Right Now, There's Only Georgia

#. October 4, 2022

#-1. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, USA

#-2. Pittsburgh Steelers Front Office

#-3. Press Conference Room

With several teams that had unwillingly boarded the TFM express picking up two wins apiece and briefly stepping off the line, the Pittsburgh Steelers dropped their Week 4 game as well, sending a fresh shockwave through the city.

Public opinion had already soured considerably, and among the fanbase the debate had split into camps — one side insisting that TFM and tanking simply could not be tolerated.

The local media, brimming with grievances, had raised their voices in unison, saying the front office had failed to rein in the fallout from a season that had gone off the rails from the very preparation stage.

It was Tuesday, and today Pittsburgh head coach Mike Tomlin stood before the reporters ahead of practice.

It was the usual ritual meeting, but he also had something important to announce officially.

“First, I have an announcement to make.”

“?”

“Starting with next week's game, we're changing the play caller.”

In football, the head coach, offensive coordinator, and quarterback are all referred to as the play callers.

Mike Tomlin announced that, in place of Mitchell Trubisky — who had delivered a disastrous performance over the first four games — rookie Kenny Pickett, drafted 20th overall this year, would take over as the starting quarterback.

With that, Pittsburgh became the first team of the season to bench its opening-day starter, effectively admitting its start had been a failure.

Naturally, Mike Tomlin's mood was sour.

But he paid the media no mind.

The first hand to shoot up belonged to a reporter from the Post-Gazette, who wasted no time plunging a knife into Tomlin's simmering insides.

“Did you see something special ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in Kenny Pickett?”

“He's a good kid.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“…Well, as you know, we started the season 1-3. That's not what we wanted, and we judged this to be the right time to make a change if we want to compete for a playoff berth again. Kenny has put up good results in recent practices, and we decided he's earned the right to start. It was obviously not a decision I made alone. The entire coaching staff sat down and discussed it together.”

By all rights, that by-the-book answer should have been followed by questions about the direction the team would take and what efforts they'd make to start winning.

But today was different.

“What are your thoughts on TFM?”

“…We are not tanking.”

“You're 1-3.”

“Where are you from?”

“Yahoo.”

“Do you know how many games are in an NFL season?”

“Of course. Seventeen.”

“And there's my answer. Thank you.”

Watching Mike Tomlin be visibly prickly, the reporters figured they'd found a prize target.

When emotions run hot and composure wavers, that's usually when the truth and the things people actually think slip out — and fortunately for Mike Tomlin, there were pro-Pittsburgh outlets in the room today too.

Steelers Wire chief among them.

“How's T.J. Watt looking?”

“Finally, a proper question.”

At Tomlin's way of saying saved by the bell, a ripple of laughter — each chuckle meaning something different — spread through the press box.

The Steelers were not at full strength right now.

T.J. Watt, the anchor of the defense and the reigning Defensive Player of the Year, had suffered a torn pec in the Week 1 game and was still out.

As the NFL's premier outside linebacker, his absence meant the pressure being applied to opposing quarterbacks had dropped off dramatically — and once T.J. Watt returned, the points allowed could be reined in considerably.

Watching the interview from a corner of the room was one particular man: Omar Khan, the Steelers' general manager.

He had just finished a heated argument with Mike Tomlin. Khan had argued that the quarterback shouldn't be swapped at all — that Mitchell Trubisky should stay under center.

But when it came to influence inside the team, Tomlin — the head coach since 2008 — carried far more weight than Khan, who had become GM for the first time just this year.

“….”

Omar Khan chewed on the bitter feeling as he watched the interview wind down.

Here was a team that couldn't tank even if it wanted to.

#. October 6, 2022

#-1. Nashville, Tennessee, USA

#-2. Tennessee Titans Front Office

#-3. General Manager's Office

Nobody had predicted that the Tennessee Titans — the early season's dark-horse contender on the TFM watch — would open 0-4.

Week 4 against the Indianapolis Colts in particular had been a game where they'd done a solid job holding the opponent's offense to 17 points, only to score just 13 themselves and rack up one more loss.

And at this, Jon Robinson felt satisfaction.

Because everything had unfolded exactly as he intended.

Having quietly approached Nissan — the team's principal sponsor — and used that leverage to sway the ownership group, he'd managed to get Joshua Dobbs on the field in place of Ryan Tannehill starting in the second quarter of last Sunday's game.

It didn't hurt that Tannehill's first-quarter performance had been poor enough to help sway the head coach's mind on its own.

And so Jon Robinson sat watching the big-screen TV with a happy expression on his face, watching the team he'd placed at the front of the TFM pack.

“Look at that.”

“Incredible.”

“A lot of people — even us — have been curious, and questioning it. Why doesn't that kid, with a body like that, run more? Especially near the end zone.”

What the Titans' brass was watching right now was Dwayne Moi Stone's highlights against Missouri.

