Now I'll Dig In

Sometime in 199, January 16th, 2023. Athens, Georgia. The University of Georgia. Vandiver Hall parking lot.

A lot had happened over the past week.

First there was the parade in Athens, where I received a plaque of appreciation. Then came the sponsorship deals. TV and YouTube appearances, commercial shoots. Photoshoots and interviews with a string of magazines.

I had left campus ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on the afternoon of the parade, on the 10th, and only made it back here about two hours ago.

“You're serious?”

“I am. I don't need it anymore.”

“Don't change your mind later.”

“Just take it before I do.”

“Damnnn! This is so cool—!”

As I'd promised, I gave Raki the car Toyota had gifted me. I'd already sent it to the shop and had it fully detailed, so there was nothing left to fix up.

“Seriously, thank you.”

“From now on, you're the leader.”

“I'll do my best.”

“That's all I ask.”

After a long stretch of doubting me, Raki was visibly moved, showering me with thanks before driving off. I waved until the car disappeared from view, then tightened my scarf and started my walk.

All across campus, evidence of our third straight National Championship was proudly on display.

Plenty of people recognized me as I passed and called out greetings; a few came up asking for photos and autographs.

Click.

“Thank you!”

“No problem.”

“We're really going to miss you.”

“Haha. I'll miss you too. And this place as well.”

The whole point of this walk was to order a coffee at the café up the road, and while I was there, I added another two thousand dollars to my tab — enough to buy a cup for everyone in the building.

The barista asked if she could post about it on social media.

“No, thank you. I'd rather keep it quiet.”

“Well, I can't argue with that. Thank you.”

“Don't mention it. Enjoy the coffee, everyone.”

“Oh! Would you like a sandwich? On the house?”

“Free food? How could I say no.”

“One moment!”

A hot coffee and a thick sandwich.

Hard to beat the walk out of a café.

I was warming my hands on the cup as I headed back toward Vandiver Hall when James, the building manager, stopped me.

“Pittsburgh, huh.”

“Whoa-okay. That's pretty blunt.”

“Can I ask what's inside?”

“Sure. Probably the Play Book.”

The delivery box had arrived a few days ago, stamped with the unmistakable return address: the Pittsburgh Steelers front office.

I picked up the box, stepped into the elevator, pressed the button for the sixth floor, and waited for the doors to slide shut.

I couldn't wait to see what was inside.

Squeeek.

“….”

There it was.

The Play Book.

Inside the box, alongside the Steelers' Play Book, sat a stack of envelopes.

I picked up the one on top first.

Let's see…

Omar Khan?

The GM, huh. Mike Tomlin I expected. But…

Dan Rooney?

Who's this?

A quick search on my phone told me Dan Rooney Jr. was a member of the ownership family, holding the position of Player Personnel Coordinator for the Steelers.

Player Personnel, in short, was the department that handled everything related to the players. They identified the players the team needed, directed the scouting group to investigate, analyzed the reports, and pushed for signings while weighing the salary cap and a dozen other factors. The GM, as the final decision-maker, would review whether a proposal was reasonable, then give the Player Personnel Coordinator the final call on whether to act on a player acquisition.

Of course the head of personnel mattered in the draft too — that was obviously why they'd written to me.

And the last envelope was from Art Rooney II.

The owner of the Steelers.

I opened Art Rooney II's envelope first. I'd expected nothing more than a signature, but it was a handwritten letter — a surprise. The gist: congratulations on a third consecutive National Championship, and how thrilled he was to have the chance to choose me.

The other letters were all much the same.

But Mike Tomlin's was different.

He had written exactly three words.

It was Mike Tomlin's philosophy, apparently — and the meaning hit me the instant I read it.

In any organization — especially one like a football team, where trust and devotion have to be unconditional — where you set the baseline may well be the single most decisive factor.

People will tell you that all 32 NFL teams dream of a Super Bowl. But that's not a standard. That's just a dream, plain and simple.

If you want to achieve the dream, you have to tend to reality.

From the moment I opened my eyes in the morning until the moment I fell asleep, every action and every thought of mine needed a standard. And the higher that standard, the further laziness ran.

In my past life, when I coached the Jets, I'd always demanded the same thing of my players: raise your threshold for satisfaction. I figured it was a similar idea.

Impressive. I liked it, too.

I lined the letters up neatly on the table, then reached for the Play Book next.

But—

“Hm?”

There was something else underneath it. I knew what it was at a glance.

“….”

A Steelers jersey. Home white, with my name and the number 14 stitched on it.

It can't be easy to be this brazen about it, but Pittsburgh apparently wasn't even bothering with a backup plan.

Still — you'll at least hear me out, right?

Anyway.

