A World Slightly Different from Mine

March 14, 2023

Athens, Georgia — University of Georgia — Butts-Mehre Heritage Hall

It had been quite a while since I'd left campus, but the first thing I felt when I came back was that this place really was my second home. That's how comfortable it was. I'd slept like a baby last night.

"Wait, seriously? Kendall Jenner is actually coming here?"

"Yup. She's staying for a few days."

"Damn— that's insane."

"Works for me. We've been in a really good place lately."

"…She's not bringing her friends too, is she?"

"Dude, please."

I shoved a pouting Nolan Smith away and went back to throwing balls at the net I'd set up.

Right now, this place was reserved for the draft prospects only.

"Florida's quarterback is getting great reviews."

"Yeah, his stock really skyrocketed."

"Well, if my numbers hadn't been so absurd, Anthony Richardson would've turned plenty of heads with his measurements alone."

A 10.5-inch hand span. A 4.43-second forty-yard dash. A broad jump of 10.9 feet. And the crown jewel—a 40.5-inch vertical. On top of that, the kid turned in performances well above his pre-Combine evals across the other tests too, leaving a deep impression on NFL teams.

"Even if it's true you made him look like trash."

"This hyung did do a little of the heavy lifting."

"Kukukukuku."

"Still, good for everyone that they all ball out."

"Right? Feels like it's all trending in the right direction, doesn't it?"

"That's what I'm saying."

I cherish my teammates as much as I do my own family. So I want everything to work out for all of them. Like I'd said, our guys put up results at the Combine that met expectations or blew past them—Nolan pulled his evaluation way up, and Peter and Jordan had settled in solidly as first-round picks.

And that wasn't me talking. That was the media.

"By the way, I was surprised by something."

"About what?"

"Todd. You knew?"

"…Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I didn't hear the details either. He said it when we were leaving work together one day. Told me he'd gotten final offers from two teams and was going to think it over. I just said I'd be rooting for him. Pittsburgh never even crossed my mind—the OC's contract still had time left on it."

That was a couple of days ago, wasn't it?

Our Snapchat group chat had exploded. At the time, I'd just gotten home from shopping with Kendall, dumped my bags wherever, and was having a steamy time in the living room. When I finally washed up and checked my phone, there were well over two hundred messages waiting for me—and the reason was Coach Todd Monken's contract with the Steelers.

I called Coach Smart immediately, and he told me it had been decided about a week earlier and that the team would be fine. He said Bobby Slowik would be promoted from within, and considering how last year's offensive analysis had gone, it seemed the head coach had known this was coming for a long while.

Which meant: Coach Monken was leaving the team.

The NFL is a dream job for most college coaches too. The pay gap compared to a head coaching gig in college is undeniable. For the school, it's regrettable, but there's nothing to be done about it. If you want to keep a guy, you pay him more. Simple as that.

Anyway. With Coach Monken becoming the new OC of Pittsburgh, Matt Canada, the incumbent OC, got fired. The media, naturally, concluded that this entire move had been orchestrated for my sake—and since even a four-year-old could have connected those dots, I just nodded along.

Me? I was obviously thrilled. Coach Monken is an incredibly creative football mind, and every conversation we've had on the practice field has made me happy. Which meant going to practice itself became something to look forward to—if I really did get drafted by Pittsburgh, I'd be pretty damn happy clocking in every day.

"Damn— this one's going to be so easy on you."

"Huh? Pro Day?"

"Yeah."

"Who knows."

"Shiiit. Meanwhile I'm gonna be out here running my ass off. I bet everyone else feels the same way."

"That's a lot of complaining for someone who's that good."

"Hey, you've got it easier than the rest of us."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"…Is it not?"

"Huh?"

"What?"

"…"

"…PUHAHA!"

I knew exactly how this conversation would end from the moment I asked whether that was a bad thing. Like we'd rehearsed it, we burst out laughing at the same time, and while I doubled over clutching my stomach, Nolan took a full lap around the field, came back wearing a deeply satisfied look, and stuck out his hand.

A handshake of friendship, and a hug. Good feelings all around.

"Guys are here. Let's warm up."

"Yeah. Hurry up, you late bastards!!"

"SHUT UP!!"

Now that I wasn't team captain anymore, everyone was getting sassy with me. And I just took ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it in stride. Hey, it's about that time.

With the coaches who'd carved out a day of their schedule for us, we warmed up and prepped for tomorrow's Pro Day. Honestly, there isn't much difference between the Combine and the Pro Day in terms of substance—think of it as a chance to gather any info teams missed, and to fine-tune the final shades of your draft stock one last time.

Still, for the players fighting over draft position, it remains a crucial stage. A single pick's difference can swing hundreds of thousands of dollars, so everyone shows up with fire in their eyes.

"Who's coming from Pittsburgh?"

"Mike Tomlin and Omar Khan."

"Just the two of them?"

"That's what I was told."

"…You realize what that means, right?"

"?"

"There's probably exactly one person alive who can answer that question right now—and it's you."

Hmm. Probably?

