I wrote this piece some time ago but have struggled with whether to submit it or not for several reasons. First, it is a story about American football, and I know that many readers and writers on this site are not American. And I readily admit to the readers from outside the U.S. that what we call football is badly misnamed. If you think about the amount of time the ball is touched by a foot in American football, I am confident that it would come to less than five seconds.
Another reason I hesitated in submitting this story was my loss of respect for American football players. I used to be a huge football fan, but when the players started kneeling for the national anthem, that changed for me. I did, however, go back over this story and explain why I feel as I do.
And lastly, the story is long. And even though I know that many of you dislike chapter stories, I felt compelled to split this one into two parts. However, I am submitting both chapters at the same time.
I own any mistakes in this story as I edited it myself. Also, I readily admit that my knowledge of American football is limited by what I have seen on television. However, I do have a good working knowledge of the NFL draft as I followed it closely for several years.
The Quarterback – Chapter One
I felt my knee twist at an awkward angle, and then I heard the snap. I knew immediately that whatever happened was bad. Then the pain that radiated through my body was excruciating.
It was so surreal, laying there on the turf, in a stadium of sixty thousand people, and it was almost completely quiet. As I lay there in agony, my life began to flash through my mind. My name is Jason Saunders, and I thought how strange it was that I had become a professional football player. Okay, I had been a backup quarterback in the NFL for most of my career, but I still loved it. Yeah, there are times you get mauled by three-hundred-pound linemen, or popped by nasty linebackers, or blindsided by safeties or cornerbacks, and none of that is fun. And it absolutely sucked that a linebacker had nailed me with my leg planted funny. Now, it seemed certain that my football career was over.
It was a needless injury. I had been sent in just to run out the clock. There were less than two minutes left in the game, and we were up 38 – 17. It was second and four when I handed off the ball to Tony Jacobs, a reserve running back. He got hit immediately, and the ball popped out. I grabbed it on the second bounce and tried to run. That is when the linebacker launched into my leg. As I lay there in agony, my thoughts and my thoughts began to wander. They were only partially on the fact that my football career had probably ended. Even in as much pain as I was, the realization that my wife had left me for someone else hurt ten times worse.
I rocked slightly as the pain made me sweat and feel nauseous. The team doctor and the trainers seemed to be taking forever to decide what to do. I let my mind race back over the years to distract from the agony. And people would be scratching their heads if they could read my thoughts. I had been a backup quarterback most of my time playing football, and I thought it was the greatest job ever.
You see, I was content playing a supporting role. First, I knew my limitations; I was just an average player. I was not the optimum height for the ideal quarterback and only had average arm strength. Plus, my body was not built to sustain constant abuse. But the monetary rewards for doing very little were substantial.
When you are a backup quarterback, no one expects very much from you. People generally expect you to screw up, so they are not terribly upset if you do. But if you do well, they are amazed. Of course, you bust your ass before and during the season and get paid a lot of money comparatively speaking.
I will say one other thing about my abilities. Even though I only had average skills, I was able to maximize them when I got to play. Also, I seemed to thrive under pressure. The bigger the game, the better I seemed to play.
What I was paid paled compared to the annual income of starting quarterbacks. Still, I was satisfied with my pay because it was more than ninety-nine percent of the people make in a year. I just shake my head when I read about players turning down guaranteed hundred-million-dollar contracts.
As I reflect on my football career, I find it strange as being a pro football player was never one of my ambitions. I didn’t want to play football, let alone make it a career. Over the years, I have known many who dreamed of making it to the NFL, and none of them ever came close. As for me, I just sort of fell into it and then kept trying to stretch it for one more year. And each year, I knew that my professional football career hung by a thread each new season, so I knew I would eventually have to get a real job.
As I lay on the turf in Lincoln Financial Field in Philadelphia, I realized that my football career had been much luckier than my love life. This was my seventh year in the NFL, or maybe my eighth. The pain made it hard to concentrate. It was ironic that my love life and football career would crater Simultaneously.
“Jason, do you hurt anywhere other than your left knee?” the team trainer asked me.
I shook my head with gritted teeth.
“Okay, I am going to roll you over to your back. Do not move too fast, and I will support your knee.”
The doctor did a preliminary exam and then called for the cart. As the team cart carried me off the field, the fans began to cheer. If this were my last game, at least I would have those cheers to remember. I gave the thumbs-up sign, and the cheering got louder. The sound faded when we reached the tunnel, and I knew I was just an afterthought for the fans.
Eventually, I was transported to the hospital, where I was told that I had torn my ACL. They would operate in the morning. At the age of thirty, I was sure my time in the NFL had ended.
I lay in bed feeling depressed even though I knew I shouldn’t complain. I had already lasted way longer than the average NFL player. Pro football careers are painfully short, averaging less than three years. And truthfully, you cannot blame the teams. If you are only a mediocre player, replacing you with a kid fresh out of college after two years is cheaper. That is why I never knew from year to year if a team would pick me up or not. Yet, somehow, I managed to wind up in the NFL and stick around until now. On the other hand, my love life seemed to move from one dumpster fire to another.
My journey to the NFL began because of my big mouth. Over the years, I could not help but wonder how my life would have turned out if I had chosen to remain silent that day.
