I groaned. “Let’s not go over it again, Adam.”
“I know you don’t want to, but keep in mind you’re going to have to answer questions about this stuff from people a lot less friendly than me, at least till you can string together some good games. Assuming you get onto the field in the first place.”
“Right, right. OK, thanks, Adam.”
“Think about it, Drake. And stay by the phone.”
He hung up, and I put the phone down.
I already knew the answer to Adam’s question. Of course football was what I wanted to do. There was nothing else for me. Sure, I could get a job in engineering, but engineering didn’t come with the bright lights of Sunday night and the adoration of thousands whenever I did my job.
There was nothing like that, and I couldn’t give up that dream before it started.
My phone buzzed, and I looked over at it. There was a message from Adam. I tapped on it, and saw, “Hope you’ve made up your mind by now. Pick up the phone.”
What was he talking about? I stared at my phone.
Then, out of nowhere, it started to ring. Unknown number. I stared at it again as it rang twice more before I picked up. “Hello?”
“Drake Rollins?”
“Yes.”
“Coach Armstrong, New England Patriots.”
HOLY SHIT. A fucking pro head coach was calling me. Was Adam trying to organize another pep talk? He did know practically everyone in the league, so it wasn’t impossible. “Ye-Yes, sir. Ni-nice to speak with you.”
“You really fucked up, kid.”
This was already going bad. “Ye-Yes, sir, I seem to have gotten myself into a mess, sir, but I’m gonna figure out how to get out of it.”
“I’ve seen your tape, kid.”
“Yes?”
“You’re not bad. A little raw, but not bad.” Coach Armstrong was a legend around the league. He was widely believed to be one of the greatest football minds of all time, and on top of that, he was one surly bastard. Calling me ‘not bad’ was probably one of the biggest compliments in his arsenal, and I don’t think anyone had ever paid me one that meant more to me.
“Thank you, sir, I’ve had good teammates and I’ve put in a good amount of effort along the way.”
“You also,” Coach Armstrong paused and I waited with bated breath, “seem to really enjoy doing things that make pro football teams head for the hills.”
“Yes sir, I know, and I won’t be doing that stuff any longer.”
Coach Armstrong laughed, and I briefly moved the phone away from my ear till he stopped. “Listen, kid, I have two rules. The first is that you do whatever it takes to get what you want as long as you don’t break the law. The second is that you never blow smoke up my ass. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir, we’re clear.”
“It’s ‘Coach,’ kid, ‘Coach.’”
“Yes, Coach.”
“You’re on a short leash, kid, so make the most of it.”
“Huh?” I was confused, this didn’t make any sense.
“Get on a plane and be at the facility by Monday. Your agent will have the details.”
“I don’t understand…”
Coach Armstrong sighed. “I’m signing you to the team, Drake. I’m giving you a chance to redeem yourself and become a professional football player.”
HOLY.
SHIT.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t do anything; I could barely stay standing. This was insane. Was I dreaming? What was going on here?
I was hyperventilating. “You still there, kid?” He had a knowing sound to his voice, like this was definitely not the first time he’d made a phone call like this and given life to someone in my position.
“Yes, Coach, I’m here, and I want to thank-“
“Save it, kid. All I’m giving you is a chance. I’m opening the door you decided you’d rather close, and I’m allowing you to the opportunity to make that decision over again and walk through it this time.”
His voice grew hard. “But make no mistake, Rollins, you’re on the shortest fucking leash I can find. If you step out of line even once, or don’t give me everything you got in the field, I will cut your ass without a moment’s hesitation.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Kids like you think they’re such hot shit in college. Well, this is the pros, and we only take the best of the best and we still cut people from the team without mercy. So give me all you got and we’ll see if you make the team.”
“I understand, Coach. I won’t let you down.”
Coach Armstrong chuckled. “Kid, I don’t even know you. I couldn’t give a shit whether you succeed or not - my job is to win championships, and if you’ll help me do that, I’ll give you all the help I can. But if you can’t, I got no use for you. Got it?”
“Yes, Coach.” There was a moment’s silence. “And thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Ever.”
“Of course.”
“I mean it. Do not mention it. Oh, and there’s one more thing.” Coach Armstrong suddenly sounded weary, like this was the worst part of his job. All of a sudden I wondered if this whole thing was a huge practical joke, a funny way for Adam to drop me as a client.