Preparing to Say Goodbye to Kahuku
#. April 13, 2019
#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, USA
#-2. Honolulu CDP
#-3. Aina Haina
I'd made my decision on where I was going to college. But there was still one thing left to do. The official commit.
Of course, I couldn't just do that on my own whim, so I'd discussed it with Georgia in advance.
"Alright, let's go!"
Marcus was filming on my phone. I was standing on the sidewalk in front of Grandma's house, watching the screen and doing my best impression of an ordinary day. I posted random clips like this on social media now and then, so nobody would think anything of it.
Marcus, phone in hand, spoke up. "How's it feel?"
"Kills it. It always kills it, but today? It's extra killer. Look at that sky. And this weather. Damn! I just love Hawaii, man. The people are great, the food goes without saying, the weather's unreal. And my family, my friends—everything I've ever been is here in Hawaii. You feel me? But hey—there's one more thing that's even better."
"What's that?"
"Wanna see? Come on."
I waved at the camera and started walking toward the house. Then I stopped by the front door and told Marcus to point it inside. He shifted position, and I grabbed the doorknob and turned it. Click.
Before we'd started filming, I had set a table down by the entrance. And on top of it, I'd placed something: a bulldog plush. Georgia's mascot.
While Marcus filmed the inside, I slipped away and quickly changed—into Georgia's helmet and uniform.
A few seconds later, the camera swung back around to me.
"You know what this is? Because as of next year, I'm a Bulldog."
"DAMN!!!"
The instant Marcus's roar went up, all the teammates who'd been ducking out of frame came charging at me. They grabbed me, shook me back and forth, then started howling like a pack of cavemen.
"MO—I!! MO—I!! MO—I!!"
"MO—I!! MO—I!! MO—I!!"
Marcus turned the camera on himself. Now it was his turn to deliver the line.
"The King of Hawaii is heading to Georgia."
Just like that, my commitment was official.
(Kevin Negandhi) — ESPN Studio Host
"Whoa!! That is the coolest college commitment I have ever seen. Dwayne Moi Stone has officially announced he's heading to Georgia. A massive bomb just dropped on college football—and I mean a nuclear one. Until very recently, the word was that Alabama was the frontrunner, but there you have it. Rumors are just that—rumors. So what kind of impact will this announcement have?"
(Jonathan Vilma) — ESPN Studio Analyst
"First thing I gotta say is: THAT'S it! THAT'S the one!! You know what I mean?! I've always loved this kid. He turned down eighty scholarship offers, toured twenty schools, and showed off the whole way. This kid is dripping with swagger, so of course he was going to put on a show like this. Either way, this is huge for Georgia. They just gained an enormous advantage in the 2020 recruiting class."
.
.
.
(Rob Stone) — FS1 Studio Host
"Ah, that's a shame. I wanted this kid to come to the Big Ten—that way we'd get to see him more often. I figured we had a connection, him being a Stone and me being a Stone and all. Anyway. The internet is already on fire. The video Dwayne Moi Stone uploaded to Twitter has hit six million views, and a war has broken out online between Georgia fans and everyone else. And it's an ugly culture, because some fans are actually threatening Moi and his family. What's your take?"
(Robert Smith) — FS1 Studio Analyst
"The threats are flat-out wrong. Setting that aside and talking pure football, though, I think this is going to generate a ton of storylines. First and foremost, the Georgia–Clemson rivalry comes back to life."
(Rob Stone)
"Exactly that. Georgia versus Clemson!! Did you all know that the two schools are barely seventy miles apart? I knew they were close, but not that close."
(Robert Smith)
"This will absolutely be the most-watched rivalry of 2020. Clemson landed Trevor Lawrence last year, and in a single season he became the best quarterback in the NCAA. But back in January, at the U.S. Army All-American Bowl, he got outplayed by Moi—and lost the MVP to him too. Now that Moi's headed to Georgia, there's a chance the two of them meet again during Trevor Lawrence's junior season. Sure, Moi might ride the bench as a freshman—but if he starts, then it's going to be enormous. The entire country will be watching that one game and nothing else. And you know Trevor Lawrence wants to pay him back."
#. May 1, 2019
#-1. Washington County, Oregon, USA
#-2. Beaverton
#-3. Nike World Headquarters
When Moi uploaded his commitment video, Nike was among the happiest parties on Earth. The video had already racked up 22 million views. That number alone was reason enough to celebrate.
"Take a look at this."
"…"
"A high school kid from Hawaii posts a video—just a college commitment—and it pulls 22 million views in two weeks. Unbelievable."
Marc Parker. One of Nike's three CEOs. A man who'd run track and cross country at Penn State, a legend within the company. He'd started as a shoe designer in R&D, climbed the ladder for over twenty years, and finally took the CEO's chair in 2006. He was also widely tipped to succeed John Donahoe, who would be stepping down as president that October. When it came to marketing, publicity, and design innovation, he was the finest businessman in America.
And that man was showing enormous interest in Moi.