I played very little organized sports as a kid but absolutely no football until I got to high school. And even when I started as a freshman, I had zero interest in playing high school football. However, then I opened my mouth and inserted my foot. I mean, I was a scrawny five foot six, hundred and fifty-pound weakling with no football experience. But I had foolishly run my mouth, and my pride would not allow me to back down.
We had been “trash-talking” the football team, who were the “gods” in our high school, Harrison High. I got caught up in the talk and casually said that I did not think they were all that tough. Before I could clarify my comment and say that I thought soccer players were tougher, everyone started to laugh at me. That made me mad, and before I knew it, they had goaded me into signing up for the football team.
Harrison High was one of the few busing success stories. About forty years ago, the regional school board had closed an old and failing high school that had been predominately black. The students were then transferred to Harrison, a predominately white school. The school history told of the racial tensions running high for the first year. But that year’s principal, Mr. Winters, who was black, kept everything in check. Today, the student population is forty-five percent white, thirty-five percent black, and twenty percent Hispanic. And remarkably, everyone pretty much gets along. But with the forced integration, Harrison suddenly became a sports powerhouse. Harrison not only had a great football team, but we also had great basketball and soccer teams. And surprisingly, we had great tennis and golf teams.
Knowing Harrison High’s traditions concerning sports, I felt my tenure with the football team would be short. But at least I could hold my head high with the knowledge that I had not backed down. The coaches started us out doing something called “suicides.”
“Suicides” were nothing more than running at top speed for twenty yards, walking back to the starting line. Then you ran at top speed for thirty yards and walked back. Next was forty yards and then fifty. When you finished that, you started over again. Basically, “Suicides” were designed to thin the herd. There were two hundred and seventy-three of us trying out. It was a form of organized chaos. After my second circuit of suicides, I puked. But I was not totally embarrassed because many other guys had tossed their cookies before me.
The rest of that first day was split between “Suicides,” tackling, blocking, and finished with a one-mile run. The run was the only part of the practice where I felt I performed well, as I finished in the upper third. Still, my body was beaten to shit at the end of the day. I considered quitting, but my buddies had been giving me the business all through practice, so there was no way I was packing it in.
By the start of the second day of practice, that number of students trying out was down to a hundred and sixty-two. The coaches only planned to keep ninety on the team. When the second day of practice repeated the first, I had an even stronger urge to quit. Yet, I would not because my buddies were all still in the stands giving me the business if I appeared to be slacking off.
Somehow, I lasted through the first week. I was so sore when the weekend came that I could hardly walk. By the second week of practice, I was still there, wishing I could find some way to quit and maintain my dignity. Yet, day after day, no opportunity presented itself. It was during that second week that I saw a glimmer of hope. The coaches were now trying to determine if any new players were worth keeping. Those that had made the team last year were segregated from the rest of us. During the next practice phase, I discovered I did not appear to have much to offer. Because of my lack of size and speed, being a lineman, linebacker, cornerback, safety, running back, or tight end were positions that I had no possibility of playing. Also, I could not kick a football worth shit.
As I was being told that I could not play one position after another, I began to think this torture might end soon. If I couldn’t help the team, surely, I would be cut. And if I was cut, I could go back to my friends and still maintain that the football players were not that tough. I would tell them I did not make the team because I was neither big enough nor fast enough. However, that did not happen.
When I was sent to the quarterback coach, he looked at my hands and smiled. I didn’t understand why. I had always had large hands and never thought anything of it. Then he asked me to throw the football a few times. I threw the ball forty-five yards down the field, and the coach’s smile widened. When we started throwing to receivers, I also discovered I was accurate. My dreams of being cut from the team evaporated that day.
Over the next two weeks, the coaches decided to keep me around as a potential quarterback. I could not understand their reasoning at all. I mean, with my cleats on, maybe I was five foot seven and weighed maybe a hundred and sixty pounds. Yet, day after day, I continued to work out as a quarterback. When the final cuts were made, I was still on the team. I was pissed because I did not want to play football, but at least my friends stopped teasing me.
When my freshman season started, our quarterback was Danny Sullivan, with Akem Nelson and Brian Stoddard as the backups. And once the regular season was underway, the practices changed. The coaches were no longer trying to “kill” us. They worked more on timing and precision.
As the season progressed, I had to admit that being a backup quarterback was not a bad position. I only practiced with the third-team offense. Also, I got to wear a red jersey, which meant no one was supposed to hit me. Well, in high school, that was not strictly enforced. More than one linebacker or lineman planted my face in the dirt. The coaches would ream the offending player, but they always had a smirk when I would line up behind the center again.
One of the interesting things about my first season playing football was that only ten freshmen had tried out for the team, and I was the only one who made it. I would learn later that the coaches saw talent in me that I never knew was there. They planned to develop it so I would be the starting quarterback by my senior year. Of course, I only learned that years later.
I mostly sat on the bench for my first season. And I must admit, that was my favorite position. I did not have any responsibility and did not have to worry about being hurt. The coaches did not even ask me to play on the special teams.
