The Thing We Look at Every Day

#. 11:41 PM

#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA

#-2. University of Georgia

Barely nine hours ago we had been in Arlington, Texas; about half an hour before now, we'd finally touched down on campus in Athens. The reason we'd rushed was simple — everyone wanted to ring in the new year here, and at the moment I was filming the fireworks erupting over the most crowded spot on campus with my phone.

People I knew well drifted past, stopped to chat, and I exchanged hugs and well-wishes with each of them.

"Did you know?!"

"Know what?!"

"2022 is UGA's centennial!!"

"Seriously?!"

"Yep!!"

"Whoa!! That's freaking awesome!"

The classmate who'd dropped that little nugget of trivia wandered off with a laugh, and I passed the fact along to my mop-haired friend nearby. Right now I was standing with the O-linemen.

"So if we win the whole thing this year, it'd be a centennial championship?!"

"Exactly!! We HAVE to do it!!"

Between the fireworks and the sheer crush of people, we had to shout to hear each other — but the new-year atmosphere coursing through the crowd felt incredible.

Just then the phone in my hand buzzed, and the screen told me Aunt Mel was video calling. I tapped Peter and Justin on the shoulder, angled the camera so both their faces were in frame, and hit answer.

Soon enough, my family filled the screen.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!"

Grinning, I waved along with my friends, and Justin cocked his head toward me and whispered.

"How do you say Happy New Year in Korean?!"

"It's a mouthful. You sure you can pull it off?"

"Let me try!!"

"Listen carefully. Naneun!"

"Nanun!"

"Babo imnida!"

"Babo immeeda."

"Perfect. That's it."

Justin repeated the phrase under his breath a few times, then turned back toward the screen and bellowed at the top of his lungs that he was an idiot.

"NANUN BABO IMMEEDA!!!"

My family's eyes went round as saucers — and then they exploded with laughter. Completely oblivious, my friend gave a proud thumbs-up and turned back to the fireworks with his chest puffed out.

For the record, Peter had fallen for the exact same trick once before, so he knew exactly what Justin had just said.

"You are SO mean!!"

"Don't listen to him, that was straight-up nonsense!!"

Aunt Mel, confirming how deafening it was around us, gestured that we should switch to a voice call, declared that seeing our faces was enough, and told me to phone her once I got back to the dorm. Hawaii was still shy of seven in the evening, so I promised I would and hung up.

"You two are as thick as thieves as always!"

"Look who's talking!!"

"And yours hasn't even called yet!!"

"Any second now!!"

Justin was born and raised in Atlanta, alongside his earnest parents, two younger siblings who idolized their older brother, and a cousin drafted by the Atlanta Falcons just this year. His father, Edward, and his mother, Connie, had met me plenty of times, and whenever they asked me to look after their son, Justin would fire back with a joke that he'd be the one protecting me.

Right on cue, Justin's phone rang.

"See! Told you!"

"Shiiit. Why don't you make yourself scarce?!"

"I was just about to!"

"Heh. One sec."

I clapped Justin on the shoulder as he started his call, then pulled Peter over to where I'd been standing and shifted down the line myself. Cedric and Warren seemed to be trading some hilarious story and I'd been itching to butt in — until I caught them hunched over a phone screen studying a photo of some half-dressed girl. I quietly backed away. Looked like someone he'd been trading DMs with lately, and I had zero intention of meddling in my teammates' love lives.

"?"

I'd taken one step back when someone tapped my shoulder, and when I turned, a face I never expected was smiling at me.

"Emma!"

"Haha. Been keeping well?"

"Well, I'll be damned!"

Emmaline Palmer. Emma was what everyone called her.

Gladness hit me before anything else, and I reached out and pulled her into a hug, easy as breathing.

Hm?

She's changed her perfume?

"How could you tell?!"

"You're not a woman a man forgets easily!"

"Haha! And that's exactly what makes you dangerous!"

"So anyway — how've you been?!"

Since we'd ended things, we hadn't exchanged so much as a text, and I found myself wondering what had brought her here.

"My mom went to UGA!"

