This Is Why You Splurge

For a football player, spring means S&C.

Strength & Conditioning.

The spring training designed to forge the body that will carry you through the thirteen to sixteen games beginning in the fall is painful, painful, and painful yet again.

5:20 in the morning.

For the first time, the team was at full strength.

"Everyone handles your own introductions! Let's roll!"

"LET'S GO--!!"

Sedrick's booming shout soon gave way to the strained voices of a hundred-odd giants wringing out their last reserves of strength and the coaches bellowing for more, until the indoor facility was filled to bursting.

On the floor reeking of sweat — literally soaked through with it — the first stragglers who couldn't endure the workout soon began to appear.

Normally, you might think: seriously, this on day one?

In my past life, I observed the first practices of several NBA and MLB teams, and every single time, the same thought crossed my mind — "What is this? Are they just warming up the whole time?"

But football is brutal from the very first day.

Why?

Because we're already prepared, to a degree.

They call it the offseason, but college football players essentially live and breathe individual training year-round.

"Ugh."

"Here it is, first one down!!"

"Where?!!"

Spring training is genuinely torturous, which is exactly why we always build a little entertainment into the middle of it.

This year's rule: the position group of the first freshman to throw up buys everyone coffee tomorrow.

The lucky winner was a running back.

"What's his name?"

"Branson Robinson."

"Damn— I'm never forgetting that name now."

"You lost, Dall!!"

Dall is what we call Kendall Milton.

He was staring at the freshman like the kid had lost his mind.

Cheers and mischievous taunts erupted from every direction, and before long Gunner Stockton, who happened to be nearby, suddenly grabbed the basket sitting on the floor and started heaving into it.

Damn it all.

"I'll be enjoying those donuts, Moi!!"

"Wait, the captain's buying?!!"

That's right. If a freshman quarterback threw up, I bought donuts for the entire team.

Watching my teammates celebrate far more gleefully than they had a moment ago, I didn't really feel like objecting, so I just stretched my arms out to both sides and waved them up and down, savoring the moment.

Then I shouted:

"The donut shop closes early tomorrow!!"

"YEAH-!!"

Tweeeeet!!

The drills rolled on after that, and it was nearly eight in the morning before the first session of the day finally wrapped up.

Position leaders naturally took their freshmen under their wings, and I took Gunner aside to walk him through the tricks of recovery.

"By the way, that is one killer name."

"Haha. I was named after my ancestor's nickname."

"Was he a good man?"

"He flew a fighter plane in World War II. His marksmanship was so sharp they nicknamed him ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Gunner."

Gunner was born in a small Georgia town called Tiger and grew up rooting for UGA from the time he was a kid.

In cases like this, it's usually family influence — and for him, it was his grandfather.

Back in 1986, after the Deep South's Oldest Rivalry against Auburn ended, he was so overjoyed by the victory that he sprayed water from a fire hose in celebration and got hauled away by the police — a fanatically devoted Georgia fan, through and through.

"Is he still with us?"

"No. He passed away."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's all right — he was truly a wonderful man. He would have been over the moon to know I became a Bulldog. And honestly, the way he went out felt true to who he was."

Gunner's grandfather had traveled to Jacksonville in 2010 to watch us play Florida, and he passed away after witnessing us lose on a field goal in overtime.

He suffered a heart attack on his way out of the stadium. The circumstances themselves were a tragedy, but you could hardly ask for a more fitting end for a fanatical football fan.

And right now, listening to this story, something occurred to me — it might be worth planning something special for the season opener.

Knock knock knock—

After breakfast, while the guys scattered to their classes, I — having promised to buy the freshmen lunch — stopped by the head coach's office to share the idea I'd just had.

Coach didn't quite grasp it at first.

"You want to do what?"

"Honor the late Lawrence Stockton, sir."

"...Who's that?"

Seated across from him, I relayed everything Gunner had told me, and somewhere along the way the coach understood it all, nodding with a solemn expression.

When he suggested G-Day would be a better occasion than a regular-season game, I told him that sounded even more fitting, and thanked him.