One of the upsides of being on the football team was supposed to be the girls. That was one thing about attending a high school where sports were dominant. The girls loved athletes. Well, in theory, that was how it was supposed to work. However, you must consider that I was just a short, skinny freshman, putting me at the bottom of the athlete pecking order. If you also factor in that I was terrified of girls, you could see my problem. I was not getting the maximum benefit from being an athlete. In fact, at the end of the year, most people did not even realize I was on the football team. If they didn’t believe me, I would pull out the yearbook and show them the team picture.
My lack of a girlfriend was no big deal. None of my friends had girlfriends, either. But then the Homecoming dance came up, and I was told by our team captain that every player was expected to be at the dance with a sports coat, tie, and a date. I had a sports coat and a tie, but I did not know where I was going to get a date. The only girl I knew well enough to ask was Melinda Samuels, the preacher’s daughter.
Melinda was not fat or ugly, but she was no looker either. Melinda wore dowdy clothes that accented nothing and wore glasses and braces. Still, in my mind, it was Melinda or no one. It took me three days to get up the nerve to ask her. I was pleasantly surprised when she quickly said yes.
The dance was unremarkable except for the fact that Melinda looked good. Gone were the frumpy clothes, replaced by a pretty evening dress that showed that Melinda had a figure. She also left her glasses at home, saying she only needed them to read. After the dance, we had one or two dates, but that petered out quickly. Still, it gave me the courage to ask other girls out. Melinda, on the other hand, had a transformation at the Homecoming Dance that attracted the attention of quite a few other guys. She dated constantly.
Over the summer before my sophomore year, I decided I would not play football next season. And I probably would not have if the coach had not stopped me in the hall to ensure I would be at the first day of practice. By the time the season started, I was officially the third-string quarterback. Danny had graduated and accepted an academic scholarship and would play football at Duke. Oh, I suppose I should mention Danny was super smart and a great athlete.
As I said, I enjoyed sitting on the bench watching the game up close and personal. However, the coaches had decided I needed to get more involved, so they made me the placeholder for our kicker, Rollo Rodriguez. Rollo was a total prick who thought he was God’s gift to women and that his shit did not stink. Being a placeholder is simple. You take the snap from the center, put the ball down with your finger on top, and get your other hand out of the way. Rollo thought it was funny to kick a little high in practice to catch my hand. I wanted to beat his ass, but he could kick a field goal fifty yards out. I didn’t think the coaches would appreciate it if I crippled the dirtbag. As it turned out, Rollo went on to play football for Ohio State and played part of one season with the Denver Broncos. Still, he was a total prick.
The State Championship game was a turning point in my football career. We were down to Patterson High 27-24 with less than two minutes to go. Danny Sullivan had driven our team down to Patterson’s twenty-five-yard line, but the drive stalled. With only eleven seconds left, the coach sent Rollo in to kick a field goal to tie the game. Then we would go into overtime. However, it didn’t work out that way.
The snap came back great, and I got the ball down, but Rollo slipped on a piece of loose turf. His kick went low and was blocked. The ball bounced back to me, and I was running for my life. I thought they had me three times, but I slipped away. Then I saw Barry Blakley open in the endzone, so I fired a strike to him just as time ran out. Instead of overtime, we won 30-27. Our linemen were so happy that I thought they would pound me into the ground.
The entire team arrived at Julio’s Pizza Kitchen to celebrate. Because of the crowd, they had to open the back room they rented out for special occasions. I was having a great time when Jimmy Washington arrived. Jimmy was a black wide receiver a year ahead of me in school. This night, he came in with Melinda draped all over him. It was obvious to me that they had both been drinking. For Jimmy to be blasted was not a surprise, but to see Melinda that way was a shock.
“Hey, white bread,” Jimmy grinned at me. “Maybe you won the game, but I got your girl.”
I suppose I should explain that Jimmy did not think too highly of me. I guess it was because I hung a nickname on him, “stone hands.” Jimmy was a freakishly good athlete. He was by far the fastest kid on our team, and he was also a fabulous basketball player. As a wide receiver, however, Jimmy could get open most of the time. His problem was that he had trouble holding onto the ball.
Jimmy did not have the soft hands that a great receiver should have. I suppose I should not have called him “stone hands,” but I was frustrated when he dropped the fourth pass I had thrown him during practice. Over the years, I learned that Jimmy never forgot and never forgave. He was a vindictive prick; over the years, I would learn just how big a scumbag he was.
I found Jimmy’s comments amusing. Granted, Melinda had turned into a total fox after getting her braces off. However, I had only taken her to one dance and out on a few dates. Still, if he wanted everyone to think Melinda was my girl, I figured it would not hurt my reputation. Besides, I wanted to mess with Jimmy a little, which was not very smart in hindsight,
“First of all, I resent being called white bread,” I said with a smirk. “I am more of a whole wheat kind of guy. Second, Melinda is not my girl, but I would not have to get her drunk to have her mess around with me.”
Jimmy pushed me back down as I started to get up and move away. “Fuck you, white bread. She’s my date.”
“Stop being a dumbass,” I said with a smile. “Melinda is not now, nor has she ever been my girlfriend.”
“Are you trying to say I’m stupid?” Jimmy pushed me again.
By now, everyone in the pizza shop was staring at us. I was totally annoyed with Jimmy for making a big scene, but I did not want to get into a fight with him because he was much bigger than me. Still, my pride would not let me back down either. So, I decided to try humor, which was another bad decision.