The company's executives had gathered for a meeting. Marc Parker clicked off the screen with the remote and put a question to the room.
"Question. Why don't we invest in college football?"
"…Because, well—they don't wear sneakers."
"Exactly."
Football is a gigantic market. The actual revenue is the highest of any sport. But while basketball has minted any number of brands in the sporting-goods world, football has produced none. The reason is simple: football players can't sell shoes. Cleats aren't everyday footwear.
"That's exactly why we can only offer internships to basketball players. Throw half a million dollars a year at college football players, and the moment they get drafted by an Adidas team, it all goes up in smoke."
"Um, Marc?"
"What is it."
"If you don't mind my asking—why are you telling us something we already know?"
Charles Harper had raised his hand cautiously, and Marc Parker gave a slow nod. A natural silence settled over the room. Then it broke.
"O'Bannon v. NCAA. Which has now moved on to NCAA v. Alston. And recently, thanks to that kid we just watched, something very interesting is about to happen. Georgia, Texas, and Florida—all three states are trying to pass legislation against amateurism."
"…"
"…"
"What if we gave that a little push?"
"?!"
"Yes?"
When it came to football, the biggest source of income for Nike wasn't the NFL. It was the NCAA. There are only 32 NFL teams in the whole country, but 130 NCAA Division 1 football teams—and fans of a college football team keep buying that school's merchandise for the rest of their lives, long after they graduate. What's more, an NFL star stays with one team for about 6.4 years on average, while an NCAA D1 star stays at most three or four. And every year, thousands of new faces appear or move on. Product turnover is at least twice as fast.
"Imagine this. If the NCAA guaranteed players even just their NIL—how much would we have made off a player like Trevor Lawrence this year?"
"Uh—seventy-five million dollars?"
"Charles. How are you so sure?"
"Because SI published it."
The commercial value of Trevor Lawrence, the Clemson quarterback who'd taken NCAA D1 by storm last season, had been assessed at $75 million. That was just $10 million below the NBA's biggest star, LeBron James, at $85 million—and exactly one athlete in America carried a higher valuation than either of them.
Floyd Mayweather.
"Beautiful, Charles. Just beautiful."
Nike's CEO pointed at Charles Harper, visibly satisfied. Then he let his imagination run one step further.
"As of now, we're the company that owns both Trevor Lawrence and Dwayne Moi Stone. We sponsor Clemson and Georgia. And yet we can't do a single thing with them."
Because the NCAA didn't guarantee players' NIL rights, Nike was sitting on the two best college football players in the country without being able to run a single ad. Federal law barred universities from commercially exploiting players in any way beyond content tied to their games.
But what if NIL were guaranteed? Everything flips. It would mean Nike could sign college football stars to short, low-risk two- or three-year contracts and make even bigger money.
That was why Marc Parker's eyes were gleaming.
"Without O'Bannon and Alston, and without Moi, none of this would be on the table—but the wind's already blowing. So let's try. Let's help steer the coming rulings toward NIL rights. Handle the lobbying budget at around fifty million. What do you say?"
The aftershock of Moi's commitment video looked to be even bigger than anyone had expected.
#. May 26, 2019
#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA
#-2. University of Georgia
#-3. Zell B. Miller Learning Center
"Hnn—gh!"
"…You're done already?"
"Yup."
"Care if I check it over?"
"Already did it myself."
"…"
A bespectacled man named Eric Beal scratched his forehead and glanced at the watch strapped to his wrist. I had just finished the SAT Math section.
"You're really taking the answer sheet with you?"
"Of course. Be my guest."
I couldn't swear to a perfect score, but I figured somewhere around a 780. A good stretch beyond the school's required bar. I'd flown back out to Georgia on Saturday and knocked out the ACT and SAT 1 over two days. Next weekend I'd come here again—essay exam on Saturday, SAT 2 on Sunday.
Factoring in my high school GPA and the so-called Extra Activities—volunteering, internships, competition placements and the like—as long as I stayed out of the bottom fifteen percent, my admission to Georgia was a lock. Even if this year's scores fell short, I could just retake them next year. But I wanted everything done ahead of time so I could focus on football and football only.
Besides, that was how I got my hands on the Play Book. Coach Kirby Smart's principle: academics first. Football only after that.
"Can I head out?"
"G-go ahead."
After thanking Eric Beal, I opened the door and stepped out. A vague sense of satisfaction had me stretching again.
"Hnn—gh!"
Then I powered on my phone—which I'd kept switched off—tapped the screen, and called Aunt Mel.
"All done already?"
"Obviously. Who do you think I am? Where are you, Auntie?"
"Right downstairs. That place called the Tate Center."
"Oh, I know it. Be right there."
Click.
I hung up and strolled down the corridor. It was Sunday, and the campus was quiet. Which is how it came flooding back—the last month.
Two days after I posted the commit video, the Quiet Period lifted, and Ed Orgeron from LSU and Nick Saban from Alabama blew up my phone. They tried everything to change my mind, but a bus that's already left doesn't come back. Grown men, decades of experience between them—how did they not know that? Tsk tsk.
