Time to Make Up My Mind
The entire United States was talking about a single college freshman.
A true freshman quarterback at Clemson.
Trevor Lawrence.
Despite a disappointing showing at last year's U.S. Army All-American Bowl, this giant of a quarterback had been rated a 6-Star — and he had just delivered a shockingly dominant freshman season.
A 65.2% completion rate (259 of 397).
30 touchdown passes.
8.3 yards gained per pass attempt.
A passer rating of 157.6.
Among every true freshman quarterback to debut in the NCAA over the past decade, it was the most outstanding, most overwhelming stat line of them all.
But that wasn't even the end of it.
The real masterpiece came yesterday.
The CFP National Championship Game.
Against Alabama — the finest program college football had produced in the last ten years — Trevor Lawrence delivered the most crushing performance of his career.
A 62.5% completion rate (20 of 32).
3 touchdown passes.
10.8 yards per attempt.
A passer rating of 184.5.
Zero interceptions.
Every one of those numbers utterly buried Alabama's sophomore quarterback, Tua Tagovailoa, and the nation was now drunk on the arrival of a superstar destined to follow in Tom Brady's footsteps.
And watching it all.
Florida dared to dream.
If they landed Dwayne Moi Stone,
that same future would be theirs.
But then—
"What?"
Shocking news had just arrived in the president's office at the University of Florida.
"What in God's name are you telling me right now?"
"Exactly what I told you before."
"Josh! Explain yourself properly!"
"It's exactly what I told you, sir. He's onto us. A reporter named Todd Archer — he knows everything. Literally everything. This line isn't even safe anymore. I'm leaving Hawaii as we speak. I'll contact you again later. I have to throw this phone away too. Goodbye."
Click.
"…"
It had begun about an hour earlier, when a man approached Josh Lewis during his usual morning run along the beach.
The man introduced himself as Todd Archer.
A football reporter for ESPN.
And then he looked the man living under the name Jerry Floyd dead in the eye and said:
"I know exactly who you are."
What came out of Todd Archer's mouth after that.
Those were things that could never, ever see the light of day.
"Bring me Dan Mullen. Now. And—"
"Yes, sir."
"The school's attorneys as well. Quietly. Immediately."
After firing off the instructions to his secretary,
Kent Fuchs clutched at his own hair.
His mind was racing.
What kind of punishment would the NCAA hand down?
Losing the presidency itself was a foregone conclusion.
If that were all, he could have borne it.
But weighing the precedents of the past against everything happening now, this had every potential of spiraling into something vastly, catastrophically larger.
Sending Josh Lewis to Hawaii.
That violated NCAA recruiting regulations.
Vacated records.
Recruiting class annulled.
Beyond that, restrictions on every future recruiting class — and a situation so grave that expulsion from the SEC and NCAA D1 FBS had to be considered.
How on earth had it come to this?
He remembered Josh Lewis telling him recently that Dwayne Moi Stone seemed to be leaning toward Georgia, and the backroom deal he'd relayed through his recruiter surfaced in his mind.
Bag Man.
In American college football, every D1 program knows the term Bag Man — the man who carries the bag — and the briefcase hanging from his wrist is stacked to the brim with hundred-dollar bills.
Back in 2011, six different schools sent a Bag Man to land Johnny Manziel, the nation's top high school quarterback that year.
Manziel, a Texas native, had announced he was heading to Oregon — until he met Texas A&M's Bag Man and changed his mind.
"What the hell have you people done?"
"…"
Dan Mullen stared, dumbfounded, as the story was laid out before him.
The alligator was now, at this very moment, an inch from suffocating in its own swamp.
The recruiting wars.
Contact with Todd Archer.
All the tangled threads.
None of them remained at my side anymore.
Everything had been more or less swept clean.
"Damn it. You got one of those offers too?"
"Which offers?"
"The Bag Man."
"I'll take no comment on that."
"I didn't even know that stuff existed. Damn it."
As for the NCAA's antitrust troubles—
the Supreme Court could handle all of that from here on out.
I didn't want to so much as glance at it for the time being.
"By the way, who's the transfer this year?"
"Titus."
"The kid from Campbell? Whoa! That's huge."
"And I hear we're pulling someone from Damien, too?"
"We need receivers. You know that."
Recruiting season had arrived right on schedule.
Coach was run off his feet these days.
So were the other coaches.
Because in the coming 2019 season, the defensive guys would be lining up across from me in practice too, they were fighting tooth and nail to shore up the offense.
"Moi!"
"Kao! Over here!!"
"Check out how much he's changed."
"He earned every ounce of it himself, didn't he, Marcus?"
"…"
Spotting us in the cafeteria, Kaonohi waved and came strolling over with an easy grin.
During his freshman season—
this kid didn't even have a position.
But once he started the extra training and joined the Muscle Men sessions, he began to change bit by bit, and by last year he'd landed an offer from UCLA and taken an unofficial visit in November.
Kaonohi is currently rated a 3-Star prospect.
His listed position: APB.
All Purpose Back —
meaning no specific role had been pinned down yet.
Cornerback or safety.
If neither panned out, he'd probably end up a kicker.