“Jimmy, you’re so dumb; you can’t fart and chew gum at the same time.”
Everyone in the pizza shop heard my comeback, and they started to roar. Needless to say, Jimmy did not see the humor. He grabbed my shirt and jerked me to my feet.
“Oh, I’m going to mess you up big time, white bread,” Jimmy said with a nasty smile. “Let’s step outside so I can show you who the dumbass is.”
Jimmy started to drag me to the door, but he suddenly stopped and yelled, “Let go of me, tubby!”
I looked around, and one of the offensive linemen, Joey Weaver, had a tight grip on Jimmy’s arm. Joey’s nickname was Tuba because he used to play the tuba in middle school. And Joey was extremely sensitive about his weight. Presently, he was in the neighborhood of three hundred and ten pounds.
After Jimmy had screamed his demand, I saw Tuba do something remarkable. He grabbed the front of Jimmy’s shirt and lifted him off the ground with one hand.
“I’m sure I didn’t hear you correctly,” Tuba said calmly. “I’m sure that you said Tuba, didn’t you?”
Jimmy’s eyes had gotten as large as saucers, and fear radiated from every pore of his body. The wide receiver quickly began to nod his head. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I said – Tuba.”
“I thought so,” Tuba said as he lowered Jimmy to the floor. “Oh, and leave my quarterback alone. We offensive linemen get really upset if someone messes with our quarterback. Do you feel me?”
“Yeah, man, I feel you,” Jimmy said, turned, and left.
Tuba looked at me, chuckled, and told me to pick on someone my own size. Jimmy was six-three and weighed a hundred and ninety-five pounds. I always liked Tuba, and our friendship lasted long after high school.
Jimmy had departed so quickly that he had neglected to take Melinda with him. Trying to be a good guy, I decided to take her home. But first, I took her to the Sundowner diner and got her a cup of coffee. After being seated, I was shocked when Melinda started giving me hell. That pissed me off, so I told her she was on her own. However, once outside the diner, I called her father and told him where he could find his daughter. Melinda did not talk to me for the rest of the year, which was no skin off my nose.
By Junior year, I had gone through a growth spurt. Now I was six foot two, weighed a hundred and ninety-five pounds, and had gotten stronger and a little faster. Yet, I was considered slow compared to the speed merchants on our team. Jimmy was still the fastest by far; he could run forty yards in four-point-five seconds. He was running NFL-quality speed in high school.
Two things happened in my junior year. I learned to play tight end, and I had a steady girlfriend. Her name was Gina Sullivan, and she was a transfer student. I was still shy around girls and thought Gina was out of my league. Finally, it was Gina who made the first move. She asked me if I would take her to the Autumn Dance. After that, we became exclusive for the rest of our junior year and part of our senior year.
In my junior year, our team was not particularly strong. We had lost a lot of people to graduation, and their replacements were not nearly as good. Akem was our quarterback, and I was splitting time in practice between quarterback and tight end. One of the problems was that Akem was a scrambling quarterback, and he was not a consistent passer. He was, however, fast, and elusive. The problem with that kind of quarterback is that they tend to become one-dimensional, which limits the offense. We also did not have great running backs or a strong offensive line. Tuba was the only one that was consistent, playing left tackle.
We struggled all season long but finished with a seven and two record. That got us into the playoffs, where we struggled to advance. We made it to the semi-finals, and surprisingly, we blew out St. John’s. Akem was on fire that day, scoring four touchdowns and throwing for two more. I caught one of those TDs from my tight-end position. We won 42 – 10.
The finals were against the state’s number one high school team that year, Clinton High. They were favored over us by two touchdowns, but Akem had other ideas. Everyone thought that Clinton would stifle our offense and roll over our defense. Well, the second part was accurate. Clinton scored pretty much at will. However, our team answered back each time on the strength of Akem’s running and throwing.
With less than two minutes to play, Clinton scored and was now up 42-38. We got the ball back, and Akem ran two plays for fifteen yards. But on the third play, he got nailed and had to come out of the game. After Akem went down, I discovered something about myself. I could handle pressure. I trotted onto the field and began driving our team down the field. Clinton had prepared to defend against Akem, and they had no idea what to do with me.
Finally, we were on Clinton’s four-yard line with five seconds to go. I knew we only had time for one play. The coach loaded one side of the field with three wide receivers. Jimmy went in motion just before the snap as the play was designed. Whoever was supposed to cover him blew their assignment. I threw a perfect strike to him in the corner of the endzone. He dropped the pass.
It was a bitter defeat, but no one said anything to Jimmy. I was disappointed, but not as much as I thought I would be. The season was over, and it was time to put it behind us. However, I did not know until much later that Jimmy obsessed about that pass and blamed his drop on me. To this day, I have never figured out why. But as the years rolled on, he decided he would fuck with me, and more specifically, with my love life, any chance he got.
The rest of the year was great with Gina as my girlfriend. On National signing day, we learned that Akem accepted a full scholarship to Alabama. Jimmy had a free ride at Michigan State, and Tuba was recruited by Clemson.
