting out mac & cheese, Brunswick stew, wings, and pulled pork sandwiches.

I'd come here a few times with friends after the COVID-19 restrictions eased this year, and every visit had left me with good memories.

My family seemed to be enjoying it too.

"Is it to your liking?"

"It's absolutely delicious~"

"Moi told me he wanted to treat his family to this place no matter what. He's a wonderful guest for me and for Cody, and a good friend — so I'll do my very best to cook everything just right."

Watching Mom and Grandma converse in Korean, Dad seemed to feel a little left out for a moment.

And I, looking down at Kala in my arms, told her:

You'll be speaking Korean fluently soon enough.

"Oh, that's right."

"?"

"Chef. You were a singer in Korea, right?"

"Really?"

"Yep."

The chef had been a female solo artist who rocketed to enormous popularity right from her debut in the 1990s.

Her signature song was "Wind, Please Stop" — and the moment I mentioned it, Mom's and Grandma's eyes went wide.

"Oh my~ You're right! I recognize her face!"

"I told you it would be fun coming here."

"I'll have to get her autograph later."

For the record, I can understand Korean just fine when I hear it.

Speaking it's another matter — I'm just clumsy with it.

Anyway.

This time, rather than the whole restaurant crew, only my parents, my aunt, my grandparents, and Kala had come to the mainland. I'd originally planned to bring everyone, but Uncle Iwai had objected.

Something about how the restaurant's doors would keep opening no matter what, so I should trust him and the rest of the staff, relax, and enjoy the trip?

Mom had been a little anxious at first, but Dad talked her through it and she finally made up her mind.

"Everyone grows, you know."

"Yes— that's true."

You never know.

At this rate she might end up opening a second location.

Thanks to me, Mom's restaurant has been featured on television several times already, and it's now become a bona fide Maui landmark.

Oh, and one more thing.

Paia Fish Market, which had shut down due to the financial damage from COVID-19, has reopened thanks to a fundraiser by the surfers and help from locals who went all the way to the Maui mayor's office.

Business is actually far better now than before the closure, and the line starts forming from early in the morning.

You could call them a competitor, in a sense — but before that, they're family, the same as anyone else on Maui.

Personally, it was news that warmed my heart.

"Mun and Yuri are so grateful to you."

"I'll have to mooch a free burger off them someday."

"You go right ahead and do that."

Kala, having finished every scrap of the pulled pork I'd served onto her plate, tapped my chest and asked for more food.

Aigoo, my little sister.

She certainly can put it away.

The rest of the family watched with amusement as I still treated her like a baby when she'd grown quite a bit, but in front of me, Kala acts as spoiled as can be.

Even things she's perfectly capable of doing herself, she asks me to do for her — and honestly, every time she does, it feels so—oo good.

The moment her shyness at seeing me after so long melted away, she latched onto me and hasn't let go since.

"Oppa."

"Hmm? What is it?"

"Sleep together?"

Oh, my angel of a little sister.

I'd genuinely love to.

But then—

"Oppa has to go work out early tomorrow morning."

"Exer… cise?"

"Yep. Oppa's going to protect you your whole life, Kala, so my body has to be strong. But after tomorrow, the day after that. I'll see you then, okay?"

"Day after tomorrow. Okay! Got it!"

Kala's radiant smile is hazardous to my heart.

Really, how can anyone be this adorable?

My aunt looked at me like I was hopeless and said,

"You know that every time you do this, I feel a little more sorry for Kala, right?"

"Sorry? Please. I'm going to put her through college."

"Good grief, honestly."

Giving my thanks to the chef for allowing us to book out her restaurant for our family, I spent the kind of time that left my heart warm all the way until the moment I stepped outside.

The chef had even prepared extra dishes for us.

Japchae and braised short ribs — things that weren't even on the menu.

"Moi, want to take some too?"

"It's tempting, but I'm all right."

"You sure?"

"Yes. I'm on a game-day meal plan tomorrow."