"So, how are the freshmen looking?"

"As impressive as I might be, it's only day one — you know that, Coach."

"Haha. Fair enough. True enough."

"I'm taking the freshmen out for lunch later. I'll talk with them then, and if anything strikes me, I'll send you a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠message."

"Good. Do that."

We added a lot of freshmen this year.

Twenty-eight, without a single transfer.

For now, the outside evaluation was positive.

Following Texas A&M, which pulled off a genuine heist by landing DT Walter Nolen, and Alabama, which sharpened its knives and went all-in on recruiting, we took third place in the recruiting rankings by unanimous consensus.

The praise has been especially warm for landing Malaki Starks and Mykel Williams, and 4-Star linebacker Jalen Walker is already being called a hidden gem.

As the starting quarterback, I'd read plenty of articles about the incoming class, and I planned to observe them firsthand based on that groundwork.

In preparing for the season — and in developing the freshmen and last year's backups — I needed to identify the most important pieces as quickly as possible.

Was that guy truly a good addition?

Every football player will tell you, "If you want to improve, find a good group." Who you surround yourself with, and who you keep at your side, determines your entire college football life.

After resting at the dorm, I arrived at the promised meeting spot to find eighteen of them already there.

The remaining ten trickled in one by one — four of them late, and three acting like nothing had happened at all.

Oh, look at these shameless ones.

They had no idea that their evaluation within the team had already begun, and that it would follow them for the rest of their college careers.

Today, as the NFL Annual Meeting — suspended since COVID-19 — finally convened, senior representatives of all 32 teams and accredited members of the media descended on Palm Beach, Florida.

The annual meeting, held over three days every year, reviews the season just past and decides how the league will handle the major issues of the one to come.

While the highest-ranking decision-makers met with the NFL commissioner behind closed doors, a whole array of figures worked the room outside, trading words with reporters.

One such man was here, too.

"Dave. As I understand it, plenty of fans are questioning the Raiders' trajectory so far. Everyone expected them to start fresh alongside Dwayne Moi Stone in a brand-new city — but apparently that's not the plan. What's your take?"

"Hmm, well..."

Once the 2022/23 NFL offseason kicked off in earnest, the Las Vegas Raiders had thrown themselves into strengthening the roster.

It began with re-signing Maxx Crosby — widely called one of the NFL's premier defensive ends — to the tune of $98.98 million, followed by the acquisitions of Chandler Jones and then Davante Adams, one after the other.

Locking down Maxx Crosby, genuine franchise-cornerstone material, on a four-year deal was understandable. But overwhelming public opinion held that the other two moves were simply bad football.

Of course, the "public" in question here meant the Raiders fans of Las Vegas and Oakland.

"What a circus, everywhere you look."

Kevin Patra of NFL.com curled one corner of his mouth at a sight he'd never witnessed before.

Every year, plenty of topics dominated the conversation here — but this was the first time college students eligible for next year's draft were the ones being discussed.

As Kevin Patra roamed the vast hall in search of interview subjects, Marc Sessler — also of NFL.com — drifted over to his side.

"Find anything fun?"

"I did."

"What?"

"Dwayne Moi Stone."

"...Why him?"

"Just now, the Raiders GM got asked why he never hit the reset button. Why wasn't he going after Dwayne Moi Stone? And right before that, the Washington and New Orleans GMs got the exact same question. You believe that?"

The truth was, right up until last year, the Las Vegas Raiders had been ranked the number-one candidate to join the Tank For Moi (TFM) campaign.

Their Derek Carr had all but proven incapable of chasing a Super Bowl, and with the franchise relocating to a new city, choosing Dwayne Moi Stone as the partner for a fresh start seemed entirely logical.

As it happened, Carr's contract would expire at the end of 2022, and some even predicted the Raiders would simply keep the roster as-is and wait.

New Orleans, too, was widely expected to select Dwayne Moi Stone as the quarterback to carry the team into the post-Drew Brees era.

And yet, so far — dead silence.

