Fools Find Joy in Each Other's Faces

#. September 20, 2018

#-1. Los Angeles, California, USA

#-2. University of Southern California

An American university is its own small community. Cafes and restaurants. Hospitals and pharmacies. Police stations and fire departments. All the way up to shopping malls. Every last one of these things sits inside the campus itself.

But wait — there's even a Chevrolet dealership here?

"This area is called McCarthy Quad."

"…."

"There are libraries on both sides, and if you walk a little further that way you'll reach Bovard Auditorium. It's traditionally where the USC commencement ceremony is held, and on regular days you can catch musicals or band performances there. And also…."

The woman introducing my parents and me to the USC (CA) campus was Liliana Donovan. She belonged, she told us, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to the team responsible for guiding prospective recruits around campus, both officially and unofficially.

We were riding in the car Liliana had brought, cruising the roads that wound between every corner of the campus.

"Shall we head to USC Village now?"

"Oh! Now that's what I've been looking forward to."

"Haha. I'm sure you'll love it."

USC Village. If I chose to enroll here, there was no doubt in my mind — this would be the reason why.

It was a residential and retail complex that had opened with great fanfare just last August: a living district built over roughly three years with a $700 million investment, sprawling across about 115 acres. Four buildings in total. Each ground floor was laid out with shops, a gym, restaurants, and a grocery store, and from the second floor up came the students' housing. Around 2,700 USC students lived here, and the facilities were as good as any upscale apartment complex.

"Wait, the school has a Trader Joe's?"

"It has the highest satisfaction rating of anything on campus, among the students. You can pick up small electronics, household goods, and clothing at Target, too. I'm not exaggerating — you could spend your entire college career without ever leaving campus."

"…That's remarkable."

Dad looked genuinely stunned by USC Village, and honestly, who could blame him? It was a Trader Joe's, for crying out loud. Considering California's — no, Los Angeles's — brutal cost of living and USC's murderous tuition, having a Trader Joe's right on campus was a colossal advantage. The campus restaurants, for their part, served healthy, tasty meals for around ten dollars a plate.

"I wish I could have prepared something nicer for you…."

"Oh no, this is much better. Isn't it?"

"Mmm — the ingredients are so fresh."

"What do you think, Mom?"

"Not bad. It'd be even better if they had Hawaiian food, though."

"Oh! Didn't you see it earlier?"

"Pardon?"

Liliana mentioned there was actually a separate restaurant on campus serving Hawaiian cuisine. Mom said it probably wouldn't be the traditional kind, but that was just her being playfully contrarian. The moment she'd come along to look at mainland colleges with me, the reality of her son leaving seemed to have truly hit her. I'd have to make sure to hug her later.

"This isn't really relevant to you, but right in front of the Village there's a childcare center as well. For students who have no one to watch their children — they take them in for free. Every day from 7 a.m. to 5:30 p.m., and they are genuinely wonderful people."

"That's impressive too."

"Oh, and there's a barbershop called Hector the Barber? You have to check it out sometime. It's ridiculously popular with the guys."

Leaving behind a campus village that seemed to have everything under the sun, we began heading south again.

And then, good grief.

There was a Chick-fil-A too?

Well, by this point it would've been stranger not to find one. It was the most ubiquitous franchise in America, after all.

"We'll be arriving at the Memorial Coliseum shortly."

"I can hardly wait."

"Haha. The most magnificent football stadium in the world."

Every school official in the NCAA D1 landscape would say exactly the same thing Liliana just had. The longer a program's history and tradition, the deeper its pride in its stadium ran.

And yet there was no question that the L.A. Memorial Coliseum had every right to that pride. It was a designated National Historic Landmark of the United States, and one of the oldest stadiums in the world. From its opening in 1923, it had served as the home of the USC Trojans football team, and the Rams and Chargers — along with MLB's Dodgers — had all once used it as their home field.

And then there was this:

"This place is the best."

"Haha. Is that because the Raiders played here?"

"The Raiders are the greatest football team there is."

As you could already tell from Dad's words, this had once been the Raiders' home stadium. Why did I think I'd come to USC first? Was it because this was the No. 1 school in my heart?

No. I simply ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wanted to decide which mainland university to visit first with my father in mind — I wanted to come see, together with him, the stadium where the Raiders had played back when he first started cheering for them.

The Coliseum held 77,500 seats in total — about average among NCAA D1 stadiums.

"Under normal circumstances, we'd be showing you John McKay Center first."

"The John McKay Center?"

"Oh — that's our training facility. Athletes from football and a whole range of other sports train there. You'd almost certainly love it, but today we received a request to bring you here instead. From the head coach himself."