At the beginning of my senior year, I was named the starting quarterback, but I never got a chance to shine. We had a new running back, Tabor Miller. He transferred in as a senior, and he was a battering ram. He was like a black bowling ball. Tabor was five foot seven, two hundred ten pounds of solid muscle, and he could run the forty in four-point-six seconds. And due to his low center of gravity, he was hard to bring down. We were great friends until he betrayed me.
Harrison became a dominant power again with our reconstituted offensive line and a replenished defense. We breezed through the regular season and easily made it to the finals. Most of our offense was on the ground. Opposing teams had a really hard time stopping Tabor. And when they would for a few plays, I would start to pick apart their secondary. That would force the opposing linebackers and secondary to back off, and Tabor would go to work again.
My life was going great until two weeks before the State Finals. I had a part-time job and thought I was scheduled to work one Friday night. However, they had scheduled two of us to work by mistake, so I went home. After changing, I headed over to Gina’s house. But when I got there, I saw Tabor’s car in the driveway. When I walked up to the driver’s side window, I was stunned. Gina and Tabor were making out in the front seat. As they were kissing, Tabor had his hand under Gina’s bra.
I was so mad that I jerked open the driver’s side door and dragged Tabor out as I screamed, “WHAT THE FUCK!”
Gina screamed, and Tabor scrambled to his feet. Even in the dark, it looked like he had turned two shades whiter.
“Jason, I’m so sorry,” Tabor said immediately. “We just didn’t know how to tell you.”
“I’m so sorry, Jason,” Gina was sobbing. “We just fell in love.”
“Well, fuck both of you,” I snarled and headed to my car. Tabor tried to grab my arm, but I yanked it away. “You stay away from me, Tabor. You are a backstabbing piece of shit. And Gina, you’re a slut.”
It seems I was the last to learn what was happening in my love life. I was told that Jimmy convinced Gina I was cheating on her. She, however, never said a word to me. Instead, Gina took what Jimmy said as gospel and plotted her revenge. And the revenge was Tabor. I admit that I made it easy for them because I had limited time to spend with my girlfriend with practice, trying to keep my grades up, and my part-time job. After a few dates, nature took its course. Gina and Tabor had fallen in love.
I cried most of the way home, finally getting myself under control a block from my house. It was not until I walked into the kitchen that I realized that I had cut my hand badly. I must have raked it across the edge of the door or something. My mother screeched when she saw the blood and immediately took me to the emergency room. They had to put three stitches in my hand and told me to ice it. They also gave me some pain medication.
Fortunately, I had two weeks to heal, and it was not my throwing hand. Still, the injured hand was stiff and sore, causing me to get very little practice time. Everyone on the team knew what had happened between Tabor and me. In fact, it became really embarrassing because, eventually, everyone in school knew about it. Most of the school took my side, but I was too devastated to care.
Tabor and Gina had tried to talk to me for two weeks before the game. But I was still furious at the betrayal. Then on the Friday before the championship game, they cornered me after my English class. They desperately wanted to talk. I did not give two tinker’s damns what they had to say. Their actions had said it all. But they were relentless.
Finally, I exploded. “Leave me the Fuck alone! You are both backstabbing pieces of shit. Tabor, I will only talk to you during a game or practice and only if it is about football. We are not friends anymore, and I hope something horrible happens to both of you.”
And that was the last time I spoke to Gina or Tabor until many years later when they were in a desperate situation. And by then, the memory of Gina’s and my breakup was just a distant memory. I had long since realized that Gina and I were not meant to be. But back then, it hurt as only young love can.
My hand was still stiff when I got to the state capital to play my last high school game. Our opponent was once again Clinton High. And they had almost their entire team back from last year.
The championship game turned into a massive struggle between two evenly matched teams. But we were up 17-14 with a little under three minutes left in the game. We had the ball, but it was third and eight from our thirty-two-yard line. I felt we should pass, but the coach called a running play. He was playing it conservatively. If we did not pick up the first down, we would punt, and Clinton would only have about two minutes to move down the field and score. In fairness to the coach, our defense had come alive in the second half and stopped Clinton cold.
Anyway, I called the play and handed the ball off to Tabor. He broke through the line, and it looked like he might pick up the first down for a second. But then he got hit, and he twisted to get away. This brought his left foot down at a funny angle when a Clinton safety hit him. Tabor not only went down, but he fumbled the ball. Clinton scooped it up and ran into our endzone. It was like all the air had been let out of the Harrison side of the field.
But the game was not over. I still had about two minutes. Unfortunately, Ronnie Stills tried to run the kickoff back and got nailed at the seven-yard line. We had to go ninety-three yards to win. Quickly and efficiently, I was able to move our team. With eleven seconds to go, we were at Clinton’s nine-yard line. But it was fourth down and goal.
As soon as the ball was snapped, I was scrambling like a chicken with its head cut off. Clinton had come with a safety blitz, and Tabor’s replacement, Hank Freeman, had not picked it up. As I was being forced to the sideline, I saw Josh Witten open in the middle of the endzone and fired an off-balance pass to him. I thought he could haul it in for a microsecond, but it tipped off his hands. Another bitter defeat.
The fallout from that game was far-reaching. First, the coach was fired. Then, for the first time in seven years, not one senior from our team was offered a scholarship to a division one school. I wasn’t even offered a partial scholarship to a division three school. Also, Tabor’s football career was finished after that game. He had shattered his ankle and badly damaged his knee. Even though I was still mad at him, I did feel bad about that. A healthy Tabor would have certainly gotten a scholarship.
