Not a Single Decent Guy Among Them?

#. November 7, 2016

#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, United States

#-2. Honolulu

#-3. Saint Louis School

#-4. Col. Johnson "Teacher" Lau Track

Near the heart of Honolulu, just a hair's breadth off the tourist trail, stood a private school that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠represented the very best Hawaii had to offer — Saint Louis School.

A K-12 institution covering everything from elementary through high school, it was the first name on the list for any parent who wanted the finest education Hawaii could provide.

At the same time, it also fielded the most popular sports teams in the state.

Better known as — the Crusaders.

And without a doubt, the Crusaders were the best football team in Hawaii.

"I'm certain of it. Tua will be the best in college, too."

Cal Lee, head coach of the Saint Louis football team, spoke to the man standing beside him.

The man beside him was a recruiter.

And not just any recruiter — one from Alabama, of all places.

"But tell me."

"?"

"Why won't Nick Saban come see Tua in person?"

"Haha. He's an extremely busy man."

"You went to watch Dwayne Moi Stone, though?"

"...That's one hell of a quarterback. I was impressed."

Jacob Hallman deliberately smoothed the conversation over, and Cal Lee did not like it one bit.

A flicker of spite rising in him, the Saint Louis head coach crossed his arms and hurled his voice at the back of the Alabama recruiter's head as he walked away.

"That boy couldn't hold a candle to Tua!!"

...

"Did you hear me?! You'll see soon enough!!"

Watching Jacob Hallman disappear, Cal Lee turned back and muttered a single word under his breath.

"Idiot."

The Crusaders had been Hawaii's best throughout history, too.

From 1986, for thirteen straight years, they reigned ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as the finest high school team on Oahu. Even after the system changed in 1998, they were still regarded as Hawaii's top prep program. And now, with the system overhauled once again this year, Saint Louis was dreaming of a first-ever championship — champions of the Open Division Tournament.

Cal Lee was supremely confident, and with good reason: the roster was stacked this year.

This is the strongest squad we've ever had.

The foundation of the Saint Louis coach's certainty rested on a single player.

Tua Tagovailoa.

Until just weeks ago, he had been rated the best high school quarterback in Hawaii, with fifteen NCAA Division 1 programs — Alabama included — salivating over him. A do-everything quarterback who could run as well as he threw; calling him merely a "dual-threat" would have been an insult.

And then, a few weeks back, every ounce of that attention had shifted to a different high schooler.

A freshman, no less.

The memory of being rejected during his own recruiting pitch surfaced, and Cal Lee's face twisted with displeasure as he spat onto the ground.

Dwayne Moi Stone.

Naturally, Saint Louis had tried to bring the boy in as well.

He's just a freshman, after all.

He was forcing himself to act unbothered. In truth, he was anything but.

Separate from his confidence in winning the Open Tournament, Dwayne Moi Stone was the kind of player who could rewrite a program's history — by taking Hawaii's best team and making it the best team in the nation.

Cal Lee had been one hundred percent certain of that.

But now Moi had gone to Kahuku High School, their greatest rival, and his sharpened fingertips were pointed squarely at Saint Louis.

Cal Lee strode toward his players.

"Alright, everyone, listen up!!"

The well-drilled players dropped smartly to one knee, and Cal Lee felt immense satisfaction at the sight.

Nothing like the delinquents who ended up at public schools. Good family backgrounds. Parents with stable jobs. It made focusing on football that much easier.

Cal Lee gave a small nod.

"This weekend! We're going to smash Waianae into the ground! I mean we're going to kick their asses and send them home crying! Do you understand what that means?! It means showing no mercy whatsoever! This Friday! You will be more perfect than you have ever been! Now, let's begin. Heavenly Father—"

"Heavenly Father, we who gather before You..."

Saint Louis's own tradition of reciting a prayer unfolded at the edge of the field, and when it was finished, Cal Lee called Tua over.

"Tua. Alabama came by earlier."

"Yes, sir."

"A lot of recruiters are coming this Friday. All you have to do is show them what you can do. You understand what I mean?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Good. Run along now."

Tua Tagovailoa turned and jogged off. Watching that retreating back, Cal Lee confirmed it to himself once more.

The best high school quarterback in Hawaii.

And the finest player he had ever coached.

That was Tua Tagovailoa.

And besides, there was no way his team could lose. They didn't just have the best quarterback in school history — they had the best defense in school history, too.

A perfectly balanced offense and defense.

That was the wellspring of Cal Lee's confidence.

#. November 8, 2016

#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, United ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠States

#-2. Kahuku CDP, Honolulu

#-3. Kahuku High School

#-4. Football Field, Quarterback Room

The more I watched, the more suffocating their defense looked.

Which meant it would be all the more satisfying to crack.

