A Shelf Life of Exactly One Year

(Stephen A. Smith) — ESPN Analyst

"I have never in my life seen a kid like this. He's two grades below the seniors, three years younger than half the football players out there, and somehow he's the one who stands out the most? At the national All-American game, no less? Forget about it! Every single NCAA D1 football program needs to be thinking about one thing and one thing only: recruiting Dwayne Moi Stone!"

(Cris Collinsworth) — NBC Analyst

"It was completely unbelievable. Honestly, a lot of people had questions. Was he just a product of Hawaii hype? Could he really lead genuinely elite talent? And then he answered all of it. Yes, I can. I am more than capable of leading the best players in the country. Every ounce of hesitation at the NCAA programs just vanished. The real war starts now. A ton of teams are going to want Moi. They're going to try to build a team around him. And that's going to ripple through the rest of the 2020 class — the players who'd be joining him in college. Just like it did back when Tim Tebow committed to the Florida Gators."

(Houston Nutt) — CBS College Football Analyst

"Moi is going to the SEC. That's where the highest level of competition lives. Which, honestly, makes me wonder — I wouldn't put it past the conferences to start hanging bounties on his recruitment. It's happened before. Everybody's just keeping quiet about it."

#. January 8, 2018

#-1. United States, South Carolina, Clemson

#-2. Clemson University

#-3. President's Office

Two days earlier, the U.S. Army All-American Bowl had swallowed whole every storyline from the NFL Wild Card round and the NCAA D1 National Championship.

Or more precisely — one boy had swallowed them all.

Dwayne Moi Stone.

And Clemson, the only ones who couldn't laugh at any of it, were lost in deliberation.

Should we enter the RFM too?

But we already have Trevor Lawrence?

Granted, he was a player who'd only stay three years or so.

Despite the flood of media hand-wringing and internet mockery that followed the U.S. Army All-American Bowl, Clemson never doubted that Trevor Lawrence would succeed.

He would become the best player in college football.

Without question.

But that also meant he'd declare for the NFL Draft after his junior year — and when that happened, Clemson would need to find a new quarterback to lead the team starting in 2021.

Under normal circumstances.

The plan had been to bring in one more elite quarterback from the 2019 class and slot him directly behind Trevor Lawrence.

Or, failing that, the second-best quarterback of the 2020 class.

And if fortune smiled, maybe another Trevor Lawrence would simply appear in 2021.

But today.

A certain email arrived.

Addressed to the president of Clemson University.

Its contents: a special bounty would be paid to whichever school recruited Dwayne Moi Stone.

And this was.

Terrelle Pryor.

Brock Berlin.

Vince Young.

Exactly identical to the mail certain conferences had once sent to member universities, back when the greatest high school quarterbacks in history were heading off to college.

With a single difference.

This one had blown past allowance money into another stratosphere entirely.

"What do you think?"

"...How much are we talking?"

"Thirty million dollars."

"God. That's insane."

"The ACC is sweating bullets over this."

"..."

College football right now is broadcast by four networks — ESPN, NBC, CBS, and Fox Sports.

Each negotiates media rights with the conferences, and the more popular a league, the bigger the payday.

Until now, no single recruit had ever moved broadcast money. But if a conference was willing to act like this, it meant one thing: they believed Moi could do exactly what a handful of players had done before him.

James Clements, president of Clemson.

That was the reason he'd called in Dabo Swinney.

"We pulled out of this months ago."

"Then we start over."

"Trevor isn't going to like it."

"That's what I pay you for, isn't it?"

At James Clements' pointed emphasis on responsibility, Dabo Swinney let out a long, slow breath.

D1 university presidents were utterly hopeless — blind to nothing but money, and completely unwilling to care about the delicate hearts of eighteen-year-old athletes.

Trevor Lawrence had already taken a wound.

Deep into that enormous, hardened pride of his.

But Dabo Swinney actually believed this could grow Trevor Lawrence into something greater, and he had already prepared himself to channel it into positive fuel once the boy joined the team.

And now, in the middle of that, word gets out that Clemson is trying to recruit Dwayne Moi Stone for 2020?

Everything could spiral into the worst possible outcome.

Dabo Swinney wanted no part of it.

"I think we should stay out of it."

"I don't like that answer."

"It's the answer I have, sir."

Unlike a president, whose tenure was guaranteed once installed.

A football coach lived on borrowed time.

At a program like Clemson, where results were expected immediately, three losses in a single season could cost you your job.

So Dabo Swinney refused the RFM.

Clemson would go all-in on Trevor Lawrence.

"Then there's a condition."

"Name it."

"2018, 2019, 2020."

"..."

"A top-three national ranking in all three years. If Trevor Lawrence is as talented as you claim — talented enough to not care about Dwayne Moi Stone — then this much should be well within reach."

Three straight years in the Top 3, not out of the SEC but out of the AAC, was a brutally difficult demand.

Dabo Swinney could have called it outrageous until he was blue in the face, but he had just defied the president's wishes to his face; the smartest move now was to nod, agree, and walk out.

