We've Earned the Right to Enjoy This Victory

#. October 21, 2017

#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, USA

#-2. Honolulu CDP

#-3. Waianae

Every year, between late May and June, the NCAA's Division 1 football teams host a certain event.

It's called the Football Prospects Camp.

Open to high schoolers across the country, from ninth grade through twelfth, it's pitched as a chance to learn college-style training.

That's the official story, anyway.

In truth, it's nothing but tempering — a recruiting operation disguised as a camp, designed to claim the best talent before anyone else can get their hands on it.

Naturally, I'd been receiving invitations to attend camps for years, and I'd turned every one of them down. But next year, I was planning to give one a try.

And right on cue, an offer arrived.

From none other than—

"This isn't recruiting."

"…"

"I simply want to show you our university."

Delivered in person, by a head coach who had flown all the way to Hawaii.

I studied the man standing before me.

Ed Orgeron.

Louisiana State University — better known as LSU — head football coach.

"Course, I'd also like to see what you can do with my own eyes."

At the start of last season, every single NCAA D1 program in the country had expressed interest in me.

And of those, fifty-eight had gone as far as offering scholarships.

I had rejected all of them.

LSU wasn't among the fifty-eight.

And even now, the man kept hammering in that this wasn't recruiting.

Yeah, right.

We both know exactly what this is.

Why are you even bothering?

But one thing was certain — LSU had done its homework with impressive thoroughness.

What do I mean by that?

They'd figured out how to win over the Stones.

At a first meeting, you show nothing more than basic courtesy. And you are impeccably polite.

That was exactly what Ed Orgeron had done. He'd told me that if I simply showed up with the hundred-and-fifty-dollar camp fee, his people would cover the airfare themselves.

They demonstrate their sincerity with a plane ticket, and I pay the camp fee — which lets me signal, on my own terms, that I'm attending of my own free will.

Hmm.

The terms sat well with me.

Besides, LSU was an SEC program, which meant something interesting was bound to come of this.

How would the other SEC schools react? What about the universities in other conferences?

There would undoubtedly be a chain reaction, and I calculated that I could extract what I needed from the fallout.

Best of all, I'd get to stuff it to the universities that had been trying to butter me up with outrageous perks just to slip a shackle around my ankle.

Some of them had sent emails promising to cover every expense related to camp attendance — including tours of the campus and the surrounding tourist attractions. One had even insisted I bring my entire family.

And you know what that is?

That's all debt.

They want to hang some form of emotional IOU around your neck, one way or another.

Trying to seize the high ground through that kind of maneuvering — honestly, it was galling.

So.

Here is my answer.

"Alright. When is it?"

"You mean it?"

"Yes. I'll attend next year's LSU camp."

"June 1st, for two days."

"Not a one-day camp, then."

"SEC camps have always run two days."

A faint smile crossed Ed Orgeron's face as he fished into his jacket pocket and handed me a camp invitation.

"Everything you need is in there."

"I'll be sure to read it tonight."

"Haha. Wonderful. Well then."

"You're leaving already?"

"Did I not tell you? This isn't recruiting. I came here to invite you to a camp, and now that that's done, I have no intention of stealing any more of your Saturday."

Damn it.

If only I weren't fifty-six years old inside, my likability meter would have shot through the roof.

I knew perfectly well that this was itself a clever, long-game piece of recruiting, so I did my best to look grateful as I saw Ed Orgeron out.

While I was putting on my shoes at the front door, he glanced at me and asked,

"Oh, one more thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"Is there a good restaurant around here?"

"…Haha. Did you rent a car?"

"Took a taxi."

"Hmm — you do have a license, right?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Follow me. I'll drive you."

In Hawaii, you can get your license starting at fifteen and a half.

Not a full license — an instruction permit. But still.

Holders of an instruction permit are allowed to drive, so long as someone with a full license rides in the passenger seat.

"Haha. You can just leave the car at the restaurant and run home."

"What?"

"It's a friend of my grandfather's."

"Ah…"

"Wait outside a moment."

Looking down at Ed Orgeron's shoes, I could tell right away he was a mainland guy.

Sneakers? Really?

Granted, I was wearing sneakers too, since I planned on running home from the restaurant — but around here, we normally live in flip-flops.

I opened the garage door and climbed into the car my grandmother had given me as a gift.

A used 1985 Impala.

An absolutely gorgeous machine.

