We Must Keep Savoring This Precious Time

(Kenny Albert) – Fox Sports Play-by-Play

“I have never seen—or even heard tell of—a football game like this in my life.”

#. September 11, 2022

#-1. Atlanta, Georgia, USA

#-2. Mercedes-Benz Stadium

The 2022/23 NFL season—one that kicked off with the defending champion Los Angeles Rams being brutally dismantled by the Buffalo Bills—had been serving up one spectacle after another from the very first week of play.

And among them all, the scene unfolding here at Mercedes-Benz Stadium was something else entirely.

Both teams’ ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠offenses were hopeless beyond description.

The touchdown New Orleans punched in on its opening drive had been the single most watchable moment of the day; everything since was bad enough to give the NFL’s YouTube highlight editors sleepless nights.

Then, moments ago, Atlanta’s PAT attempt went wide—and this place erupted with a roar of relief and joy.

Falcons head coach Arthur Smith, who had been picturing a go-ahead lead rather than a tie, bowed his head, while general manager Terry Fontenot, watching from the suite above, exhaled a long breath of relief and let his shoulders drop.

A meeting between two same-division teams that had set their sights on dead last this season. In a certain sense, it was every bit as gripping as the Super Bowl.

As kickoff preparations got underway, Saints head coach Dennis Allen couldn’t hide the trouble on his face.

This is driving me insane.

He had known it would be a mess like this.

He just hadn’t known it would be this bad.

Atlanta’s starting quarterback, Felipe Franks, made the Saints’ own Andy Dalton look positively angelic, and with the passing game sputtering, the running game promptly lost its steam right along with it.

And so the game ended just like that.

The New Orleans Saints had achieved half of their planned season goal of two wins—in Week 1, of all weeks.

(Jonathan Vilma) – Fox Sports Analyst

“It’s absolutely outlandish, and it’s only Week 1. You’re going to see this all over the league for the next seventeen weeks. And honestly, watching Atlanta fans celebrate—that feels alien to me too.”

(Kenny Albert)

“I’m not sure how many of you remember this, but about a week ago, right here, Georgia played Oregon. The Atlanta fans waited outside the stadium for Georgia’s team bus, holding up picket signs that read WE WANT YOU.”

#. September 3, 2022

#-1. Atlanta, Georgia, USA

#-2. Mercedes-Benz Stadium

It’s true that preseason rankings mean nothing. Still, dismantling the AP’s No. 11 Oregon could only be counted as a good thing.

When I jogged back to the bench after wrapping up a drive, Coach Kirby Smart came over and told me the backups would be taking the field in the fourth quarter.

I knew.

It was exactly what I’d wanted, too.

I nodded my answer, took my seat on the bench, and listened to the banter flow around me.

“We absolutely shredded them out there—”

“Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

“Smooth as butter.”

“Silk.”

The people who’d fretted over our defense once its starters rotated out would be keeping their mouths shut after watching today.

Because we let our play do the talking.

What do you want me to say?

Exactly.

True, we’d lost some of our gravitas up front. But Jalen Carter and Nazir Stackhouse were holding down the nose position beautifully in compensation, and freshman Mykel Williams looked like he could grow into an elite interior lineman whenever he pleased.

And above all—the defense still had Nolan.

Nolan Smith.

A linebacker who belonged in any conversation about the top three in the nation, Nolan was covering for the lightened D-line flawlessly.

He lacked the annihilating physicality of an Azeez Ojulari or a Lewis Cine, but crafty Nolan hounded and hounded Bo Nix’s blind side without a moment’s letup.

Smael Mondon Jr.

Kamari Lassiter.

Jamon Dumas-Johnson.

Chaz Chambliss.

Even the guys who’d rode the bench or barely seen the field last year showed the whole world today that Georgia’s defense was alive and well this season too.

The offense?

Oh, that. Obviously it was great.

I mean, I was out there, wasn’t I?

Jordan, Ladd, and Brock each hauled in two touchdowns, and Kendall Milton punched in one more on the ground.

The O-line.

Honestly, it was far steadier than last year.