Back in his office, Dabo Swinney addressed his coaches.

"The AAC put a bounty on him."

The 2017/18 NCAA season was winding down.

And the buzzword of this offseason was obvious.

"A lot of schools are going to jump back into the RFM."

The destination, everyone agreed, would be Dwayne Moi Stone.

#. May 25, 2018

#-1. Hawaii, Oahu

#-2. Honolulu, Kahuku CDP

#-3. Kahuku High School

#-4. Football Field

Five months had slipped by since we came back from San Antonio.

How did I spend them?

Hmm —

Quite a lot happened, actually.

First.

Number one.

The most important thing.

I.

Became a big brother.

Kala.

Kala Stone.

Dad named her Kala — "princess" — and he's currently on a full year of paternity leave, living out in Paia.

And every single day, my family sends me photos.

What Kala did today.

Just how unbearably cute she was.

I check on all of it, every day.

"Damn—! You're looking at baby pictures again?"

"Shut up. You're blocking my view."

"Anyone walking by would think she's your daughter."

"She's too pretty. My eyes physically can't leave the screen."

"Unbelievable. Doesn't listen to a word I say."

Second.

A whole wave of transfers joined the team again this year.

Duke Clemens.

Julius Buelow.

Sama Papa.

Besides them, a pile of starters from other schools' football teams transferred into our Kahuku ahead of their senior seasons.

Which brings me to number three.

"How's Miss Melodia doing?"

"Yup. Totally fine now."

Aunt Mel and Coach John Morse had broken up.

It started when Coach Morse got an offer from a mainland team — and of all places, it happened to be where his ex-wife lived. He went out for the interview, and the old flame caught fire again.

If you're going to hide something, hide it properly — but about a week in, they got caught, and that very day I ran straight into Coach Morse in the hallway.

He'd clearly seen it coming, and he suffered in silence without saying a word. Aunt Mel was gloomy for a long while, but bit by bit she started coming back to herself.

Now she seems completely healed.

This morning, she headed out to Paia.

Spring break runs for a while yet.

I wanted her to recover somewhere close to home.

And maybe meet someone better, too.

"He was a good man, though."

"Relationships don't run on 'good man,' Aunt Mel."

"...How on earth do you know that?"

"Huh?"

"You've never dated anyone in your life. How do you know so much?"

Never dated? Excuse me?

Me?

In my past life?

Since I couldn't exactly bring up my romantic history from a previous life, I shoved Marcus down the hallway and kept walking.

Today was day one of summer camp.

We headed for the football field.

"Welcome, gentlemen! I'm Gavin Travis!"

Truth be told, Coach Gavin Travis had fielded a mountain of offers from mainland high schools over the past six months.

None of them were storied national powerhouses, but regional giants like Huntington and Buford were in the mix — and Coach dismissed every single one with a single sentence: "Hawaii is home."

Of course.

That probably wasn't the real reason.

I'd bet it was deeply, unglamorously practical.

He'd just engineered a massive success at Kahuku and locked in a stable, long-term job — plus, every year he pockets a bonus cut of my jersey sales.

In other words: whatever salary those mainland schools were offering.

It wasn't enough to tempt him.

And above all—

"Moi?"

"Yes sir."

"Start the introductions, son. You first."

"Yes sir."

The man knows that nearly every share of his own success flows through me.

When it comes to that kind of math, his brain spins like a slot machine.

Which, come to think of it, is part of why I chose this place in the first place.

I rose from my seat and walked forward.

Stopped, facing the rebuilt team.

Marcus and Vimahe sent up whoops from one side.

So I raised a hand and settled the boys down.

Whereupon—

"Boo-!!"

"You absolute snakes!!"

Those lunatics were the ones cheering first, and now they boo me for telling them to quiet down?

So I flipped them the middle finger.

"Ahem. *Ahem.* Moi?"

"Sorry, sir."

After a lightning-fast apology for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that little display,

I began my introduction.

"Hey, everyone. I'm Dwayne Moi Stone, team captain and quarterback. Looking forward to this season with all of you. Oh, and we're recruiting for the Muscle Men again this year. If you're interested, come find me anytime."

"Twice a week!"

"Weekends are open too!"

I gave Marcus and Vimahe a thumbs-up for the perfectly timed hype lines, then walked back to my seat.

And while the new boys took their turns introducing themselves,

I brought up the news I'd heard yesterday.

Namely.

"Sioele went to Manoa yesterday, right?"

"Yeah. Got cut from the team, they say."

Sioele, who'd gone to Kansas State in the Big 12 last year, had been released after a single season.

NCAA scholarships renew on a yearly basis.

Get cut from the team, and the scholarship evaporates with it.

Considering most programs will at least give you through your sophomore year, something must have gone seriously wrong. He probably just never adapted at all.

Marcus summed it up in one line.

"They caught his temper, I guess."

A college freshman?

Throwing tantrums?

No way.

Even for Sioele, that's a stretch.

