Bring It On, All of You

January 4, 2020

San Antonio, Texas, USA

Alamodome

Most of the nation's top 50 recruits — including the three quarterbacks rated as the biggest names in the class — had already announced where they were going.

And among those who had yet to make their decisions, a considerable number had been waiting for this very day. The nationally televised U.S. Army All-American Bowl. Here, player after player stepped up to the camera.

"The school I'll be playing for is Clemson."

"I'll be taking the field at Oregon next year."

"Florida. Get ready for us."

One by ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one, they announced their college choices in front of the cameras, as if it were some kind of birthright.

(Dave Fleming) — ABC ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠play-by-play announcer:

"Yet another player is waiting to announce his college decision. Let's send the broadcast back over that way for a moment."

Peter Skoronski. A kid out of Park Ridge, Illinois. Rated the third-best offensive center in the 2020 class, a 4-Star, 95-rated prospect ranked 113th in the nation.

He'd received scholarship offers early from the likes of Iowa, Illinois, Duke, and Vanderbilt, and back in April 2018 he'd taken an unofficial visit to Notre Dame and completed their evaluation. Right up until then, this offensive center seemed destined for South Bend.

But then.

Peter Skoronski watched a video posted last April — and steered his future in a different direction.

Chris Barden, ABC's sideline reporter, stood beside the announcement table as the camera feed cut to her.

Peter Skoronski reached out and touched each hat on the table in turn — then abruptly turned around and took something from someone behind him.

And brought it to his head.

In the blink of an eye, he was wearing a hat.

None other than —

"I'm going to Georgia."

Five players declared for Georgia on this day alone.

It was the first time anything like it had happened in the history of this game.

Kelee Ringo, the top cornerback in the class. Jalen Carter, a top-two defensive tackle. Broderick Jones, a massive offensive tackle. And Darnell Washington, a 5-Star tight end who in recent years had been called the best at his position.

After the seven players who committed early in the month following last April 13th, yet another wave of elite prospects had now declared they were headed to Georgia.

The broadcast booth began to heat up.

February 14, 2020

Athens, Georgia, USA

University of Georgia — President's Office

Ten months had already passed since Moi announced to the entire world that he was going to Georgia. The phenomenon that followed had given him a new nickname — the Pied Piper — and the University of Georgia had spent that whole time watching the nation's elite prospects become Bulldogs, absolutely delighted.

And the man who'd had the happiest year of all of them?

The President of the University of Georgia.

Jere Morehead.

"You're telling me all of that is checks?"

"It is. Truly astonishing, isn't it?"

The total donations Georgia had received this year amounted to a record-shattering 1.9 billion dollars.

Nearly double the 1.1 billion raised in 2018 — and half a billion more than last year's 1.4 billion.

But the truly important part was this:

"Dan Amos hasn't even stepped onto the field yet."

"You mean the Aflac CEO?"

"That's the one."

"…"

The richest of all Georgia's alumni — the chairman of Aflac — still hadn't pulled out his checkbook.

"Moi isn't a pied piper."

"A goose that lays golden eggs, then."

"Wrong."

"?"

"He's a diamond."

The president of Clemson, barely seventy miles down the road, had crowed about how "we raked in 1.1 billion dollars thanks to Trevor Lawrence" — and it had made Morehead sick to his stomach with envy.

But now? That stomachache had healed completely.

These days he was sleeping like a baby every single night.

"Now, about this."

"?"

"We need to build new training facilities."

"That's an excellent idea."

"I thought so."

Morehead nodded and gestured toward a mountain of letters stacked on the desk.

Letters that had arrived alongside checks.

"A great many of the donors who gave over a million dollars want their money put directly toward upgrading the training facilities. Because they want to give Moi the finest environment possible. So — you work out the appropriate budget and put the project together. Construction begins after the 2020 season ends. I want it completed before the 2021 season kicks off."

"Yes, understood."

"Good. You may go."

The budget officer left the office, and Morehead rose from his chair, walked to the window, and started humming a tune.

These days, the world was simply beautiful to him.

As if his every sensibility had come back to life.

Knock knock—

"Come in!"

The officials kept coming, one after another, each bringing budget proposals to fix up some corner of the campus — and every single time, Morehead said the same thing.

Look at that mountain of letters over there.

Dan Amos hasn't donated yet.

Not a golden goose — a diamond.

Sticking it to that Clemson president feels fantastic.

Yes, that was it.

Morehead was bragging to anyone in any direction who would listen.

Georgia's president these days was an incredibly generous man.

"Ask for whatever you like. Whatever."

They say a full granary makes a generous heart.

The saying had never fit a moment so perfectly.

March 1, 2020

Fort Worth, Texas, USA

RRQB Academy

Yesterday, I flew back to Texas.

"How tall are you now?"

"Six-six, sir."

"Weight?"

"238 pounds."

"Whoa. And you're telling me you're a quarterback?"

