I Will Leave a Legacy Here

#. April 10, 2022

#-1. Atlanta, Georgia, USA

#-2. Icebox Cryotherapy Midtown

“Fuck!! I'm gonna freeze to death.”

“Just hang in there. It'll be over soon.”

“How are you so fine with this?”

“You see this? And this too?”

“….”

“Muscle protects you.”

The best-behaved freshman this year is the one I call Laki — Malaki Starks.

Recruiting sites had classified him as an ATH (Athlete) — a label reserved for players whose positions would be decided once they reached college, but who showed particularly exceptional athletic ability. As that designation suggests, Laki was a freak athlete, and so far he was the most outstanding of the freshmen class.

His personality was solid, too. He always showed up at the gym twenty minutes early, and not once had he complained or acted annoyed during training.

“Hooooo- hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry.”

Experiencing the cryo chamber for the first time, Laki couldn't tear his eyes away from the timer the moment the twenty-second countdown started.

Soon the door hissed open, and he bolted out like a man fleeing a burning house.

Watching him jump in place and yelp, I couldn't help but find him downright adorable.

“You're a monster.”

“It works, doesn't it?”

“It better. I almost froze to death, and it costs a hundred and twenty bucks a session!”

“That's the discounted rate.”

“Damn— that's expensive.”

“You know what? Someone watching would think you're the one paying for it.”

Malaki was born in a town called Jefferson, about a thirty-minute drive from Athens, and he'd never lived anywhere else. The old Southern drawl that crept into his speech now and then, he said, came from his grandparents — with both parents working, he'd been raised under their roof.

“Follow me.”

“You're dragging me back in there again?”

“Not a chance. It's massage time.”

“It's not gonna be one of those weird things, right?”

“Bullshit. What am I, Deshaun Watson?”

“Pfft-pfft-pfft.”

It feels rich saying it with my own mouth, but sadly, Deshaun Watson's Massage Man meme is going to outlive us all.

The court records made public last year were just that graphic, and the fact that he was the last man anyone expected it from made the whole thing memefy even harder.

He brought the disaster on himself, so it's his to carry — but I'd rather he didn't pull anything like that in Cleveland.

No need to torch the factory too, right?

“You two can lie down here.”

“He bruised his glute a bit yesterday.”

“Noted.”

The team had high expectations for Malaki Starks. He was a safety with cornerback-level coverage ability. Quick feet, fearless instincts, and a high football IQ layered on top — people were already saying he'd develop into an NFL-caliber safety.

Some even called him the most talented safety to come along since Kyle Hamilton, who'd gone to Baltimore at No. 14 the year before.

That's exactly why I was taking care of him like this. Sure, him being a good kid was the biggest reason. But I intended to teach him what it meant to prepare like a professional.

“Your body comes first.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I mean it. College football is at least ten times more brutal than the high school level. Don't sacrifice yourself for one or two games — if your body feels off, tell the coach and rest. Then, when you're back at a hundred percent, return to the field and show them your best. You're not playing football just through college, you know. You're going to the NFL.”

For the entire massage, I drilled the importance of body maintenance into him, and added that he was welcome to come here with me anytime he wanted.

About forty minutes later, all the recovery work was done. Watching the sun sink low, I suggested Laki grab dinner with me before heading home.

For the record, the kid was commuting from his family's place in Jefferson to campus in his own car — except the car had just died on him, and he was planning to buy a new used one next weekend. His scholarship was guaranteed, but no other money had come in yet, so it would be a while before Malaki's pockets got comfortable.

Anyway.

I offered to drive him home so he could eat without a care, and Laki shrugged, then dialed his mom.

“Mom? I'm gonna grab dinner before I come home.”

Haha.

Adorable kid.

Now — what should I feed him that'll earn a reputation for feeding him well?

I started thinking it over.

First decision: meat.

#. April 25, 2022

#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA

#-2. University of Georgia

#-3. Butts-Mehre Heritage Hall

#-4. Head Coach's Office

As you know, roughly half of every draft fails. And the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠same goes for re-recruiting the ones who slip away. No matter how sharp your eye for talent, if you don't keep in mind that half of everything will fall through, you will never survive long as a head coach in this business.

On that score, Coach is a scalpel of a man. He knows how to cut his emotional losses to the bone.

“What did he do?”

“Hoo- it's true.”

“Damn—! Why?”

“He did something stupid.”

Two days ago, this past Saturday, our 5-star freshman cornerback, Jaheim Singletary, caused a problem. He'd gotten drunk at a small pub near campus and passed out cold — and the sheriff who responded recognized him on sight and called Coach directly.