"Ah, nice. Did your boyfriend come along?"

"Nope! Single these days!"

"…"

When she told me she was on her own again, I was surprised to find I felt no urge whatsoever to make a move. Emmaline was the most genuinely decent girl I'd met in this life. She'd been seeing someone when we got together, sure — but that was because we both believed in free love, and she was absolutely not the type to ever betray the trust of the person she was with. She was confident and independent, a woman who knew how to be loved rather than to lean on a man. Generous with her consideration, wise enough to make the right choice for her own dreams, and warm-hearted enough to look after others along the way.

But no feelings stirred. Not anymore.

"Any man who ends up with you is getting handed a fortune for free!"

"Thank you! Anyway — it was really great seeing you! Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year!"

The hug we shared one more time carried the quiet certainty of a final goodbye, for both of us.

I was still watching Emma disappear into the crowd when Peter snagged my shoulder, saying the countdown was about to start — time to get our phones out and enjoy our first New Year's on campus.

I whipped my head around, pulled up my camera with a bright grin, hit record, and raised my voice with everyone else.

"10!!"

"9!!"

"8!!"

.

.

And then —

"1!!!"

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!"

HOOOONK—!!

HOOOOOOONK—!!!

The moment the count ended I traded hugs with my friends, celebrating the arrival of 2022 together. I don't know where they'd been, but a group of receivers and a few of the defensive guys had drifted over to where we stood, and before I knew it I found myself planted in the middle of the crowd, where — under their enthusiastic hounding — I was made to bellow:

"BUUUUUUUUULL DAAAAAWWWWGS!!!"

Not just my teammates — every single person within earshot roared the response back at us, and riding the high, we went and kicked off UGA's most famous chant of all.

Who cared. We were already all in.

"WHAT'S IT COMING DOWN THE TRACK—?!"

"WHAT'S IT COMING DOWN THE TRACK—?!"

"IT'S A MEAN MACHINE IN RED AND BLACK!!"

"IT'S A MEAN MACHINE IN RED AND ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠BLACK!!"

"AIN'T NOTHING FINER IN THE LAND!!"

"AIN'T ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠NOTHING FINER IN THE LAND!!"

"THAN A DRUNK OBNOXIOUS GEORGIA FAN—!!"

"THAN A DRUNK OBNOXIOUS GEORGIA FAN—!!"

Somehow, without noticing, I had become the man leading the call in these parts.

But it wasn't over yet.

"GO DAWGS!!"

"GO DAWGS!!"

"GO DAWGS!!"

"GO DAWGS!!"

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOAH—!!!"

"WOOF!!"

"WOOF!!"

I have no doubt the world holds an endless list of fantastic ways to greet a new year.

But I think this one counts too.

No —

As a member of the UGA family, this is the finest way there is.

As the cry of WOOF thundered in from every direction, I hugged my teammates all over again and welcomed in 2022.

Perhaps my last year at UGA.

A year like that.

The fatigue of playing a football game mere hours ago and flying straight here afterward had vanished somewhere far beyond the horizon, invisible to the eye.

#. January 2, 2022

#-1. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, USA

#-2. Steelers Front Office

The most popular team in the NFL may be the Dallas Cowboys, but the team most often crowned its most storied franchise is the Pittsburgh Steelers. Six Super Bowl titles tie them with the New England Patriots for the most in league history, alongside eight conference championships, twenty-four division titles, and thirty-two playoff appearances.

And befitting a franchise with that kind of history, Pittsburgh is also a team built on strict hierarchy and discipline. Traditionally, the Steelers have favored humble, natural leaders, and every year at the draft they place a premium on character and work ethic. They're also known as a franchise that has employed only three head coaches since 1969 to the present day — famous, too, for committing fully to a hire only after personnel decisions of excruciating deliberateness.

Recently, however, the Pittsburgh Steelers have been charting a course that sits uncomfortably far from their reputation.

Last season had stung worst of all. They'd gone undefeated through twelve weeks, on the verge of a historic campaign — and that was precisely when the absence of leadership began to show. The old methods could no longer fully rein in the impulsive outbursts of their young players, and a locker room drunk on its own hype repaid the organization with a playoff defeat that came bundled with the most points ever allowed in a single first quarter.