I keep denying it endlessly for fear of making a careless mistake, but lately I've genuinely been debating whether I should start house-hunting. Of course, even if I go through an agency, the rabid media will somehow dig it up and spin the story that I'm looking at houses before the draft even happens. Right now people love my confidence, but this wouldn't read as confidence—it would read as arrogance. A net negative.

Why go out of my way to buy myself a bad reputation?

"Todd has entered the building."

"?"

Coach Monken, walking over from across the field. For the moment, at least, he was drawing more attention than I was.

"…Ahem."

"How does it feel to be the center of attention, Coach?"

"Uncomfortable."

"Haha."

He tugged his cap down low, embarrassed, but the tips of his ears had gone bright red.

March 15, 2023

Athens, Georgia — University of Georgia — Sanford Stadium

There was a reason Georgia's Pro Day was being held at Sanford Stadium again this year, just like last year. Fifteen players had declared for the upcoming NFL draft, which meant that many more teams had no choice but to send scouts, and the crowd naturally swelled accordingly.

While all sorts of activities unfolded across the grounds, I sat at a table set up on one side, leisurely trading conversation. And here's the funny part—Coach Monken was right there with me. No, wait. Was that actually surprising?

"Our facilities are top-tier, even by NFL standards."

"That's mighty impressive, sir."

"…"

The condition of the training facilities and the front office. The motivational state of the players. And beyond that, Mike Tomlin had even put in video calls with key Steelers players to show me off. A little while ago it had been T.J. Watt. And now—

-Hello there~

"Hi."

It was Mason Cole. Center for the Pittsburgh Steelers.

"He's on the call."

"Yes, sir."

Mike Tomlin, who'd practically pressed the phone into my hands, resumed his conversation with Coach Monken, and I suddenly felt like an infant clutching a toy so he wouldn't fuss. Well. Can't complain, really.

After talking to the team's spiritual pillar, I was now on the phone with the man who'd become my soul partner at center. It already felt like I was in Pittsburgh.

The important thing was that neither T.J. Watt nor Mason Cole seemed the least bit flustered—apparently they'd been briefed before the call.

-I'd like us to get our timing down sooner rather than later.

"You do know the draft is still a month away, right?"

-Haha. Just as they said—you're a fun one.

"I don't know what you've heard, but I will say this: rumors tend to be exaggerated about tenfold."

-Come on. You know it's not.

"Really, it is. I don't even know what rumors you're talking about."

That's my problem. I get along with everyone instantly.

If I had one worry about actually landing in Pittsburgh, it would be that this Mason Cole fellow wasn't exactly elite. According to PFF grades he ranked 22nd across the entire league—a marked improvement over his Arizona days, which was why he earned decent marks—but his pass protection lagged well behind his snapping. That was the consensus.

Last season, the teams that faced Pittsburgh ran A-gap blitzes with their ILBs so often precisely because of the center's poor positioning and blocking. Maybe he'd improve this year. We'd have to build chemistry first, after all. No point worrying ahead of time.

"Mason."

-Yes, sir.

"We'll talk again soon."

Mike Tomlin took the phone back and ended the video call, then suggested we wrap up the Pro Day and go grab a meal.

For the record—as of today, not a single team besides Pittsburgh had told me they intended to scout me.

Son of a—. What is this? I warmed up my body so hard, too.

"You've got nothing left to prove, son."

"Can't I at least run a few routes?"

"You might pull a hamstring."

"Then how about passing drills? I didn't get to show you properly last time. I'm telling you, I can throw a ninety-yard bomb."

"You might hurt your shoulder."

"…Then crunches?"

"Obliques are delicate things."

"So there's really no option left. Is that it?"

"That's it. Come along, now."

"Ha—"

It was crystal clear now. Pittsburgh had planned this from the very beginning. The Pro Day broadcast had been canceled after being flagged as violating several NFL regulations, which meant they didn't have to worry about the cameras at all—they'd simply come here to flex. Meeting Coach Monken again was a bonus, I suppose.

But then—

"Why are you coming along, Coach?"

"Do I look like I have anything left to do over there?"

"Oh. Excellent point, sir."

"Dumbass."

"You hear that? The only person in the world who calls me a dumbass."

"Haha. It suits you, though."

"'Suits me,' he says…"

Walking out of Sanford Stadium with the Pittsburgh crew and Coach Monken, I turned back for one last look at the place.

"…"

It was a world a little different from mine.

March 17, 2023

Seattle, Washington — Seattle Seahawks Front Office — General Manager's Office

The Chicago-to-Carolina trade that dropped the day before blindsided the front offices of Houston and Seattle, who had merely been waiting in the wings. Of the two, the hit landed hardest on the Seattle Seahawks—with the Panthers pulling the trigger first, their odds of landing a consolation prize in Bryce Young or C.J. Stroud plummeted to near zero.

Granted, Anthony Richardson was still on the board after inflating his value sky-high at the Combine, but he wasn't a card that appealed to Seattle.

Now, with the Panthers' opening punch sending countless teams into backroom maneuvering, Seattle too stood at a crossroads.

"We don't need Richardson."