I was talking about Saint Louis's defense, of course. These guys — their defense was the real deal.

"Number 5 and number 21 are good."

"This guy?"

"No. The other 5."

"Ah, Robbie. Gavin wanted him too."

"But he went to Saint Louis instead."

"Haha. Story as old as time."

When Kahuku and Saint Louis came knocking on the same kid's door at the same time?

Nine times out of ten, the kid chose Saint Louis. Better educational environment there. Higher tuition, too.

Not that money mattered — a football recruit was getting a scholarship anyway.

Saint Louis's number 5, Robbie Paikai, was the same. Position: defensive back. A safety, to be precise — put simply, the last line of defense.

After a rough first pass through Saint Louis's defensive film, my conclusion was that using wide receivers on Robbie Paikai's side of the field would be a tall order.

The real problem was that it wasn't just the backfield — the line was rock solid too.

"We're not getting through them the ordinary way."

"That's why we're here."

Frankly speaking, Saint Louis's defense was several cuts above ours.

Most of them stood at 190 centimeters, and they were packed with pure muscle, not flab.

Our O-line is going to get murdered, aren't they?

In football, the offensive line plays defensively and the defensive line plays offensively — a simple thing, once you think about it for a second. The offensive line's job is to protect the quarterback. The defensive line's job is to hunt him.

So if the offensive linemen need to be heavy and powerful, the defensive linemen need strength, sure — but also the technique and quickness to shed those big bodies. And at the high school level, being tall and muscular means you can cook an offensive line alive.

At that point, even rushing attacks built around the running back or halfback would struggle to grind out yards.

God, this is a nightmare.

Great safeties. Great D-line.

So then —

"Can you show me the cornerbacks next?"

"Of course."

Click.

The last position worth picking apart for a weakness was cornerback.

And then—

"How tall is that kid?"

"Who?"

"Number 32."

"183 centimeters."

"He's the first one, right?"

"Huh? 32 and 47."

"Who's the nickel?"

"37."

"Then the nickel is—"

"Yep. 178 centimeters."

"Damn—! They're ALL huge?!"

This side was no pushover either. Every last one of them was tall.

Royce Pao, our starting wide receiver, was 170 centimeters. Sitaleki Tongi was 173.

Wide receivers have to haul in passes that come screaming down from on high, and when the cornerback covering you towers over you, he walls off your sightline and your catch rate plummets.

And every single Saint Louis cornerback had ten centimeters on ours.

"Can you rewind it to the beginning?"

"Of course."

"Phew—"

I wasn't doing field practice today. Instead, I was buried in video analysis like this — on the head coach's direct orders.

And by now, I was starting to understand why he'd ordered it.

"Hold on — stop it right there."

Click.

"Let's go back to the start of the play."

Click, click.

"Yep. Right there."

Saint Louis had lost exactly one game this year. To Punahou, a magnet school in Honolulu. A stunning upset — everyone had assumed they'd win.

The delicious part was this: three weeks earlier, Saint Louis had thrashed Punahou 64-44 even with three starting defensive linemen out. Then, at full strength, they'd lost 20-33.

Truly — football is a game of variables. Momentum matters, too.

After looping Saint Louis's defensive footage for a long while, I was able to find one very small crack.

Number 90.

"The left side, right?"

"Yes."

The tackle lining up in the middle of the defensive line — specifically the one playing left, number 90, had a habit.

"Shouldn't we tell the refs ahead of time?"

"Good thinking. How did we never catch this?"

"Because we've all got too much to worry about."

For a defensive player, it was a fatal flaw.

And maybe — just maybe — it would prove decisive.

#. November 9, 2016

#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, United States

#-2. Kahuku CDP, Honolulu

#-3. Kahuku High School

Today was the day I had lunch with Aunt Mel.

As usual, we sat out on the grass.

"Hey, I've been wondering something."

"What's up?"

"How come football lets two players wear the same jersey number? No other sport does that."

"Ah, that?"

Just like Aunt Mel said — football is a sport where two players can wear the same number.

The reason was simple.

"Because the offense and the defense are separate."

"Really?"

"Yep. As long as they're never on the field at the same time, it's fine."

For instance: if a wide receiver wears number 12, a cornerback can wear number 12 too. A safety as well — no problem whatsoever. Because a wide receiver and a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cornerback or safety will never step onto the field together.

"But we don't get to do that."

"Well, we've only got so many players."

"Oh... sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for."

This year, our full roster was 53. But next year, apparently, we'd clear 60. Some would be cut and others would transfer out, but even more transfers and freshmen would be coming in to fill the gap.

"That was great, Auntie."

"Mm-hm. What's fifth period?"

"History."

"Mrs. Milena's class, right?"

"She's seriously fun, I'm telling you."

"Don't fall asleep just because you're full."