"Then we follow the head coach's wishes."

"Haha. Right this way, then. I'll show you up."

Liliana guided us first to the very top of the stadium — the suites, home of the premium seating.

"There's a bar, a restaurant, and even a separate dessert corner."

Every NCAA D1 football stadium had zones like these. A space for the players' families. A space for investors. And what was known as the "middle-class lounge." If ordinary fans wanted to spend a little more money and watch football in comfort, that lounge was their version of a VIP section.

"From now on, the two of you will be watching football from right here. I understand your families are a bit larger — they're all welcome here too, of course. Just let us know in advance, and you'll always have our full welcome."

While Liliana was walking us through the premium lounge, two figures appeared: one familiar face and one unfamiliar one.

The familiar one was Clay Helton, head coach of the USC Trojans. And the unfamiliar one was —

"I'm Wanda Austin. The interim president, you know."

"Noah Stone. And this is my wife…."

It was USC's interim president. The reason USC was currently under an interim president at all was the massive scandal that had erupted last year.

USC (CA) — along with dozens of athletic programs, players, and players' parents across NCAA D1 — stood accused of criminal collusion spanning roughly eight years beginning in 2011. It was billed as the largest college admissions bribery scheme in American history, with actors, lawyers, doctors, corporate CEOs, and real estate figures among those criminally charged.

Operation Varsity Blues. The man behind it all was Rick Singer, a college admissions consultant.

Classic NCAA, really. In my past life, an even bigger scandal had blown the lid off — the whole country practically turned upside down.

At any rate, the affair had landed a devastating blow to USC's reputation and finances, and becoming a target of the NCAA and state authorities went without saying. Fortunately, the school had announced that the football program itself was found to have no particular wrongdoing involved — but with everything in such turmoil inside and out, USC simply couldn't promise me the kinds of things other universities had offered.

A full scholarship. The finest dormitory available. Free use of USC Village. A leased vehicle. Additional living-expense support. Within the bounds of what wouldn't draw scrutiny, they had proposed the best terms they could — but on its face, the package lagged well behind the others.

Frankly, I couldn't have cared less about that. USC (CA) was still walking on eggshells, and I had every intention of letting them keep walking them — while enjoying the benefits all the same. Why wouldn't I?

"So, how was our USC?"

"Magnificent. It really made me feel like I was in L.A."

"Haha. It is absurdly expensive land, after all. One has to make it count."

"Yes, that's exactly how it seemed."

While my parents traded conversation with the university's president, I stood side by side with Clay Helton at the window, talking.

Far below, the players were running practice. They had their own training facility, of course — but with tomorrow's game, they seemed to be taking the field here.

"Tomorrow's the game, you see."

"So I gathered."

"…You may not know this, but the start to our season has been, well — ugly."

"I know that too. I watched it on TV."

"Good grief. Now I'm embarrassed."

Through three weeks of the 2018 college football season, USC (CA) had stumbled out to a dismal 1–2. One more loss and any hope of a Pac-12 championship would be dead, and a National Championship was flatly beyond imagining. Two losses was the absolute ceiling.

And a hefty share of USC's struggles belonged squarely to the quarterback position. Sam Darnold, who had led the team through last year, had gone off to the NFL, leaving JT Daniels as the true freshman starter — and his last two games had been genuinely horrific. Not a single passing touchdown. A rushing game that had actually lost yards. Sure, a freshman could be granted an adjustment period, but this was simply too bad to excuse.

Already, talk of benching him or finding a new quarterback was circulating among the USC faithful.

"What do you suppose you would have done?"

"If I were in JT Daniels' shoes, you mean?"

"That's right."

"Well…."

"?"

Coaches like Nick Saban or Urban Meyer expect their players to follow orders without question, but Clay Helton here sought out as much back-and-forth dialogue as possible. Just like in the NFL, a number of plays actually originated from the players themselves, and he neither denied it nor pushed back — he welcomed it.

So if I had been USC (CA)'s starting quarterback this year, a great deal would have been different from the very first snap. The offense would have flowed far more organically.

The only question mark was Clay Helton's own ability. Look at him however I liked, he wasn't a D1-caliber head coach. His feel for assembling a scrimmage line and crafting defensive schemes was lacking, which meant that no matter how brilliantly I played, every single game would be a grind and no victory could ever be guaranteed.

Even so —

"I would have found a way to win."

"Hahaha! Still brimming with confidence, I see."

It wasn't confidence.

It was simply the truth.