Vrooom—

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

With a satisfying rumble from the exhaust, I pulled up in front of Orgeron.

"Hop in."

"Don't mind if I do."

Click.

It was a twelve-minute drive to my grandfather's friend's restaurant, and I decided to spend it talking.

I'd met plenty of head coaches and recruiters from various universities by now, but this was the first time I'd ever held a conversation with one for more than ten minutes.

That's how good Ed Orgeron's first impression was.

It wouldn't factor into my decision, of course.

Still.

Good was good.

"What kind of team is LSU?"

"Interested, are you?"

"I'm interested in every D1 team. I don't know where I'll end up, but any of them could be a team I play for someday."

"Haha. Well, as it happens, we just brought in a quarterback."

"Through recruiting?"

"No. A transfer. From the Buckeyes."

"So, OSU."

The name of the transfer quarterback Ed Orgeron mentioned was Joe Burrow.

The coach apparently intended to hand him the starting job right away, and described him as an exceptionally sharp young man.

He'd spent three years at OSU — including a redshirt season — before transferring to LSU, having completed every credit needed to graduate, which let him use the graduate transfer rule.

"Nice. A smart QB is the best kind."

"Your own grades are good too, aren't they?"

"Yup. 3.9 last year."

"Fantastic."

Actually, it was a 4.0.

That godforsaken history exam — I slipped up.

Old habits die hard; I went and used a past-life memory.

The teacher asked me if I wrote novels on the side.

She still said it was impressive enough for a B+, but warned me that next time it'd be a D- without mercy. The nagging hasn't stopped since.

"We've got other good ones too. Clyde — the best running back in the country. And Justin Jefferson is an NFL-caliber receiver."

"Sounds like you're well-armed."

"Plenty of promising kids as well. Within two years, we'll be the best there is."

"Hmm — that would, coincidentally, overlap with my graduation."

"…"

At my words just now, Ed Orgeron's eyes began to waver.

He looked like a man straining with everything he had to hold his tongue.

This is fun.

He'd insisted over and over that this wasn't recruiting, which meant he could hardly turn around now, dangle the bait, and beg me to come to LSU.

Tss—hah.

Should I tease him a little more?

Tempting. But I'll restrain myself.

Time to change the subject.

"How does the camp work?"

"Oh, that — well—"

As expected.

It was a combine in camp clothing.

Naturally — when he asked who else was coming, he said nearly every top prospect in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Louisiana would be there.

So would I be the only one from outside the region?

"Probably, yes."

"Everyone's going to be on edge when some country bumpkin from Hawaii shows up, huh?"

"Haha. Confidence to spare, I see."

"Oorah. That's just how Red Raiders are built."

"Hmm — Kana'i, was it? That kid's not bad."

"Yep, yep. We've got plenty of good ones."

Talking about my friends got me fired up, and I reeled off a whole list of names.

D1? Not a chance. SEC-level? Even further away.

But I genuinely believed in my teammates' potential.

"My goal is to break into the national Top 5 with those guys."

"That's never been done with a Hawaii team, has it?"

"No, it hasn't. Oh — we're here."

I parked along one side of the restaurant's lot and got out with Orgeron, then guided him toward the building.

Waikiki House.

This was where my grandfather spent his days, practically without fail. If anyone ever needed to find him, this was the place to come.

Ting-a-ling—

Ting-a-ling—

"Mo-i!"

"Hey, Grandpa."

"What brings you by at this hour?"

"I brought a guest."

"A guest?"

I stepped aside and introduced Ed Orgeron, and the LSU head coach removed his hat and bowed politely.

"Edward Orgeron. Just call me Ed."

"Welcome! You'll get the finest food in all of Honolulu. Karl—!! We have an honored guest!!"

After steering Orgeron to the best seat in the house, I picked out his order for him myself.

"Anything you can't eat?"

"Can't say there is."

"Haha. Perfect. Care for a beer?"

"Now that is a fine offer."

"One moment, please."

I'd been here a few times before, so I moved through the restaurant with ease.

On one wall hung a framed photo of me, along with my signature.

"Uncle."

"Oh — Moi! Just a moment, it's nearly done."

"No rush. Here's the order for the guest at table — I wrote it down. And is it alright if I pour him a beer?"

"As much as you like."

Uncle Karl had come over from the mainland more than thirty years ago, and he had married the late Mrs. Colina.

By all accounts, she had been a wonderful woman.

Just as Uncle Karl had been left behind, so had we — and nowadays the two of us were as close as family.

