In Fact, I'm Having a Great Time

#. Around the Same Time

#-1. Jacksonville, Florida, USA

#-2. TIAA Bank Field

While the Indianapolis Colts' home stadium had been filled with the cheers and joy of Georgia fans, some 800 miles away at TIAA Bank Field in Jacksonville, Florida, a heavy shock had settled over the crowd. More precisely — over the section where the Colts fans were sitting.

At 9-7 as of yesterday, the Colts had needed a win to keep their playoff hopes alive, and against the worst team in the league, the Jacksonville ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Jaguars, a comfortable victory had been all but guaranteed.

Every media outlet had pegged the Colts' win probability at 80 percent, and there had even been predictions that this was finally the year they could snap the dreaded 'TIAA Bank Field losing streak.'

But the result was a crushing defeat.

The Colts' defense had managed to turn Trevor Lawrence — a quarterback who had not delivered a single impressive performance since his professional debut — into an elite-level passer.

Since the bye week, Lawrence had played nine games of football at a level painful to watch: 3 touchdowns against 9 interceptions.

Worse still, the Jacksonville fans had shown up in full clown makeup, carrying horse-head models. That was precisely why the Colts now felt as though they'd handed the victory over like an offering.

Meanwhile.

"…."

"…."

The Indianapolis players, still on the field and staring up at the jumbotron, each hung their heads, unable to hide their anguish.

Their playoff hopes had hinged on the Pittsburgh Steelers and Baltimore Ravens — playing at that very same hour — finishing in a tie. Instead, the game had gone to overtime, and a field goal had ended it.

Even though they'd held the highest odds of any team in the playoff race, the Colts' season ended in failure.

Naturally, the mood was miserable, and the disappointed players scattered into isolated corners, each searching for someone to blame.

The head coach.

The coordinator.

And the quarterback.

Especially many eyes turned with resentment toward the team's starter, Carson Wentz.

Early in the second half, just when a comeback was needed, he had coughed up a fumble on a sack — a catastrophic blunder — and he'd also been seen pinning his own mistakes and struggles on his receivers.

As the Colts' locker room turned into a funeral parlor.

"WE WANT MOI!!"

"WE WANT MOI!!"

Outside TIAA Bank Field, enraged Colts fans were crumpling Carson Wentz jerseys, throwing them to the ground and stomping on them, while raising their voices for Dwayne Moi Stone.

"WE WANT MOI!!"

"WE WANT MOI!!"

Jacksonville fans, delighted by the spectacle, filmed the whole thing and uploaded the videos to the internet.

The comments piled up in seconds.

The moment news of the defeat reached him, Chris Ballard — who had been at his home in Indianapolis watching the College Football Playoff National Championship instead of the Colts game — said this to the owner on the phone:

"I'm pressing the reset button."

Indianapolis's tanking had been decided.

For the two days after returning to campus from Indianapolis, I did nothing but attend parties. I didn't even have to host them myself — the wealthier, more influential kids on campus threw National Championship victory parties, and all I had to do was show up.

I drank, but I never touched drugs.

I had sex, but I cleaned up after myself thoroughly.

Only with girls who were safe, after all.

And today, Thursday.

I left on vacation with my friends.

#. January 14, 2022

#-1. Chatham County, Georgia, USA

#-2. Tybee Island

#-3. Rental Villa

"Hey!! Check out this bathroom!!"

"…DAMN----!!!"

"This bed is enormous!!"

I figured I'd watch how far my friends would carry on before they abandoned their humanity entirely, but a headache was already coming on, so I just tossed my bag into whichever empty room was nearest.

Honestly rented from a company that operated under the plain name 'Tybee Island Villa Rentals,' the place had 11 bedrooms and 8 bathrooms.

Outside, there was a pool large enough for twenty football players to swim laps in, six jacuzzis, and a spa big enough to fit every single guy here with room to spare.

Peter, who had been surveying the living room with a delighted expression, asked me how much I'd paid for it.

"About $1,200 a night?"

"Only?"

"They gave me a discount once I dropped my name. It was almost a third off."

"Whoa — that's awesome. They're fans of yours?"

"Yup. Said they'd come by for an autograph later."

"Cool. I'm taking the room up front."

Peter planted his flag on a room near the entrance that no one had claimed yet and dragged his suitcase toward it, but James Cook came sprinting out of nowhere and slipped in first.

Peter, dumbfounded, pounded on the closed door — but I told you, in the wild, if you want the good stuff first, you have to move fast.

In the end, Peter took one of the other empty rooms.

"The fridge is huge too."

"Did you do all the organizing?"

"Yeah."

Sedrick is a remarkably calm guy once he steps off the field.

His hobbies are viewing paintings and sculpture.

He'd been interested in art since he was a kid, and his kind, close-knit parents steadily supported him, trusting their son — which is how he grew up without a single dent in him, a genuinely good person.

He was great at football, too; he'd been a nationally regarded center prospect for years.

