I Was Born to Succeed

#. September 19, 2022

#-1. Nashville, Tennessee, USA

#-2. Tennessee Titans Front Office

#-3. General Manager's Office

As Week 2 came to a close, the Tennessee Titans were astonishing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠people for all the wrong reasons. Despite being rated as playoff contenders alongside the Las Vegas Raiders, they had dropped their first two games in listless fashion. Their performance against the Buffalo Bills the day before had been downright despairing — offense and defense collapsing together on the way to a humiliating 7–41 rout.

And today, in the aftermath of that defeat, voices calling for TFM were beginning to lift their heads inside the Titans organization.

"This is painful."

"…"

"We owe Ryan another $27 million next year. And what about Malik? Sure, his salary isn't even a million, but if that's all we were going to spend, we should've drafted somebody else."

"Malik was a scratch-off lottery ticket."

"Aren't they all, though?"

"Most of them. But Moi is the exception."

Jon Robinson, general manager of the Tennessee Titans, pressed on with a grave expression. The Titans had never even bothered to consider TFM in the first place — partly because of the team's strength, but above all because of the contract tying them to starting quarterback Ryan Tannehill. They had briefly weighed trading him and starting a tank, but the current NFL landscape had already crushed the value of quarterbacks thanks to TFM itself. And Tannehill's deal had been flagged as a potential albatross from the moment it was signed — fine for the first two years, then a steady slide ever since.

"Next year, the equation changes."

"I know that, but…"

Once next year's draft concluded, quarterback values would skyrocket again. Jon Robinson was 99% certain of it. The very reason all the decent quarterbacks this year were being ignored was TFM — which meant the teams that lost out on Moi would have to gamble their survival on landing a signal-caller, if only to put out the fire already burning at their feet. When that moment came, Tannehill's value would climb well above where it stood now, and the fact that his contract was expiring would only sweeten the deal.

"Raiders. Colts. Washington. If we lose every game for the next four weeks — bye week excluded — even the owner's thinking might shift. Of course, I'll have to put my own neck on the line too. That's why I called you here, Jon-el. I need material that can convince him."

"Hoo… you're serious about this."

"I told you — I changed my mind. If Ryan had played even a little properly, we could've won in the opener. That game looked like a competition to see who had the worse quarterback."

Recalling the home opener against the New York Giants, Robinson argued that the time to change quarterbacks had arrived, and that they should exploit the current situation to do it. He knew heavy resistance was inevitable within the ownership group, but he had one reliable corporate ally who would stand with him.

The Titans' home stadium currently went by the name Nissan Stadium, and the Japanese automaker had been hungering hard for Dwayne Moi Stone ever since the Heisman. Better still, Stone was signed to an endorsement deal with Nissan's archrival Toyota — meaning Tennessee landing him would delight the company all the more. If Nissan threw its weight behind the push, steering the franchise into TFM could prove far easier than anyone expected.

Of course, variables abounded. Even slumping early, Ryan Tannehill was a quarterback capable of carrying this team to wins at any moment, and above all, they possessed Derrick Henry — the best running back in the league. Henry had proven even in the modern NFL that a running back could carry a team on his own back, which made him a fearsome weapon in his own right. And yet, paradoxically, it was precisely because they had a Derrick Henry that the quality of their quarterback play kept gnawing at them.

"It's worth rolling the dice. We have to start Malik Willis or Joshua Dobbs as the starter next game."

"Will Mike go for it?"

"I'll sit down with him tomorrow and talk. He's been disappointed by these first two games too. He might welcome the chance for a quick reset."

"So this team ends up doing TFM after all."

"…"

Since the NFL season kicked off, fans waving signs reading 'WE WANT MOI' or 'Shut Up and Lose' had become a common sight in football stadiums across the country. Before the season even began, a multitude of teams had deliberately weakened their rosters, and much of the media had looked on with disapproval. The league office, unexpectedly, had stayed silent — though whispers were emerging that the surge of unintentional viral marketing, the spike in sales of non-marketed uniforms, and the plainly visible rise in attention meant the league actually welcomed the phenomenon.

Indeed, attendance over the first two weeks was up a full 27% from the previous year. The seat-occupancy numbers of the bottom-feeder teams most committed to tanking stood out in particular, and with 'TFM this, TFM that' ringing from every corner, inquiries from companies hoping to land sponsorship deals were flooding in without pause.

In other words, a college quarterback who hadn't even debuted professionally was shaking the largest sports industry in the world. It could all fizzle out as a flash in the pan — but judging by where things stood at present, that seemed unlikely.