Fan despair ran deep, of course, and the Steelers' front office had been gutted by it as well. They should have licked their wounds and thrown themselves into preparing for a new season — but when they came back to reality with that humiliating ending, the challenge facing Pittsburgh loomed enormous. Ten months had already slipped by in the effort to somehow fix it.

And still, the anxiety about the future refused to lift.

"…"

Kevin Colbert stood alone in the general manager's office, staring a hole through one of the walls.

He had held the GM post since 2000, and he had steeled himself to retire at season's end alongside Ben Roethlisberger — the quarterback ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he had drafted with his own hands. Nothing had been announced publicly yet, but the men in line to succeed him had more or less read the writing on the wall.

Knock, knock.

Click.

The door opened, and Brandon Hunt, the team's pro scouting coordinator, poked his head in. He crossed the room and settled naturally into a spot of his own, while Colbert, without shifting so much as an inch from his posture, simply moved his mouth.

"I cannot, for the life of me, find an answer."

"…"

"Next year I have to hand T.J. and Cam massive contracts. Which means less cap space than we have this year. Ben's retiring, and we'll need to find a quarterback. And of all the years for it, this year's QB class is flat-out the worst."

In stark contrast to the 2023 draft — already being billed as a historically great quarterback pool — the quarterback class of the 2022 NFL draft was drawing verdicts as the most wretched of the past twenty years. The best-rated quarterback among them would have been a fourth- or fifth-round pick in last year's class. And yet pinning hopes even on that was Pittsburgh's reality, and it was what made Kevin Colbert's heart ache.

"Why on earth didn't we prepare sooner?"

"…Because we're not gods, sir."

"I've heard that one from you before. It doesn't taste so good at the moment, though. We should have started preparing earlier. And I suppose that's all my own stubbornness — insisting on delivering Ben a third Super Bowl."

"You did everything you could, Kevin."

"Appreciate it. So — where did we land?"

The reasoning differed a bit, but teams like Pittsburgh and New England live under the pressure of being winning teams every single year. To be precise, they're expected to reach the playoffs and genuinely contend for the Super Bowl, and the obsession with that mandate leaves them dangerously weak when it comes to rebuilding. When the quarterback who carried the franchise for a decade-plus aged into retirement at exactly the moment the incoming rookie QB pool bottomed out, Pittsburgh's operations seized up almost overnight.

The sole comfort was that Kenny Pickett — the one quarterback they had a realistic shot at drafting — was a University of Pittsburgh product. Considering how badly rookie quarterbacks get shredded mentally when they arrive in the pros to face the fans, starting out with local support simply because you're the hometown boy is a substantial advantage in itself.

But as I said — this year's quarterback crop is the worst. Betting big on it would have been reckless.

"Coach him up well and he'll be serviceable in two, three years. There's some common ground with Ben, anyway. I was planning to send him a playbook tomorrow — we'll gauge his reaction then."

"That's the exact part that worries me."

"Sir?"

"'Serviceable.'"

"What's that supposed to—"

"This is Pittsburgh, son. A decent quarterback gets chewed up and spat out inside a week. Kenny's a local boy, so they'd cut him slack for five weeks at least. But in the end, a decent quarterback will not survive here."

Next year, Pittsburgh would owe at least fifty million dollars a year to two elite edge defenders. Which meant a quarterback of the current caliber could not be retained on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the open market, and the franchise's options narrowed to scratching lottery tickets on talent other teams had discarded, or hunting down a bridge quarterback. Every one of those paths sat miles away from putting a good product on the field, and every one would break the fans' hearts.

Having devoted his whole career to the Steelers, Kevin Colbert — a man brimming with love for this team — wanted his successor to begin his tenure standing on at least the bare minimum of a foundation.

Hence the headache.