My rhythm with Sedrick was in its second year and better than ever, and the left side that had worried me after Jamaree’s departure was being protected to perfection by Broderick.

The craziest part was Peter. I’d lost count of how many blitzes we’d given up today—and then he’d suddenly pop out of nowhere and dispose of the rusher like it was nothing.

The fourth quarter, with both sides trading possessions in rapid succession, was over in a blink.

(Sean McDonough) – ABC Play-by-Play

“Two-time defending Heisman winner Dwayne Moi Stone was, well—Dwayne Moi Stone. I’m sure you’re all aware of the currents running through the NFL lately, and today’s performance felt like gasoline poured straight onto that fire. 561 passing yards. Six touchdowns. Zero interceptions, and a completion rate of a staggering 85.7%. That is perfection.”

(Todd Blackledge) – ABC Analyst

“At the college level, I honestly don’t think there’s a quarterback alive who can be mentioned in the same breath as this kid. Judging from this game alone, he’s playing with far more variety than he did last year. Oregon’s defense simply had no answers. Stopping Georgia’s offense is going to be a very difficult proposition again this season.”

#. September 13, 2022

#-1. Metairie, Louisiana, USA

#-2. New Orleans Saints Front Office

Victory in the all-important Week 1 clash with the Falcons had thrown the New Orleans Saints’ TFM plans into serious jeopardy before they’d even left the starting gate.

True, they would face Atlanta again in Week 15, but unless the team went winless for the rest of the season, the No. 1 overall pick was widely considered out of reach.

Dennis Allen, who had flown back to Louisiana the previous night, sat in the GM’s office and relayed the atmosphere on the sideline that day.

“We played awfully well, sir.”

“Pfft—”

“…”

“Ahem. Cough. Excuse me.”

Words that could never, under any circumstances, leave the mouth of a coach whose quarterback had thrown for a measly 173 passing yards and three interceptions.

Saints executive vice president Jeff Ireland, utterly failing to suppress the laughter bubbling up out of him, kept biting his lip for dear life as yesterday’s team performance kept flashing through his mind.

What made it worse was that Dennis Allen’s account was entirely plausible—Atlanta’s Felipe Franks had managed all of 98 passing yards.

One fewer interception, for a total of two, and a completion percentage so wretched it dipped below fifty (48.1%, 13/27).

“It was surreal. Being out on that field, I mean.”

“Surreal?”

“Yes. As I was walking out, the Atlanta fans were saying this to me—over and over.”

Thank you, Dennis.

Dennis Allen claimed he’d heard the same words from no fewer than ten different people, and he even managed a faintly cynical expression as he said it.

Short of outright ordering players to lose, an NFL team has exactly two ways to tank.

One: gut the roster’s strength.

Two: hire a cooperative or incompetent head coach.

Dennis Allen was hardly a coaching savant, and he was cooperating with the tank—yet even for him, yesterday’s performance had stolen a win straight out of his hands, and the experience was unbearable.

“At minimum, we lose the next three games.”

“…Understood.”

New Orleans now faced Tampa Bay, then the Carolina Panthers, then the Minnesota Vikings, in sequence.

The Week 3 matchup against Carolina did nag at him slightly—their first-week performance with newly acquired Marcus Mariota had looked considerably better than expected.

It was a loss, yes, even against a Cleveland Browns team playing without the suspended Deshaun Watson—but there was plenty in it to view favorably, in a number of respects.

Ironically, it was the New York Jets and Arizona Cardinals—teams with no apparent connection to the TFM whatsoever—whose play was the absolute worst of the week.

Of course, the Jets had drafted a quarterback named Jack Wilson second overall just last year, and Arizona likewise held a top pick under center in Kyler Murray, the No. 1 overall selection of 2019, so the odds of either chasing Dwayne Moi Stone were low.

But now that word had spread that the Georgia quarterback’s price tag ran to nine draft picks, every team with an ugly early record might well start trying its damndest to lose.

And that was precisely the great wildcard hanging over the entire TFM.

Moi’s value was simply that astronomical.

“Whew—damn it all. My head hurts.”

