NFL DRAFT (1)
Sunday, April 9, 2023
United States — Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Pittsburgh Steelers Front Office
Traditionally, the NFL Draft was the biggest event of the year for football fans — and the one day each franchise's front office sweated over down to the smallest detail.
Ever since 2010, when the Draft was expanded from two days to three, the opening night — when the first-rounders came off the board — sent the entire country into a football frenzy.
Come Draft Day 1, fans would flood the areas around their team's stadium for barbecue tailgates. VIPs watched the picks from the stadium lounges, and a lucky few were invited to the front office's own party, where they got to meet the players joining the team that night.
With all that on the line, every NFL team treated Draft Day 1 like a state occasion — and the Pittsburgh Steelers were no exception.
Only this year, things were especially hectic.
"Snoop's people are insisting we give him the biggest lounge in the building."
"Couldn't we just count the biggest bathroom as the lounge?"
"I'll try floating that."
"Do it."
"Oh, and one more thing."
"?"
"Wiz Khalifa's coming with him this time."
"Jeez. Danny?"
"Yes, sir."
"Pass word along to Tom Wallis. Tell him the city will have our full cooperation if the smell of marijuana happens to, ah… drift."
"You mean the Pittsburgh chief of police? Understood."
"Good."
Steeler Nation.
A phrase first coined by John Facenda, the legendary narrator of NFL Films, it had since become the byword for the Pittsburgh Steelers' fanbase — a badge tens of thousands now wore with open pride.
"Omar?"
"What now?"
"Jake Gyllenhaal wants to confirm his seating. He's asking to be seated as far from Adam Sandler as geographically possible."
"Tell him the opposite end of the building."
"Yes, sir."
For the first time since his own wedding, Steelers General Manager Omar Khan was suffering genuine stress over seating arrangements.
Unlike previous years, a small army of A-listers had begged their way into Acrisure Stadium — and the problem was that some of them couldn't stand each other.
The staff's questions kept raining down on him.
"Sir?"
"What?!"
"John Grisham wants to know if he can set up a display of his own books."
"Fuck, no!"
The female staffer nodded at Omar's clipped reply, then fired off another one.
"Then he's asking whether he can at least give one to Moy as a present?"
"Haaah—"
Tap.
Exhaling a long sigh, Omar Khan picked up the long stick lying in front of him and pointed it at the whiteboard behind him.
UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES MAY ANYONE SO MUCH AS HINT THAT THE TEAM WILL SELECT DWAYNE MOI STONE WITH THE FIRST PICK!!
The woman, who had been staring at it blankly, snapped back to her senses.
"…Oh! Got it."
"Thank you!"
"Hello? Sir?"
"Phew—"
If anyone on this earth believed working for a football team's front office was easy, these people were living proof to the contrary.
Staging the 2024 Draft Day 1 event while stroking the ego of every celebrity making some outlandish demand was enough to make anyone desperate for professional help.
Snoop Dogg wanting the biggest, most comfortable lounge so he could smoke in peace was, comparatively, the easiest problem to solve.
It was the world-famous novelist shamelessly promoting his latest release and angling to hard-sell it to the first overall pick, or the actor demanding a route through the building that would never cross paths with his old co-star, that ground the stress in.
Until last year, the front office's single biggest worry had been somebody's outdoor barbecue starting a fire.
And even that was a quick call to the local fire department away — a source of precisely zero stress.
Knock, knock.
The door opened at the sound, and in walked the gentleman whose face had lately refused to stop smiling.
Art Rooney II.
Owner of the Steelers.
"Is everything coming along?"
"Barely."
"Impressive."
"…."
"By the way — how did that matter go?"
"Which matter, sir?"
"That… bow tie."
About a week earlier, Art Rooney II had phoned Omar Khan and issued a single order.
The club, he said, would gift Dwayne Moi Stone the bow tie he would wear when he entered the Green Room — black and gold silk, the colors of Pittsburgh.
The piece had been entrusted to the most celebrated tailor in the city, and ran roughly $4,700.
Art Rooney II had originally wanted diamonds set into it, but when Omar Khan argued that it might spiral into a scandal, the gift was scaled back to the bow tie alone.
