"I dunno. 342 or maybe 324."
He laughs at my confusion and the next thing I know I'm seven feet in the air.
"Wait–"
"Quiet. I'm making sure you get to your room safely. My cousin Ben is starting to give you the hungry eye over there."
"The hungry eye?"
"Yeah, like he wants to eat you for dessert. Literally."
Uh-oh.
"Where's your key card?"
"My suit pocket. Just make sure he doesn't see me like this."
"Who, my cousin?"
"No, Jason, the new guy." I say drowsily.
I do my best to keep my eyelids open in case I need to cry for help. I'm breaking all of my personal safety protocols by allowing a complete stranger to carry me in an elevator and up to my room; but I'm no match for the deep sleep that the alcohol is placing me under, although I stay alert just long enough to hear a garbled promise that I hope is kept.
"Don't worry, Freshman. I've got you."
Chapter Four
SAINT
Sweat and salt dripping down my blazing hot back.
Chunks of the earth underneath my fingernails.
The gritty taste and texture of fresh turf in-between my teeth.
Football is what I eat, shit, and breathe.
I've been playing the game my entire life, and I've played with sprained ankles, broken ribs, jammed fingers, sore Achilles tendons, and black eyes; but the one thing that I've never gotten used to is tossing the ball around in ninety degree heat with a helmet and pads on. I hate that shit. I'd rather play in the snow any day.
I come from a lineage of professional football players. Football royalty is what they call us. The Stevenson Family. My father played the game. My uncle. My cousin. My older brother currently plays in the league, and so do I. I'm sure if I have any sons, they'll be expected to play as well. It's what we love. It's what we do. It's who we are.
Every fall as a kid I played football for my high school, but every summer it was a requirement that my brother Michael and I play in our family's football camp a.k.a. our summer league for kids with high football IQs and professional potential. It's called the Stevenson Summer Combine and it's a big deal. Any kid who doesn't play football for a highly visible high school program wants to come to our camp to hopefully be noticed by scouts. Our family is well connected, but it's no picnic. We played all day, everyday, and every summer at that camp whether we wanted to or not. Whether we'd rather be riding bikes or eating water ice because it was so hot. It was our duty as Stevensons to be there.
Football is our legacy.
In those days we played on some of the hottest, humid Philadelphia summer mornings straight through to the late afternoons. I remember feeling many times like I was going to keel over and pass out. Luckily my older brother Michael knew when I was about to eat rocks, and made sure to pour a pint of Gatorade down my throat, before I met my maker.
That's exactly the same way I feel now. Blazing hot, and a bit nauseous, but I can't totally blame the heat for it. If I'm going to be totally honest, I haven't been sticking to my usual clean diet of protein and veggies. I ate crap and drank more beer than I should've last night, because I felt like wallowing. Hell, I deserve to wallow. I'm in a miserable situation.
Last year my team, The New York Nighthawks, finished second to last place in the league. The year before that we were dead last. The year before that? Hell, I don't even like to think about my rookie year. We sucked balls. And right this very minute, we don't look any fucking better than we did last season. Which is nuts because ...
I'm the franchise player.
The star.
I put butts in the seats and pay the bills around here. So why is my team complete trash? I'll tell you why. I don't have any support. I'm getting my ass kicked out here week after week, and nobody in the head office is doing anything about it. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to diagnose what the problem is. I see it. My father sees it. The fans see it too.
Management needs to concentrate on working the kinks out of my offensive line. Unfortunately to stay well under the team's salary cap, our penny pinching owner has secured all these wet behind the ear rookies or broken down veterans that the coaching staff seems to be struggling to put in place to protect me out there on the field. It's even more critical now because we've finished the pre-game season, and now we're about to enter into the regular season, and theystilldon't have it figured out.