Two days into the new season, and Mickey Loomis was already nursing a pounding migraine behind his right temple.

#. September 17, 2022

#-1. Columbia, South Carolina, USA

#-2. Williams-Brice Stadium

The home stadium of the South Carolina Gamecocks, which hadn’t even sold out its own season opener, was packed to the rafters today.

ESPN personnel, who had arrived early with their crews, were already broadcasting live, and Panthers GM Scott Fitterer—who had talked his way here on every pretext imaginable—was walking straight toward Dwayne Moi Stone.

Word that the Panthers’ general manager was in the building had already been passed along through the game-day staff.

Dwayne Moi Stone approached the barricade, flashed a bright smile, and extended his hand toward Scott Fitterer.

An extraordinarily imposing hand. It looked twice the size of his own.

“How are you feeling?”

“Couldn’t be better, sir. I’m on a football field.”

“Haha. You love the game, then?”

“Absolutely. Don’t you?”

“…No. I love it too.”

Scott Fitterer nearly blurted out that football had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stopped being fun thanks to the most eccentric owner in the league, but he swallowed it and instead told Dwayne Moi Stone to take care ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of his body.

“You are, after all, my No. 1 pick next year.”

“That’s still an open question, though, isn’t it?”

Fitterer tried to gauge whether the answer was habitual modesty or genuine conviction, but he quickly gave up.

It didn’t matter in the slightest.

“I came here to ask you something.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you receive the playbook?”

“I did. It arrived a few days ago, actually.”

After Detroit and Atlanta, the Carolina Panthers had become the third team to ship a playbook to Dwayne Moi Stone’s dorm room.

It was a declaration of intent—we will draft you—and Fitterer, who had never intended to hide it, asked what he’d found wrong with it.

The question seemed to catch Dwayne Moi Stone slightly off guard; he scratched his head and answered with some reluctance.

He insisted he was hardly in a position to judge such things.

“I’m the general manager, son.”

“…Whew.”

Dwayne Moi Stone frowned faintly, glanced around, confirmed no one was within earshot, and shrugged his shoulders.

The first sentence out of his mouth was striking.

“If it were me, I wouldn’t want to play for this coach.”

What followed, remarkably, aligned almost perfectly with the conclusions the Panthers’ front office had reached internally.

He even pointed out weaknesses no one had thought to look for—and the instant Fitterer heard them, a handful of last season’s plays flickered through his mind.

Of course.

The playbook Scott Fitterer had sent was the one Joe Brady had written last year.

From the very beginning, the plan had been to send last year’s playbook, let Dwayne Moi Stone read it, and use the conversation as a litmus test.

“I’m sorry, but I’m out of time.”

“Of course. I should be the one apologizing.”

“Not at all. Enjoy the game, sir.”

“…”

Dwayne Moi Stone jogged off to rejoin his team and disappear into the locker room, and watching the whole exchange from a distance, the Panthers’ general manager cursed David Tepper’s decision one more time.

Strip away the quarterback quality, and this year’s Panthers were a roster capable of going winless without breaking a sweat.

Yet Marcus Mariota’s arrival had pulled them a few steps closer to victory, and now, starting in Week 3 against the New Orleans Saints, the crisis had arrived.

The Saints, fresh off winning the single-plank bridge duel against Atlanta, were gritting their teeth and straining to lose their remaining sixteen games.

Word was already circulating that the GM was interfering with roster construction, and talk had even surfaced of deliberately burying key players on the bench for extended stretches.

Scott Fitterer turned on his heel and left the stadium.

He had no need to watch Dwayne Moi Stone play.

The Panthers had already ordered their scouting department to focus on other players in preparation for next year’s draft.

Normally, once a draft pick was all but locked in, the background work would begin—misdemeanor records, character references, the like. But unless a prospect had committed a felony, the minor details simply didn’t matter.

Even if he’d committed a somewhat ugly crime, the league would paper over it first and attempt quiet settlements once he’d been drafted.

That was, naturally, not a righteous thing.

But.

That’s exactly the kind of thing that…

Morality and professional ethics have a way of becoming tissue-paper scraps in the face of a price tag large enough—or a talent great enough.