"Ah, right then. We'll take all of this home with us, then."

"Enjoy."

After loading the whole family into the car Nissan had gifted me, we headed for the hotel where my parents had reserved a suite.

Sure is nice having a big car.

With the goodbye to Hannah and the SEC Championship preparations, this week had been flying by in a bit of a blur, but spending time with my family like this left me feeling steadied.

Somehow.

I felt like I could truly pull this off.

Tap.

"See you the day after tomorrow, then."

"Yes, Dad. I'll call when I get back."

"Drive safe, son."

After Dad, Grandpa and Grandma, then Mom and my aunt — every one of them sent me off with a word about safe driving.

And the last one was, naturally—

"Kiss for oppa."

Mwah.

After Kala pressed her lips to my cheek without a shred of embarrassment, I gave her one more tight hug and, dragging my feet the whole way, climbed into the driver's seat.

Then I watched their backs through the passenger window until the entire family had disappeared into the lobby.

"Whew—"

Well then, time for me to head out too, I suppose?

Music first, though.

"This is the one."

Comforting the suddenly empty cabin with music, I cruised the cold Atlanta roads at an easy pace.

#. December 3, 2021

#-1. Over Alabama

The plane carrying the Alabama football team, airborne for about ten minutes, had passed through a patch of light turbulence and settled back into smooth flight.

Some aboard had feared an accident, but Nick Saban, reading through Georgia's scouting report with his glasses pushed up, wore a face of perfect calm.

"…."

A game they absolutely had to win.

He had worked hard to instill confidence in his team.

Thanks to those efforts, a shared conviction now ran through the Alabama locker room: they would take down Georgia and reclaim the throne of the SEC.

And yet.

This is a fine team.

Georgia this year was an exceptionally good team.

Kirby Smart had done his job properly.

Five years of recruiting, the shrewd hiring of his coaching staff, and — dotting the i's on all of it — the arrival of quarterback Dwayne Moi Stone. It felt like a finished product, complete in every dimension.

A defense widely recognized as the best in the nation.

And an offense every bit its equal.

If one were pressed to name a weakness, it would be the secondary and a receiver corps dotted with freshmen — but that was, as the phrase goes, only if one were pressed.

Nick Saban's gaze fixed on a single line.

"…."

It was hardly a secret that college football had been awash with spies and infiltrators since long ago.

Any program near the top of the espionage game knew most of the play signals of every team they faced in a given season.

In the pros, where communication runs through headsets, sign-stealing is nearly impossible — but in college football, coaches on the sideline relay plays through an arsenal of hand gestures.

Each program's analysts pick those gestures apart, decode their meanings, pass them up to the coaches, and during games feed the intel straight over the radio.

Yet the report received this very morning stated flatly that stealing Georgia's plays this year would be a pointless exercise.

Audible rate of 26%…

Over the last three games, Dwayne Moi Stone had changed the play call on the fly at least once out of every four snaps.

And the success rate when he did so was a staggering—

86.7%.

Sixty total audibles with a mere eight failures — the number almost begged to be doubted.

Of course, "success" here didn't mean touchdowns; it meant gaining even a single yard beyond the original spot of the ball.

But considering that football is a game where joy and grief hinge on a single missing inch, Dwayne Moi Stone's audibles had reached a level that warranted absolute trust.

He would surely run the same plays again in tomorrow's championship game, and Saban worried how much of it Alabama's defense could actually contain.

Removing his glasses and setting them on his thigh, Nick Saban closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest.

"Hoo—"

A sigh escaped his lips unbidden.

In all his years coaching the Alabama Crimson Tide, Nick Saban had never felt like the underdog the way he did these days.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

#. December 4, 2021

#-1. Atlanta, Georgia, USA

#-2. Mercedes-Benz Stadium

It was well past midnight, and the night air had turned sharply colder — though not yet bitter — but the people bustling about under the bright lights felt no chill at all.