I checked what was in the sandwich, nuked it in the microwave, and carried the warmed plate over to the couch, the Play Book tucked under my left arm.

Well then. Shall we take a look?

Just what kind of offense Mike Tomlin and his staff were drawing up — I was going to dig into it now.

Thoroughly.

January 19th, 2023. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Pittsburgh Steelers Front Office.

That morning, the Pittsburgh Steelers held their first-ever phone call with Dwayne Moi Stone's agent.

On paper, it was to confirm a few details. The real purpose was to convey the team's thinking and start building goodwill and trust with Dwayne Moi Stone himself.

It was during that call that Steelers GM Omar Khan heard something genuinely fascinating.

—All 32 of them?

“Yeah. Believe it or not.”

—Unbelievable.

Omar Khan was passing along the news to Mike Tomlin, whose vacation was interrupted by a report that was hard to believe.

Pro Days — the events where NFL scouts and personnel visit a college to run workouts with a specific player — never, ever draw all 32 teams. There's no reason to watch a player you have no intention of drafting, and since the NFL has no lottery and the draft order locks in directly by reverse record, the pool of players you might actually pick narrows fast.

And when a player is a near-lock for the #1 overall pick, the usual turnout is four or five teams at the low end, maybe six or seven at the high end.

Even when Trevor Lawrence held his Pro Days two years ago, only seven teams sent representatives. Considering the Combine had been canceled that year due to COVID-19, making the Pro Day the only evaluation opportunity, its importance was far greater than in a normal year — and still, only seven teams seriously considered drafting Trevor Lawrence.

Yet for Dwayne Moi Stone's Pro Days, all 32 teams were reportedly sending people.

That meant an enormous crowd descending on the University of Georgia — there might not even be room for everyone at the practice facility.

Though there was always the outdoor option.

“The league office says they'll announce the venue.”

—Not the university?

“Looks likely to be Mercedes. Or maybe Lucas Oil.”

—….

Omar Khan and Mike Tomlin, whose friendship had deepened over drinks just days earlier, both realized at the same moment how little sense the conversation they were having actually made.

Pro Days are normally held over about a month in March, after the Combine wraps up. But if what they heard was true, for the first time in history, a Pro Day workout might be staged somewhere that wasn't a college campus.

Georgia had, to be fair, offered to open Sanford Stadium. But the league office seemed intent on blowing the stage up even bigger.

The league's 'Make Dwayne Moi Stone a Star' campaign, which had kicked off the moment the National Championship ended, was on full display here too.

When Mike Tomlin finally spoke again, he asked Omar Khan about the team's most immediate plans.

—When's the first meeting?

“Still being coordinated. Probably the first week of February.”

NFL teams are permitted to meet with draft prospects either on campus or in a major city within 25 to 50 miles of campus. Those meetings include physicals and on-field testing, interviews, written exams, and the like — and if the meeting happens off campus, the team foots the bill for the player's travel.

Pittsburgh was aiming for the earliest possible slot, right when the contact period opens on February 1st. Personal schedules would have to be factored in, so the final word would come from the agency.

Which meant waiting, same as everyone else.

But—

—Waiting really is the hardest part.

“Patience is always a bitter pill.”

—You don't sound bitter. You sound positively cheerful.

“Look who's talking.”

—Hahaha.

“Haha.”

For the men of Pittsburgh who had just pulled off the treacherous mission known as tanking, this much waiting was nothing.

January 20th, 2023. San Francisco, California. The Legacy Ballroom.

Before heading to Hawaii for the Korean Lunar New Year, I stopped in San Francisco, California as a stopover.

The occasion was the awards ceremony for Sports Illustrated, the weekly magazine — and word had it that their highest honor, the '2022 Sportsperson of the Year,' was going to me.

My competition had been Stephen Curry, who led the Golden State Warriors to the NBA title the previous spring.

The red carpet.

Right now, as the only college athlete at the entire ceremony, I was posing for a wall of cameras, Coach at my side.

Not because of the award — after the presentation, Coach was set to give a congratulatory speech at the gala. His whole family had come along too, so the trip here had been anything but lonely.

“Thank you!”

Just as I finished the photo session and stepped inside, adjusting my suit, a man came toward me grinning.

Anyone in America would recognize him.

Rob Riggle.

Once the face of Fox's NFL Sunday — a decorated soldier, a stand-up comedian, and an actor besides. He was hosting tonight's ceremony too, and I appreciated that he'd spotted me first and come over with his hand out.

“You are, right now, the biggest star in America.”

“Haha. It's that bad?”

“That bad. How was the trip in?”

“Comfortable. All thanks to S.I.”

While I was chatting with Rob Riggle, a famous NFL player came up and held out a fist.

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

Deebo ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Samuel.