I was not super smart, so there was no way I would get an academic scholarship, but my grades and SAT scores were good enough to get me into most colleges. Most everyone I knew already knew which college they were going to attend. I learned that Melinda got an academic scholarship to the University of Florida. I, however, did not know where I wanted to go. My parents were pressuring me to attend the local college, Taylor University, a division two school.
I applied at Ohio State, Florida State, and Penn State. I also applied to Taylor University to please my parents. Taylor’s football coach called me and told me that he would really love me to come to play for the Taylor Tigers. And I was ready to accept when I got a call from the quarterback coach, Bob Snider, at Florida State. Coach Snider told me he wanted me to come to FSU. However, he told me he could not give me a scholarship and that I would be a walk-on. But if I made the team and stuck, he would get me a scholarship the following year.
I had to think about this, so I headed for the Sundowner diner. Once I got my milkshake, I considered my options. On the one hand, Taylor University was not offering me a scholarship. Still, the tuition was cheaper, and I could live at home. On the other hand, Florida State only offered me a chance to make the team. It seemed like a no-brainer at that point. But then Tabor and Gina walked into the diner.
They held hands and then cuddled together once seated at a booth. I was in the back, and they didn’t see me. But it struck me that if I went to Taylor University, there was no way I could avoid seeing those two. Right then, I made my decision. I was going to be a Seminole.
I went to Tallahassee in mid-June and almost died of the heat. It was especially brutal because I took a job with a roofing company for the summer. I needed every dollar I could raise, and working as a roofer paid well. My parents had put some money away in a college fund for me, but they had really hoped I would go to Taylor University. But, when I explained why I needed to leave, they were very understanding and promised to help as much as possible.
One of the bonuses of my job was that I arrived at my first FSU practice in much better shape than most of the rest of the players. The hot, humid Tallahassee heat did not bother me as much as it did for most of my teammates. After grueling weeks of practice, I made the team. And Coach Snider was good to his word, giving me a full scholarship starting my second year. My parents were thrilled.
The only problem was that Florida State already had four quarterbacks, and I knew the coaches would not let me sit on the bench for the whole season. Yet, I had no idea what they would want me to do. I was relieved and pleased when they made me the placeholder because I had experience doing that. I still got to sit on the bench most of the time and only had to go in for field goals and extra points.
Perhaps the highlight of the year for me was when we played Michigan State in the Sugar Bowl. We won when Ronnie Gardo, our placekicker, hit a fifty-one-yard field goal with three seconds left in the game. My parents got to see me on national television. But even better than that, I saw Jimmy Washington’s expression as the ball sailed through the uprights. As the commercial said, it was priceless. Unfortunately, it was just another thing that stirred Jimmy’s hatred of me.
The summer after my freshman year, I worked for the same roofing company again. This summer was worse than the last because there were constant showers that upped the humidity, and I was now working on the roof most of the time. The humidity drained you each day. But it did put me in prime shape for my sophomore year. I did not date very much that summer because I was too damn tired most of the time.
When August’s practices started, I was perhaps the only person on the squad who was relieved. Most of the team hated the grueling practices, but I found them less intense than working my ass off on a roof in the hot Florida sun.
When the season finally started, I was told to shadow the coach. I was not too crazy about the assignment, but when the coaches tell you to jump, you only ask how high. I was a little miffed because I did not get to flash in the plays or wear the headset. Still, it was a great learning experience. The coach was constantly passing out bits of information that I filed away. Also, I spent considerable time watching the opposing quarterbacks and the other team’s defenses. I learned how to read a defense and spot tells on the quarterback. Of course, I still had place-holding duties, so I had to carry my helmet around during the game, which sucked. But I was not about to complain.
Since I was not playing much and was only taking snaps with the third-string team, life was stress-free. I had settled into a comfortable routine with my classes and had learned how to manage my time. Time management is perhaps the most important a college student must master. There is so much stuff going on around the campus that it is easy to lose track of what is important, getting an education.
One other thing that improved significantly during my sophomore year was my love life. There were always girls looking to hang out with football players, and I had many dates. However, I did not stay with any one girl because most were too flighty for me. Still, I scored enough to give a right hand a well-deserved rest.
When I came home after my sophomore year, I looked around for a job that would not be as physically demanding as my previous jobs. A friend convinced me to take a job with the local fish canning company. The pay was comparable to what I had earned the previous summers, but I figured it would be less taxing. Unfortunately, I learned too late that my job was not on the assembly line. My job was to haul the dead fish into the cannery. The work was hard, and the smell was horrible. However, all the summer jobs were gone by then, so I was stuck. I did not date much that summer because it was hell getting the stink of fish off me.
In my junior year at FSU, I was officially slotted in as the third-string quarterback until Brad Tillis screwed up his leg in a car accident. By default, I was now the backup quarterback. However, I was also still the placeholder. And that led to another highlight for me. And it happened in the game against our hated rivals, the University of Florida.