Watching the Atlanta Falcons' home stadium transform into a neutral venue for the SEC Championship, Terry Fontenot, still at the office and not yet gone home, felt his emotions churn.

By tomorrow the stadium would be packed with fans cheering on both teams, and when the local media saw it, they would surely say the same thing.

What on earth are the Falcons doing?

Atlanta may be hailed as the hub of Southern culture, cuisine, and sport — but the city's greatest sports team has always been baseball's Braves.

Just three weeks ago, the Braves had held their World Series championship parade through these very streets, and since then, the voices worrying over the Falcons had only grown louder.

Worse still, lately there were serious calls that the Falcons had to bring in Dwayne Moi Stone at all costs.

But the problem was the people on the ground.

Many men in this league — even those with only a year left on the team — despised weakening the roster or deliberately losing games for the sake of securing draft picks.

Matt Ryan most of all.

For the future of the Falcons, he welcomed the idea of Dwayne Moi Stone arriving — but he'd asked, please, not to make the final chapter of his own career a dishonorable one.

It was a polite way of refusing to tank, and when your franchise quarterback takes that stance, tanking is essentially dead in the water.

Frankly speaking, Atlanta's roster wasn't playoff-caliber — but it wasn't bottom-of-the-barrel material either.

An awkwardly middle-of-the-road team in every sense.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Bzzt—

"?"

A call came in from his wife, who had belatedly realized he wasn't coming home. Snapping back to his senses, Terry Fontenot said he was packing up his bag now, hurriedly gathered his things, and left the general manager's office.

The stadium's lights played over the empty office for a while after its owner vanished, and only past 3 a.m. did darkness finally claim the room.

The moonlight, standing in for the departed lights, added its faint glow from high above the stadium's wide-open ceiling.

A single memo sat atop Fontenot's desk.

With the owner, the president, the GM, and the coaching staff all at loggerheads, the team's leadership was now saying the words outright: cast aside the 36-year-old spiritual cornerstone who had given everything for the Falcons.

The logic was simple — bring in a deliberately weak quarterback, break the offense on purpose, and the losses would follow naturally.

And a major factor in all of it was the play of rookie tight end Kyle Pitts, already drawing All-Pro buzz.

As it happened, Georgia had just added a massive freshman tight end of their own in Brock Bowers — and he and Dwayne Moi Stone were putting up spectacular performances every single game, like soulmates who'd found each other.

Arthur Blank had watched it all with eyes spinning ever faster, and he firmly believed Kyle Pitts and a new Falcons era would be built together.

Time kept flowing, and dawn broke.

Staff reporting for the early shift began dressing up the stadium again after its brief three-hour rest, and about two hours later CBS arrived to inspect their broadcast equipment.

This venue — soon to host the most-watched game in the nation today — had been bustling since the small hours.

And in the heart of downtown, local merchants preparing for the day likewise began decorating their storefronts with SEC Championship everything.

The streets that had been quiet through the night slowly came alive, and by around noon, fans in Georgia and Alabama uniforms had staked out their spots all over the city.

"Let's Go—!!"

"How 'bout them Dawgs—!!"

"Roll Tide!!"

Feet were streaming toward the city center, toward Mercedes-Benz Stadium.

In a few hours, the building would hold 75,000 football fans.

@@@

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#. 2:07 PM

I changed into simple workout gear and was the first one out on the field to loosen up.

My family was expected around three.

Which meant, in the meantime—

"Hey."

"Hello, sir."

A different famous face greeted me instead.

Zac Brown.

The famous musician from Atlanta.

"How you feeling, champ?"

"I'm feeling great. How about yourself?"

At my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠question, offered with a handshake, Zac Brown flashed a boyish smile that belied his age.

Every piece of music this man and his band made was superb on a purely technical level — but what made it truly great, what warmed the heart, were the everyday messages woven through it.

There were songs honoring the soldiers who serve the country and teach us that freedom carries a price, and songs offering all kinds of perspectives on family, neighbors, and the lives we live.