The guy was a textbook bully against the weak and a bootlicker against the strong, after all.

Anyway.

When you get dumped by a football team like this,

usually you have to start promoting yourself.

To keep playing football.

If the university feels any guilt about cutting a player, they'll produce his highlight tape for him or write recommendation letters to other programs. If not, he's on his own — pounding the pavement, hunting for a team from scratch.

Exactly like job hunting.

You call, you email your tape.

Those recruiting-office numbers every university lists online for anyone to find? Most of the time they go straight to voicemail, and even if you leave a message, you're lucky to get one reply in a thousand.

Worse, the "released" stamp works against you no matter the reason — and if you're lucky enough to land anywhere, it's usually from the practice squad up.

A D1 castoff who wants steady starter reps has to look at the NAIA or the NJCAA, and traditionally the NAIA prefers players they recruited themselves.

Which leaves the NJCAA.

In other words, two-year junior college.

A player of Sioele's caliber could probably lock down a starting job in the NJCAA, but life gets genuinely ugly there.

Guys who end up on junior college football teams are either low-level or got dumped by D1 programs for one reason or another — discipline is loose, and landing a good coach is a coin flip.

And if he's forced to California or New York?

Congratulations.

Those states don't even have junior college scholarship systems.

From rent to tuition, you're burning thousands of dollars a month.

And still they can't quit football.

Because by that point, there's nothing left to fall back on.

The NCAA is the first thing that ever tells our high school football players:

opportunity is not infinite.

That being a high school star means nothing.

That it won't change your life.

That we were all frogs in a well.

"So, does Hawaii have an opening?"

"This one, you keep between us."

"Oh?"

Marcus leaned in, curiosity written all over him.

This was something I'd heard from Loto, too.

The Huamatu clan's seat of power is Kauai.

But a few of them have planted roots at Manoa.

In this case — the chairman of the University of Hawaii's Board of Regents is a Huamatu man.

Anyone can connect the dots from there.

"So it's already handled, huh."

"Damn. Lucky bastard."

"Jealous?"

"Obviously. I still have to figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"One step at a time, Marcus. D1 first."

Even if the NFL never happens,

a D1 pedigree is a massive leg up in the job market.

Besides, the universities in NCAA Football D1 are legitimately well-regarded for academics too, not just football — work hard, and good opportunities will find you.

Anyway — the news about Sioele was the fourth thing that had happened.

"Atamu!"

"?"

"Come on. Let's all hang out together."

"...Next time."

When the first day's schedule wrapped, I tried to drag Atamu out to get food with everyone, but he turned me down with a face like a storm cloud.

The news of Sioele getting cut had apparently hit him like a freight train.

"Is he gonna be okay?"

"Hard to say."

Where Loto had cut himself completely free of Sioele,

Atamu had always been the kid orbiting right behind his big cousin.

He leaned on him for everything.

Last year without Sioele he'd struggled badly.

That's why he never won a starting job and stayed buried in the backups.

And this year wasn't looking any easier.

A D-lineman whose whole job is to swallow quarterbacks and running backs whole — that fragile? It's not going to work.

It's not like the competition at his position is gone, either.

Senior year, and college looks like a long shot.

"So when's yours?"

"June 1st."

"Damn. That's literally next week?"

"Yup. Two days in Louisiana."

"You bringing back souvenirs?"

"We'll see, won't we?"

Next Thursday, the 31st.

I leave for Louisiana.

Destination: Baton Rouge.

Home of LSU.

When I asked if I should just take the bus, they said someone would come pick me up.

"So, a limo, then?"

"You dummy. Who shows up to a camp in a limo?"

"Why not? Ugh. Must be nice, living that life."

LSU said they're sending someone because I'm the only one coming from Hawaii — but I know perfectly well it's special treatment.

This LSU event week, branded the Elite Camp, runs receivers, quarterbacks, tackles, linemen, and defensive backs in sequence.

Each position group gets two full days in the program,

and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a taste of LSU-style training.

And I was curious about one thing.

When would the news break?

LSU had to be biting their tongues off by now, itching to talk. The question was when the media would catch wind of my participation.

#. May 30.

#-1. 6:13 PM

After training, I packed up my gear and headed down to my grandmother's house — where I am now, in real time, watching TV news outlets trumpet my LSU camp participation from every angle.

And right then.

Bzzzt—

Right on cue, my phone rang.

I glanced at the screen, unbothered.

Oh — please.

Ed?

Are you serious right now?

The most predictable apology at the most predictable timing imaginable.

Man, this guy really cannot lie to save his life.

Or maybe he just wants me to think he can't.

Am I trusting people too little?

Blame the recruiters. I've seen this movie before.

Recruiters promise you everything.

Scholarships. Dorm rooms. Football.

But every last one of those sweet words.

Carried a shelf life of exactly one year.

And they never tell us that.

Never mention that the reality waiting on the other side is far crueler than the brochure.

The LSU Elite Camp.

There would be plenty waiting for me there, too.