"Yeah, the guys sitting in the cellar come December always need linebackers," I reply, and yeah, I'm a little pissed off. "The Hawks have been one of the premier teams in the conference for a while now. And it's not just because we've got some stars. We've got a good team."
"Who do you think put that team together?" Kardi asks, sitting forward. "Let me clue you in. That man was me, and it's been that way for the past decade. I'm the one who makes the final personnel decisions about this team, and yes, I do take the coaches' opinions into consideration, but if I need to, I'll cut, trade or sign a contract for anyone that I think can help this team. Now, if you think I'm a bastard about this, you should count yourself lucky that you're not playing for someone else. A lot of times, you wouldn’t know until you actually got traded. Some teams have a fucking real estate agent on retainer whose whole job is to help guys clear out their houses and sell whatever they need to get sold."
"So why are you being so generous, then? I mean, you don't even have a destination in mind, you said. You just said you're shopping me around. What gives?"
The officious prick shrugged. "I figure it differently. I figure, if you know you're on the trade block, you're going to play pissed off. You're going to want to look good, because you know if you don't, we'll just cut you come next pre-season, and you can take your chances on the last year of a rookie contract and a reputation as a crybaby. You play your heart out until you get traded, though, and you go to a new team with a good rep, a starting slot, and go into the last year of your rookie contract in a strong position to negotiate a fat new contract, or at least get franchise tagged for a year and make good money. Now, what's it going to be?"
I nod and get up. "You know your answer already. You want to give me a reason to play hard? I already had that. Now you're just giving me more emotional content."
Kardi nods, then scribbles something on a sheet of paper next to him.
I shake my head. “Thanks for the heads up. Does the team mind if I still take tomorrow off to go to that wedding I asked about a month ago?"
Kardarelli waves dismissively. Football players with strange ideas are pretty much par for the course. I mean, one of my best buddies on the team currently has a collection of UFO 'inside information' DVDs that covers an entire wall of his living room. Another's into some wacky religion that lets him eat all the pork he can get his hands on, but he can only eat rabbit on Mondays. You try fueling a three-hundred-pound body on rabbit right before a Monday night game.
Either way, I'm small potatoes. "No problem. It's a garbage game, anyway. Hell, you want the time off, I'll ask the Coach to keep you off the dress list for the game. We've got enough guys who need to earn a spot on the roster still that you're just going to be standing around anyway."
I consider it for a moment, then nod. Might as well take what I can get from the team while I can. "You know what? I'd appreciate it. I guess I should wait until I tell her, but it seems I have a daughter. I'd like to get to know her, if it's all the same to you."
Kardarelli taps his pencil on his desk blotter, then nods. "Fine. Take the game day off. But come week one of the regular season, I don't give a fuck if you're getting married and you've got Elton John coming in to sing a revue of The Lion King for the reception. You're suiting up against the Phantoms."
"Deal. See you."
"Push me higher! Higher!"
"All right, Laurie, hold tight!"
We're in the park, and Laurie and I are playing on the swing set. This little girl loves to swing, I know that for sure, and even though she can pump her legs like a champ, she adores it most when I push her. Whitney, who got tired after whirling her around for a couple of minutes on the merry-go round, is sitting on the edge of the sand pit that surrounds the swings, watching us.
"Don't go too high, honey! You could fall off!"
"Troy will catch me!"
"I'm glad you think I'm Superman, but I'm just a normal person."
“I don’t like Superman!” Laurie calls back as she giggles. "You're Thor with short hair."
"Fits better under the helmet. I’d love to carry that hammer of his during the game. Make my job a lot easier," I laugh, pushing one last time. "Okay, baby girl, you pump on your own for a few minutes. I'm going to sit down with your mama."
“Okay, but we have to go to the monkey bars soon!” Laurie orders, and I shake my head, sitting down next to Whitney. She's laughing silently, giving me a knowing look.
"I wonder where she gets her bossy side from," I tease, nudging Whitney with my elbow.
"Her Aunt Dani, for sure," Whitney replies. "Who do you think taught her all the comic book characters she knows about? They don't have Marvel Comics in Italy—well, at least they're not easy to find."