Fortunately, that sheriff turned out to be a diehard Georgia fan. To keep the thing from blowing up any bigger than it had to, he handed the pub owner cash for the boy's tab right then and there, and asked him to pretend he hadn't seen what he saw yesterday. Then he loaded the passed-out kid into the back of his squad car and hauled Singletary straight to Coach's front door.

“Is the kid okay?”

“He is.”

“That was a bonehead move.”

“It really was. I think the boy assumed this place was just like the city he came from.”

“Florida and Georgia are worlds apart.”

Both Southern, sure — but Florida, with its warm beaches, and Georgia, built on Mississippi River culture, might as well be different planets. The residents here skew far more conservative, and they are fiercely hostile to outsiders who dirty up their discipline and their traditions.

For the record, Jaheim is from Jacksonville.

“I'll go have a word with him.”

“Do that.”

“Yes, Sir. Anything else?”

“No. You can go.”

For the record, what Jaheim did wrong wasn't just skipping out on his tab and drinking himself unconscious. It was the drinking itself. He's obviously underage.

Every American high schooler supposedly keeps a fake ID or two in their back pocket — but whatever chaos you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cause flashing one around only applies if you're a regular student. A D1 athlete doesn't get that luxury. One wrong move can blow up a career.

I've said it over and over, but some kids arrive at D1 thinking they've reached the final achievement football has to offer. It isn't. Enrollment is nothing more than a mandatory rite of passage on the road to the NFL — the goal of going pro hasn't changed one bit. Higher ground and greater power always come with responsibilities of matching size.

Jaheim seems to have missed that part. Honestly, he'd been a little off ever since he started showing up late.

“Yo! Ja!”

“….”

I walked straight into the lounge and found him. The moment he heard my voice, he seemed to sense what was coming and dropped his head without a word.

I beckoned him over with a flick of my fingers, and we moved somewhere with no eyes on us.

“Man— what the hell were you thinking?”

“It was just a mistake.”

“DON'T!”

“?”

“Never say it was just a mistake. You're playing here now, and that means you represent this place.”

No one on this earth wants to watch the ground they love fall apart. Here at UGA there exists a UGA culture, and if you aren't ready to respect it and live by it, then either leave right now or lay every right you have down in the dirt. If you don't have the guts for that, you'd better figure out what this place — where people pay hundreds of thousands of dollars a year just to walk through its doors — expects of you.

Up until last year, the defensive guys used to handle this role. But they're gone now, and I inherited the job. That's also why I gave up my plan to fly to Hawaii for the coming break and decided to stay here — so I could properly carry out the work Coach entrusted to me.

I've said it countless times, but I'm going to leave a legacy here. And I'm not letting some freshman get in the way of it.

“Understood? Then act like it.”

“….”

Jaheim Singletary scratched his face with a sullen expression. Kid's got a slightly spoiled streak, I'd say.

#. May 3, 2022

#-1. Charlotte, North Carolina, USA

#-2. Carolina Panthers Front Office

#-3. General Manager's Office

The closest anecdote to illustrate just how wretchedly the Carolina Panthers are run is last year's Sam Darnold trade.

In 2020, the year that ended the Cam Newton era, then-GM Marty Hurney insisted that preparation for the 2023 draft needed to start immediately — and was fired that December. Hurney moved on to the Washington Commanders and had been methodically rebuilding ever since, while his replacement, Scott Fitterer, needed exactly one week to understand why the Panthers could never become a strong team.

The reason: David Tepper. The owner.

“You want to bring in a quarterback?”

“Hah- yes.”

“…Why?”

Scott Fitterer understood the reaction of his right-hand man, Dan Morgan, perfectly. Because just a few minutes ago, he'd been clutching the phone and saying the exact same thing.

Roughly twenty minutes earlier, the owner, David Tepper, had called out of nowhere and declared: "Let's bring in one of the four quarterbacks currently rotting on the scrap heap."

Those quarterbacks lost to the scrap heap — Geno Smith, Jameis Winston, Marcus Mariota, and Baker Mayfield — were all casualties of TFM. They were QBs who could gift any team a win on a day their peak showed up. But the Panthers didn't need them.

Because they already had Sam Darnold — the catastrophically failed third overall pick of 2018.

And yet, the owner was changing his tune again.

“I swear, one bullet in that man's head and I could die a happy man. He calls the Commissioner and demands they change the rules — does he not understand that sitting still would actually be helping us?”

“Hoo- I keep a hunting rifle at my house.”

“Give it to me. I'll gladly pull the trigger.”

The biggest problem with David Tepper is that he knows jack squat about football — but nearly as serious is the fact that 99% of his proposals don't come out of his own head. He takes whatever he hears from amateurs over golf rounds and boozy dinners and shoves it down the front office's throat.