TFM.

Tank For Moi.

The magic word running through the heart of this year's NFL.

Contrary to the fears about deliberate losses and degraded quality of play, people were enjoying this from an entirely fresh angle. Of course—

"Whew— it's killing me."

the people on the ground were bleeding.

#. September 20, 2022

#-1. Lake Forest, Illinois, USA

#-2. Halas Hall

September, when the breeze off Lake Michigan still carried a welcome warmth. The Chicago Bears, mired in deep anguish since opening day, had no leisure to enjoy it. Their Week 1 game against the San Francisco 49ers — a grind-it-out, low-scoring affair they'd narrowly lost 7–10 — had confirmed that the team's defense remained genuinely powerful.

They had anticipated this very problem and traded away the heart of the defense, Khalil Mack, to the Chargers — only for the unit to hold the Niners to ten points. Had head coach Matt Eberflus not kept deliberately calling bad offensive plays, the Bears might well have been dragged into a win against their will.

"What are we going to do?"

"Whew— this is torture."

"Because we're too good?"

"Haha. I feel a strange self-loathing even saying this, but… yes. Yes, we are. We're better than I counted on."

"…"

Chicago's offensive line was currently rated among the very worst in the NFL. Taken individually, the players were roughly middle-of-the-pack talent, but years of abysmal offensive-line coaching had made the men forget how to protect a quarterback. That unit had played no small part in last year's eleventh-overall pick, Justin Fields, being branded a bust. As a result, there were now voices saying things like "Even if Dwayne Moi Stone came, it'd be the same" — and those voices had no idea that the Bears wanted a haul of picks instead of the Georgia quarterback.

Which was a little unnerving.

Ryan Poles kept finding his gaze drift to the same spot, and Matt Eberflus's voice reached his ears.

"It's a strange sight, isn't it?"

"…It really is."

From the moment Khalil Mack was traded, TFM had been effectively a done deal to anyone watching from the outside. Fans had been showing up to training camp since summer wearing the Bears' No. 14 jersey with the three letters MOI stamped across it. The local media even ran a piece one day noting that 27 fans had shown up in Dwayne Moi Stone's jersey, while not a single soul wore Justin Fields'. Even now, beyond the chain-link fence ringing the practice field, the voices of fans begging for Stone's arrival carried on without end.

TANK FOR MOI.

TANK FOR MOI.

Some of the more extreme fans burned Justin Fields jerseys or posted videos mocking him on social media, and things got ugly enough that players had publicly told them to knock it off. What deserved attention here was that none of this was happening to Bears fans alone. The same thing had unfolded far to the south in Houston — the day the team lost to Denver, a video of a famous local sports bar's owner throwing a party over the defeat took the internet by storm.

"It's like watching a presidential election."

"Haha. A fitting comparison."

"That's how insane this is."

"It's true that it worries me, in a way. But then I watch the kid play, and I can't help but feel hopeful."

Among those anxious about the mood of this NFL season, some worried less about tanking itself than about the burden Dwayne Moi Stone would have to shoulder. The expectations had swollen far too high. Ian Rapoport remarked that "judging by the recent frenzy, it's like Tom Brady got turned back into a college kid", and Adam Schefter added his own take: "Dwayne ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Moi Stone will have to prove it from his very first snap."

Quarterback is, by nature, the position that draws the most attention. That puts it close to glory—

and just as close to the abyss.

Of every position in world sport, the quarterback absorbs the most abuse and owns the largest share of every defeat. The current phenomenon was, therefore, far too cruel for a quarterback fresh out of college. If, heaven forbid, he walked the road of failure once he turned pro, all of today's attention would come back to him as condemnation, undiluted.

Could Dwayne Moi Stone actually endure that? Could he keep playing football while enduring it?

Tom Brady, the greatest quarterback of the past twenty years, began as the backup's backup's backup and was expected of no one. Patrick Mahomes, likewise, wasn't even predicted to leap to the top tier of NFL quarterbacks this quickly when he was drafted. Because the burden on them had been lighter, both men could take their time preparing as NFL quarterbacks — and at last become the best.

In that sense, Dwayne Moi Stone resembled Trevor Lawrence more than either of those two. But the atmosphere, the sheer weight of attention on him, was far closer to Tim Tebow and Johnny Manziel combined.

In a word: unprecedented.

"So that's why George wants the picks?"

"Who knows. I can't see inside his head."

"Well. Moi's tempting, but frankly, nine draft picks whet my appetite far more. Justin's still under contract, and I'm confident those picks will make this team genuinely stronger."

