This Much Brightness Is Just Right

#. 11:13 AM

#-1. East Rutherford, New Jersey, USA

#-2. Quest Diagnostics Training Center

#-3. New York Giants Front Office

The NFL operates the most complicated salary cap system of any league in the world.

At its foundation, it's a Hard Cap.

No exception, for any reason, may push a team past the limit.

And the second pillar is the salary calculation formula, which operates on the principle that the pay and bonuses a player receives in a given season are reflected as their Cap Hit.

What counts toward that figure is the salary the player actually collects, the portion of their signing bonus that applies to that particular year, and finally any incentives the player earns. Together, those make up a single player's cap hit.

And there's a perfect example of it sitting right here.

Below is a hypothetical contract structure based on a rookie deal.

If that player makes the active roster, his 2021 season cap hit comes to $19.5 million — the three bonuses (signing, roster, and workout) plus his base salary, all added together.

And if he throws fourteen touchdowns that season, his cap hit the following year rises to $21 million with the incentive tacked on.

With fifty-three men on the roster and options like these woven into so many contracts, salary cap management inevitably grows complicated — which is why every team employs staff dedicated to handling it.

This is why rebuilding in football is so difficult.

If, right when a team is finally climbing back into contention, a particular receiver or lineman cashes in his options and pockets extra money, the next year the franchise is forced to part ways with him just to manage the cap.

The roster weakens, and the team goes hunting for rookies or bargain-bin free agents to fill the gap.

Naturally, the odds of success plummet.

But there's another reason as well.

Another reason rebuilds fail so often.

And ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it is this.

"Let me ask you a question."

"?"

"When did the Super Bowl era begin?"

"Easy. 1967."

"Yes, correct. 1967 it is."

"Right answer."

"??"

Here, in this room, sat a man who had decided that this year would mark the end of his long life as a professional football man.

Dave Gettleman.

Starting as an interim scout for the Buffalo Bills in 1986, he had worked in NFL front offices ever since, leaving behind a long record of accomplishments and anecdotes.

His four years leading the Carolina Panthers — his first general manager job — were especially famous. He took the post in 2013, and just two years later, in 2015, he guided the team to a 15–1 regular season and a Super Bowl appearance.

His gift for rebuilding a broken team was recognized overnight. Since taking over the Giants, however, he'd struggled somewhat.

Gettleman gave a small nod and threw out another question.

"Then, a second question."

"…."

"…."

"Can any of you name the greatest No. 1 overall pick quarterback of the Super Bowl era?"

A brief silence fell.

But soon, the staff members began to speak up one by one.

"Uh… John Elway?"

"A good answer. Anyone else?"

"Terry Bradshaw. The man has four Super Bowls. He won Super Bowl MVP twice, too."

"Impressive. No other opinions?"

Among the quarterbacks taken first overall since the Super Bowl era began, four could be singled out as having the most dazzling careers.

The two already mentioned — John Elway and Terry Bradshaw.

And then Troy Aikman and Peyton Manning.

All four shared a common résumé: at least two Super Bowl victories, an equal number of Super Bowl MVPs or selections, and a minimum of five Pro Bowls.

The closest anyone else came was Eli Manning — two Super Bowl titles, two MVPs, and four Pro Bowl selections.

Strictly speaking, though, calling Eli Manning a No. 1 overall pick was a bit of a stretch.

He was, in truth, the fourth overall selection.

And there had been a controversy, too.

Back then, the Chargers held the first overall pick in the NFL Draft, and Eli Manning — refusing to play for them — mobilized even his father Archie Manning in a public campaign against it.

In the end, Eli was drafted first overall by San Diego before being shipped off to the New York Giants, the team he'd wanted all along.

He also became infamous in the process for informing the Giants, "I'm the first pick either way, so I expect to be treated like one." — a statement that drew plenty of jeers from fans.

And because of it, a considerable number of Giants fans still disliked Eli Manning to this day.

"The answer I was looking for was Peyton Manning."

"Why is that?"

