Instead, I whisper run plays to myself… blue fifty-four… vegas… wing right… green ninety-nine… trap… odd number… ace left… white thirty-six… dash… even number… right… dash right… pink ten… omaha double switch… blue fifty-four… vegas… wing right… green ninety-nine… trap… odd number…
Repetitiveness calms me down, makes me feel like I do on the field, in control, prepared, ready.
Staying at home was definitely the right decision, there was no way I could have done this in a room full of strangers. There was a lot of push back from the NFL about me declining the ‘fam cam’ too, but honestly, any publicity would be too much, and the thought of cameras in my face right now makes my heart squeeze that little bit tighter.
I just want to play football. Hearing the statistics about the number of Asian players in the NFL, not helpful. People are already talking about me being a role model, but I haven’t even done anything yet, there’s nothing to model. It’s just more pressure on my shoulders, on top of what’s already been mounting since people found out who my dad is.
Nathan Williams, one of the greatest linebackers of his generation. It took a while for people to put two and two together, we look nothing alike, him being white and all, and obviously we have different last names, but once the connection was made, the comparisons started to get thrown around.
He’s never pressured me; initially he wasn’t even excited about me wanting a pro-football career, knowing the pressure I’d be under to keep certain parts of myself private, not to mention the physical toll it takes on your body. But what can I say, I love football.
My phone buzzes on the table in front of me.
“Everybody quiet!” Mom shouts, even though there are only four of us here.
“Hello,” I answer, trying to keep my voice calm.
“Stephen Choi?”
“Uh… Yes.”
“Hi Stephen, it’s Rick Winters, owner of the TynerstonWarriors.”
“Hello, Sir.” My heart is pounding, thumping in my ears.
“I think you know why I’m calling, but I’m guessing you need to hear me say it?” he says.
“Yes, Sir, it won’t be real until you do.”
“How would you like to be a wide receiver for the Tynerston Warriors?”
Tears well up in my eyes, another reason not to have the ‘fam cam’ here.
“Nothing would make me happier, Sir.”
Mom squeals with delight and my dad and Coach Jenkins clap each other on the backs and shake hands.
“Then welcome aboard.”
With no time to talk, we hang up the phone and I turn my attention to the TV. The host is at the podium, and he touches his earpiece, getting the confirmation through. When he eventually speaks, his voice doesn’t sound clear, instead fading into the background behind the buzz in my head. But I faintly hear him say, “And the Tynerston Warriors pick Stephen Choi, Wide Receiver, from Winbrook University…”
I’m being pulled into hugs from all directions, words of praise from my parents and Coach all blur into one—how proud they are of me, they knew I could do it; I’m going to be amazing.
Shit, is this real? Have I done it?
“Let the boy breathe a moment,” Dad’s voice overpowers the others, it must be him that guides me to a chair.
“Sit down, Son.”
Letting out the breath I’d been holding, I laugh at the look on his face; to be fair I was probably looking a bit peaky.
“Sorry,” I say, “this is a lot.”
“I know. But we’re here with you, and there’s no one here but us. Take all the time you need.”
Blue fifty-four… vegas… wing right… green ninety-nine… trap… odd number… ace left… white thirty-six… dash… even number… right… dash right… pink ten… omaha double switch… blue fifty-four… vegas… wing right… green ninety-nine… trap… odd number… ace left… white thirty-six… dash…
Dad understood better than anyone why I didn’t want the press here and a party; anxiety rears its head at the most inopportune moments, and I didn’t want this broadcast for the world to see.
