I never disappoint, especially when it comes to Trey.
I look to the ceiling, imprinting the numbers in my mind across its blank surface. “If the draft was today I’d say at least eleven million guaranteed in signing bonuses. Probably nineteen mil over four years. The firm would pull a million dollars guaranteed.”
“But the draft isn’t until April.”
I fall back into my seat on a sigh. “By April, if he can’t make a mark at the Combine I’d agree that he’s second round. He’s not gonna get a signing bonus bigger than two million. Five over four years. The firm wouldn’t see more than two hundred thousand of that.”
“An eight hundred thousand dollar pay cut,” Hollis clarifies for me. “That’s the number your dad sees. And it’s a big one.”
“He’s wrong to pass on Domata,” I argue uselessly, unwilling to give up. Unable to call the play dead. Not until the whistle blows and Trey signs with another agent. “He’ll be huge someday. Another Brett Favre or Peyton Manning and Brad’s passing on him because Trey’s having a bad hair day.”
Hollis stands to come around my desk, offering me a hand to help me up. I take it grudgingly.
“You know what you’ve gotta do, right?” he asks.
“Go behind my dad’s back and sign him anyway?”
“You could, but you’d pay for it. So would Trey.”
“So what do I do?”
“You find another angle. One your dad will understand.”
He squeezes my hand encouragingly before turning to head for the door.
I gape at him. “What the shit was that?!”
He pauses. “What?”
“What you just said. What angle? What am I supposed to do, Yoda?”
Hollis shrugs his shoulders lightly. “I have no clue. But you’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”
“Are you for real? That’s your advice? ‘Figure it out’?”
“Basically.”
I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Oh my God, you’re worse than useless.”
“And yet I still make more money than you. Weird.”
I point to the door. “Get out.”
He laughs, unimpressed with my hostility. “Lunch later?”
“Sure, but you’re buying, Moneybags.”
When Hollis is gone I sit at my computer for an hour. I watch the last quarter of the National Championship game over and over again. I watch it on every website Google says it’s playing on. ESPN, Fox Sports, CBS College Sports, NBC Sports, The PAC-12 Network, and The NFL. Every single one of them is streaming the highlights of the game on their homepage, and all of them have commentary. Different guys from different networks, but what they’re all saying is the same thing – Trey Domata has the coolest head on a quarterback anyone has seen in years. He saw a world of hurt closing in on him in the form of Alabama’s massive defensive line, yet he set his feet, held his ground, and made a rocket pass into the end zone that landed in the waiting hands of Eric Capshaw.
Touchdown.
The UCLA Bruins are the National Champions of College Football.
“You saw it coming,” I whisper to the screen, watching him take that brutal hit for the twelfth time today. “You knew it would hurt but you didn’t run. You took it for the win. You wanted it that bad.”
The final moments after the game are rolling. The crowd is on the field but the situation is somber. Medics are with Domata. He’s still on the ground, still dazed, but he’s clutching his right arm. Cradling that right hand. No one knew yet how bad it was.
Finally they get him on his feet. He’s wobbly but he’s up, and when he raises his left arm into the air, pumping it once for the crowd, they go crazy. They start chanting his name. His teammates swarm around him, creating a moving wall of man to keep him covered as they walk him to the tunnel. They’re protecting him even now, even when the game and their time as a team are over. They stay with him because they love him. Because they’d follow him anywhere, do anything for him.
Just like he’d do anything for them.
“You didn’t do it for the win,” I breathe, watching him disappear into the tunnel with his team. “You beautiful, selfless son of a bitch. You did it for the team.”
That’s why he risked everything to take that hit – for his team. He did it because he was their captain and he was determined to go down with the ship. He did it because Domata is not in it for himself or the money or the fame. He does it for the family. He does it for the love of the game.
I hate him for that. I hate him because it’s beautiful. It’s noble.