"…"

"…"

The quarterback Seattle wanted was a pocket passer—someone who could deliver the ball with stability from within the pocket. But Anthony Richardson was a classic dual-threat built around explosive athleticism, and not a soul in the Seahawks' war room wanted the Florida quarterback.

In that context, Seattle had received calls the day before from both Houston and Indianapolis.

They wanted the fourth pick. The asking prices differed.

Houston, hoping to hold onto the third pick while snagging the fourth as well, demanded Seattle's 2024 first-rounder plus their 2025 first- and third-rounders. Indianapolis, meanwhile, offered this year's fifth pick along with a 2024 first-rounder and a fifth-rounder.

Weighing everything both teams had to offer, Houston's deal looked like the smarter play on paper—but Seattle had no desire to help a rival team walk away with the quarterback they couldn't take themselves.

Or more precisely, John Schneider didn't.

"We take Devon."

"Good call."

Coming off the Combine and Pro Day circuit, the Seahawks held Illinois cornerback Devon Witherspoon in extremely high regard. The best cornerback in the Big Ten—adding him would fill a glaring positional need immediately, and as a long-term investment, it was hardly a bad choice either.

The catch was this: if things unfolded that way, Seattle absolutely had to fill the quarterback spot. Who would be the best option?

At that moment, Pete Carroll raised his hand.

"We bring Geno back."

"Geno?"

"Yeah. The kid knows our entire playbook inside and out. We don't have to teach him from scratch, which saves us time. Unless we're trading for Lamar Jackson, this is the best move on the table."

"…"

Seattle's GM turned the thought over in his head: spending the Denver picks on Will Levis. The Kentucky quarterback had decisively fallen beneath the Big 3 after the Combine—solid, even impressive testing numbers, followed by a thoroughly disappointing showing during the Mind Game. He'd exposed real problems with memory retention and decision-making, and his improvisational work was underwhelming as well.

That said, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thanks to unexpectedly strong measurements and athletic testing, teams looking to phase in a quarterback of the next generation gradually would surely take a flier on him somewhere in the second or third round.

But Seattle needed to start winning again beginning next year—and for that, Geno Smith looked like the better answer.

"Good. Let's do it that way."

"Excellent."

None of this had been part of Seattle's original plan—but even so, they were finding their footing fast.

March 18, 2023

Athens, Georgia — University of Georgia

The things I'd been worried about were starting to happen, sure, but it was going a lot better than I'd expected. Above all, Kendall was happy.

"This is so much fun!"

"You're really okay?"

"Yeah!"

Kendall never went to college. People assumed she simply had no reason to, but the real cause was anxiety brought on by excessive public attention. Unable to afford even the slightest dent to her public image, she'd bought a $1.4 million house in L.A. the moment she graduated high school—partly to deflect any reporter who came sniffing around for a reason.

Classic Kardashians. That's the label she'd needed.

"I want to try on a cheerleader outfit too!"

"That's not hard to arrange."

"Really?"

"Of course."

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠male captain of the football team's cheerleading squad happens to be one of my closest friends. Photos of Kendall cheering back in high school are still floating all over the internet to this day—and one of them used to be taped inside my high school locker.

Damn. That girl was genuinely gorgeous back then.

"Hey, about that?"

"Yeah? What?"

"The uniform. Could I borrow it for a night?"

"…You're serious?"

"Completely."

Son of a—. I need to call Ervin right now.

And that's exactly what I did. I called Ervin and asked if I could borrow one of the cheer uniforms, and the guy caught on to the reason instantly, with one condition: I had to make sure he got a souvenir photo.

"You think it's okay?"

"Yeah. A photo's nothing."

"Great. But understand one thing—nothing creepy. And it doesn't leave the room. Got it?"

-DEAL.

Click.

Honestly, a fair number of her past actions deserved the criticism they still get even now—but from everything I'd observed, Kendall leaned far closer to good person than not. I liked to think all the things she'd been through had helped her mature as a human being.

"Babe?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm hungry. Anywhere you can take me?"

"Let's see… it's Sunday today. Oh! Great spot."

"Let'sgogogo, let's go!"

I'm on a strict meal plan about 300 days a year because of work, but contrary to what people might think, I'll eat just about anything. There's a town called Flowery Branch up north of Lawrenceville where you can get authentic Southern American cuisine. It's on the pricier side, but the atmosphere is absolutely to die for. It's a quiet neighborhood too, so few people would recognize Kendall—and the food's delicious. Two birds, one stone.

Ervin had said he'd leave the cheer uniform outside my dorm room door, so we could head back and savor the night slowly.

"Hello? Do you happen to have any openings for dinner tonight?"

Thankfully, they had tables left.

Before heading to the parking lot, we stopped by a café, and in the few minutes we waited for our coffee to-go, people asked for photos—of me, no. Of Kendall.

Especially the girls. They were losing their minds.

"Ohmygod, ohmygodohmygod."

"Wow! How are you even THIS pretty?!"

"You are the goddess of my heart. I mean it."

Damn. I could not be prouder of my girlfriend right now.