"Tell me. Your parents are happy these days, right?"
"They're thrilled. They can't thank you enough."
"You earned all of it with your own sweat, Kao."
"Thanks, man."
Maybe the old coach's instincts died hard in me—
watching my friends grow was what made me happiest.
Well.
It was a good quality in a quarterback anyway.
So I planned on staying exactly this way.
"So what about you? How's everything going?"
"Right, you. What's up with you?"
"Honestly…"
Recently.
Things had gotten a little tense with LSU.
Specifically, with Ed Orgeron.
The conversation had centered on Justin Jefferson — LSU's current star wide receiver, one of the best in the entire NCAA, and somehow a friend of mine now.
JJ had made up his mind to enter the NFL draft after this season, and LSU had anointed Ja'Marr Chase as his successor.
Up to that point, I had no complaints.
The problem was—
"I don't know, man. They whiffed on way too much."
"Yeah?"
"Yup."
"But today's National Signing Day, isn't it?"
"Please. This hyung here knows it all, apparently."
Marcus was right.
Today was National Signing Day.
On the first Wednesday of every February, America's high schoolers are allowed to put pen to paper on their official NCAA letters of intent — better known among most people as "hat day."
Even players who'd already announced their college choice can flip their commitment on this day.
It isn't against the rules, which is why it still produces genuine shockwaves from time to time.
Of course, if you do flip—
you make a sworn enemy of that school for life.
Anyway.
I had wanted LSU to bring in a few more wide receivers, but their recruiting had drifted in a different direction.
They'd landed one 5-star apiece at running back, cornerback, and linebacker — but the receiver and tight end positions I thought they needed most had been left to languish.
When I voiced my opinion, carefully, Ed Orgeron had simply brushed me off with "Don't you worry about it."
Excuse me?
Weren't you supposed to be building a team around me?
Orgeron seemed convinced I was all but guaranteed to land at LSU. There was even a sense that he was coasting — blissfully unaware that I was having the exact same conversations with Georgia and Alabama.
Frankly?
I was pretty damn disappointed.
Alabama, on the other hand, hauled in the most elite talent in the nation yet again this year.
I heard three more players were announcing their commitments today alone.
Still—
"Maybe a redshirt year would actually be the best thing for you, son."
That was the line when he visited last December, and the shift in his attitude had been growing ever since.
Nick Saban wanted me to spend my first year at Alabama as a redshirt,
and planned to deploy me in games starting in the 2021 season.
Since spending only three years at a college was enough to guarantee an NFL future anyway, declaring a redshirt wouldn't actually delay my professional debut.
But Saban's words had grated hard against my pride.
Which is why our contact had grown a little sparse lately.
And why the situation had shifted so much.
I knew exactly why Nick Saban was doing this to me.
Mac Jones.
A quarterback who had originally committed to Kentucky, then switched to Alabama the moment they dangled a scholarship in front of him — a 3-Star at the time.
Which meant: no real expectations.
After enrolling, he'd declared a redshirt and spent a year with the team.
This season he'd played as Alabama's third-string quarterback.
And yet Saban, again and again, to my face—
kept singing Mac Jones's praises.
"From next year on, that's when it gets real," that sort of thing.
He even claimed Jones would make it to the NFL wearing Crimson Tide colors.
My freshman year would be Mac Jones's first season as a starter.
This is exactly why.
I don't like college coaches.
With scholarships as an absolute weapon in their hands—
the degree to which they can act however they please is no joke.
And there was one decisive reason I'd concluded that Nick Saban had anointed Mac Jones as his next starting quarterback.
"They took Taulia."
"Who?"
"Taulia Tagovailoa. Tua's little brother."
In this year's recruiting class, Alabama added five new quarterbacks in total.
But not one of them would ever play at the SEC level — they were practice-arm QBs, nothing more.
One of those five was Taulia Tagovailoa, the full younger brother of Tua, who'd enrolled at Alabama in 2017.
The very year Tua committed to Alabama, Taulia transferred with his family to Thompson High School in Alabama — and despite being a 1-Star recruit, he became a member of the Crimson Tide.
At this point, you could figure it out easily enough.
The promise had been made a long, long time ago.
"Maybe I should start sweet-talking Kala about it too."
"You're insane. Your sister isn't even two yet."
"Doesn't make her any less cute, though?"
"What even is this conversation? How is that the logical next step?"
"I'm telling you, she is. Want to see a picture?"
Anyway.
Because Alabama and LSU both believed they'd been crowned my finalists, they were slowly beginning to show their true colors.
I've said it before.
The promises you're fed during recruiting?
The moment you set foot on campus, they flip upside down.
No matter how much national attention I commanded, success at the college level was still an unknown, and a player can be forgotten in a single year.
Meanwhile—
"A man's word is what matters."
"…Yes. That's exactly it."
From top to bottom.
Georgia had honored every single promise it made.
Kirby Smart had hammered home the same principle: a man's word is what matters.
And so, once again today, as I spoke with Kirby Smart on the phone,
I was searching for a reason not to play at Georgia.
"…"
Damn it.
Still can't find one.