With practiced hands, I drew a glass of beer and carried it over to Coach Orgeron's table.

"I'll get going, then."

"Much obliged."

"Not at all. Enjoy Hawaii while you're here. Aloha—"

I told Grandpa I'd left the car parked outside.

That way, he wouldn't be drinking and driving.

Stepping out, I looked up at the sky.

Crisp and wide open — I couldn't get enough of it.

Well then.

How far shall we run today?

October in Hawaii marks the beginning of winter and the rainy season, so even at midday the temperature barely reaches twenty-six degrees.

There's no better running weather in the world.

"Ah — damn it. Forgot the sunscreen."

You might laugh — a Polynesian worried about sunburn? But I'm sixty percent Korean, so my skin runs paler than most.

Black hair. Deep brown eyes.

Granted, training had already browned my skin plenty, but I'd been drilled since childhood on the importance of sunscreen, and I almost never forgot to put it on.

Eh.

Forget it.

Just run.

The LSU camp next June.

I'd wait for the time I'd spend there — gladly.

#. November 4, 2017

#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, USA

#-2. Aiea, Honolulu CDP

#-3. Aloha Stadium

"COME ON!!!"

"LET'S GO!!!"

The whole walk from the field to the locker room, we never stopped howling.

The rainy season had arrived earlier than usual this year, pushing the OIA BLUE championship game back by a full week — and it had been raining since morning today, so we'd played the game in a literal mud pit.

Slipping.

Dropping the ball.

Messing up play after play.

We couldn't run anything resembling a real football game, conceded the very first touchdown, and got backed up against the ropes, one play from losing outright.

But.

We clawed our way back and took the lead.

Who were we again?

"RED RAIDERS!!!"

"Who the hell stomped those motherfuckers into the dirt?!"

"RED RAIDERS!!!"

I kept roaring from the dead center of the locker room until the word Red Raiders had burst from my teammates' mouths five more times, and only then did I gather us all with a single raised hand.

That was when the team's sports chaplain came over.

"That we won this game is a blessing from the Lord."

"A-men."

"Everyone together now — Amen!!"

"A-MEN!"

"What was that?!"

"A-MEN!!"

I've said it before — Hawaii lives by three Fs.

Family.

Faith.

Football.

It's not just a Hawaii thing, either. Football teams reciting the Lord's Prayer or getting pep talks from a team chaplain is a common sight anywhere in the sport.

The NFL is no different.

A place where bodies get snapped and shattered and crushed.

A battlefield by another name: the field.

To walk into it, we lean on something — anything. Even religion.

"Alright! Now everyone, focus up!"

Our head coach stepped forward and laid out our next objective.

The playoffs were over as of today.

From here on out, we prepared for the Open Division Tournament.

Our opponents: Waianae.

So long as rain didn't muddy the works, we could take them without much trouble.

But this year's rainy season was expected to run through the middle of November, which meant that game, too, was already shaping up to be a mud brawl.

"I know! I know you hate rolling around in the muck! It stinks to high heaven, and I hate it too! But screw it! Rain doesn't get to stop us! The more it pours, the braver we get! You worked hard today — everybody wash off and get on the bus! Dinner's on me!!"

"YEAH—!!!!"

"Rob the coach's wallet!!"

"Max out the credit card!!"

"Wal-let! Rob! Bing!"

"Lim-it! O-ver!"

While the linemen on the other side of the room devolved into cavemen yet again, Enoch — the man of the match today, truly — came sidling up next to me.

I grinned and thrust out a hand at my friend.

"You killed it out there, man."

"I went beast mode, didn't I?"

Football in the rain has no such thing as tactics.

Hand the ball to the running back. Charge.

Hand it off again. Charge again.

And sometimes, charge with it yourself.

Even then, everyone slipped constantly and the rushing yards barely added up — but on days like this, it isn't our legs that earn the yardage.

What, you ask?

Penalties.

More than forty flags hit the turf today, and I'd wager each side racked up a good two hundred yards' worth.

So I shouted every audile trick call I could think of, made the opposing D-line flinch and hesitate, and ground out our advances that way.

And once we reached the red zone, I simply trusted the man and put the ball in his hands.

"Utah State offered me a scholarship."

"Wha—!! For real?!?! That's huge, man!"

"Worth every drop of sweat I bled out there."

"Damn right it was! What did I tell you? You've got D1 talent, bro! HEY!! Everybody! HEY!! You cavemen over there!!"