Omar Khan was to collect it tomorrow, and would dispatch a staff member to Athens the moment he had it in hand.
Art Rooney II nodded, satisfied, then spoke again.
"Ah, and one more thing."
"?"
"The governor and the mayor are coming. And it appears the senators will be as well."
"Senators? From which side?"
"Both. It's going to be a madhouse."
"Whew— Art."
"What is it?"
"What if we open every lounge in the stadium?"
The VIP lounges at Acrisure Stadium currently slated to open came to roughly sixty percent of the total.
But with uninvited guests multiplying and demands raining in from every direction, opening one hundred percent seemed like the only way to keep the workload — and the stress — survivable.
The Rooney family was hardly short of money, but they prized prudent spending, so the request had to be made carefully.
Art Rooney II studied Omar Khan in silence for a moment, then nodded his approval without hesitation.
"…Truly?"
"Yeah — it's nothing we can't afford. That day is going to be a grand celebration. We need to show our strength. If Steeler Nation proves it's still standing tall, the sponsorships will follow on their own."
"Thank you, truly."
"Anything else?"
"No, sir."
"Good. I'll leave you to it."
The moment the owner left the conference room, Omar Khan relayed Art Rooney's words to the entire staff.
And so Snoop Dogg would get to watch the Draft from the biggest, most comfortable lounge his heart desired, and Christina Aguilera could bring all twenty members of her entourage.
Jake Gyllenhaal and Adam Sandler would never have to lay eyes on each other, and Seth Meyers was now free to bring even more of his SNL crew along.
Except—
"HELL NO."
"Yes, sir."
John Grisham's request remained firmly ignored.
Draft D-18.
Another frantic day in the Steelers' offices rolled on.
Sunday, April 16, 2023
United States — Athens, Georgia
University of Georgia
Vandiver Hall, Room 607
The spring semester was supposed to run through May 1, but the NFL entrants — myself included — had wrapped up our final exams two days earlier and finished the term a good three weeks ahead of everyone else.
Which meant I was currently gutting my dorm room.
"Anyone want this Xbox?"
"Me! Me! Me!"
Branson Robinson, hand shooting up, claimed the Xbox, while the PlayStation fell to Chaz.
In the closet, Gunner and Brock were ransacking everything in sight, grabbing whatever caught their fancy — there was more than enough to hand out five apiece to everyone in the room, so I didn't bother policing them.
The clothes I actually cared about had gone into boxes yesterday; these would be stored at the school for now, then shipped to the house in whatever city I'd soon be calling home.
Game consoles, clothes, shoes, kitchen gear, appliances of every stripe — I'd given away nearly everything I owned to my teammates.
The sofa and bed would be collected after I left. We ordered pizza, and once I'd shoved the boys out the door that evening, the hollowed-out living room was there to greet me.
Had this room always been this big?
"Whew—"
I lay down on the floor and stared at the ceiling.
Even the air felt colder, somehow.
Come to think of it, in my past life there'd been almost nothing you could call household belongings. This time around, I'd lived surrounded — and honestly, that had been its own kind of wonderful.
"…."
After lying there a while, I sat bolt upright and looked around, then made my way through the apartment, reaching out to touch everything in it — a small ritual of gratitude to a place I'd be saying goodbye to tomorrow.
The dent in the floor from horsing around with the guys.
The spots where things had burned hot with my ex-girlfriends.
And the place where, until just recently, a sheet of paper reading 2023 NFL Draft No. 01 Pick had been taped to the wall.
Three years, when I thought about it.
"A lot happened here."
Just as I'd walked the campus a few weeks ago lost in old memories, today I let the dorm's memories replay one by one, and said farewell to the place that had given me so many warm nights' sleep.
Thank you — truly.
Following the Hawaiian way of giving thanks for everything that surrounded the time you spent somewhere, I let the private moment stretch on for quite a while.
Goodbye, Georgia.
I'll be back someday.
And knowing me, it won't take long.
Definitely.
Wednesday, April 26, 2023
United States — Kansas City, Missouri
Union Station
Inside Union Station — one of Kansas City's most iconic landmarks — was, at this very moment, absolute pandemonium.