I suppose—
it was time to start making up my mind.
Midterms wrapped up over the weekend,
and starting today, I had a week of spring break.
At the same time, we were now in what's called the Quiet Period—
an NCAA-mandated recruiting restriction window.
It had begun on the 8th of last month.
During the Quiet Period, college coaches are, as a rule, prohibited from contacting players or their parents off campus.
Visiting high schools or homes is off the table too, so most people treat it as a breather in the endless grind.
But calls, texts, and emails remain fair game, and contact on campus is allowed without restriction — so a prospect like me visiting a school in person, right now, breaks no rules at all.
That's exactly why I'm here alone.
"Mo-i!!"
"Coach!"
On the very day this Quiet Period began,
I turned down Alabama and LSU.
Naturally, the programs were thrown into a panic and scrambled for answers, but with the restriction window in effect, there was nothing they could do to pester me directly.
Had this been the past, they'd have improvised some loophole to engineer a meeting anyway — but with the NCAA now practically Public Enemy Number One to the Supreme Court, nobody dared move carelessly.
I'd thought it through to that point—
and timed my rejections accordingly.
"First things first — let's get in the car."
"Yes, sir."
The purpose of my visit today was
to map out the road ahead.
The NCAA allows college coaches to test a prospect twice, from the third Sunday of April through the last day of May each year.
Beyond that, players are permitted to take official visits once the college term begins, sitting in on classes — up to five visits per academic department — so I intended to get a schedule locked in.
That's right.
I'm going to Georgia.
Tap.
"Sweet heavens! You have no idea how happy Kirby was yesterday."
"Haha. Was he really?"
"Don't get me started. The man was sprinting laps around the dining hall."
"Whoa. I'd have paid good money to see that."
"Kukukuku. Get your belt on."
"Yes, sir."
The man waiting for me today was
Georgia's associate head coach, James Coley.
We'd met a handful of times before and spoken on the phone as well.
He wore two hats — offensive coordinator and quarterbacks coach — which meant he was the man I'd be seeing most often from here on out.
"I'll be getting my Play Book this time?"
"Haha. That you will."
"That's the part I'm looking forward to most, honestly."
"Same here. Truth is…"
"?"
Ever since he heard my decision yesterday—
Kirby apparently talked all day long.
Future recruiting plans, schemes, everything.
A great deal was going to change, he'd said.
"Until now, it was a two-way race, after all."
"Right — that's why I made up my mind fast."
"That means a lot."
"But…"
"?"
"You do know I can still back out at any time, right?"
"Whoa. Now that's a terrifying thing to say."
"I'm dead serious. This is a verbal commitment only — on paper, I'm still technically a free agent."
"Haha! Right, right. You've got me there."
Just as Alabama and LSU had shown me—
there was no guarantee Georgia's attitude wouldn't change either.
Of course, the odds were slim.
Why?
Georgia's current starting quarterback is Jake Fromm, who plans to declare for the NFL after this season — and the Bulldogs had already shipped sophomore backup Stetson Bennett off to Wisconsin as a transfer.
They did it to open a path for a talented young player, but giving up your backup quarterback is a bold, borderline reckless call.
If Jake Fromm went down with an injury this year, Georgia would have to limp through the season behind a junior transfer and a 2-Star freshman quarterback.
And that was precisely the thing — it showed me just how serious Georgia was about me, and it became the decisive moment I made up my mind, at a time when Alabama and LSU had worn me down to exhaustion.
"Moi!"
"Coach!"
About an hour's drive later, we pulled into the University of Georgia,
and I shared a warm hug with Coach Smart.
"Oh — and who might this gentleman be?"
"Say hello. This is John Meshad. He handles our equipment."
"Nice to meet you."
"Likewise. Welcome to being a Bulldog."
I could have cracked a joke about nothing being official yet—
but this time, I let it be.
Instead, I just smiled quietly,
and Coach seemed satisfied with that.
Speaking of which—
why was this gentleman here?
"I'm here to measure your head in advance."
"We'll be crafting your helmet. Are you planning on changing your hairstyle?"
"Hmm — honestly, I couldn't say yet."
"I see? Well then, pardon me a moment."
"…"
He pulled a tape measure from his pocket and ran it around my head.
"What size do you wear at high school? Snug fit?"
"Yes. Exactly snug."
"Hmm — we generally recommend going a size bigger here."
"Because of concussions?"
"Yep."
A form-fitting helmet and an oversized one each come with trade-offs.
Snug means higher concussion risk,
but less interference with your vision.
A bigger helmet, on the other hand—
sometimes slides down and blocks your sightline,
but blunts the impact a little.
The reason he asked about my hairstyle is that it can actually help when wearing the larger helmet — and with my thick, wavy mop of hair, it worked as a built-in cushion all on its own.
"I'll send you both."
"To my house?"
"That's right. Try them out and tell me what you think."
"Yes, sir."
Once John Meshad finished his business and stepped outside, Coach Smart turned back to me, unable to hide the delight on his face.
"Well, then…"
"Yes, sir."
"Shall we get started?"
Everything that would unfold over the next eleven months.
From here on out was the real beginning — my next chapter.