"?"

The group dancing to their music turned around at Enoch's shout, and I wasted no time announcing what I'd just heard to the entire team.

"Enoch is going to Utah State!!"

"WHOOOOOOAAAH—!!"

"E-noch!"

"E-noch!"

A thrilling comeback win in the rain.

And good news stacked on top of it.

The team's morale soared all the way to the rafters of Aloha Stadium, and even as we showered and changed, we kept laughing and screaming at the top of our lungs.

"We are the best damn team there is!!"

"Sons of bitches better step aside!!"

"RED RAIDERS!!!"

"And I'm starving—!!!"

Hold on.

Now what?

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I stared dead at Mika, who had just deflated our burning hot atmosphere — and then, accepting his words, all of us kept right on screaming about how hungry we were.

We had stood up to fear, and we had beaten it.

Which means we've earned the right to enjoy this victory.

Obviously.

#. November 7, 2017

#-1. Los Angeles, California, USA

#-2. University of Southern California

#-3. Head Coach's Office, USC Football Building

USC, alongside Alabama, had staked its school's future on the recruitment of Dwayne Moi Stone from the very beginning — and lately, the program was on edge.

A defensive lineman slated to play a crucial role in the project had reportedly received an offer from another USC, and word was going around that he intended to head there instead.

And today, USC (CA) confirmed the rumors were true.

That was why the head coach's office had been a beehive since morning.

Head coach Clay Helton.

At this very moment, he was glued to the phone.

"Kana'i. I'll grant you — the SEC has its appeal."

—…

"But I can promise you, Southern California is the perfect choice for you. Learn the game properly here for one year, and come your sophomore season, you could very well be starting."

Kana'i Mauga of Kahuku, currently rated a 4-Star prospect, would find it far from easy to crack a starting lineup at the SEC level.

Sure, the same was true at Pac-12 Southern California — but the fact remained that the Pac-12 offered far better odds of making the leap to a starting job than the SEC did.

The SEC is the NFL in miniature.

Hit a slump, and you're shown the door, forced to look for somewhere else to transfer.

That means graduating later than everyone else and entering the league older — and NFL teams, unless a player is head-and-shoulders above the rest, prefer their prospects young. Even by a single year.

Even if he stayed in the SEC, his most likely outcomes were special teams or the scout team.

In the short term, USC's offer probably did look more attractive. But a player had to be able to see his future in the long view, too.

Some twenty minutes of relentless persuasion later, Clay Helton finally heard it.

—Alright. Let me talk it over with my family first.

"Fantastic. You'll let me know the moment you've decided?"

—Of course. Then, goodbye.

Click.

He'd gotten the answer he wanted.

After the line went dead, Clay Helton let out a sigh that seemed to empty his lungs entirely.

Kana'i Mauga was the most important of all the 4-Star prospects USC had marked. On pure ability alone, he projected as a serviceable defender — and beyond that, the coaching staff had pinned real hopes on him playing a pivotal role in landing Dwayne Moi Stone.

"Hoo… everyone's gone completely insane."

"Didn't expect it from South Carolina, though."

"They don't even need a back."

"They've got T.J. Brunson, don't they?"

"Stockpiling a 4-Star linebacker for the future? Screw it. They're thinking exactly what we're thinking."

Word had also come down recently that the Florida Gators had offered a scholarship to Loto Fuamatu.

That, too, was highly unusual.

A Hawaii kid — not even a local recruit — and a 3-Star at that, handed a scholarship slot in October of all months.

Anyone could see it was groundwork for the Dwayne Moi Stone sweepstakes, and the Gators' entry into the race had put every other NCAA D1 program on high alert.

Because those were men capable of anything.

Anything at all.

Everyone knew the Gators were still drunk on the glory Tim Tebow and Urban Meyer had once delivered, throwing themselves desperately at the task of coaxing back a donation pool that had been cut to a third of its former size.

"Thank God Texas and Penn State have been keeping quiet, at least."

"And Louisiana, sir."

"Right. They're an attractive option too."

The universities USC (CA)'s men believed were lying low.

Yet even they were moving beneath the surface.

LSU, which had already invited Moi to their camp.

Texas, quietly stockpiling its strength.

And Penn State, whose president, head coach, and staff were all planning to call on Moi in person.

Some universities believed they were out ahead of the pack.

But the real recruiting war hadn't even begun.