“Georgia is one of my favorite places in the world. The only way to really describe it is that it’s a place I think about when I’m thinking of good food, good people, and home.”
“You were raised there your entire life?”
“Born and bred. I never lived anywhere else until I came to New York as a rookie.”
“Your life in Georgia seems a lot different than your life now in New York. How do the two compare?”
Where is he going with this shit?
“New York is my new home, and I love it in different ways. It’s where my fans are, it’s where my businesses are, and it also has a great community of people. Just a lot more of ’em.”
“Do you think you’d ever leave the Nighthawks for a different team?”
“There’s only but so much control you have over your career in the NFL. If the team wants to trade me at some point, they will, and there won’t be much I can do about it.”
“Except maybe buy the team.”
We both laugh uncomfortably, but I don’t respond to that comment. There’s been talk about me investing in a NFL franchise for some time, but nothing has materialized. It’s just been a few conversations here and there.
The reality is that owners don’t want to see players gain ownership, especially young ones like me who know players on every team and who have relationships with those players. It would be bad for business.
“It’s been said that the only situation where the team would ever consider trading you would be to make room in the budget to draft some of the missing pieces in the offense. Maybe defense too. Would you consider taking a pay cut to allow room in the budget to get what the Nighthawks need?”
He might as well just say I should play for free. Yeah right, that shit isn’t happening. I put my body on the line every season to try and bring this city a championship. I should be compensated for that whether or not I’m already rich or not.
“I actually think we look damn good this year. Definitely playoff contenders. We’re not missing much, so I guess that’s not something I need to worry about in the near future.”
He scribbles down some notes on a notepad.
“How are you feeling so far about the trades made over the summer? There’s a new backup quarterback in town and his name is Parinzino.”
“I don’t know much about him yet, but I’m sure he will be a great addition to the team. I look forward to seeing what he can actually do. I hear that he has had very little actual time on the field.”
Coach is going to make me pay for that passive aggressive comment.
“Umm … that’s a good point you make.” Jim’s eyes light up. He thinks he’s got me right where he wants me. I took that one jab at Parinzino, but it won’t happen again. “Do you know if Saint Stevenson is getting to know him? Mentoring him on handling the pressures of being a prime time quarterback?”
“It’s not Saint’s job to mentor Parinzino, it’s his job to win ball games, but I can’t speak for either of them. I’m sure they’re handling Nighthawk business like we always do.”
“Like a well oiled machine.”
“That’s right.”
He jots down a few more notes.
“I think it’s fair to say, Mr. Barnes, that you’ve had some distractions over the years. A few Twitter wars. Several bar fights. A discrimination case at one of your pizzerias.”
What a bad segue.
“That’s old news, Jim.”
“Fair enough, but—”
“If it’s a fair point then why are you bringing all of that old shit up?”
“Trust me it’s leading somewhere. I’m just wondering if perhaps your past trauma may explain some of the drama to the fans.”
My stomach drops. He knows.