On the screen, Dwayne Moi Stone faked out ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Missouri defense beautifully with play action, then jogged leisurely to the left and finished off a rushing touchdown with his own legs.

It was the most noticeable change in Dwayne Moi Stone's game this year — his rush attempts and rushing touchdowns had both increased compared to the past two seasons.

With elite players like James Cook and Zamir White ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gone, the running back depth had thinned, and he was covering for it by choosing to tuck the ball and run himself.

That was why his combined rushing and passing yardage was approaching 3,000 barely five games into the season.

“That kid is a true dual-threat.”

“He's faster than most receivers.”

“Fantastic. Almost makes me look forward to the Combine.”

“…Wow. And he's doing that now.”

Granted, it was an edited highlight reel with only the good plays strung together — but even so, Dwayne Moi Stone stood out unmistakably.

It felt like a quarterback showing everything a quarterback could possibly show, all within a single game — and that was exactly what Dwayne Moi Stone had been doing all season long.

Plenty of college players had been evaluated as NFL-caliber over the years, but a player graded as unambiguously beyond the NCAA level was nearly impossible to find.

Trevor Lawrence never quite earned that degree of acclaim either, and among this year's draftees, no one had even come close.

Yet Dwayne Moi Stone went a step beyond that — to the point where he seemed capable of competing for a spot among the NFL's top five quarterbacks right now.

“Oh, now this is the good part.”

The touchdown play that had gone viral over the weekend — the one that took just fifty-seven seconds — began playing on the screen, and the men of Tennessee let out another collective groan of admiration at the sheer power of Dwayne Moi Stone's shoulders.

But outside, at the practice field, Derrick Henry — sick to death of losing — was pulling the team together.

“Block out the noise out there! We are NOT tanking! We are a WINNING team!! We're gonna win, and win, and WIN again!! And we're going to the playoffs!! Tell tanking to go fuck itself!!”

“Go ready—!!”

“….”

“Set!!”

Shotgun formation.

The snap came from Sedrick.

Kenny stood to my right, and per the called play, I first went through the motion of handing the ball off.

RPO — Run-Pass Option.

The right side of the defense had vacated.

There it is.

I yanked the ball back out of Kenny's belly at the last instant and took off for that open lane I'd confirmed a beat earlier.

Crossing the line of scrimmage, I saw a vast stretch of green spread out before me, and I geared my legs into full stride.

The wind rushed in through the bars of my helmet.

“Hoo—ah! Hoo—ah!”

#. October 8, 2022

#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA

#-2. University of Georgia

#-3. Sanford Stadium

▷ 4Q — 4:18

00 00 03 07 — 10 Auburn

14 10 14 23 — 61 Georgia (1)

I slammed the football into the turf, then broke out the Griddy Dance — the celebration made famous by Justin Jefferson.

Back when I first saw it at an LSU quarterback camp a few years ago, I never dreamed it would blow up like this; these days, at least within the United States, it's every bit as popular as my own Night, Night.

After hitting the Griddy with Rack, who'd sprinted over to join me, I turned toward the section where the Auburn fans were sitting and brought my two hands together in a sweet little prayer gesture.

Openly taunting fans was a fifteen-yard penalty waiting to happen, so I did my best to make it look like a natural continuation of the dance.

“DAMN!! I'M SO GOOD!!!”

“LET'S GO—!!”

There was no denying it — the SEC's competitive edge had been slipping since last year.

Which was why the conference had gone out and poached the Texas Longhorns.

In NCAA sports, universities and conferences are bound by contract, so once a term runs out, anyone is free to change affiliations at any time.

Anyway.

Having just completed the most lopsided Deep South's Oldest Rivalry since I entered college, I had at long last earned the right to rest.

“Good work out there.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Today I'd thrown for three touchdowns in the second half alone, finishing with five passing touchdowns and two rushing touchdowns.

In other words, I'd single-handedly accounted for 49 points — the only rushing score that wasn't mine was the one Dawan Edwards put up in the second quarter.

With the drop in running back quality, I'd been running the ball myself more and more, and as the season went on, my touchdown count had grown larger than that of the entire running back room combined.

“Damn, Dawg — you're stealing my professional career right out from under me.”

“Then get better at your job. How's the leg?”

“Fine. I can play next week.”

“Good to hear.”

The team's No. 1 through No. 3 running backs were all seniors, and as luck would have it, all three had been drawing evaluations that said they'd have to grind seriously hard to make an NFL roster.

So lately they'd been pushing hard with a faint whiff of crisis in the air — and honestly, I couldn't blame them. They didn't have much room to talk.

They knew as well as I did that if the running backs looked good early in a game, the best outcome was me barely running at all.

“Moi.”

“?”

“Congratulations. First time cracking 150 yards.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

Dell McGee, the team's run game coordinator, had come over with the stat sheet to show me.