"That's a little different from what I heard."

"Different? How so?"

Marc Sessler scratched at his head with a pen, glanced around, confirmed no one was within earshot, and began speaking in a low voice.

"They're going after Taysom Hill."

"What?!"

"Shh— I only confirmed it myself today."

"...Nobody heard that from me."

"Right. Anyway. Listen up."

New Orleans' quarterback last year had been Jameis Winston, whose contract expired on February 28.

Winston — the first overall pick of 2015, now remembered as the Tampa Bay Buccaneers' great tragedy — was regarded as a failed choice, but still a lottery ticket worth scratching.

In fact, it was the Saints — intending to scratch the very card Tampa had thrown away — who signed him, but a string of escapades and injuries never gave him so much as the chance to try.

Even so, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠halo of being a first overall pick lingered, and the prevailing wisdom was that the Saints would place their faith in him one more time.

Except.

"Seems the owner sided with the GM."

"So there was a clash?"

"One can speculate."

If the Saints let Winston walk and built their quarterback position around Taysom Hill, they would — without question — field the worst starting quarterback in the entire league.

Taysom Hill, better known as a utility player than for the position on his nameplate, was a man evaluated as a quarterback in name only.

Since his specialty was saddling his team with defeat, you could say with total confidence that no quarterback in football was a more perfect fit than Taysom Hill.

"The Saints will be crawling along the bottom too, then."

"Exactly."

Improved overtime rules.

Approval of the Cleveland Browns sale.

Announcement of new trade regulations.

And so on, and so forth.

This year's NFL Annual Meeting — overflowing with heavyweight storylines — was, quite unexpectedly, being dominated by a quarterback from Georgia.

On the top floor of an apartment built for Stanford students, two young women lay sprawled comfortably with sheet masks on, deep in conversation.

They had met at college, hit it off almost instantly, and now called each other "best friend," traveling together and wearing their friendship like a badge of honor.

Niece of the Chicago Bears' president, Joanne McCaskey — and daughter of the Cleveland Browns' new owner, Grace Allison.

"You really do like him."

"Am I being a little ridiculous?"

"More like astonishing. What on earth is so great about that man?"

"Everything."

"Everything?"

"Yeah. Goodness. I really must be crazy."

"That's certainly how it looks from here."

"Haha. Here, look at this."

Joanne McCaskey — flashing the bright smile she showed almost no men — held up her phone screen.

On it was Dwayne Moi Stone, filming one of the trending TikTok dances with his friends.

Joanne McCaskey couldn't tear her eyes away. She looked, quite simply, in love.

"He's so cute."

"You call a man who's 6'6" and 250 pounds cute?"

"Yeah. Huh? Wait — how do you know his measurements?"

"I'm a football fan too, you know?"

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

"Ah, now that you mention it. So how did it go?"

"The vote's scheduled for tomorrow."

"It'll go perfectly, Grace. I just know it."

Joanne McCaskey squeezed her friend's hand tight, then went right back to snooping through Dwayne Moi Stone's social media. Grace Allison watched her for a moment before fetching her laptop and setting it on her lap.

Just like her best friend, Grace Allison was set to join the Browns the moment she graduated.

Her post would be the same as Joanne's — Salary Cap Manager — and in her spare hours she studied the league regulations and pored over the Browns' cap situation.

"I really hope we land the first overall pick next year."

"You do realize that means you're finishing dead last this season, right?"

"...Don't care."

"You are genuinely out of your mind."

Grace Allison mused to herself: if Stanford's male students could see Joanne McCaskey like this, Dwayne Moi Stone would be declared the campus's Common Enemy that very same day.

People said Joanne McCaskey resembled Rachel Cook, but to Grace's eye she was far more attractive than that.

Grace herself, of course, had heard that she looked like a slightly more Asian-toned Celine Farach — but the truth was, Grace Allison took precious little interest in dressing herself up.

Joanne McCaskey never failed to lament this.

"You do know you're insanely pretty, right?"

"The way I see it, you're the pretty one."