A utility offensive weapon for the San Francisco 49ers — a player who was practically the living symbol of versatility, capable of playing wide receiver and running back at will.

James Cook had once dreamed of becoming a running-back version of Deebo Samuel. A few practice sessions later, he gave up — it was no joke of a task.

Long story short: the man was a monster.

“Heard you absolutely torched the kids this year?”

“I showed them a thing or two.”

“Damn, look at that confidence. I like it.”

Perhaps because it was a genuinely prestigious ceremony, everyone who drifted my way was somebody famous.

Track and field legend Jackie Joyner-Kersee. Jennifer King, coach of a women's D1 football team. Actor Joe Manganiello, and on and on.

Rubbing shoulders with all these celebrities dredged up memories of my past life, and I found it oddly entertaining.

And true to an S.I. event, the place was full of strikingly beautiful models. If Cedrick — who loses his mind over anything with a red carpet — had been here, he wouldn't have been able to take his eyes off the woman now standing in front of me.

“Oh, hi—”

“Hm?”

The woman before me was Kim Kardashian — famous in a great many senses of the word.

Her entourage trailed behind her like a permanent tail, but my eyes went past Kim Kardashian to the woman smiling from just behind her.

Kendall Jenner.

Unfortunately, eye contact was all we managed.

Kim Kardashian saw to that.

With that drawn-out L.A. drawl and her signature theatrics, Kim Kardashian acted as though we'd known each other for years — and thanks to her, a few uncomfortable guests drifted away from my side.

Getting away from her took real effort.

First impressions don't come much worse than that.

“Where are you going?”

“The restroom, briefly.”

“Hurry back. It's starting soon.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

I ducked into the restroom — ostensibly to check my face and outfit — and ran a hand through my hair a few times in the mirror. Then I washed my hands and headed out.

But—

“I'm sorry about my sister.”

Kendall Jenner was leaning against the angled corridor outside the restroom, and she apologized out of nowhere.

That, I hadn't expected.

Was this planned?

“It's fine. The world has all kinds of people.”

“Haha. You're pretty blunt.”

“Oops. Did that show?”

“Hahaha.”

Yeah—

Beautiful.

I felt a strong pull toward Kendall.

She was a Kardashian-Jenner, granted, and she'd drawn controversy over that birthday party during COVID-19 — but she was by far the most understated and normal of the family, and seeing her in person, she was overflowing with charm.

It was almost time to go in. Whether this meeting was engineered or pure chance, I had no intention of letting it slip away — so I asked for her number.

“I'd have been crushed if you hadn't.”

“I'll definitely call.”

“You'd better.”

Leaving a seductive smile behind her, Kendall turned and disappeared into the darkness at the far end of the corridor. I deliberately waited a moment before strolling after her.

YES!

Struggling to keep my feet from floating off the ground, I walked back in as if nothing had happened and took my seat.

The business card Kendall had given me was tucked safely in my pocket.

Save that number later.

“Your announcement is the very last one.”

“Understood.”

Once everyone was seated, the lights dimmed, and just before Rob Riggle took the stage, I stole a glance back toward where Kendall sat.

She was talking with her family.

Then our eyes met.

“Damn—”

That smile. I'd have paid a million dollars for it.

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

January 28th, 2023. Malibu, California. A rented villa.

After the ceremony, I flew straight to Hawaii and spent the holiday with my family, Korean-style. Then it was back to Athens to throw myself into individual training, shuttling to and from Atlanta to prepare for everything on the horizon — the Pro Days, the Combine, all of it.

And on Saturday, my one and only day off, I boarded a chartered jet to Los Angeles.

The purpose: a date.

Kendall Jenner was standing right in front of me.

“You know you're gorgeous, right?”

“Obviously.”

By the pool of the villa a friend owned, Kendall was showing off a frankly criminal silhouette.

I was lounging on a sunbed admiring her figure when she took my hand and pulled me into the pool with her.

SPLOOSH.

It was our first time meeting since the ceremony, and we'd only been face to face for about forty minutes — but there in the water, we fell into each other's arms and kissed as naturally as if we'd been doing it for years.

“Wow.”

“Haha. What?”

“It just feels unreal. I've had your picture in my locker since high school.”

“Liar.”

“I swear. I'll show you sometime.”

“Really? You really liked me?”

“Not quite like this. But yeah.”

“You're so cute.”

“That's my fatal flaw, honestly.”

“Hahaha.”

The kiss stretched on again, long and slow, and when our brief swim ended, neither of us had to say a word — we led each other inside.

The destination, naturally, was the bedroom.

“My friends get here in thirty minutes.”

“That's tight. But I'll do my best.”

Tight? Really?”

“Want to find out?”

“Mm— show me?”

Light kisses traded back and forth between jokes.

Our first time was anything but light.