In fact, last year's Sam Darnold trade went through despite Scott Fitterer's fierce objection — because David Tepper threatened him with "There's a mile-long line of people who could do your job" and forced it through. The Panthers gave up a 2021 sixth, plus a 2022 second and fourth, for a quarterback coming off a 5-12 season — and every time you look at what the Jets ended up drafting with those picks, it makes your stomach hurt.

And now, the owner wants to push the team closer to winning.

“Hoo- let's hear the pitch. What's his reasoning?”

“PLAN B.”

“What?”

“He said their value would shoot way up in the event we fail to draft Moi. It's a fair point, honestly. Everyone except whoever wins next year will be shouldering the fallout of tanking.”

In the NFL, the number of quarterbacks who can single-handedly gift a team half a season's worth of wins is, at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠most, around ten. Another seven or so can lead a team to victory by cooperating with the players at other positions when they put in a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠decent showing — and another five or so gift wins with the occasional peak performance.

The remaining ten starting quarterbacks across the league, along with every backup and third-stringer on all 32 teams, are just there to fill out the formation.

Sam Darnold currently belonged to the ten men filling out the formation, and the Panthers were picturing a 1-16 or 0-17 season next year. Normally the demands to fire the GM and head coach would rain down from the internet and the stands — but this year, the fans would actually cheer it on.

He was confident that at least forty thousand of them, on the days the team loses at home, would be delighted at having moved one step closer to Dwayne Moi Stone rather than grieving or raging about the loss.

And yet the owner keeps carping.

“Goddammit.”

The media keeps saying that the Panthers would be satisfied drafting any one of the remaining Big 4 even if it wasn't Moi. But that isn't true. And the owner's mouth is the reason for that, too.

The front office had long since committed to finishing dead last — but the owner hates being called the owner of a last-place team when he steps outside, so he's out there spouting nonsense everywhere he goes.

Why are the Panthers such a hopeless team?

Right here. That's your answer.

#. May 7, 2022

#-1. Los Angeles, California, USA

#-2. Hoff + Flower

To explain how I ended up lying naked next to a girl who was pulling in ragged breaths with a face full of satisfaction and delight, I'd have to go back one week.

I'd been getting ready for bed when Matthew called, saying he had someone to introduce me to. Technically it was Matthew's wife Kelly doing the introducing — and while the person was a woman, it wasn't the girl currently straddling me.

Her name was Hailey Grice.

We'd met about three hours ago.

“Want some water? You?”

“Water? Sure.”

“One sec.”

Hailey walked off showing off a firm backside, then came back from the fridge and handed me a bottle of water.

The blind date I'd been dragged out to hadn't exactly been satisfying. I'd politely declined, and was hailing a taxi at the curb, planning to head back to my hotel. I still don't know why it didn't occur to me to call an Uber — but anyway, that's how I met Hailey.

She pulled up in a white Boxster, passed right by me, threw it into reverse, pointed at me, and said:

"I know you, don't I?"

A little later she asked where I was headed, and when I said back to my hotel, she suggested we grab a coffee together instead. And that's how I ended up in her passenger seat, talking for half an hour at a coffee shop, and then ending up at her place.

Yes. That's the full story.

“You know, I always figured the rumors were exaggerated?”

“Pfft—”

I barely kept from spraying water everywhere. I looked at Hailey with my hand over my mouth.

Oh. My. God.

Some guys might not know this, but women literally share everything with their friends.

“Sorry. I know Hannah. We're not talking right now, but yeah. That's just how women are.”

“Any plans to talk in the future?”

“No. Especially not now.”

After Hannah and I broke up, there was a period when I was getting a barrage of DMs from the girls known around California as Party Girls. At first I chalked it up to coincidence — until one Black girl, apparently with her pride wounded from being turned down over and over, snapped at me: Hannah Palmer told us every single place you sleep, so quit acting like you're all that.

Did that make me mad?

No. Not at all.

What reason would a man have to get mad over that? I'm just a little taken aback right now, that's all.

I have no desire to get tangled up with Hannah again. A woman in my past is a woman in my past.

“Anyway. You're staying here tonight.”

“Do I get a choice?”

“No. Hahahahaha.”

I burned twelve hundred dollars on a hotel room, but no big deal. It had been a while since my last casual fling, so my blood was running hot — and it felt like we'd enjoy ourselves until morning.

Before the second round, Hailey said she was hungry.

“That one's on me.”

“Ooh- how gentlemanly.”

“What can I say, lady.”

“Hahaha. Lady? Who even says that anymore.”

Who says it?

I do.

Turns out the old-fashioned ways work just fine — look at that happy little smile of hers right now.

“You're fascinating, you know that? Like a grown man.”

“You're pretty and sexy.”

“Stop it! I have a sense of shame too, you know?”

“Then pick what we're ordering.”

“Hmm….”

A blind date that turned into a new partner — today, for the first time in a while, I was having a genuinely good time with a woman.