"Someday I'm going to miss this. What am I going to do then?"

"Same."

Standing before the mirror in just their underwear and t-shirts, toothbrushes hanging from their mouths, Joanne McCaskey and Grace Allison held each other in a tight hug and stayed like that for a long, quiet moment.

The two of them looked closer than real sisters.

Ever since the articles about my history with women had leaked through the gossip rags, people had been burning with curiosity about who I was seeing.

Just now, a message popup had flashed across the top of my phone screen — some reporter who had somehow gotten hold of my number, texting: "Seeing anyone these days?"

And the answer is: no.

I wasn't seeing anyone these days.

There were a few women I exchanged messages with, but nothing had progressed to an actual meeting yet.

Granted, if I wanted to, I could meet anyone anytime.

My bank account already held more money than most NFL players', I was on leave from school, and carving out dates on training-free Saturdays and Sundays would be no trouble at all.

Maybe I just liked being on campus? That was simply where I was at right now.

"Ah— damn it."

"You are seriously bad at this."

"Fuck. I hate scary things, plain and simple."

"What, your balls trembling?"

"Screw you."

"I told you I already beat it — how many times do I have to say it."

"Don't care. Beat it for me here."

Taking the controller from Jordan as he begged for help, I lightly cooked the second boss of Resident Evil Village.

"There. Done."

"...I'm not playing anymore."

"Why not?"

Apparently watching me clear it so effortlessly had sent Jordan into an existential spiral — but this was a game I'd already 100%'d, achievements and all, so it was about as challenging as eating cold soup.

Sitting on the sofa with his back turned to me, Jordan declared he wanted to play Halo instead, and with no reason to refuse, I switched off the PlayStation and hooked the X-Box up to the TV.

While we were at it, the front door swung open and Peter and Sedrick walked in with a freshman in tow.

"Whoa. What is this place? Is this heaven?"

"Haha. First time here?"

"Yes, sir."

A week into spring S&C, the freshmen had sorted themselves out more or less.

The sharp ones. The good kids. The gifted ones.

And beyond them — the ones who wouldn't listen. The lazy ones. The ones worth keeping an eye on, and so on.

Personalities as distinct as their origins had naturally sorted themselves into clusters, and Jalen Walker had just joined our corner of the room.

"By the way, I thought you said Dillon was coming too?"

"He went out to buy coffee."

"You sent him on an errand?"

"He's a freshman. He can handle that much."

"You are straight-up evil."

Don't get the wrong idea.

He's not my personal shuttle.

Dillon was the one who said he wanted coffee in the first place, and when I brewed him a capsule from the machine, he declared it tasted awful and had the sheer audacity to ask for a Jittery Joe's from across campus.

So I handed him the car keys and told him to go get it.

Oh, and I slipped him another hundred dollars on top.

"A hundred bucks?"

"He ordered for you guys too. Told him to keep whatever was left as a tip."

"Damn—! That's some obscenely expensive errand pay."

"Could you send me next time, sir?"

Telling my self-appointed errand boy Jalen that I'd remember the offer, I passed the controller to Peter and stepped into the closet, intending to show off something new.

Then I dragged out the product that had arrived and been unboxed just yesterday.

"What. The. Hell~~~~~~~?"

"Primitive man — behold. This, right here, is what they call science."

"That thing is a TV?"

"Yup."

It had occurred to me that gaming with friends across two TVs would be far better than one, so I'd scoured the internet and bought one of those smart TVs you could lug around from room to room.

It was a Korean brand, and it had cost a fair chunk of change — but I hadn't hesitated for a single second.

Before my friends, who crowded around like primitives catching their first glimpse of fire, I plugged it in and performed the magic of bringing the screen to life.

"Damn---!! This thing is sick!"

"Ma! THIS is Korea for you!"

"Fuck. That's unreal."

Honestly, I hadn't puffed my chest out even a little — but watching my friends lose their minds over it, I couldn't deny I was in a good mood.

This is why you splurge.

Today, too, I'm having a good day.