Business.

That is what people call it. Business.

(Stephen A. Smith) – ESPN Analyst

“Look, I know it’s NFL hours right now, but listen to me for a minute. DWAYNE MOI STONE! This magnificent son of a gun is getting crazier and crazier by the week, I’m telling you! And I don’t say this lightly—right now, he is playing light-years better than ninety-five percent of the quarterbacks in the NFL!”

“Did you watch this young man’s first three games? He is out there carving up opposing defenses like a Thanksgiving turkey! It’s a playground out there! A playground! Like some oversized sixth-grader strolling onto a playground meant for first and second graders—what’s he doing out there? Step aside, kiddies, big man’s coming through! That’s what he’s doing, folks! That’s literally what he’s doing!”

“Right now, in college football, this man is a walking catastrophe—for the other team, that is! People were running their mouths about how Georgia’s roster would take a step back this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠year. And what does Dwayne Moi Stone do? He says—essentially—what was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of me not giving a single damn. Sit down, shut up, and watch me play. I’m about to go score a touchdown. And then he goes out and DOES it!”

“Here’s what I want to say to every NFL team listening: whatever it is you’ve got—whatever it costs—go get this young man. NOW.”

#. September 18, 2022

#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA

#-2. University of Georgia

#-3. Vandiver Hall, Room 607

“Khh-khh-khh-khh. Look at this dude talk.”

“Ayo! Moi! How you feeling, man?”

“Since when do you care what Stephen A. says?”

“Khh-khh. I don’t. It’s just funny.”

Okay, fine. It was funny.

The man did have a legitimately lethal gift of gab.

With the season and the semester both kicking off, our Sunday parties had gone from weekly to every other week, and today it was pizza with Peter, Jordan, Sedrick, and Owen while the TV hummed in front of us.

The occasion, naturally, was the NFL season.

In a little while, Washington would be playing Detroit.

Nobody here was watching out of devotion to any particular team—the timing just happened to line up that way.

CBS and Fox would be carrying games too, so the plan was to flip channels whenever one got boring, surf back over during the quarter breaks and halftime, and catch another game.

“Hey.”

“?”

“We’re kinda killing it these days, you know.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

Maybe it was because it was all the offensive guys in one room, but there was something entertaining about us saying, without a shred of shame, that we were carrying the team.

And hey—it wasn’t wrong.

It might not be last year’s suffocating defense, but if the D held up its end of the bargain even reasonably well, this year’s blueprint was to bury opponents with the offense from the opening whistle, hold the ball as long as possible, and grind them into exhaustion.

Once it’s 30–0 before halftime, there’s no comeback and no fight left in a team. Their spirit just drains away.

Just as you can parry with a shield—

you can also defend with a sword.

“I don’t wanna go to Detroit.”

“Me neither.”

“Same.”

The Lions hadn’t even said they were taking any of us, and here these kids were drinking their kimchi soup before the rice was cooked.

Well—thoughts and daydreams are free.

And honestly, I couldn’t blame them for how they felt.

“Hey.”

“What now?”

“Next year we’ll all be split up. Won’t we?”

“…Yeah. Probably.”

“Damn it. Man, I really love this team.”

Jordan, of all people, had gone unexpectedly sentimental.

We all stared at him, dead silent.

“Huh? Fuck! What are y’all looking at?”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Jordan?”

“Screw you! Damn it. That was a heartfelt moment, actually.”

“Hilarious, man. My heart is just so tender right now.”

“Mine too!”

Watching my friends devolve into juvenile grumbling within the space of ten seconds, I could truly feel it: our time here was running out.

Which was exactly what made it so precious.

“YO!”

“?”

At my one word, the grumbling stopped and everyone turned toward me.

And I said it.

“Love y’all.”

My first-ever attempt at a Southern drawl.

My friends froze for a beat—and then—

“Ugh, GROSS!”

“Yo! Get him! Jump his ass!”

Apparently unable to stomach the goosebumps, they came charging at me in a heap.

Sweet kids, every last one of them.

We have to keep savoring this precious time—for as long as it lasts.