Tackled (Alpha Ballers #1) by Lucy Snow
CHAPTER 01 - LILY
Draft day, 3pm
So this was the draft. I walked into Radio City Music Hall and my jaw must have hit the floor from the start. Bill Thompson turned to look at me, muttering under his breath as he shook his head. Something about ‘dumb kids’ or something like that.
Radio City Music Hall, though! Holy moley! It was much cooler than I ever expected! I’d been to New York a couple times with my Dad over the years; we’d always strutted proudly down the streets in full Patriots gear, joyfully inviting the sneers of all the New York sports fans we ran into. Especially Jets fans, but we shrugged all of them off.
It was good to have rivals, especially rivals that were good. This was the first time I’d been to New York alone, though. Despite being here for work I felt like everyone I passed by must have thought I was a goggle-eyed tourist, my head constantly snapping back and forth between this famous landmark and those gigantic buildings stretching all the way up to the sky.
My neck hurt already, and I’d only been here for less than 24 hours! Still, it was totally worth it. This was the draft! The majesty of Radio City Music Hall stretched out before me with its dark gothic architecture and huge lights shining from so far up all the way down here, bathing the auditorium in a soft glow, punctuated by the TV lights.
And all the people! Media, agents, and players on the ground level, fans in jerseys from each of the league’s 32 teams in the balcony. I stared up there as I walked in, wondering if the teams staked out places before hand or they just showed up and congregated in one place. No one wanted to sit with fans of another team, or, even worse, a division rival.
It occurred to me right then, yet again, that I loved the tribal nature, the group you were a part of as a football fan. Sure, it was mostly drawn over geographic boundaries, but that didn’t stop it from being any less important? Patriots fans put up with Jets, Bills, and Dolphins fans, and that’s just how it was - how it had nearly always been.
Bill Thompson turned around and looked me. “Don’t keep dawdling like that, we have work to do.”
“Sorry, Bill.” I picked up the pace and caught up to them. Bill still gave me a strange look whenever I used his first name, but I had dropped the ’Mr. Thompson’ thing after the first day, once I realized he was just a normal human being, albeit one with a gift for writing about New England sports.
All the sudden, Bill stopped in his tracks. I couldn’t see around him, because he was much taller and wider than me, but I figured something or someone had gotten in his way, and he was just waiting for them to move. Instead, Bill turned to me, giving me a look that suggested exasperation mixed with despair. “Listen,” he said gruffly, “today is a big day.”
Outwardly, I didn’t give any reaction except for nodding, but inside I was momentarily thrilled that Bill Thompson, the great Bill Thompson, was about to give me a pep talk right before our big day. I knew it had taken a long time, over a week, for him to warm up to me, but I couldn’t help but feel that this was the beginning of a beautiful working relationship.
“Don’t fuck it up.”
Any joy that I had felt in the past few moments over being part of the journalist club, being a member of the team, and working with my colleagues turned to ashes and dust right then and there. This wasn’t exactly a pep talk that I was expecting. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Listen, I know you went to journalism school. I know you think you can write. I’ve even seen some of your stuff, and it’s not the worst thing I’ve ever read. But don’t get ahead yourself, kid. You’ve got a lot to learn, and I’m not fully convinced you’ll be able to pick it up in time. So all I’m asking you for today is not to get in my way.”
I stared at him, dumbly, still in shock over the dramatic turn this conversation had taken in such a short time. I couldn’t remember a conversation with such difference between expectation and reality. “That’s all? There’s nothing else you want me to do?”
Bill shook his head, raising his voice over the increasing sounds of the crowd all around us. “Just don’t fuck it up. And don’t get in my way.”
Well, that was one way to inspire confidence on such a big stage. I bet Bill Thompson would make an amazing doctor, with bedside manner like that. The only thing I could do was nod, and Bill, satisfied that I had understood him, turned around and kept walking.