People Really Should Live Trying a Bit of Everything

Once Sunday gave way to Monday, the aftermath of Saturday's game made itself unmistakably felt.

What had set the entire internet ablaze all day yesterday was the silhouette of me frozen at the exact instant of the Jump Pass.

People turned that moment into something the way Air Jordan was made.

And today, Tuesday, they're still talking about it.

November 10, 2020 — Athens, Georgia / University of Georgia / Butts-Mehre Heritage Hall / Press Conference Room

"Haha. Yes, I saw it. It looked pretty incredible."

"—Any word from Nike?"

"I got a DM. They congratulated me, said they'd all watched the moment too, and that everyone back at their headquarters in Oregon is talking about nothing else. It genuinely felt great. I could feel that I'd become the face of an iconic moment."

The reporters kept circling the same theme. This time they asked whether I'd seen that video.

"Yes, I saw it. I was floored. I knew LeBron James followed me and cheered me on, but I never imagined he'd put it on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a T-shirt and wear it."

"—You realize this is the second time, right?"

"The second what?"

"—The second time a T-shirt got made because of you."

Oh, come on.

I want Mac Jones Who? to just die already.

I feel so sorry for the guy.

Anyway. People had once again printed the silhouette onto shirts and sold them, and one of those shirts had ended up on LeBron James. Beneath the silhouette stamped dead center across the chest was the date 11.07.2020, and the back carried its own print:

Moi The King.

Honestly? I like it.

"—People are wondering whether that was intentional."

"Honestly, I had been thinking about it."

"—Really?"

"Yes. Going into the Florida game, I wanted to score the way Tim Tebow used to. I was never going to end up at the Swamp myself, so I figured Jacksonville was the closest I'd ever get. The chance came at exactly the right time — I called the play, designated the routes, and in that moment it felt like I could pull it off. And I did. That part was luck."

The Alabama game, the Florida game — truth be told, it all came down to me being petty.

Call it DNA carved deep into the chromosomes.

In my past life, too, I could never stand being on the losing end of anything. If you asked me why I turned out this way, I could list a hundred reasons, but I won't bother.

"And now — I can check this one off, too."

Once the press conference wrapped, I headed straight back to the dorm and went into my little side room. This was where I studied — football and academics alike. The reason I came here immediately was simple: there was something I needed to check off.

Ever since the season start was confirmed and I'd gotten the schedule, I had laid out my tasks in order. If I completed everything on that list, I could call this season a success. And if even one slipped away?

Hm—

Well, that would depend on which one it was.

After checking the message, I replied that a keycard would be waiting by the flower bed on the right side of the dorm building's first floor.

Madison, you ask?

No.

And obviously not Alexi either.

There was a girl attending Emory over in Atlanta. We'd been trading DMs, and when she mentioned she had no morning classes and was free tonight, I told her to come by the dorm.

Madison had never defined what we were. She'd told me, "It's fine if you see other girls." With conditions, though:

Tell her if real feelings ever develop. Only see civilians. Always use protection.

I'd answered that I would.

I showered, dimmed the lights a little, and lit a candle.

Knock knock—

At the sound, I rose from my chair, walked to the door, and opened it.

"Hey."

"Wow. You look beautiful."

That beaming blonde's name was Emmaline Palmer — the girl I'd be spending tonight with.

November 11, 2020 — Athens, Georgia / University of Georgia / Clocked!

With the morning schedule done, I came to Clocked! to meet the guys. It was a solid spot for handcrafted burgers and every kind of fried food, a perennial favorite among Georgia students.

"Look alive, everyone — the player's here."

"Shut up."

"What? It's just true."

"I'm not exactly cheating, though."

"Oooh — so you're enjoying yourself?"

"My body isn't tied down to anyone right now."

"So? Who is she? Come on, talk."

"Just... some girl."

"Some girl. My curiosity is growing by the minute."

Zamir's relentless prying was getting on my nerves, but if I didn't give him something, he'd torment me for days. So I told him the girl had DM'd me first about a month back, gone quiet because of Alexi's territorial marking, then reached out again once she learned we'd broken up.

"Whoa-HOHO! The one who made the first move?"

"Yup."

"Not bad. Solid nine out of ten."

"Screw you. It's not like it's your call to rate."

"So? How was it?"

In this second life of mine, my nights had all been similar — the girl usually went down first. So, y'know. Decent. I wasn't the type to share details of my bed life with the guys, though, so I just gave Zamir's shoulder a light shove. He didn't push further.

