A Fruitful Day
Whew— another rewarding day in the books.
Over the weekend, Kahuku High School had demolished Radford on the road by the staggering score of 103–0.
It was the second 100-point game in Hawaii high school league history — and the very first victory by a margin of 100 or more.
The stunned Radford parents immediately announced their intent to sue Kahuku High through the Hawaii High School Athletic Association (HHSAA), but it would all blow over as nothing more than a passing incident.
If anything—
This 100-point game—
"Wow."
"That's insane."
"Did you see that pass?"
—was delighting the officials of the NFL and NCAA Division 1 colleges whose football seasons had only just begun.
#. September 10, 2016
#-1. Denver, Colorado, United States
#-2. Sports Authority Field at Mile High
#-3. Head Coach's Office
The Denver Broncos, who had opened the 2016 NFL season with a win just two days earlier, were still basking in a festive atmosphere today.
Nobody here believed they'd be lifting the championship trophy at the end of the 16 weeks still stretching ahead, but a win was sweet nonetheless — and Denver craved it.
Even if the road ended in humbling fashion.
In the NFL, one week is a year.
Or an entire season.
And here, one man was smiling.
Gary Kubiak.
The head coach of the Broncos — fresh off a victory in the Thursday opener the whole nation had been watching — was gazing happily at his monitor.
"You're telling me that kid's really fifteen?"
"Fourteen, strictly speaking."
"What?"
"Born December 26, 2001. He skipped the entire eighth grade curriculum and was accelerated straight through."
"Wow. That's remarkable."
"Here's the more remarkable part. In this game, Moi threw five touchdown passes, ran for 116 yards, and punched in three rushing touchdowns of his own. They're saying it's the first time in forty years a high school quarterback has put up numbers like that."
The Kahuku High quarterback, visibly enormous even at a glance, had stamped his name across the entire nation once again yesterday.
And the ripple effect ran far deeper than anyone expected — compelling not only NCAA officials, but even NFL personnel, to carve out a little time to observe Dwayne Moi Stone's game.
Of course, nearly everyone in the NFL knew Moi's name.
But most had never actually watched him play.
There had been no reason to.
For a current high school freshman to reach the pros, he'd need at least seven more years.
And seven years, by NFL standards—
—was a whole new century.
Besides—
The football world was full of shooting stars.
Quarterbacks, especially.
"How big do you think he'll get?"
"No idea. He could vanish just as fast as he appeared."
"Happens all the time, Damon. All the time."
There was a man here named Kyle Allen — the nation's No. 1 ranked high school quarterback in 2014, and a rare player hailed as a true pro-type prospect.
He'd drawn national attention from his junior year onward.
Plenty of people had sensed greatness coming.
The NCAA was no different.
Texas A&M, after three full years of courtship, had bent over backward to land Kyle Allen's commitment.
Yet barely two years later, Allen had transferred to Houston in the Big 12, saddled with the label of a bust.
Christian Hackenberg, likewise, had been rated the No. 1 pro-style quarterback in the previous year's class — and now nobody believed he'd ever amount to the best.
Scroll back through the history books.
There were countless more examples just like them.
That was exactly why—
NFL teams didn't bother with high schoolers.
They collected nothing more than names and stats.
"Judging purely by the film, it's hard to pin down a type for him."
"Feels like he can do everything, right?"
"That part is special, I'll grant you."
"Oh! It's almost here — that play."
"I've seen it. It's something else."
The men of the Denver Broncos held their breath and locked in on the screen.
And then—
"Whooo-hoho!"
Gasps erupted from their mouths all at once.
All because of the touchdown unfolding on the screen.
Kahuku's drive, starting three yards out from the end line.
Naturally, Kahuku had chosen to rush it.
And the ball-carrier was the quarterback.
Dwayne Moi Stone.
After sending two fullbacks charging out as decoys, Moi took off himself — then, just before the goal line, launched himself skyward and spun a full rotation in midair.
His jump had coincided with a defender's tackle attempt, and the spin had come half by accident — but he rotated smoothly without losing his balance, stuck a flawless landing, and finished the touchdown.
Impossible without a once-in-a-generation physical gift.
A moment that flaunted his extraordinary athleticism for all the world to see.
"You know this clip is blowing up right now?"
"Beyond belief, Gary."
"Is that right?"
The video, filmed by a fan in the Radford stands, had smashed through several million views on the internet in an instant.
Likes had shot well past the two-million mark, too.
After confirming it all on his assistant's phone, Denver's head coach Gary Kubiak wore a faint smile as he described the scene that must be playing out across the NCAA — a picture you didn't even need to see to imagine.
"It must be chaos down there."
"I'd say worse than chaos."
"Worth watching, then."
Chaos.
Or perhaps something beyond it.
But the predictions the men of the Denver Broncos had traded captured only about half of what was really unfolding across the NCAA.