"Then I'll go drop my bags in a room too."

"Go for it."

The noisy interior quieted down for all of a moment — then the guys came back out changed into their swimwear and it was loud all over again.

There were eight of us here in total.

Me, Peter, James, and Sedrick.

Brock, Jackson, Nolan, and Lewis.

The others had either gone home, or planned to spend the rest of the weekend partying daily in Athens and Atlanta.

The guys who came here were the ones who agreed the partying could stop for now.

We were going to swim, surf, and fish.

Tonight's plan was to grill the meat and sausages we'd bought at the supermarket and pair them with beer. I'd wanted to do a Korean-style BBQ, but finding the ingredients anywhere near Savannah was next to impossible.

It didn't help that I didn't know the area either.

"Moi! Aren't you coming out?!"

"You guys go ahead! I've got food prep to do!"

"…."

The instant I mentioned food prep, Lewis's lips started smacking.

"What crap are you about to spout this time?"

"Can I say it?"

"If I say don't, will you actually stop?"

"Khehehe. Mom! Holler when dinner's ready!"

Lewis finally got his jab in, put on a look of immense satisfaction, and dove into the pool in front of the villa, while the guys poured the booze-laden punch from the ice boxes into cups and drank.

That stuff was made for us by the owner of the bar on campus, and there were two more ice boxes stuffed to the brim besides it.

We'd come in three cars, and one of them had been loaded entirely with food.

"Alright, let's see…."

I propped my phone up wide across one side of the kitchen, put on a drama, and started breaking down the ingredients.

Besides the BBQ, I planned to treat my friends to traditional Hawaiian food today — garlic shrimp, and a Hawaiian-style seafood steam pot adapted from Southern Cajun cooking.

I was also going to make loco moco sauce ahead of time; later, when I grilled the meat, I'd cook patties too, lay them over rice, top them with a fried egg, and pour the sauce over the whole thing.

Damn.

My mouth was watering just thinking about it.

The Hawaii trip was probably going to start later than usual this year — I had a packed schedule after this trip with the friends wrapped up.

First, I'd head back to Athens the day after tomorrow for a day of rest, then fly to L.A. early in the morning on the 17th.

I'd visit the agency office — which I hadn't set foot in once since signing — and in the afternoon, at Matthew's invitation, watch the Rams-Cardinals playoff game from the VIP section.

According to Matthew, there'd be a lot of players' families there, and since they were all good people, I should get to know them.

I'm not exactly the shy type.

I figured I could manage it.

After that, I'd stay in L.A. for about a week clearing various commercial schedules, and if Kansas City advanced to the second round, I'd have to go to Arrowhead to catch a Chiefs game.

And the following week, I had to meet the WWE people in St. Louis, Missouri, to practice for my special appearance at the Royal Rumble.

Apparently I'd be attending parties of one sort or another a number of times in between, but that wasn't important, so I set it aside.

I'll go if I have to. Whatever.

"Damn!"

"Hm?"

"Is that smell coming from that thing right there?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Lewis — who'd apparently been headed for the bathroom — came walking in toweling himself off, smacking his lips, and sidled up beside me.

"C'mon. Gimme just one bite."

"What?! Eat it at dinner!"

"Don't be like that. You know how I am, Big Bro. This magical tongue of mine will discreetly assess whether you're Michelin-grade, or food-truck-driving-around-the-country-scraping-up-cash grade. Show me some class. Fork over a bite, pronto."

"Tch. If I don't, you're just going to keep yapping, aren't you?"

"You'll never know peace. Not ever."

"Fuck."

I scooped up some of the finished loco moco sauce with an unused spoon, told him to blow on it first, and held it out to Lewis.

But this guy had no intention of taking the spoon.

He shook his head and gave me a pointed look.

"You've… you're telling me to feed you?"

"Dude. Show me some affection."

"Oh, for fuck's sake. This — this — is the gayest moment I've had since I was born with body hair."

"Hehehe. YUM!"

I hated having saboteurs around while I cooked, but reluctantly, I brought the spoon up to Lewis's mouth.

At that, he scrunched up his face like he was some kind of Iron Chef judge, smacked his lips a few times — and then suddenly flung the towel around his neck down onto the floor.

"What the Fuck?"

"This is art."

"What?"

"This is ART! DAAAMN-! Moi!! My boy can COOK!! Come here, hug me, friend! Slap my butt too. BAAM!! If you were a girl, I'd have proposed to you today, man."

Lewis, who could not possibly have been more obnoxiously loud, finally headed off toward the bathroom — staring holes into me the entire way, looking back over and over until he disappeared from sight.

Ah — complete lunatic.

And more lunatics outside.

For one very brief moment, I wondered why on earth I'd decided to bring these guys on vacation — but a little more reflection led me to the conclusion that I wasn't exactly normal myself, so of course I had, and I shrugged.

In fact, I was having a pretty great time.