The game was brutal and dirty. Both teams had over seventy yards in penalties. A couple of skirmishes erupted but were broken up before real fighting started. In the fourth quarter, we were up 20 – 17 with about six minutes to go. We drove down to Florida’s twenty-three-yard line when the drive stalled, and the kicking team went in. It should have been an easy three points, but the center’s snap bounced in front of me. I was just able to grab it, but I could not get the ball down, so I had to scramble for my life. Desperately, I looked for someone to pass the ball to, but nobody was open. Then a great block from our kicker, John Albin, sprung me free. The left side of the field was suddenly open, so I took off. I got one more good block and was able to outrace the last defender into the endzone.
We were feeling pretty good because that put us up 27 – 17. But Florida got the ball and marched down the field for a score of their own. With almost three minutes remaining, we only had a three-point lead. We could not move the ball on our next possession and had to punt it away. Florida moved back down the field until they were at our forty-six-yard line. But with fifty-seven seconds to go, Ned Tyler intercepted them, and we hung on to win 27 – 24.
The Florida State/Florida rivalry is one of the fiercest in the country. So, it felt great that we had beaten the Gators. Yet, what was really interesting was what happened after. It had been a home game, so after showering, I planned to head back to my room to study for a couple of hours before checking out some of the parties. But as I came out of the locker room, I was shocked to see Melinda waiting for me.
“Hey stranger,” she called out. “Too bad you played such a great game. If you hadn’t scored, we would have won.”
“Yeah, right,” I smiled back at her. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t you remember I go to UF?” She laughed.
“Yeah, but this is Tallahassee, not Gainesville.”
Melinda laughed again. “I have a car and know how to follow road signs. In case you missed it, several thousand Gator fans were at the game. So, are you going to take me out to dinner or what?”
“Dinner sounds great,” I said with a smile. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Catching up with someone I had a crush on in high school,” Melinda’s smile widened.
“Right,” I laughed. “But while we’re catching up, what kind of food would you like to eat?”
Chinese was the meal Melinda chose, and we had a fun night. We caught up on what we had been doing since high school. Melinda had become quite the beauty, and I enjoyed all the envious stares I was getting from the guys in the restaurant.
During dinner, I asked her if she was still pissed off at me for messing up her night with Jimmy? She giggled at that and confessed that she had been planning to have sex with him when I screwed up her date. Melinda admitted that back then, she had heard how big black guys were and wanted to find out for herself. I laughed and told her that the big black dick was a myth. Melinda went into hysterics when I started to tell her about all the dicks, I had seen in the locker room. I told her that a few black guys had baseball bats hanging between their legs but most had medium to large hot dogs between theirs. The same was true of the white guys. I told her it was not the size of the love stick but how well someone could use it. My scholarly analysis sent Melissa into hysterics.
After Melinda stopped laughing, she got serious for a bit and admitted that my breaking up her date with Jimmy was the best thing that could have happened that night. Apparently, he hooked up with Sarah Winters, a chubby junior who was totally swept away by Jimmy’s bull shit. According to Melinda, Jimmy had sex with Sarah, and she caught a sexually transmitted disease from him.
“God, I would have died if that had been me,” Melinda admitted, “and I had to explain that to my dad.”
We spent the weekend together and connected, or I thought we did. The Florida game had been our last regular-season game. We had five weeks until we played Alabama in the Cotton Bowl, and I was able to get away each weekend. I spent them with Melinda in Gainesville. A couple of friends went to UF, letting me crash at their apartments. We had a lot of fun, but Melissa and I were just friends, not boyfriend and girlfriend.
We got stomped in the Cotton Bowl, but I got to play the last quarter when we were already down by twenty-eight points. I managed to put together two good drives ending in touchdowns. But Alabama also scored twice in the last quarter, so my little effort meant nothing. Yet, it impressed Melinda, which made me happy.
With football season over, I could spend more time on my studies and Melinda. I was really racking up the mileage between Tallahassee and Gainesville. Yet, the visits were too short, usually only allowing for dinner and maybe some dancing. But then the school year ended, and we were both headed back home. Even though I was long over Gina, I was taking things slow with Melinda. But, by now, I had strong feelings for her and wanted to take the next step in our relationship. We had not slept together, but I hoped that would change during the summer. That was not to be. In fact, our relationship would end very abruptly.
The summer before my senior year, I decided to take a job that would not work me to death or make me stink. Fortunately, I was offered two jobs because of my position with the Seminoles. The first was in Tallahassee, working at the Florida Department of Revenue. Since I was a business major, this would look good on my resume. I was also offered a job at a local Publix grocery store. I know it was only offered because I was a minor local celebrity. Between the two, the job in Tallahassee was the best for me, but I had decided to take the Publix job to stay near Melinda.
I was scheduled to attend an orientation class that Monday, which was supposed to last from 9 am to 5 pm. I had told Melinda that I would pick her up at seven that night for a late dinner. However, since the orientation class only had one other guy and me, we finished everything around noon. I called Melinda to see if she wanted to hang out and have an early dinner, so we could go dancing. However, my calls went to her voice mail.
Unable to get ahold of Melinda, I decided to get some lunch. I was feeling pretty good until I walked into the diner. I almost did not see them in the dark, secluded booth in the back. But when I got closer, I found Jimmy kissing Melinda. He also had his hand in Melinda’s blouse with her bra pushed up. It was Gina and Tabor all over again, but this time worse, Melinda had betrayed me with Jimmy Washington.