"Simple. Because he was a genuine No. 1 pick."

"Uh… I don't follow at all."

To his puzzled staff, Dave Gettleman offered a patient explanation.

"First of all, John Elway is the same as Eli Manning."

"That's… true, I suppose?"

"He was drafted by Baltimore originally, wasn't he?"

"He was. Present-day Indianapolis."

John Elway — who became president of the Denver Broncos starting this very year — had also launched a media war after the draft, declaring he had no intention of playing in Baltimore.

Elway had once been regarded as a promising baseball prospect as well, and he threatened that rather than suit up for Baltimore, he'd go play for the New York Yankees instead.

Unwilling to watch the first overall pick slip through their fingers with their eyes open, Baltimore sent the western-bound Elway to Denver.

"Neither of those two started from the weakest team."

"Fair enough — they landed in situations that were at least better."

"Right. And Aikman goes without saying."

Troy Aikman, recorded as the greatest quarterback in Dallas Cowboys history, was flawless on pure ability — but among untraded No. 1 overall picks, no one had ever started from a more favorable environment.

Thanks to the massive haul of draft picks from the Herschel Walker trade, Aikman got to play alongside talent far beyond what any rookie class could normally offer.

That left Terry Bradshaw and Peyton Manning — and weighing the circumstances of their teams and their league, Manning held the edge.

He had succeeded from a far harsher starting point.

"Now, for my third and final question."

"…."

"…."

The men in the conference room, initially baffled by this sudden pop quiz, were now leaning forward, ears pricked at the story a battle-hardened veteran was passing down to them.

And over it all, Dave Gettleman's voice seeped in.

"Twenty-six quarterbacks have been drafted first overall since the Super Bowl era began. And yet sixteen of them came after the year 2000. In the thirty-four drafts between 1967 and the millennium, only ten quarterbacks were ever taken No. 1 overall. But everything we've just been discussing — every single name — belongs to the era before 2000. Why do you suppose that is?"

"…."

"…."

Looking around at the row of men struck dumb, Dave Gettleman considered it only natural.

No one had ever cared to ask.

And yet it was a topic of considerable weight right now.

Despite the rate of quarterbacks selected first overall tripling since the turn of the century, the number who went on to genuinely successful careers had fallen to less than half of what it once was.

So what, exactly, was to blame?

Gettleman knew the answer. He'd sent the Giants a steady stream of counsel for two years now — only to have it die as a hollow echo in the squabbling between the club's two feuding owner factions.

Having left his staff deep in thought, Dave Gettleman walked out of the conference room and cast a cynical eye toward the Giants' future.

A team neither one thing nor the other. Mediocre in every direction.

That, precisely, was the future he saw.

Sooner or later, they'll be kicking themselves.

In modern football, a rebuild isn't accomplished simply by adding one great quarterback to the roster.

If a team truly means to reform itself, the very first thing it must do — the moment the season ends, before March arrives — is bring in a capable head coach and coordinators who share his philosophy.

And if the player they intend to draft is a quarterback, that groundwork absolutely must come first, or the odds of failure balloon.

Gettleman had argued since last year that the team needed a hard reset and the right man at the helm — and the franchise currently doing the best job of exactly that was the blue one up in Michigan.

Click.

Yet one more reason rebuilding in football is so hard.

It was that the vast majority of owners were—

Idiots.

They understood football not at all.

#. 4:27 PM

#-1. New York City, New York, USA

#-2. The 9 Studios NYC

I landed at a New York airport around ten in the morning and headed straight to the studio to meet with the people from EA Sports.

First I changed into the uniform they'd brought, then we shot promotional photos and videos; during a short break in the middle, I even sat for a casual interview with one of the staff members.

Something about it going up on social media?

I filmed a clip of my own, too.

That one was improvised on the spot — around noon, I'd put out a message saying EA Sports College Football was being shot right now.

The reaction was tremendous.

It spread across the internet in an instant.