"You got it! I shall engrave it upon my heart!"

"Haha. Thanks for helping me clean up."

"I really liked talking with you, Auntie."

"Me too. Same here."

Aunt Mel and I shared a warm hug, said our goodbyes, and parted ways. She had no fifth-period class today, so she'd spend a while keeping an eye on the kids falling behind, then head home in the afternoon.

Truly diligent. You could feel how genuinely she cared about her students.

Now if only she'd just get married, everything would be perfect.

Was there no good man out there for her?

Some half-baked loser so much as tries — he dies. At my hands. At Dad's hands. At Grandpa's hands.

Whoa—

Wait a second.

Could it be... because of us?

After what she'd been through on the mainland before coming back to the island, our whole family lunged at anything involving Aunt Mel with fire in our eyes.

I let my imagination run for a moment. What movie was it again? Bad Boys? There's that scene where Martin Lawrence's daughter's boyfriend comes to pick her up — I figured anyone trying to date Aunt Mel would be feeling exactly like that kid.

Maybe even more terrified.

I'm a handful, sure, but Grandpa and Dad are the real deal. No joke.

"Mel—!!"

"?"

"I'm sorry!!"

"????"

I don't know why, but I just felt like apologizing. Aunt Mel stared at me like I'd lost my mind as I beamed and waved at her all over again — so I smiled even brighter.

This was my family, whom I truly loved.

"I love you!!!"

Caught off guard by the sudden declaration, Aunt Mel broke into a radiant laugh, and I turned away with a light heart and walked off to history class.

And then, when class let out—

"DAMN—! Nigga!!"

"Jerome. What? What happened?"

"You got a girlfriend?!"

"...What?"

"The whole school already knows, man. Dammit. Some of the girls were literally crying? DAMN—!! Our Boog is straight-up cooking out here?! So who is she?! You know there's betting going on over who your girlfriend is, right? Tamika? Ooh! Momilani! Am I right?!"

Son of a—

I'd completely forgotten my standing at this school.

Also, who the hell is Tamika? And who's Momi?

Toward Jerome Wesley, who never changed in treating me as one of his own people (Black), I laid out the truth. The man was utterly deflated.

"DAMN—!! It was TEACHER MELICIA?!"

"Yup."

"Your AUNT, though?!"

"Yup."

"Goddammit! That's deflating."

"I told you. No dating in high school."

"Even if next year's freshmen are cute?"

"Mm— maybe?"

"Football only, huh?"

"Yup."

In my past life and in this one, high school couples ended badly. The women you meet in college or after turning pro are far prettier and far more compelling — and it's no coincidence that football players getting caught cheating after their wedding day are a dime a dozen.

It's their private lives, sure. But I had no interest in living through that circus myself.

One divorce in a past lifetime was plenty.

"Man. Hey, Boog—... no. Moi."

"Calling me by name all of a sudden?"

"I'm serious here."

Jerome was being serious, of all things.

173 centimeters, 121 kilograms. Looking at him, the famous meme from 8 Mile always comes to mind — the one they call the "Feels Good, right?" shot. That's why I sometimes made him do the impression.

Anyway. A serious Jerome. This, I had to hear out.

"Someday, when you make it to the pros..."

"..."

"Just buy me ONE Rolls-Royce."

"FUCK!! Get outta here!! Damn it, I wasted my time."

"Or a Bentley!! A BMW?? Hell, even a pickup truck?!"

"Screw off!! Your feet are so damn small there'd barely be anything to step on!"

"Or a Hyundai would be fine too!!"

"FUCK YOU!!"

Why in the world did his standards plummet that fast? At this rate a Honda Civic was coming.

"How about a Honda Civic?!"

Goddammit.

He actually said it.

I held my raised middle finger aloft until the very last moment. How, HOW—

"Is there not a single decent guy among you?"

"Kukukuku. You just figuring that out?"

"Huh?"

"That's our Kahuku, bro. We're a public school — what'd you expect?"

"God DAMN it."

The reason I'd just cursed wasn't frustration.

It was because I loved this place that much.

Most of these kids were grinding under tight circumstances, and a good number of them were at a public school just to add one line to a résumé for jobs — and that was exactly why they had so much human warmth.

That's why choosing Kahuku came with not a shred of regret.

Ah. Except for exactly one thing.

"Having to drive fifteen minutes just to eat a burger is the worst."

"Kukukuku. True, that."

The nearest hamburger joint to school was a good fifteen-plus minutes away by car. Other than that, everything was perfect.

Truly.

"GOD—DAMN it, Moi! When did you even start dating?!"

"I told you, I'm NOT dating, you idiot!!"

It looked like I'd be explaining, for the entirety of practice, the fact that I'd screamed I love you at Aunt Mel today.