Ryan Roberts, whom I hadn't seen in a while, grinned and gave me a thumbs-up.

"So — hold on."

"?"

"What about school?"

"Already graduated."

"What?"

Technically, I'd finished every credit I needed — I'd knocked out summer classes last year. Somewhere in the middle of figuring out what to do with myself after committing, the thought occurred to me: just finish the credits fast.

The reason was so I could come here.

"I'm staying for the next two months."

"Two whole months?"

"Yup."

I only needed to be back in Hawaii for the graduation ceremony, so I planned to stay in Fort Worth until then. The training I could do at school was limited anyway, and with the team in the middle of a full generational handover, it didn't feel right to keep showing my face either. My friends were a little hurt about it, but what could I do?

This was my future.

"I figured you came because it was spring break."

"Already? No way. Anyway — here. The money."

"…How much is in there?"

Ryan eyed the thick envelope and asked. So I told him: twenty-five thousand dollars.

"Whoa. There's no way I can take all of this."

"Why not?"

"Come on. That's way too much money."

"But—"

Last time, one week had cost $3,600. Multiply that by roughly eight and you got more than this. Honestly, I'd been trying to talk the price down. And on top of that — this was money I'd wrung out of Georgia. Not the multi-million-dollar signing commitment. I'd just asked them to cover my training expenses.

They'd handed it over on the spot.

All in cash, too.

Who could have guessed there was a mountain of cash piled up in the president's office safe?

"Hmm— here's what we'll do."

"How so?"

"I'll take ten thousand out of this."

"That's all?"

"Yep. In exchange, I'll give you the best training quality we can possibly deliver. But when the NIL rules change, you sign with us. Of course, we'll negotiate a proper signing fee at that point too."

Recently, with the Supreme Court and a Senate majority taking an interest in the NCAA's antitrust violations, the sluggish investigations and lawsuits had gained enormous momentum. Georgia, Texas, and Florida were all throwing their weight behind it as well, and talk was already circulating that the rules would change before long. The 44 million dollars EA Sports had paid out to the former college players from its basketball and football games only reinforced it.

The so-called law of amateurism was crumbling.

Nothing had ever felt more exhilarating.

"What do you say? Not a bad deal, right?"

"I'm happy with it. But a verbal-only deal — you're comfortable with that?"

"Of course. I trust you. Good faith matters."

"Ah— damn. That right there. That just sealed it for me."

"Haha. Come on, let's head into the office."

On the walk from the parking lot, Ryan asked me this and that.

Why Georgia? Was Kirby Smart a good man? Had I met my new teammates? And then—

"You keeping in touch with the freshmen?"

"We even have a Snapchat group going."

"Whew— kids these days really are built different."

"They're good guys."

Georgia's freshman class this year was twenty-six players including me — plus three transfers. I heard later that JT Daniels had told Kirby Smart he wanted to come to Georgia, but the instant I announced my commitment, he canceled everything and bolted for West Virginia. JT, rated the No. 2 quarterback of the 2018 class behind Trevor Lawrence, had failed miserably at USC. As a sophomore last year, he'd been passed over even by a true freshman. When this year didn't look any better either, he chose to enter the portal and transfer.

"College really is a different animal."

"Several levels up, honestly."

"You say that like you know."

"Come on. The numbers tell you everything."

"Numbers?"

"Yes. Out of 1.1 million high school football players, do you know how many actually play D1? Just twenty thousand. Less than one percent."

"Haha. Can't argue with that."

JT and the others I'd played alongside in the U.S. Army All-American Bowl two years ago — their failures were powerful motivation for me.

Never assume success. Stay humble, always.

Lest arrogance ever creep into the confidence I'd made my life's motto, I worked as hard as I could to keep the two separate.

And I'd settled on a new slogan.

"Hustle&Grind."

"What's that supposed to be?"

"My philosophy for the time being."

"And you're starting it here?"

"Yes. What do you say? You'll help me out, right?"

"Haha. Of course I will."

For the two months I'd spend at RRQB, I wanted to grow as a quarterback.

Even if it wasn't a dramatic, eye-catching leap — I wanted to come away feeling that I'd gotten better.

Because I didn't yet know whether I'd rule at the college level.

"Good. Money's confirmed."

"Yes, sir."

"When do we start? Today?"

"Yes. I packed my gear, too."

"Haha. Right. Go hit the locker room. Remember where it is?"

"Of course. My GPA is 3.9, you know."

"Whoa. Now that's genuinely impressive."

"Oorah."

A brain as lethal as the face it came in. A cannon arm to rival Stafford. Pocket command straight out of the Brady school.

That's me — Dwayne Moi Stone.

Although — hold on.

Wait.

Where was the locker room again?

March 13, 2020

On the flight — Dallas to Hawaii

Back in November, a disease called COVID-19 had emerged.

The first case was identified in the Chinese city of Wuhan, and by February the United States had started paying attention to it too. But nobody — nobody — knew it would come to this.

