That's Pretty Cold

The total revenue of Europe's five major soccer leagues — the hottest sports property on the planet — for the 2017/18 season came to $174 billion.

And over that same period, NCAA D1 FBS pulled in a billion dollars more: $175 billion.

But while the soccer season runs for roughly ten months, the NCAA D1 football season runs for only four.

Average games per team: 43.6 versus 13.2.

NCAA D1 plays less than a third as many.

Granted, soccer's global reach does generate enormous revenue through jersey sales and the like — but once you factor in all the various operating expenses, NCAA D1 is a goose that lays golden eggs.

Which is why every sports apparel company worth its name dreams of breaking into NCAA D1 — yet the popular football programs are all locked up tight by a single company.

Nike.

But Under Armour, headquartered in Baltimore, Maryland, sees this moment as its chance to turn the tide.

#. June 23, 2018

#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, USA

#-2. Honolulu CDP

#-3. Waina Haina

I'd figured the time was coming soon enough.

I just didn't expect it to be today.

Under Armour, which sponsors our Kahuku uniforms, showed up at my door alongside Coach Travis with a certain event proposal.

Namely —

"Sounds good to me. I'm in."

"You'll really do it?"

"Of course."

Back in May, a magnitude 6.9 earthquake had struck five kilometers off the southeast coast of the Big Island of Hawaii.

Earthquakes are fairly common in Hawaii, though, and a 6.9 at that distance is the kind that usually passes without any real damage.

But this time was different.

Not because of the earthquake itself — but because the Kilauea volcano, sitting at the heart of the Big Island, had erupted.

Lives were lost, thousands of residents and tourists had to evacuate, and the vacationers ferried across to neighboring islands just to catch flights off of Hawaii entirely.

Two weeks after the eruption, volcanic ash was billowing more than nine kilometers into the sky — and now, methane gas was seeping out too, raising the possibility of fresh explosions.

The life of a displaced person is an exhausting one, as it turns out.

And Under Armour had decided to help.

That, right there, was the event they proposed.

And they wanted me to be part of it.

Knowing full well I couldn't say no.

They know exactly what they're doing.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes, Coach."

Under Armour was setting up donation collection points across Hawaii's key areas the next day.

And they'd asked me to help gather relief supplies at Waikiki Beach — because when it comes to dirty work, that's where the crowds are thickest.

But was this really only ever going to be about relief supplies?

I didn't think so.

And I had the evidence to back that up.

"You're going out to volunteer?"

"Yes, Grandma."

"Our Moi is doing such good work."

"Haha. It's for the people of the island, after all."

"Let me peel you some fruit."

"Um, that's... plenty, really—?"

Once again, Grandma vanished without listening to a word I said.

Great. I'm going to burst today too.

Visualizing the mountain of fruit that would soon be stacked in front of me, I shook my head and sank into the sofa.

So this is why he told me not to go to Maui.

Not Grandma. Coach Travis.

These days I spend every weekend in Paia.

To see Kala.

I won't get to this week. Sad.

Photo will have to do.

"…"

Looking at my little sister settled my heart.

Now, where was I? Ah, right — the evidence.

Yesterday, right after practice ended, a Notre Dame representative came to see me.

Then he handed me a truly staggering stack of recruiting materials and left.

Why ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠does that matter?

Because Under Armour sponsors Notre Dame.

Meeting a university official backed by a specific sponsor, and then a man from that sponsor's headquarters, back to back like this is never ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a coincidence.

There is no such thing as coincidence in this business.

Especially not in situations like this one.

"…"

Notre Dame, huh.

To be honest, it's already on my shortlist.

In my past life, Columbia — where I actually went — held exactly the kind of status Notre Dame holds now.

Elite academics and elite football. Undergraduate-focused education. One of the hardest schools in the country to get into. The most expensive tuition in America. Catholic affiliation, with not one but several cathedrals on campus. And a global alumni network spanning every industry on Earth.

And above all, when it comes to football —

"Wooow."

"Eat up, dear."

Its stature towers even higher than the mountain of fruit sitting in front of me right now.

"Grandma, if I eat all this, I'm definitely going to explode."

"Oh, you. Such a joker."

Not joking, actually.

Anyway.