Media outlets everywhere ran features on next year's release, and as the hashtags blazed through trending feeds in real time, EA's PR manager wore an expression of pure satisfaction.

After a lavish lunch, I squeezed into something like compression tights, got strapped with sensors, and captured the motions that would be used in the game.

Every movement a quarterback makes, of course — but they meticulously recorded everything down to running and blocking as well.

When they mentioned that my run-blocking would be recreated in the game, I happily shared the joy with everyone around me.

And now, today's schedule was done.

"Hoooh—!"

I stepped outside and stretched with everything I had.

After being cooped up indoors all day, even New York's winter wind — the kind that chills you down to your lungs — felt strangely welcome.

People really are fickle creatures.

"Where to now?"

"Wherever you'd like. The hotel works too."

"Hmm, I'd like to do a little shopping."

"Sure. What do you need?"

"Not for me."

"Oh, right."

My parents were coming to New York on Saturday.

Aunt Mel and Kala were coming along too.

So I wanted to buy a watch for my father to wear at the awards ceremony, and necklaces for my mother and my aunt.

As for Kala, I was still deliberating over what would suit her.

May as well ask the staff.

"Fifth Avenue it is, then. That's where the hotel is anyway."

"Works out nicely."

New York's Fifth Avenue — the city's quintessential retail strip.

Luxury brands gathered there in force.

If you wanted the most expensive, most dazzling shopping this city could offer, the answer was simple: head to Fifth Avenue in Manhattan and don't think twice.

A great many things had changed compared to my past life, but the landmarks and the character of the city itself were identical, which made plenty of things easier.

Tap.

Settling into the back seat of a white sedan with a deep tan, I pulled out my phone and checked Snapchat.

My friends, only now catching the video, were sending reactions that made the whole thing feel worthwhile; I answered them, then switched over to the room where my family exchanged messages.

Seemed the family had finally watched it too.

"Anything good on there?"

"The family Snapchat."

"Watching you, family really does seem special."

"Family always comes first. Doesn't yours?"

"Haha. Mine has… circumstances."

Neither of us seemed eager to dig any deeper, so the conversation drifted naturally to the New York schedule.

Tomorrow morning I had a cover shoot with GQ, and after lunch I was set to meet Sports Illustrated for an interview.

Sports Illustrated had actually offered me their cover as well, but the agency turned it down — the cover had become something of a jinx, with so many bad things befalling whoever graced it.

And in the evening, I'd received a dinner invitation.

From a baseball player.

Aaron Judge.

The Yankees' pride — one of MLB's premier sluggers.

"So?"

"?"

"You're declaring for the draft in 2023, right?"

"Unless something unusual happens."

"That's great. Where do you want to play?"

Left to pure personal greed, of course I'd want a team in a warm-weather town — but honestly, all of that was meaningless talk.

Cases like Eli Manning's happened now and then, but I had no intention of throwing a tantrum and forcing my way to a team or a region I liked.

Whichever team held the first pick would simply come take me.

Whether it was the team that originally owned it—

Or one that had traded its way up to get it.

Considering that wherever I landed, I'd have to grind for at least four years on the rookie deal — five with the franchise tag — I hoped the sane, competent organizations drafted me.

I didn't want a Dallas, where the owner's shadow loomed so large the GM was a scarecrow. I didn't want a Chicago with a general manager like Ryan Pace, incompetence distilled into human form.

I refused to spend five years on a losing team.

A place where I could grow — that was the best case.

The NFL being the most socialist of all American sports, that was about as far as my wishes could stretch.

"That's remarkably modest."

"I'm just an island boy."

"Haha. You're more cheerful than your reputation suggested."

The conversation trailed off naturally, and I turned my head to gaze out the window, lost in thought.

In my past life, the Jets had been purchased in 2005 by an owner whose daughter — mocked by everyone at first — swung a bold reformer's blade, cutting out the rot and ushering in the franchise's fourth golden age.

Thanks to her, I'd even gotten to become a head coach.