#. The same time
#-1. Gainesville, Florida, United States
#-2. University of Florida
#-3. President's Office
What if the University of Florida vanished from the state of Florida?
No — what if the Florida Gators football team vanished?
Ask the residents of Florida that question, and nine out of ten will answer the same way.
There may be some exaggeration in it.
But it wasn't far from the truth.
The NCAA Division 1 football league — second only to the NFL, with a market even bigger than MLB's.
And within it, the Southeastern Conference (SEC) that Florida belonged to laid bare, brutally and honestly, just how much weight college football carried in America.
Despite being an amateur league, torrents of money poured into it every single year.
For a university like Florida, counted among the SEC's most popular teams, the taxes it paid annually amounted to a full third of what the state collected.
In fact, the University of Florida generated $740 million in economic impact for the state in 2015 and created 110,000 jobs.
Degrees varied, but every university fielding a football team in NCAA Division 1 enjoyed an exalted standing.
That was why they staked everything on keeping those teams competitive.
Because the success of the football team—
—was the success of the university itself.
It was the same reason Kent Fuchs, president of the University of Florida, had become so fixated on one Hawaiian boy.
Dwayne Moi Stone could change the fate of a school.
By transforming a football program that had slumped ever since the Urban Meyer era.
The current head coach's opinions didn't matter much at the moment.
There was no guarantee he'd still be around in four years.
And so Kent Fuchs had hired a man for the job.
Josh Lewis.
A University of Florida alumnus equipped with easy warmth and a smile that melted people's hearts.
"We need Moi."
"You're right, sir. Absolutely right."
"Whew — the problem is the team's record. You understand?"
"He has to at least maintain a competitive level."
"Moi is going to be a big star. He already is one, but by the time the boy graduates, he might wield an influence that makes Tim Tebow look like a rounding error. You remember what Tebow was, don't you?"
"Of course. Certainly do."
The golden age of the Florida Gators had run from 2005 to 2010, under head coach Urban Meyer.
It hadn't been an instant success story, of course.
Rather the opposite.
The spread offense that Urban Meyer had ridden to glory at Utah simply didn't work against the far higher caliber of the SEC.
Meyer's first year ended in disappointment — and then, the following year, he pulled off a monumental reversal by landing a massive dual-threat quarterback named Tim Tebow.
Back then, Tebow was such a hyped prospect that his college announcement was broadcast live on ESPN.
And when Tebow chose the Gators, the most celebrated high school football players across the nation followed, one after another, to Florida.
That was how the Gators' golden age began.
All because of a single quarterback.
A nineteen-year-old boy had chosen them.
Kent Fuchs predicted the same would happen with Moi.
Perhaps something even greater.
No—
It would be, without question.
"Everyone will want to play with Moi. Mark my words."
"Then the golden age returns."
"It damn well better. The whole world knows that bastard Nick Saban has already put his mark on him. Godforsaken Alabama. But you know what? Dwayne Moi Stone will come to us. That's why I hired you specifically. I trust you understand what that means."
"Of course, sir."
Before long, Josh Lewis would pack up his house in Florida and set out for Oahu, Hawaii.
He planned to settle there and recruit Dwayne Moi Stone relentlessly — and if he succeeded, the University of Florida would pay him a $5 million incentive.
Five million dollars.
All to land a mere high school football player as a freshman recruit, the University of Florida had offered an astronomical sum.
That was why Josh Lewis had quit the job he'd been working.
Florida would cover his salary regardless.
"When do you leave?"
"Monday of next week."
"Good enough. I'm counting on you."
"There's big money on the line. I will get it done."
"Please do."
A secret conversation between the president of the University of Florida and a specialist recruiter.
This was the true face of NCAA Division 1 football recruiting.
#. September 12, 2016
#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, United States
#-2. Honolulu, Kahuku CDP
#-3. Kahuku High School
#-4. Weight Room
The time was 9:30 at night.
The hour I showed up at the weight room, every single day.
I set down my gym bag and went looking for a mat.
There it is.
I lay down on the mat and twisted my back as far as it would go.
Ahh — that's the stuff.
My body was a little stiff and achy.
I'd spent three straight hours, five to eight, buried in film and playbooks.
Then a quick dinner.
A short rest, and here I was.
Four days a week, from 9:30 to midnight, I lifted.
Today would be the same, and afterward I'd head back to my cabin and collapse.
Knock, knock—
"Hm?"
Who is it?
Startled, I looked toward the door and found a familiar face.
Tamati.
"Goodness! You scared me!"
"Haha. Sorry. I forgot something."
"Forgot something?"
"Yeah. This."
Tamati held out a bundle of some kind.
Mail.
At Kahuku High's official P.O. box, an enormous stack of letters addressed to me arrived every day now.
The senders ran the whole gamut.
Little fans from somewhere out there in the country would write in, while girls my age mostly asked which college I was going to pick and swore they'd meet me there someday.