Texas A&M, Auburn, OSU, and Michigan called too. None of the conversations were especially productive. And after that—
Curses. Curses.
Students and fans of the schools I'd turned down flooded my and my family's social media, spewing filth I could barely repeat out loud. The Alabama and Florida fans in particular went heavy on crude sexual insults and rape "jokes," until Mom and Aunt Mel finally took the restaurant and their personal accounts private. The restaurant's Google rating cratered from 4.9 to 3.2, with every kind of abuse filling the reviews.
Well. I'd more or less expected it. Me, and my family too—ever since we started traveling around. For the time being, I was the nation's designated punching bag. That's what happens to a hyped high school prospect.
This is why deciding early has its merits. If you drag it out to the wire, the backlash eats into your season. The media was eating this up even harder, so I'd resolved to hold off on any wide-scale provocation until things quieted down for a while. Once I'd shown it on the field first—then, at that point, I'd say it to everyone's face.
Stings, doesn't it? Sucker~~
"Moi!"
"Mel?"
Walking into the Tate Student Center, I spotted Aunt Mel surrounded by a crowd. Georgia students, by the look of them—and the moment they recognized me, they came straight over. They had some serious energy. I wilted, just slightly.
"Whoa!! It's really Dwayne Moi Stone!"
"Welcome for real, Bulldog."
"And hey—whatever those other fans are saying, don't let it get to you. They're just jealous."
"Exactly. From now on, we've got your back."
"Uh… thanks?"
Thankfully, they weren't bad people. When some of them asked if they could DM me, I told them to go for it, then hustled Aunt Mel outside.
"That back there? That's just a taste of your college life."
"Worse case, you get hit with tomatoes while you're walking around."
"Fresh ones? Or canned?"
"Mm… both?"
"HAHAHA!"
"Heh heh."
In the taxi bound for Atlanta airport, that road was already starting to feel familiar.
.
.
.
#. June 3, 2019
#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, USA
#-2. Honolulu CDP, Kahuku
#-3. Kahuku High School
#-4. Football Field
The last summer camp of my high school career had begun, and I was playing a slightly different role this time.
"Grip the laces, Tiger."
"I'm already gripping them?"
"Look. Grip the laces, and then, like this…"
"…"
Georgia wanted me running as little as possible, and they'd already emailed Kahuku to say so. Coach had accepted it. So I was slated to play only the first two quarters. At least during the regular season.
"Got it?"
"Yeah. I'll give it a shot."
"Good."
Tiger would take the remaining two quarters. I planned on developing this kid as much as I could. He was pretty diligent, to his credit—he showed up to Muscle Men sessions every single day.
"There it is, Tiger! See, you can do it!"
While I'd been buried in the college decision these past few months, a few other things had happened too. A couple of them sad, a couple of them hard to watch.
Loto, who'd gone to Florida last year, had been cut from the team. The Gators had suddenly handed Loto—an offensive center—the long snapper job, and honestly, it was a brutal call. Back then Loto had scholarship offers from Utah, Kansas, and UNC as well, but when an SEC school in Florida offered the same terms, he'd chosen the Gators without a moment's hesitation.
And of course, in the process, the Gators never once mentioned using him as a long snapper. The coach there was apparently stunned—by all accounts, he'd heard from the recruiter that Loto was being brought in as a long snapper, when in reality Loto was hearing it for the first time.
The reason Loto never met me during my Florida visit was because he'd been avoiding me. He probably didn't want me to see him—the version of himself snapping footballs through the air. A bitter story, that one.
"Alright, see you tomorrow!"
"Later!"
After eating with the guys at Giovanni's, I headed straight back to my lodging. The moment I stepped inside, I sat down at the desk and opened the Play Book. Not Georgia's—this year's Kahuku playbook. That was the urgent one right now; Georgia could wait for spare moments.
"Attack on Titan…"
Kahuku had borrowed heavily from games and anime for its play names again this year. Absorbed in the Play Book, time slipped by in a blink.
Beep—
Beep—
"…"
My phone alarm told me it was 9:30, so I closed the Play Book and headed outside.
"Whew—"
Three years already, just in this place. Time really does fly.
The principal had said that after I graduated, they'd build a new structure where my lodging stood and turn it into a display hall for trophies and such—and that its name would be, of all things, the Moi Center. It was going to be a useless heap of a building the moment I left, so part of me figured it was for the best.
"Mo—I!"
"Mr. Tamati!"
Come to think of it, this meant parting ways with Mr. Tamati too. That one stung a little.
"Off to wash up?"
"Yes, sir."
"…Georgia, is it. You chose a good place."
"Haha. It's not time to leave just yet, you know."
Lately Mr. Tamati had been tearing up an awful lot. I knew it was because of the goodbye hanging over us.
"I'll be in your care until next May."
"You will. And take care of that body of yours, now."
"Yes, sir."
Kahuku—a place where I'd met so many good people.
And I was beginning, little by little, to prepare my goodbyes.