Things were similar here, except that in football, a pure East Asian was treated as "What could you possibly know?" — and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠no matter how capable, I was always dealt an unfair hand when it came to personnel decisions.

My own promotions had been slow relative to my ability and results, and for a long time I assumed being an assistant coach was the best I'd ever get.

But the owner's daughter, who held the reins of day-to-day operations, ran personnel strictly on performance. When I took over as offensive coordinator and overhauled the team's entire attack that year, she put me in the head coach's chair two years later.

That's how the right kind of team operates.

And not just because it's my story.

It was commonplace for men with no ability to become general managers or head coaches simply because they shared an alma mater or a hometown with the owner or a senior executive.

Why do you think I called it socialist?

This was an extraordinarily closed world.

Plainly, the easy ride would last only through college.

The real challenge ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would begin in the pros.

"It's going to be fun."

Thank God Wade Buck, behind the wheel, hadn't heard that quiet murmur to myself.

#. 11:31 PM

#-1. The Langham, New York, Fifth Avenue

I'd announced on social media this morning that I was headed to New York, and before long a DM arrived.

From The World's Hottest Hockey Player.

Mikayla Demaiter.

A girl living in Ontario, Canada — she'd been messaging me regularly since last year, and after Hannah and I split, she'd gotten considerably more forward.

Mikayla said she'd come to me tonight if I wanted her to, and with no reason to refuse, I accepted.

She did have a boyfriend, but, well.

That wasn't particularly important.

Ssshhh—

After a satisfying first round and a second round that burned considerably hotter, Mikayla was in the bathroom now, washing up.

Whether there'd be a third, I wasn't sure — but one thing was certain: she wasn't getting much satisfaction from her current boyfriend.

You could tell just by looking.

Frankly, that was the part I liked.

Officially, Mikayla had come to New York shopping with her girlfriends, so she'd be heading back to the hotel she'd booked for herself now.

"We really have to do this again sometime."

"Works for me."

"Well then — bye."

"Yeah. Get home safe."

Click.

Casual relationships are undeniably convenient.

Give someone your heart, and they start to expect things.

And expectation inevitably drags disappointment along behind it.

When those dark feelings come creeping in — I think what I want is a woman I could still love all the same.

But for the time being, I also just wanted to keep enjoying myself.

Thump—

I leapt onto the bed like I was diving into it, its surface still marked by the evidence of the evening, then crawled up toward the headboard to find the phone I'd left by the pillow.

With the college football regular season wrapped up, everyone was talking playoffs — and the consensus had us and Alabama squaring off in the championship again, just like last year.

Cincinnati and Michigan were, by all accounts, a step behind us in raw personnel, so it was a fairly orthodox prediction.

"…."

It was only a single day, but stepping away from a life consumed by nothing but football and classes — coming back to New York — had stirred up a flood of memories from my past life.

I'd briefly considered visiting the house I'd once lived in, if time allowed, but quickly dropped the idea. What ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would be the point?

When I closed my eyes, I could almost hear the roar of Jets fans.

The atmosphere of MetLife Stadium washed over me.

The memory of that decisive moment painted itself across a blank canvas.

"I told you! They're weak on the outside—!"

"Weak on the outside."

Simply because I was an Asian American, it had taken me an agonizingly long time to earn people's respect.

Even when a player's mistake was unmistakable, the media tripped over themselves to blame my play-calling, and a few cowardly players, after leaving the team, pinned particular losses on me.

There were moments I nearly broke — betrayed by someone I'd trusted, wounded by what that betrayal cost me — but in the end I overcame it all and won the Super Bowl.

In that very game where everyone had sneered that my outsides were weak, right after the timeout, every last player ran exactly the play I called — and we punched in the decisive score.

"…."

Hm. No goosebumps, as it turns out.

Maybe because I was recalling it the way one reads a book.

I opened my eyes briefly, reached my arm up over my head to switch off the lights, and watched the concrete city softly illuminate the darkened room.

Once upon a time, looking at this very sight had filled me with emptiness.

But right now — this much brightness was just right.