"Yes. Same here."

Bringing the conversation to a close, Ryan Poles offered one final reminder about the upcoming game against the Houston Texans. It was a head-on collision between two teams racing for last place, and whichever side won would take a serious hit to its TFM plan. The internet was already anointing it 'the worst shitshow game in history' — but no matter what humiliations got hurled their way, the Bears stood ready to close their ears to it. The mockery would come from fans of lucky, strong teams, and from the envy-laced inferiority of teams already eliminated from the TFM race. Their answer was simple: lose boldly, and savor it.

Walking back toward the front-office building, Ryan Poles thought about just how far the current NFL had strayed from professional integrity.

He's the real deal.

So went his brief verdict on Dwayne Moi Stone.

Now, all eyes would turn back to Georgia.

#. September 24, 2022

#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA

#-2. University of Georgia

#-3. Sanford Stadium

▷ 4Q – 00:21

Kent State had thrown themselves at us far more recklessly than we'd anticipated, and by scraping together enough on offense, they'd slapped a 16-points-allowed label on our defense. But that was their business. Our offense, for its part, turned every single drive into points.

"Set!"

The moment I took the snap, I dropped to one knee and ended the game. Twenty-one seconds remained, but this was how it finished. I lightly tossed the ball to the official, traded handshakes and hugs with my teammates as they came running in, then exchanged words of thanks with the Kent State players who followed.

"You're entering the draft next year, right?"

"Probably?"

"Yeah— you need to get out of here fast."

"Haha. Good Game, Dawg—"

The Kent State D-lineman smiled at the compliment, and I spent a while roaming the field afterward, seeking people out one by one.

Ordinarily, once a college football game ends, the sideline reporter grabs the head coach for a short interview, and that's that. This year, though, my own interview had become a fixture after the coach's — and even now, Alyssa Lang stood waiting her turn in front of me.

I held my helmet in one hand, rested the other on my hip, and was gazing slightly off at the sky when I caught the cameraman giving the signal. So I lowered my eyes too.

"Moi. Another phenomenal performance today. You've just become the first quarterback in history to score on every single drive. How does it feel?"

"Mm."

What I said next was boilerplate. It was an honor. Winning felt good. I'd savor it with the coaches and my teammates. Then came one more question.

Two, actually? Incredible.

"I'm curious whether you're aware of the attention pouring onto you. And it doesn't seem to weigh on you at all — does all this focus actually motivate you?"

Does it motivate me? You could say that.

From the very moment I hoisted my first Super Bowl as a head coach, attention and scrutiny had never once been a burden. Back then I was still twisted up inside somewhere, and showing everyone my success kept the inferiority complex at bay. But as the success piled on, it stopped being a cure ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and simply became who I was.

I am a person born to succeed.

But that wasn't something I could say out loud. Americans despise a celebrity's lies and arrogance more passionately than any people on Earth.

Be humble.

"I try to make it motivation. It's not easy, but I've got great coaches beside me and dependable teammates. When it gets hard, I call my family. I'm always trying not to forget who I am, and to look objectively at the responsibilities I carry right now. More than anything — what matters to me right now isn't the draft. It's the football season. There are things this team and I want to accomplish, and to make them happen, I keep my head down and stay locked in. So… yes. In a way, I suppose it is motivating me."

"Thank you, Moi. Congratulations on the win."

"Yes, thank you."

Behind me I heard Alyssa Lang wrapping up the broadcast, and moments later she called my name loudly and hurried over. Then she asked for a photo and an autograph.

"Sure."

"Thank you!"

Click.

"Oh, and — my husband says to tell you he's rooting for you."

"Trevor is? Well, that's flattering. Would you also tell him to keep writing nice things about me?"

"Haha. I'm sure he already does?"

Alyssa Lang's husband, Trevor Sikkema, worked as an analyst at pff.com, a football-centric site. He was known as a draft analyst and had written about me more than a few times, putting out Mock Draft evaluations as well — mostly favorable, which is why I remembered his name.

I walked down the corridor and stepped into the locker room, waited for Coach to announce today's players of the game, and once everything was done, stood in the middle of the room, raised my right hand, and lifted my voice.

"Great work today!! I know there's not a man in here a hundred percent satisfied!! But what matters is we WON!! And nobody got hurt!! FEEL ME?! We're not just a team!! We're a GREAT team!! Don't you forget — we're teammates, we're friends, and we're FAMILY!! On one, two, three — FAMILY!! ONETWOTHREE!!!"

"FAMILY!!!!"

Yeah—

I was doing just fine as a captain.