"So that makes three, then?"

"Yup."

"Barely more than me. I met fourteen girls my freshman year."

"You were counting?"

"Come on, now — isn't that exactly the proof that I'm the one running ahead? Zeus's spear isn't only for the field, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

"FUCK!! That's disgusting, man!!"

"Khekhekhek."

As I'd said plenty of times before, being a star in a popular college sport was a guaranteed certificate of popularity. Not in every case, but mostly. And football especially drove the girls wild. Sure, some preferred baseball or basketball depending on taste, but football — the most masculine sport there is — was pure pheromone to them.

"Moi."

"?"

"Why don't you pick anyone at school?"

This time it was Jermaine Burton asking. Zamir looked curious too.

On this subject, I did have things to say.

First —

"I don't want the noise. Word gets around campus somehow no matter what you do. Who knows what Alexi will pull when she comes here next year, but that's a problem for later."

"True. Campus couples leave a bitter aftertaste."

"My point exactly."

A certain NBA player named JJ Redick had slept with seventy-eight women during a single fall semester of his sophomore year at Duke. But back then there was no such thing as social media, and that sort of thing was simply accepted as the culture. If a player pulled that today, it'd be all over every timeline and splashed across the local news in giant type.

I knew perfectly well what I wanted, so I don't leave any openings. I spell it out, plainly, to every girl.

Alexi had set out to date me openly from the very beginning, but Madison and Emmaline had no interest in tying me down.

"That's why I put in the work in bed. If it was good—"

"...Then they come looking for you first."

"Exactly. You make them want you first."

"You got any tips?"

Don't get worked up alone. Form a strategy. Read the opponent's reactions.

"Treat it exactly like football."

"Aw, damn. That's quarterback territory, though."

"Funny guy. It's the same for receivers."

"Khek. Fair — can't argue that."

I couldn't say for certain, but I had a feeling I'd be seeing Emmaline again from time to time.

"Anyway. For the foreseeable future, I'm a free man."

Whatever switch my relationship with Alexi had flipped, it had flipped it good. I'd forgotten for far too long just how good women were.

Truly, a person should live doing everything.

"You gonna eat all that onion ring?"

"Yup."

Lunch with the guys. Today, too, I was spending a perfectly ordinary day.

November 13, 2020 — Atlanta, Georgia / Grady Memorial Hospital

Marcus, who had badly injured his ankle in the Florida game, underwent emergency surgery in Jacksonville before being transferred to Atlanta. The reason I hadn't been able to visit until now came down to the guidelines — a whole stack of them. Getting into the hospital meant navigating four separate sets of COVID protocols: the NCAA's, the SEC's, the state of Georgia's, and the city of Atlanta's. Yesterday afternoon, I finally got the green light to visit. I understood the head coach and the assistant coaches had already come by.

Marcus in his hospital bed looked better than I'd expected.

Not that he was probably anything but pretending.

"Look at the state of that beard."

"Khekhekhek. Tell me about it. Can't exactly shave, can I."

"That's exactly why I brought you a guest."

"A guest?"

"Yep."

The person who'd come to the hospital with me today was the barber assigned to Marcus — a man who worked at the barbershop on campus. I'd paid the house-call fee and the haircut out of my own pocket, and I'd cleared it with the hospital beforehand.

"Need a hand?"

"I'm good. I can still use crutches."

"Careful."

Taking the crutches from beside the bed, Marcus made his way over and settled into the chair set a little apart. I took the crutches and propped them up beside him.

"The usual?"

"...No. Shave it all off, please."

"You serious?"

"Yeah. Who knows when I'll get it maintained again. Just leave the beard as it is."

"Got it, then."

Bzzzzz—

Professional barber Tatum Mils got to work, and I grabbed a second chair, turned it backward, and sat with my arms folded across its backrest.

"What did Coach say?"

"Said there'll always be a spot for me."

"Right answer."

"I'm grateful, honestly. The truth is, I was scared out of my mind. I still am, to be honest."

"I understand."

"Really?"

"Yup."

Marcus's season had ended with four receptions, sixty-two yards, and the single touchdown from the very play on which he'd gone down. A talent once rated a 4-Star wide receiver, he'd drawn offers from Florida and Alabama too. He'd told himself this year was for learning, sacrificed for the team, and worked diligently — and then an absurdly unlucky injury had ended it all. Of course he was anxious.