And recently, he'd released one to comfort the everyday lives COVID-19 had wrecked and the weary souls ground down by it.

"Same Boat. We're all riding the same boat."

"Haha! You know that song?"

"Yes, sir. The lyrics are really something."

"Ah— you're the best. Send me a DM anytime. Front-row tickets to a concert, on me. Got it?"

"I'll be counting the days."

"Right. Well, I won't take up any more of your time. Good meeting you."

After passing along my greetings to Zac Brown and his bandmates, I headed toward where another group of celebrities had gathered.

Migos and 21 Savage.

And Cardi B, too.

"Heeeeey!! How you been?!!"

Still the same as ever.

Nobody's energy is harder to keep up with than Cardi B's.

People see her uninhibited mouth and get all sorts of wrong ideas, but in truth, whenever there's a mess, it's her husband Offset who makes it — and this woman who cleans it all up with surprising wisdom.

She looks like nothing but fluff on the surface, but she's got unexpected depth to her.

"How's Wave? Doing all right?"

"She's goooood— the nanny's watching her today."

"Nice."

After trading greetings with Cardi, who came bounding over to welcome me, I went and met the rappers, who were posing up a storm.

"Warrup."

"It's ya boy, doin' good. Gonna blow up that Bama ass tonight."

"Damn right I am. And…."

"Yeah?"

"Here, take this."

Another gift.

What on earth is it this time?

He'd given me a rather expensive necklace last year, and this year he'd shown up hauling something that looked every bit as outrageous.

"A killin'-it, straight-up fly bracelet."

"Dayum— that's way too much."

"It ain't too much. All the great men wear stuff like this."

"Pretty sure Washington and Lincoln didn't rock a bracelet like that."

"Well yeah, them homies weren't my friends."

"Fuck. Can't argue with that."

Quavo, who'd been bothered that the diamonds last time were cheap stones, announced the price this time as if that fixed everything.

"A hundred grand? You're out of your mind?"

"That's the price of my respect for you."

"…Damn! What am I supposed to do for you? A Rolls-Royce?"

"Yo. I got two of those already."

"That's insane!"

Honestly, receiving it felt overwhelming, and it wasn't a design I'd ever see myself wearing day-to-day — but a gift is a gift, and you can't exactly refuse one.

I'd have to pay him back properly someday, and do it right.

It was too one-sided in my favor like this.

"I'll wear it. Promise."

"Put it on right now."

"Right now?"

"Yeah! Gotta see if it suits you, don't we? Right?"

"…."

Struggling not to sigh, I fastened the bracelet — which looked, to any objective observer, like an act of financial vandalism — around my right wrist.

Somehow the size was a perfect fit.

Quavo was thrilled.

"That thing was made for you."

"I… suppose so. I think so too."

"Wear it to practice too. Got it?"

"I'd like to, but it's just so expensive…."

"It's fine. Just wear it during practice. Let it be your lucky charm. I'm telling you, every one of your passes today is gonna be money because of this thing. You feel me, Dawg??"

Ye—ah.

Got it.

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠get it.

Realizing there was no escape route left anywhere, I decided to just keep the bracelet on and get my warmup underway.

And then.

"Daym—!!! What the hell is that sick-ass thing?!"

"Are those real diamonds?!"

"Come on, Moi. Just let me wear it once."

"…."

The reaction from my teammates was explosive.

Is something wrong with me?

"Whoa, this thing is actually insane."

"Take it off quick. I'm next."

"Uh. It won't come off. Pretty sure it's mine now?"

"Stop bullshitting and take it off!!"

Watching the guys swarm over a single bracelet, I was reminded of primitive men discovering fire — or a flock of crows fixated on something shiny.

Still, at least I won't be nervous.

For that alone, I owe Quavo my thanks.

The SEC Championship Game, starting soon.

Today, I intend to make it roll my way — the proper way.