The loud voices of my friends out there enjoying their vacation to the fullest — and the sight of Lewis, shamelessly laying on the flattery right beside me a moment ago — proved it.

Come to think of it, weren't they roughly grandchild-age?

In my past life, I'd married at eighteen and had a child at nineteen — if that child had gone on to have a baby at eighteen themselves, they'd have been just about that age.

"Alright, kids. This big brother here is going to fatten you up."

Finely dicing an onion, I allowed myself a faint smile.

Ah — but hold on.

Eyes. Stinging.

"Sniff."

First things first — I'd better go find some goggles.

#. January 15, 2022

#-1. Arlington, Texas, USA

#-2. AT&T Stadium

Heading into the 2021/22 season playoffs, everyone had named one team, and one team only, as the dark horse.

The San Francisco 49ers.

Starting quarterback Jimmy Garoppolo's play had come alive down the stretch, and it was widely predicted that their powerful slot attack and defense could manufacture an upset.

Separately from all that, however, San Francisco had been quietly searching for a new quarterback — the reason being Garoppolo's durability.

He'd managed to play through a single season healthy exactly once since his debut; even during his time as a backup, Garoppolo had been regularly knocked out with injuries.

The ankle injury he suffered in the 2020/21 season had plagued him all throughout this one as well — and 49ers general manager John Lynch was already looking ahead.

At AT&T Stadium, where he'd come ahead of the playoff wild card game against the Dallas Cowboys, John Lynch exchanged a few words with the team's tight end, George Kittle.

"A bridge year next year, you mean?"

"That's right."

"You're not seriously talking about tanking, are you?"

"I won't deny it."

"Whoa-ow."

At the unexpected words, George Kittle — already blessed with enormous eyes — went even rounder, glancing around them nervously.

George Kittle, a man who ranked within the top three among active NFL tight ends, might come across as easygoing in his words and actions, but he was in truth a man of considerable weight.

It was the reason he could be the mood-maker who got everyone laughing, while simultaneously being someone's older brother and someone's friend.

"Deebo isn't going to like this."

"…."

"Don't tell me, GM — you're coveting that kid at Georgia? Look, I know he's good too, but throwing away an entire season? That's way too much to give up. We're the Niners."

"Whew- honestly, I feel the same way."

In roughly a month, the offseason would begin.

The moment the Niners' playoff run ended, John Lynch intended to notify Garoppolo that he was free to leave the team, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he had already ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠resolved to trade him to whichever team the quarterback preferred.

And if it came to that.

"More importantly — what are you planning to do about Trey?"

"I see the kid as a bridge."

"That's insane. That gave me more chills than the tanking talk did just now. You do realize, right? We took Trey third overall last year. I was dead certain the team saw that kid as the future. Apparently not, huh."

"Shanahan pushed for it."

Last year's draft — the Niners had traded away a stack of picks to climb up to the third selection of the first round.

The team had originally intended to take one of the two remaining Big 3 quarterbacks left on the board after Trevor Lawrence — Zach Wilson and Mac Jones — but head coach Kyle Shanahan had forced the issue, and the course bent toward Trey Lance.

Barely a year later, however, the opinion that Trey Lance might be a bust had leaked from within the organization, and for now, John Lynch was planning to give him his chance next season.

If he shipped out the third-overall quarterback — acquired at an enormous price — without ever properly using him, that was grounds for surrendering the GM's chair itself.

So for the time being, Trey Lance would get his opportunity, and if the fans ended up disappointed, he could always be spent as a trade chip.

The Niners' front office, John Lynch included, rated the quality of the quarterbacks coming out in the 2023 draft extremely highly.

Dwayne Moi Stone was admittedly close to impossible — but landing a pick anywhere from second to fourth was entirely within reach.

Which meant Trey Lance would need to show a certain degree of potential — but if he did, the fans wouldn't like seeing a young quarterback shipped out again, either.

It was the same for the players.

They hated a quarterback change more than anything.

"Keep today's conversation between us."

"I'll forget it the second I turn around? Oh! Just forgot."

"Haha. Thank you."

George Kittle wandered off humming a mellow country tune, and John Lynch, who had been watching the team train in a corner of the field, took off his cap and scratched at his head.

Frankly speaking, the current Niners could challenge for a Super Bowl — but falling short of actually gripping the trophy.

No matter how excellent the linemen and receivers, no matter how well organized the defense, if the quality of the quarterback was lacking, the Super Bowl could never be won.

Of course, if the quarterback happened to lose his mind for exactly one day — the day of the Super Bowl itself — the story would be different, but John Lynch was not foolish enough to place a bet on uncertainty.

The Niners had so many genuinely good players right now.

Which was exactly why he hated letting the time simply slip away like this.

'Whew- what a headache.'

The San Francisco 49ers, famed for their Wine & Gold.

Even these men, bound for the playoffs, needed a quarterback.

To lead the team to a championship.

An elite one.