Preparations for the NFL Draft, the biggest event the station had hosted since its restoration, were in full swing.
Twenty-four hours until showtime.
The event planner was getting nervous.
"MOVE IT!! This place is still a disaster!!"
With the stage and seating installed, what remained was the testing of equipment and lighting — and at this pace, whether it would all be done in time was anyone's guess. But at an event on the scale of the NFL Draft, you do it whether it looks possible or not.
While the laborers suffered under the prickly planner's prodding, a line of enormous vehicles pulled up out front of Union Station.
"Who's in charge here?"
"That guy over there — the one who looks the most out of his mind."
"…Good grief! Will this actually be finished on time?"
"We'd love to know that ourselves."
"Phew—"
A man with a huge frame and a shaggy beard swallowing his face — yet, incongruously, a rather adorable one — flapped his arms as he approached the planner.
"Excuse me, are you the one in charge?"
"What is it?!"
"The sofas and tables."
"…Oh, damn it all."
The planner, who'd been scanning the surroundings, raked his hands through his hair and stomped off to find somewhere to put the cargo — and into that chaos walked a group come to survey the interior.
NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell, and the men who could fairly be called the greatest patrons of the league and the Draft alike.
"It's always like this around now."
"Will it genuinely run properly tomorrow?"
"Of course. Nothing is impossible."
The varied expressions of the men walking behind Roger Goodell told the story of how long each had been bankrolling the league.
At the head of the pack strode the Commissioner of the NFL.
Then one of them asked him a question.
"When do the players arrive?"
"They already have."
"They've arrived?"
"Yes. At this very moment they're likely in a studio, filming footage for tomorrow's broadcast. This is a very large event, after all. The players are assets."
"I— I see."
Just as Roger Goodell said, the eighteen players invited to the Green Room were in the middle of their shoot right now.
Click.
Click, click.
"Alright, now let's get some video."
"What should I do?"
"Whatever feels natural. Oh — there are props over there, so feel free to use as many as you like."
"…."
Through the entire session with the relentlessly enthusiastic photographer, the people watching from the sidelines couldn't hold in their laughter.
Barely a few months ago some of these men had regarded each other as sworn rivals; now they'd filed the college days away and were busy building bonds as draft classmates.
It showed most of all between the Georgia and Alabama players — and only Bryce Young couldn't quite work his way into the crowd.
Instead, the space beside C.J. Stroud was filled by Ohio State's OT, Paris Johnson Jr.
"YO! BY! Get over here!"
"…."
Bryce Young, whose rivalry toward Dwayne Moi Stone still burned, refused the invitation from his fellow Alabama man.
Will Anderson Jr. was left standing there with his hand awkwardly extended, clearly embarrassed, and Bryce — feeling guilty about it — wandered off to a different cluster and planted himself at its edge.
The shoot rolled on and on.
"DEVON!! Show 'em some real swag!!"
"AY! AY!! AY!!!"
The bright, easygoing mood filling the studio was shared by everyone — everyone except one man.
"Let's go, King!! Let's GO, KING!!"
And when Moi started dancing, his Georgia teammates bouncing and riding the beat around him, the photographer set his camera down for a moment and waved the others over to capture the scene separately.
It wouldn't make the official broadcast, of course.
"YouTube is going to lose its damn mind over this."
"No doubt about it."
The photographer swore on his life that this particular footage was going to set the internet ablaze.
8:26 PM
Kansas City Marriott Downtown
We'd eaten dinner out with the whole family and come back to the suite the NFL office had booked for us.
My parents, my aunt, my grandfather and grandmother would all be heading to the Green Room with me tomorrow — and my agent Leigh Steinberg, Wade Buck, and last of all Kendall would be at my side.
Though with her schedule, Kendall looked like she'd be cutting it razor-thin — and she was worrying about it far more than I was.
"I'm really, really sorry."
"It's fine. You can stop apologizing now."
"But it's such an important moment."
"The other thing was booked way before any of this."
"Still. Anyway — I'll get there as fast as I possibly can."
"Okay. Have you eaten?"
"No. I'm too stressed about the dress for tomorrow."
"…."
She'd come a long way from when we first met, but Kendall still worried herself sick over things that needed no worrying.