An unknown pathogen had swallowed the world whole.

"Phew—"

The mask was suffocating. I couldn't stand it.

But I'd been told not to take it off.

Someone behind me coughed. Under normal circumstances it would've meant nothing, but right now it gnawed at my nerves like crazy.

About a week ago, COVID-19 infections had started exploding across the country, with cases and deaths surging out of the eastern United States. And for the past three days, Texas alone had been logging thousands of new cases daily, with the death toll climbing into the hundreds every day.

In the end, even RRQB had suspended operations.

Which was why I was on my way back to Hawaii like this.

I tapped my phone screen and moved to a different Snapchat room.

The world I knew was changing — fast, and hard.

State governments were declaring emergencies and shutting their doors to the outside one by one. Sporting events were postponed or suspended outright. And in another room somewhere, conversations like this were happening: Would the season even be played? Were scholarships still getting paid out?

Georgia hadn't sent me any specific word. There'd been no news on the matter either. Football had been shoved to the very back of the line.

The front pages of every internet news site were wall-to-wall lockdowns and test kits, with articles updating in real time — how many cases in which state, how many dead.

What on earth was happening?

Right in the middle of my college recruitment season, no less.

Of course, human life mattered infinitely more. But even so, the thought forced its way in anyway.

Why now, of all times?

And then —

Ring—

Ring—

Ring—

Ring—

The Snapchat group of the freshmen heading to Georgia with me lit up over a piece of news.

They said the terms could shift flexibly with the disease's spread — but what it really meant was that NCAA D1 football might stop altogether.

Damn it.

What the hell was this?

Suddenly, my college life was threatening to drift off course.

May 28, 2020

Oahu, Hawaii, USA

Honolulu CDP, Kahuku

Kahuku High School

As of yesterday, COVID-19 had become a disease that had claimed the lives of one hundred thousand Americans.

The New York Times filled its entire Sunday front page on the 24th with the names of the dead, while Trump — utterly oblivious — spent that day out on the golf course and got absolutely roasted for it, his past remarks coming back to compound the fury.

And in the span of just a few months, the shape of life itself had changed.

Distancing. Masks. Washing your hands. We all had to adapt to a new way of living built around protection from the disease.

And this COVID-19 character had gone even further —

It had changed the very face of a high school graduation.

A long, temporary walkway had been constructed along the inside of the school building. I stepped out of the car and stood at the marked spot. Stretching out ahead of me was something like a red carpet.

"Damn it. So this is my graduation…"

"Accept it, Moi. Come on — picture time."

"Cheese."

I did the cheese pose even though it wouldn't show on camera anyway.

Click.

Whether I was actually smiling behind the mask, only I would ever know. Still, I took the photos with my family.

Then I walked along the red carpet. On the left, a line of cars crept forward, my dad behind the wheel of ours. That's how graduation worked now — a photo at the red carpet entrance, more photos as you walked, and then up onto the stage.

"Congratulations on graduating, Moi."

"Yes, sir."

After the principal's congratulations, I picked my diploma up off the table with my own two hands.

And then—

Click.

And that was it.

Fantastic. Really. Just incredible.

What is this.

We drove straight back to Grandma's house, where I sat staring into space for a long, long time.

Haaa—

My graduation.

"Fuck! I'm telling you, the line was insane?"

— Hahaha. What time did you go?

"Eleven! You?"

— Me, two in the afternoon. Guess that's why we never ran into each other.

Seriously. It was supposed to be a graduation, and I couldn't meet a single friend?

"Damn it. Absolute worst."

— You ship out tomorrow, right?

"Yeah. You?"

— Me, on the 1st.

Marcus, on the other end of the line, was headed to the University of Hawaii — so on the 1st he'd just hop across to the other island. And tomorrow, I left for Georgia.

Small, but there had been a hopeful change. On the 20th, the NCAA Division 1 council had approved voluntary workouts beginning June 1. That said, the Power 5 major conferences — including the SEC, where Georgia plays — still hadn't announced any concrete plans.

Even so, heading to Georgia was the right call. At the very least, I could do voluntary workouts.

There was nothing left for me to do here anyway.

Unless the plan was to spend every day staring at Kala's face.

Not that that'd be terrible.

— You gonna be okay out there alone?

"What can I do? Not exactly spoiled for options."

— Fair enough. Hey, Moi.

"What?"

— Don't sit around alone at night moping. If you get lonely, call me. Got it? This big brother will take it all, every last bit.

"Get lost. You worry about getting dumped first."

— Hahaha.

Here I was, living a second life and finally making it to college — and what?

A pandemic?

The world, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠man. Seriously.

There was never a rawer deal than this one.

— Still, you know. If anyone can handle it, it's you.

"…Yeah. Yeah, I can."

Even a best friend's clumsy comfort gave me a little strength.

Alright, then.

Bring it on. Every last one of you.

From the moment I threw away my first life, there was nothing in this world I feared.

Nothing at all.