Picking up a neatly sliced piece of dragon fruit with my mouth —

I kept chewing through my thoughts on Notre Dame.

The most popular team in the entire country.

That part is beyond question.

The only reason the school's marketing lags a little compared to the SEC powerhouses is that Notre Dame plays as an independent.

The reason conferences exist in NCAA D1 at all is that the country is so vast and there are so many teams that without some governing body keeping order, everything descends into chaos — but Notre Dame manages literally everything, top to bottom, by itself.

Why would they do that?

Money, obviously.

With no conference, every dollar of revenue flows directly into the university's coffers.

Any other school pulling that stunt would get ganged up on and frozen out by the conferences — but as I said, they're the most popular team in America, and nobody can touch them.

Just how big is Notre Dame's stature? NBC once negotiated a separate network broadcast deal for exactly one college — and that college was Notre Dame.

I love it. Every last bit of it.

Which is probably why it sits at number one in my heart right now.

Except.

There is one very, very large problem.

"Wack."

Bringing an apple to my mouth this time —

I pulled up footage on my tablet.

Notre Dame's games from last season.

Head coach Brian Kelly is regarded, alongside Nick Saban, as one of the defining coaches of the NCAA — and his core philosophy is the same spread offense Urban Meyer runs. Compared to Saban's run-heavy schemes there's more passing, sure, but the spread was ultimately designed to wring athletic ability dry for all it's worth.

In other words.

Most of what I'd learn and experience in college there.

Would become useless the moment I reached the NFL.

I'm confident I could start over from scratch — but do I really have to?

And above all —

It's a scheme where the quarterback struggles to shine.

The NFL Draft proves it, too.

From 2010 through last season, exactly one quarterback who played at Notre Dame made it to the NFL: DeShone Kizer.

Considering their results, that's an absurdly small number.

So did they fail to recruit? Were they short on talent?

Absolutely not.

Notre Dame brought in multiple 4-Star quarterbacks, and in 2012 they landed Gunner Kiel — the best quarterback in the region, and the best in the entire country that year.

But.

Gunner Kiel transferred to Cincinnati the very next season.

And his interview from back then remains an absolute masterpiece.

I do not like it. Not one bit.

And that is why — and why only for me — Notre Dame sits at number one.

Because honestly, it's about the school's prestige itself, not the football team.

If Brian Kelly were gone.

I'd commit a hundred percent.

Announce it tomorrow morning, even.

But.

That's not going to happen.

No matter how highly I'm rated as the one and only 6-Star quarterback in the country, I'm still just a high schooler.

At any rate.

Every school has exactly one fatal flaw.

Which makes it all the more —

"Interesting, that's what it is…"

"Hmm? What was that?"

"Oh! No, Grandma, just talking to myself."

For the sake of Grandma and her beloved drama —

I was trying to quietly scoot out of her way.

If only.

"Hmm? You're leaving all this fruit behind?"

If only I hadn't heard those words.

The mountain of fruit on the table had not shrunk by a single crumb.

No avalanches are happening over there, right?

I had to scramble for an excuse.

"…I need to use the bathroom."

"Oh, of course. Go on, dear."

"Thanks."

Grandma's love: still more than one man can handle alone.

In the end, I fired off an S.O.S. to my friends.

#. June 29, 2018

#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, USA

#-2. Honolulu CDP, Kahuku

#-3. Kahuku High School

#-4. Football Field

Today was our scrimmage day.

And not a single D1 official could be found — not even a shadow of one.

That's downright cold, don't you think?

"Hey."

"?"

"Don't rush it. Just stay calm and play your game."

Tiger, starting in my place today, was struggling badly with running the offense.

Scrimmage or not, it was his first time ever starting a game — and as a freshman last year he'd only seen the field twice, so the mere fact of playing in a real game had him frozen stiff.

The line and receivers were filled out at a 1.5-string level, so if the quarterback could just get his head on straight, Mililani was beatable.

"Their safety is playing up close."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So look deep."

"Got it. Thanks."

After passing along my advice to Tiger —

I moved over to my friend's side.

Marcus wasn't playing today either.

His ankle was a little swollen.

"How's he looking to you?"

"Still frozen solid."

"He spooks easier than he looks."

"He needs to grow a spine."