Rather than let it frustrate me, I made a point of empathizing, trying to understand — and then answering as gently as I knew how.
"Eh, do whatever you want. You'll be the prettiest one there anyway."
"Haha. I miss you so much."
"Miss you too. You're staying through the party, right?"
"Yeah. I cleared a whole week."
"That's my girl. Thank you — really."
Kendall's schedule had originally run straight through the end of April, but she'd pushed herself hard for my draft, and thanks to that she'd managed to wrap everything up about a week early.
Keeping up with a girlfriend who appeared in magazines and TV shows around the world through social media was a pretty novel experience for me too.
It wasn't my first time dating a celebrity or a model, but Kendall was, without question, on a level of fame my exes had never approached.
Lately her popularity seemed to have gotten a fresh injection of fuel from our relationship — whenever a show host asked her about me, the clip was up on Shorts within the hour.
"Honestly? I'm a little nervous."
"Haha. Because of my family?"
"Yeah."
"I've met every single one of yours, you know."
During my time in L.A. I'd met nearly the whole Kardashian clan, and it struck me that the old saying about rumors being exaggerated worked in exactly the opposite direction with them.
A family walking that impossibly fine line between opulence and flamboyance — even across two lifetimes, I'd never encountered their kind before.
Kendall's face instantly clouded with guilt.
Truly, the most expressive person I'd ever met.
And that was one of her greatest charms.
"I'm still so sorry about that day."
"Don't be. It was actually kind of refreshing."
"What about your family, though?"
"Don't even ask."
"?"
It might not carry through the call, but at this very moment my family was locked in an all-out war over what to wear.
In truth, my aunt was the only one who cared — everyone else was perfectly content to grab whatever was nearest — but she'd declared that simply wouldn't do, spent the entire day shopping, and was now laying the haul out and dressing everyone by force.
It would've been nice to have Kendall here right now.
On that front, I trusted no one more than her.
But I didn't say it.
She'd only feel worse. So, why bother?
"I'm going to get ready for bed."
"Okay. Call me later."
"I love you, Baby."
"I love you more?"
"Haha. Not falling for that one. See you soon."
I ended the video call with Kendall and stepped back out into the still-bustling living room.
The first thing that caught my eye was my father, in his softly tailored blue suit, planted on the sofa and watching my aunt's near-hysterics with undisguised delight.
Seeing that, there was zero doubt they were brother and sister.
"Still going at it?"
"Don't ask. It's stubbornness versus stubbornness out there."
"Ooh — that's Grandma Kim Jeong-sun's stubbornness coming out in her."
"Exactly. That's exactly it."
"Could really use some popcorn right about now."
"You said it."
"You two over there!! Zip it, quietly!"
At my aunt's withering glare, I mimed zipping my lips shut, and my father just kept chortling away.
With my grandparents nowhere in sight, I asked my father about them — they were, he said, off in separate rooms getting changed.
"You'd think people could just throw on whatever and go."
"Shh. I'm not starting that fight again."
In the middle of watching my mother and aunt's sharp-elbowed standoff, my grandfather and grandmother emerged from one side of the room.
I told them both how well their outfits suited them.
"I wasn't sure at first… but I do like it."
"See?! Unni, didn't I tell you?!"
"I like the red one."
"Unni! Red is Kansas City's color! The Draft is being held in Kansas City, and Moy's mother shows up in a red dress of all things? That'll surely have everyone praising your impeccable sense."
"…Moi? Which one looks better on me?"
Suddenly my mother turned toward me, holding up the dress my aunt had picked for her in one hand and the one she wanted to wear in the other.
I, who'd been chuckling along until that moment, froze solid.
I could feel the danger closing in.
So.
"Excuse me — I really gotta pee."
"Moi! Sweetie?"
Barely a minute after I'd fled my seat, my father too sprang up and disappeared toward the kitchen.
Apparently—
"Just wear this red one, and with a scarf…"
"No, unni! Please! Will you listen to me for once?!"
The women's war looked set to rage on a while longer.
Quick — finish and make my escape.
Our night in Kansas City with the whole family together was thoroughly Stone-flavored, and utterly, beautifully peaceful.