Beyond that, a sprinkle of nameless media outlets got mixed in.
Those were the first things I threw away.
What remained after that—
"The Buckeyes want you."
"Ohio State, huh."
There was a poster in America so famous it had practically become a meme.
An Uncle Sam figure in a blue hat studded with white stars, pointing a finger straight out, with the words 'I WANT YOU FOR U.S. ARMY' emblazoned beneath him.
On the letter from Ohio State (OSU) now in my hands, an Uncle Sam in the exact same pose was pointing at me.
And underneath, the words read:
BUCKEYES WANT YOU!
The Buckeyes are Ohio State's team name.
"You know Buckeye is a food, right?"
"Of course I do."
Buckeyes are made from peanut butter and chocolate.
And OSU had turned that candy into their mascot.
Thanks to that, rival teams gave them plenty of grief over it — but with eight national championships to their name, the teams doing the mocking usually didn't come out ahead.
As the saying goes.
You have to be strong.
And then, there was this.
"Mostly SEC, looks like."
Aside from Ohio State, the rest of the letters came mainly from SEC schools.
South Carolina.
Georgia.
Oklahoma.
Louisiana State.
And Florida.
I picked up the one from Florida.
Then I turned to Tamati.
"You know what's funny?"
"What?"
"Florida's president writes the letters himself."
"Really?"
"Yep. Want to see?"
After checking the signature at the bottom, I handed the letter from the president of the University of Florida over to Tamati.
"Oh, God."
"Haha. Right?"
"You've got to be the first high school freshman in history to get a personal letter from the president of the University of Florida."
"That's what they tell me."
"How'd you know that?"
"The president did. When I read the first letter, he wrote that it was his first time ever sending one to a high school freshman."
"…."
After thanking Tamati, I returned to my spot and picked up where I'd left off with my stretching.
"You know where to leave the keys?"
"Yessir!"
"And the lights?"
"I'll turn everything off before I go!"
"Good. Then I'm heading home for the night."
"Thanks for the work, Tamati. See you tomorrow."
Finally alone, I cranked music up loud on my phone and threw myself into the workout.
I was focused on lower weights at higher repetitions for now — I planned to start adding serious mass once I reached my senior year.
"Hoo—hoo."
Clank.
"Hoo—hoo."
Clank.
My T-shirt was drenched in sweat before I knew it.
I stripped it off and kept moving.
"Graaagh—!!"
It hurt.
It was miserable.
Sometimes I didn't even know why I was doing this.
But I gritted my teeth and pushed through to the very last rep.
"Damn it! This seriously sucks!"
Then I'd spit out the curses, look in the mirror—
—and all the negativity would wash away clean.
If anything, I was too damn proud of myself.
"Ha—!"
After striking one pointless bodybuilder pose for the mirror, I pulled a dry towel from my bag and carefully wiped down every wet spot I'd used.
Once that was done, it was just about midnight.
Beep—
Beep—
See that?
Even my body seemed to keep the time now.
Like a stomach clock.
Grrrowl—
Wow—
Look how precise that is.
I switched off the weight room lights, locked the door behind me, clicked on a flashlight, and started the slow walk back.
"Don't forget the keys—!"
"Moi! Hold on a second."
"?"
"Brought you some food."
"Wow. Thank you."
"Don't mention it — you're the face of Kahuku. When you're done, just leave the dish out front. I'll grab it on my rounds later. Got it?"
"Oorah."
Every now and then I'd post about these little gestures of recognition on social media, and the reporters flying in from the mainland would come up and ask if things like that really happened.
And every time, I'd tell them the same thing.
In Hawaii, there were three Fs.
Faith.
Family.
And Football.
All sorts of religious cultures had flowed into Hawaii, the biggest being Protestantism and the Mormon church.
Rather than shunning each other's beliefs, we'd blended together naturally on the foundation of a uniquely Hawaiian spirit — respecting one another's lives and ways of thinking, and no further.
As for family culture — this was an island, and a small town besides, so for as long as anyone could remember there'd been a custom of everyone looking out for everyone.
When sorrow struck one household, the whole community would come to that house and become its pillars, its family.
And last, football.
Making money in Hawaii was brutally hard, so unless you became a football scholarship athlete, most families simply couldn't afford college tuition.
You could win scholarships in other sports, of course.
But in Hawaii, it had always been football.
Anyway.
This culture, unique to Hawaii, always came back to the same spirit: love thy neighbor.
So we took care of each other.
Expecting nothing in return.
It was the tradition I loved most of all.
And one I intended to carry forward.
"Ahh, this is the life."
Dinner, then a shower.
I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
I couldn't keep my eyes open to save my life.
When I was this tired, I always thought the same thing.
Wow—
Another rewarding day in the books.
Just like that.
Without a shred of resistance.
I surrendered to the sleep that came for me.