Well, what do you know.

“And the passing numbers?”

“501 yards. Just barely cleared it.”

“Nice. So that's 670 total yards, right?”

“Yep. Absolutely ridiculous.”

“Nah — still a long way from Pat's record.”

“Ha! Well, that one was a legendary game.”

“Yes Sir — in more ways than one.”

The NCAA D1 FBS single-game record for total offensive yards belongs to my friend Patrick Mahomes.

It came in October 2016, in the Week 7 matchup between the Oklahoma Sooners and the Texas Tech Red Raiders — a game so unhinged that the two teams combined for 125 points with no overtime needed.

You could say the defenses collectively left their bodies that night, but whatever the case, Mahomes racked up 819 total yards in that game.

85 of them on the ground, and the remaining 734 all through the air.

Truly, a match handed down from the heavens themselves.

In more ways than one.

If I'm going to break records anyway, I'd love to take that one down in college too — but looking at the remaining schedule, I figure I'll get exactly one chance.

Vanderbilt, next week.

The weakest team in the SEC — and we're at home.

“Alright. Let's get it—!”

Clap!

I clapped my hands, rose from my seat, and walked along the sideline to cheer on my teammates from the spot closest to the field.

Both teams had moved to playing their backups and bench players now, conserving the starters' legs and guarding against injury.

Auburn, desperate to shave even a little off the deficit, tried a deep-shot strategy to score in one strike — but Malaki appeared, quite literally, like a bolt of lightning and picked the ball off.

If he'd just kept running, he probably could have taken it all the way to the end zone, but he got greedy, and down he went.

He hit the ground with spectacular awkwardness, and watching it unfold, we suddenly found ourselves locked in a contest of who could hold in their laughter the longest.

“Khh—”

“….”

Broderick fought his laughter back for dear life, while behind us an explosion of pure, consideration-free cackling erupted.

Wide receivers, through and through.

That's just who they are.

“RAKIIIII—!!!”

He knew he'd looked ridiculous, judging by the expression on Raki's face as he walked over, helmet in hand.

Instead of heading toward the receivers, the kid came over to where I and the O-linemen were gathered, and unable to bear the silence a second longer, he surrendered first — practically begging us to start roasting him.

But where's the fun in roasting on demand?

These things take proper timing.

“No, listen, I was just—”

“Go on.”

“—I just wanted to congratulate you on taking your first steps.”

“Pfft!”

“Kkkhk.”

“Goddammit. I hate every single one of you.”

Maybe because the team just kept rolling, the mood this year was even better than last year's.

AD's departure had been over family matters rather than any scandal, which had only tightened the bonds inside the locker room, and the freshmen hadn't stirred up any trouble either — no one had to see their name in the local news.

Not that they were a pack of choirboys, mind you — they just knew how to stay inside the lines people draw for them.

After the game, I did my interview again today.

By now it felt like simple routine.

“There was so much camera time showing Georgia's spirit today. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the game, and so happy. Is there any special secret behind that?”

Perhaps this woman wanted me to talk about my leadership.

But I decided to shut that door right then and there.

On days like today, there's no need for me to shine.

I'd already done my shining through the play itself — from here on, the spotlight needed to fall on the whole team, not on me.

So this is what I said.

“Winning.”

“Oh?”

“I won't feed you a rehearsed line. When you keep winning, the team's mood lifts on its own. Winning makes people trust each other, and winning makes sacrifice easier. Things like leadership and chemistry are really just seasoning. We're enjoying every single game right now, and I'm working to keep that going.”

The 53-yard rushing touchdown.

The 670 total yards.

All of it loses its luster in a lost game.

So, winning is always right.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

With the pleasantries done, I jogged off quickly, waving to the roaring fans, and before stepping into the tunnel I took a moment for the people holding out pens and uniforms, signing as I went.

My uniform only, of course.

That much was a matter of principle.

“Nah — this is a Stetson jersey. From two years ago, no less.”

“Please. Will you sign it anyway?”

“Sorry. It's kind of a rule.”

Sorry, kid — no exceptions.

But for the visibly crushed little boy, I handed over the protective brace I'd been wearing on my right hand instead.

“Get a milk delivery route going and buy my jersey. Then I'll sign it.”

“Really?”

“I promise.”

“You'd better!!”

“Peace Out!”

You could call it cold, but a boy is supposed to grow up tough, exactly this way.

If you want something, you take it with your own two hands.

And if there's something worth protecting, you become a man worthy of it.

That's the lesson I learned in this life.

From the father I love more than anyone.

“36 BABY!!!”

“YEAH!!”

Shouting the number of games I'd gone unbeaten since entering college, I stepped into the locker room and, same as ever, shared the joy with my teammates.

Let the world outside carry on its draft hysteria.

I don't care.

Right now, there's only Georgia.

— MOI 'TIL I DIE is spreading across social media – ESPN —