He was lounging around in street clothes watching the scrimmage all nice and relaxed, but Marcus had reason to be nervous.

To fill the hole Loto left behind, Coach had also handed center duties to Chazz Evangelista, a senior this year.

Which meant the two of them were dead even right now.

Nobody knew who'd start.

"I'd wipe the floor with a guy like Chazz, no sweat."

"Really? Against Mililani? When they're doing that?"

"…"

"Please, Marcus. Get a grip."

"Hey, I'm working hard."

This year's Mililani is a strong team.

They'd brought in a pile of good transfers, and specifically stocked up on defenders — including some Coach Gavin Travis had coveted himself.

The biggest reason our offense was sputtering today was obviously the frozen quarterback — but setting that aside, the three sacks they'd generated in a single quarter were genuinely impressive.

Our O-line was mostly starters, after all.

And among them, Chazz was the only one.

Earning every ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠penny of his keep.

If Marcus had been in there instead —

Would he have done what Chazz did?

Frankly, I couldn't guarantee it. Not even close.

And honestly, that was me being generous.

"Stay focused. Those are the guys you'll be leading soon enough. You've got to be a leader."

"Hmm — better than listening to you nag, I guess."

"Damn right it is!"

Anyway.

This season, our Kahuku squad was clearly a little weaker than last year's.

I couldn't even swear we were better than the 2016 team.

The sword is still sharp enough.

But the shield's performance… meh.

Hawaii high school football's player pool has been noticeably thin on O-line talent for the past few years, so this was a trend we simply had to ride out.

And if that was the case —

It meant the quarterback's ability was about ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to matter more than ever.

Because the D-line sword was far too strong.

The O-line wouldn't be protecting the quarterback at all.

THUD!

"Oof. That's gotta hurt."

"My ribs ache just watching."

Tiger, flattened by a Mililani behemoth, lay sprawled on the field in agony — and watching him, Coach reluctantly sent in the team's third-string quarterback.

"Thornton!"

Somehow, I doubted.

We'd be winning this one easily.

#. June 30, 2018

#-1. Maui, Hawaii, USA

#-2. Paia

#-3. The Stone Family Home

After yesterday's game ended —

Coach was genuinely volcanic with anger.

It had been a long, long time since I'd seen him like that.

He spent a full ten minutes cataloguing exactly what a dumpster fire the team had been, then warned us that hell would be waiting on Monday and told us to brace ourselves.

Well.

It was the kind of game that earned it.

But none of that had anything to do with —

"Who's the prettiest princess in the whole world?"

"Kyaaa!"

"Who's the prettiest princess in the whole wide world?"

"Kya-hehehe!"

I am hopelessly, utterly whipped for Kala.

Aunt Mel watches me and shakes her head like I've lost my mind.

Kala's future, she declares, is a matter of grave concern.

A boyfriend, she says, is absolutely out of the question.

So.

I fired back like this:

"Who was it that sacked Coach John Morse again?"

"…Fair point."

That's right.

Say it like you mean it.

Aunt Mel is wonderful in every way —

Except for one critical deficiency: her taste in men.

It cost her dearly on the mainland too.

Bad men…

No.

Not bad men, exactly.

More like her weakness for men whose bad endings you can spot from a mile away.

She's declared she'll finally meet a genuinely good one now, but from here on out, approvals come first.

Dad gets first look.

Then Grandpa, then me.

"By the way, you're really not going to the restaurant?"

"Nope. Fully booked again today, apparently."

"Well… that tracks, doesn't it?"

"Come on, Mel, tell me honestly. How was it?"

"Hmm—"

Ever since June 15th, the first day official contact was permitted —

NCAA people have been permanent fixtures at Mom's restaurant.

There were days the seats filled up with nothing but them.

So in the end, Mom had to split the place in half for her regulars, and set a rule: no NCAA representative could stay seated for more than forty minutes.

Even so, people stuck to that forty-minute limit with clockwork discipline, day after day —

Desperate to leave the best impression they could.

One of them outright rented a house here, apparently.

Unbelievable.

"You know things change again on August 1st, right?"

"Huh? Why?"

Starting August 1st of the year before a player's senior season —

D1 head coaches become allowed to visit a recruit's home.

An officially sanctioned NCAA visit.

Each school has to report it in advance.