"The damn teams won't trade away next year's picks. Nobody knows how they'll turn out. The whole league is bloodshot-eyed staring at Dwayne Moi Stone. And we… we can't so much as dare to glance at the kid. To take him, we'd have to hand T.J. Watt plus a mountain of assets to whoever holds the number one pick in 2023 — and if we did that, my head comes off on the spot. I mean that with complete literalness. Beheaded on the streets of Pittsburgh by an enraged fan."

"Haha. Surely not."

"Do I look like I'm joking right now?"

"…"

At the sight of Kevin Colbert's dead-serious face, Brandon Hunt fell silent, and the Steelers' general manager turned his head back to the same stretch of wall and kept staring.

He'd been doing this for weeks now, hours a day — and no matter what hypotheticals he ran, no route for bringing Dwayne Moi Stone to Pittsburgh materialized.

Georgia's quarterback, with the first 6,000-plus passing yards and 60-plus touchdowns in history well within his sights, was a perfect fit for Pittsburgh.

Ability.

Marketability.

Leadership.

Every year, draft season sent NFL scouts crisscrossing the country's marquee college programs, and even when they came to evaluate other Georgia players, Dwayne Moi Stone's name always found its way into the conversation. Even Najee Harris — the Alabama running back Pittsburgh had drafted just last year — went around the locker room declaring, "That man is the real deal." With Mac Jones, the quarterback who had actually thrown him the ball, right there on the roster, Najee Harris still name-dropped Dwayne Moi Stone more than his own former teammate.

There were even rumors that Georgia alumni scattered across NFL teams searching for a franchise quarterback were quietly leaning on their organizations to bring Dwayne in. Pittsburgh had no Georgia products on its roster, so nothing of the sort had happened here — but even the rumor itself was extraordinary.

"…"

A situation with no answer to be found, no matter how it was turned over.

Kevin Colbert desperately needed a miracle.

#. January 4, 2022

#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA

#-2. University of Georgia

#-3. Van Diver Hall, Room 607

Counting my past life, I've lived roughly sixty-one years, and I'd stake my confidence on not being rattled by just about anything.

This, however, was too rattling.

Reading those few handwritten words, I heard myself say, "Well, whatever your intentions were — mission accomplished."

What sat before my eyes right now was a playbook.

Yes. That thing we look at every single day.

But the one in my hands was not our Georgia playbook. It had flown in from Michigan, far off to the north.

That's right.

This was the Detroit Lions' playbook.

Dan Campbell's playbook, to be precise.

Plenty of teams start mailing playbooks to that year's quarterback prospects from February onward, ahead of the draft — but I had never once heard of a QB with a full year still left in college receiving one.

What on earth was this man thinking?

For now, I gingerly set the thing down on my desk, fetched my phone from the bedroom, and dialed a number. A few rings later, a welcome voice came through.

"Yo, you keeping warm? What's good?"

"Yo. Got a minute?"

"Always. What's up, my brother? I know you miss me, but weren't we saving our reunion for after the season?"

In no mood to trade pleasantries, I fired the question sitting in my head straight out.

"What kind of guy is Dan Campbell?"

"Huh? Out of nowhere?"

My call was with Amon-Ra, of course. Of everyone I could reach, he was the man closest to Dan Campbell — and the one best positioned to know him. He might have been thrown by the question, but Amon laid out the Dan Campbell he'd seen, and if I had to compress it into a single sentence: a stand-up man who swung somewhere between genius and eccentric.

Genius I couldn't vouch for, but the eccentric part? Yeah. That checked out completely.

Which explained exactly how something like this had happened.

"So why do you ask all of a sudden?"

I briefly considered telling him about the object I'd just received, but speaking from my experience as a head coach: in matters like these, a quarterback keeps his mouth shut. I didn't know whether Detroit would someday become my team or not, but I had no intention of smudging my reputation over nothing.

So I just told him I'd seen it in the news.

"Anyway — enough of that. Hear me out on something."

"You mean about how much of a trainwreck you were yesterday?"

"Yo, that one actually hurt."

"Hahaha. So how's it feel, playing for a team where losing is just part of the daily routine?"

"Like ass. You know damn well how it feels, and you're still asking?"

A long-overdue call with Amon-Ra.

The playbook could wait.