Just like high school, college rosters churned brutally. Take a ninety-man roster: at least a third of it would not be your teammate the following year. And among those departures were outright dismissals — guys forced off the team without ever wanting to leave. Usually that meant they'd caused some serious problem, or their ability simply fell short of the NCAA D1 level. And sometimes, like Marcus, injury was the reason.

His injury in particular had struck muscle and ligament that were nothing short of fatal for a wide receiver. The surgery had reportedly gone well, but whether he'd ever get his old self back was impossible to promise.

The odds said he wouldn't.

So.

"I'm sorry, Marcus."

"It's not your fault."

"But I drew up the play."

"...Yeah. I know that."

"If I'd just made a different call that day, maybe you never would've gotten hurt."

A silence, heavy in its own way, coiled itself between the two of us. Nothing filled the room but the steady buzz of the clippers.

And then, a little later—

"I've thought it over and over."

"?"

"It's not your fault, Moi. I don't feel even the slightest urge to blame you. It was an accident. If we have to curse something, curse that goddamn ankle tape for not being wrapped tight enough. I learned ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my lesson from this. From now on I'm wrapping that ankle up like a brick wall, I swear."

It wasn't so much that my heart felt lighter as that I was simply, overwhelmingly grateful. Looking back, maybe calling the barber out here had been my own selfishness too — a way of shaving a little weight off my conscience.

Even so.

"Damn— now I look kind of clean, huh?"

"Haha. The buzz cut actually suits you."

"Thanks, T."

"Don't mention it. Moi? You want one too?"

"Me?"

"Might as well, while you're here. Your hair's always the same."

These days I kept my length at the sweet spot for sweeping it back — there was some natural wave to it, so I rarely cut it short. My scalp and hair themselves were healthy enough.

Hm—

A new hairstyle. Didn't sound bad.

"Could you shave the sides clean for me?"

"What are you going for?"

"Shave the sides down along the hairline, leave the top long enough to tie back. When I've got the helmet on, I just work some wax through it and pin it down, that's all."

"Understood. I'll give you a razor-sharp line-up."

"Yes, sir."

The reason Marcus had suggested I get my hair done too was probably that he'd been bored out of his mind. Florida was home for him, so his parents couldn't easily come up — and word was he'd been alone all week. He must have been terribly lonely.

"How long is the hospital stay?"

"They said another two, three months."

"...I promise I'll come every Sunday."

"You don't have to."

"Only if you don't want me to. But if you're okay with it, I want to come. Next time I'll bring pizza."

"Damn — now that's tempting."

"Right?"

"Yeah."

Marcus was smiling brightly now. That face, too, I was endlessly grateful for.

The visit over, we were heading back toward Athens when Tatum Mils tapped my shoulder from the seat behind.

"Thank you. Because of you, my heart's a little lighter too."

"I should be thanking you."

"How about burgers on the way back? My treat."

"Haha. That's an offer ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I can't refuse."

Under a Friday night sky glittering with stars, I was on the road, driving.

November 14, 2020 — Athens, Georgia / University of Georgia / Vandiver Hall, Room 607

I'd spread a parade of delivery food across the table, and when I opened the front door, the person standing there wasn't alone. Madison had brought two more girls she introduced as friends, and rather than offer any further explanation, she marched me straight to the bedroom, shoved me onto the bed, and peeled off her coat.

Beneath it she wore nothing but stockings, a garter belt, and lingerie — and the girls who followed her in were the same.

Was that why the food had gone completely cold by the time we got to it?

Right now, in front of me, was Madison.

"How was it?"

"Fantastic."

"...Why are you so damn used to this?"

"What?"

"I've never met a man like you. Three girls all over you, and how are you still standing there like nothing happened? Those two are completely knocked out. I barely survived thanks to them taking the heat."

"Haha. Born with it, I guess."

That much was true. This was something you were born with. What helped, though, was that thanks to my past life, I knew exactly how to satisfy a woman.

"You'll need taking care of separately later, by the way."

"Again?"

"What? Don't want to?"

No.

Absolutely not that.

"Let's eat first."

"Good call."

Madison, ferrying food reheated in the microwave and oven to her mouth, was wearing my T-shirt — who knows where she'd dug it up.

Come to think of it.

It had gone missing somewhere in the middle of all that.

"You really are an astonishing man."

"...I know."

After we'd eaten and showered — and before we tangled again in the guest room — I answered her words, and waited for her lips.