But only once a month.

And this is where the real negotiations happen.

Coaches offer every condition they can without technically violating NCAA recruiting rules, and the people who handle the shadowy second layer start laying their cards on the table one by one.

Living-expense support beyond the scholarship, for instance.

Vehicles and convenience benefits.

Whether a learning center would be set up for you, and so on.

Naturally, there are even more covert conversations happening too.

Everything I listed is just the baseline.

"So I wanted to talk things over later today."

"Talk? About what?"

"Whether I should come here. Or invite everyone to Grandma's place instead."

"Ah…"

My parents would say nothing matters more than my future, obviously — but either way, this would mean emptying the restaurant all day.

It's not like only one or two schools will be coming.

Three schools in a single day would burn six hours without breaking a sweat — and once the month rolled over, the whole cycle would repeat: another round of near-identical pitches from coaches we'd already heard from the month before.

So I was leaning toward Grandma's place instead.

I could just brief my parents by phone.

"Hmm— that's a tough one."

"Right?"

"Yeah. Oh, and —"

"?"

Aunt Mel mentioned that Notre Dame had sent over a mountain of school merchandise along with their recruiting materials.

"Sell it all off and it'd fetch a pretty penny, you know?"

Mel, who had briefly vanished somewhere, came back holding a Notre Dame uniform and turned the back of it toward me.

Number 14.

The number I wear at Kahuku.

"So why didn't they put a name on it?"

"That's tradition."

"Tradition?"

"Yep."

All football teams emphasize the team to some degree —

But Notre Dame emphasizes it more than anyone.

Which is why there are no names on any Fighting Irish athletic uniforms.

Because it's the team, not the individual.

"Hmm— that part's kind of a letdown, isn't it?"

"Right? I thought so too."

"Can I wear this as pajamas?"

"Of course."

It was clearly sized for me —

On Aunt Mel, it would be a dress.

And sure enough.

Exactly that.

"Hmm— if I tie the waist it might actually work?"

"Want to try it?"

"Wait right here."

I heard Aunt Mel's footsteps heading downstairs.

Mel's room is on the first floor.

And now that I think of it, I haven't mentioned this yet —

Last weekend, I met the Notre Dame people.

Just as I'd predicted, at the Under Armour charity event, the Notre Dame recruiter sidled up to me as if by pure coincidence and told the bald-faced lie that "my girlfriend lives in Honolulu."

He'd clearly planned on staying through the weekend from the start.

A Catholic, telling lies.

I almost shot back "Swear it on the Pope?" — but I held my tongue.

Anyway.

Right there, the recruiter went on about how Under Armour was genuinely doing good work, and wouldn't it be something if I came to Notre Dame, wearing their uniforms and all.

And then —

He let slip a single line and drifted away.

"One percent."

What does that mean, you ask?

It meant he was offering to cut me in on uniform sales revenue.

A whole one percent.

A whole.

Given that NFL players themselves receive a 3-to-5 percent cut of jersey sales, you could argue it's not a bad number — but it just didn't sit right with me.

To be fair, if I accepted it —

I'd be pulling in over a million dollars a year.

Money like that doesn't get taxed anyway.

But.

As of now, Notre Dame is completely off the list.

I don't think I could survive playing under Brian Kelly.

So I swallowed my tears and cut them.

If only it were anyone but that coach —

I could've won a national championship there in the most romantic way imaginable.

And with that, my priorities naturally shifted —

"Mo-ii!!"

"What?!"

"Get down here!! Michigan's here!!"

"…"

First of all.

Michigan is dead to me. Over my cold, dead body.

After escorting Michigan's recruiter downstairs to the restaurant, I seated the man in the very center of the room and simply observed how everyone around him reacted.

The recruiters let loose with everything they had.

The regulars on the opposite side watched the whole show with delight.

Dear God.

Everyone's used to this by now, aren't they?

The Michigan recruiter's eyes began darting nervously in every direction — and it was only when a few of the regulars raised their caps, each bearing a different college's logo, that he realized which way the wind was blowing.

Fun.

Very fun.

For the benefit of the visibly embarrassed Michigan recruiter —

I served him Mom's mahi-mahi.

"Please, have some. It's delicious."

"Oh. Th-that's… thank you."