JT Daniels had been that bad over his previous two games. No, really — a completion percentage of 46 percent? Two games, zero touchdown passes? On paper he'd been sacked seven times, but from what I'd watched, at least five of those were the quarterback walking into it himself.

The linemen had dug in and built him a pocket, fighting to protect it, and he'd hemmed and hawed until the passing window closed. Worse, every one of his throws had gone to the right side. He hadn't so much as glanced at his tight end or the slot, and the left side of the field might as well not have existed. Watching it, I'd caught myself thinking: if that's how you're going to play, why even field a quarterback? It had been maddening just to sit there and see it.

"Blunt. And at the same time, absolutely correct."

"If I overstepped, I apologize."

"No need for that at all."

Clay Helton said it was exactly the issue he and his coaches had been chewing over endlessly lately — then asked whether I'd care to go down and join them.

Wait, what?

Isn't the evaluation tomorrow?

Every college coach was permitted to evaluate a prospect three times: the fall of the junior year, the spring of the senior year, and the summer before senior year — essentially a series of auditions. Word had it this visit's evaluation was scheduled for tomorrow morning, with a USC home game to follow in the afternoon. And yet right now, here in this premium lounge —

"Think of it less as an evaluation, and more as a request to teach us a thing or two."

Huh.

So this old boy had a shrewd streak after all — sharper than I'd given him credit for.

What he was doing just now was remarkably clever. Since this was an unofficial visit, there were no prying eyes to worry about; joining practice briefly would violate nothing, and excuses to paper over it could be manufactured by the dozen. And beyond that, he apparently wanted to verify my ability firsthand just a little more — while simultaneously lighting a fire under JT Daniels.

Take the bait, or don't?

By all common sense, the right play was to laugh it off — is that a joke? — and let Coach Helton smooth it over. The trouble was, I wasn't exactly a man who lived by common sense and propriety.

Above all else —

My blood was up.

"Let's roll. Though I can't promise I'll teach you anything."

"You're certain it's all right?"

"Of course. You'll cover for me, won't you?"

"Haha. Naturally."

Clay Helton told me to wait a moment, walked over to the president, exchanged a few words, and came straight back.

"Head down first. The president will bring your parents along to join us in thirty minutes."

"Understood. You'll have a helmet for me, I trust?"

"We provide everything."

In every NCAA D1 football team's stadium and training complex, there was a space called the Kit Zone — equipment piled mountain-high. Uniforms in every size, shoes, and every manner of protective gear, all stocked and waiting. The funny part was that from a distance it looked exactly like a Nike flagship store.

There I picked out everything in my size, and Clay Helton blinked beside me, mildly astonished.

"You really are big."

"Is my height unusual?"

"More than that — your body, son."

"Ah… pretty impressive, right? Took two years to build."

Ever since the Saint Louis game seven days prior, the average turnout for Muscles Men had swelled to roughly triple. That was still less than half of last season's numbers, but I had no intention of coaxing the boys who swore they'd never touch water again — I'd simply resolved to run it with whoever volunteered. Thirty men was plenty.

Anyway. Thanks to steady training, my body had reached the point where it could stand toe to toe with the tight ends of a good number of NFL teams and not come up short.

"It suits you. Like it was always meant to be on you."

"I do carry myself with a certain swagger, after all."

"Hahaha! Is there no such thing as modesty in your dictionary?"

"Not where football's concerned. Is that strange?"

"No. Not at all."

The entire walk out to the field beside Clay Helton, my heart pounded and my blood sang.

Not from nerves — from pure, uncut joy. Because this was genuinely, deliciously fun.

A high school senior strolling out of nowhere in a USC uniform. And now he wanted to join practice. The shape of the glances JT Daniels and the rest of the players would throw my way — the emotions folded inside them — were waiting to be collected. Most would be anything but friendly.

And I could hardly wait to snap every last one of them.

"Attention!!"

"?"

Clay Helton strode onto the field and bellowed, gathering the players close, then looked over at me standing on the sideline and waved me nearer.

Even from a distance, I could see all of them stirring.

"This is Dwayne Moi Stone! He'll be touring our USC today and tomorrow, and he's here to observe how a team practice runs — from right up close! Everyone, give him a welcome applause!"

Clap clap clap clap clap —

Clap clap clap —

It was an order from the head coach, so the obligatory, grudging undertone was hard to miss — but still, the response was better than I'd expected. Amon-Ra caught my eye and flashed a wide, easy grin.

So I quietly raised my middle finger.

Amon-Ra answered in kind.

Yep. Figures.

When fools find each other, it seems —

a face alone is enough to make them happy.

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