“Oh, this is just fucking great,” I said with venom dripping off each word. “You finally did it, Jimmy. You stole my girlfriend. I hope you two will be very happy together.”
“NO!” Melinda yelled while Jimmy just smirked at me. “Jason, it’s not what it looks like. Please let me explain.”
Why do women always say it’s not what it looks like when it is? It looked like my girlfriend was kissing a guy I could not stand while he was fondling one of her tits. Since our last physical encounter, I had grown. I was bigger and stronger than Jimmy, and I knew I could destroy him. But if I did that, I could kiss my scholarship goodbye, so I just left.
As I was driving away, my phone started to blow up with messages from Melinda. I refused to answer any of them. Instead, I called the Florida Department of Revenue and asked if the job offer was still open. They told me it was, but I had to be there by tomorrow, or they would give the job to someone else. My next call was to Publix, and I thanked them for the job offer but told them I had to return to Tallahassee. Since the job had been extended mainly because I was a local celebrity, the manager was not upset that I was bailing out. He even wished me well in the coming season.
At home, I told my mom and dad about my sudden change of plans, packed my bags, and hit the road back to Tallahassee. I had time to think and calm down on the drive back down to Florida. I realized that Melinda and I had never promised to be exclusive; I just assumed it. Hell, we had not even slept together. And since we hadn’t promised each other anything, Melinda could do whatever she wanted. Still, it hurt like hell. Jimmy had fucked me over once again. I swore he was going to get his one day.
When I started my job with the Department of Revenue, I quickly learned three things about government. First, it is whom you know or who you are rather than what you know. I was slated to be Florida State’s starting quarterback next season. Apparently, this is more important than knowing anything about the job. Then shockingly, I learned that most government employees would not last one day in a real-life job. And lastly, after about a week, I learned that no successful business could ever operate in any way, shape, or form like the government. The waste was enormous, and most people I worked with were lazy with a sense of entitlement. They were pleasant enough, but they were not very productive. And even though they did very little real work, they were forever complaining that they were not paid enough. I, of course, kept my mouth shut.
I learned a lot about how government operates. Despite most employees complaining about their pay, they made considerably more than private-sector employees doing similar work. Not only that, but the government employees had far better benefits. Yes, I was making more money working for the State in a summer job than I could have made working for Publix. Sad, isn’t it?
But like I said, I kept my mouth shut and did what they requested, which was damn little. Still, I was treated quite well and taken to lunch frequently by State Senators and Representatives. I had my picture taken with each one. If I were the starting quarterback next season, and we had a winning record, they’d all use the photos in their next election campaigns.
Regardless of how I felt about my job, coming back to Tallahassee had been a good move. All summer, I could train at the Doak Campbell Stadium facilities. Mostly, I worked with weights to strengthen my legs and upper body. However, I discovered that Terry Schuster, a wide receiver from last year, was also back for summer school. So, we started working out three or four times a week. Then we were introduced to Warren Porter, a four-star recruit who had taken early enrollment. He also joined us for our afternoon workouts.
The three of us continued working out together as the summer wore on. Warren was incredibly fast and had good hands. And it was apparent to me that Terry had not had an opportunity to showcase his talents yet. He ran great routes and had great hands. He caught damn near everything I threw to him that summer.
About the second week back in Tallahassee, I realized I had left things unsettled with Melinda. It began to bother me that I had acted so badly, and I did not have the right to be upset. So, I decided to call her, apologize, and end our relationship. Melinda was beautiful, but I did not feel I could trust her.
I was quite nervous when I finally got the courage to make the call.
“Jason?” she answered more like a question.
“Ahh, yeah, it’s me. Look, I’m sorry for the way I left things. I really did not have a right to get upset. We never talked about being exclusive, so I just wanted to apologize.”
“Jason, there is nothing between Jimmy and me,” she said quickly.
“Melinda, it doesn’t matter,” I did not want to get into that discussion. “I think we should just take a step back. Maybe later down the road, we can start again.”
“Jason, I’m going back to UF next week to take a couple of classes,” she said hopefully. “Why don’t you come down, or I can come up to Tallahassee? We could talk things out.”
“I don’t think that would be good,” I immediately shot that idea down. “I have a lot of things on my plate right now. Maybe after the football season, we can get together if we’re still interested. I hate to cut this short, Melinda, but I have an appointment.”
“Okay, Jason,” I could hear the disappointment in her voice. “I hope you have a great season.”
After the phone call, I didn’t feel any better. Still, I could not help feeling that I had dodged a future full of heartache. Now I could concentrate on football and school. And after this season, I would finish off my degree and graduate. After that, I had no idea what would come next. What I did not expect was Staci Carlson.
I met Staci in the library. School had not started, but I had my schedule for the fall term, and one of my classes was “The Reality of Economics Today.” The class was going to cover today’s prevailing economic theories and explain the past’s major failed economic policies. Two books that were going to be required reading were Freakonomics by Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner and Capitalism and Freedom by Milton Friedman. I figured both books might be hard to find, so I checked the library to see if they had copies. I found a copy of Friedman’s book, but Freakonomics, apparently, was already out.
I decided to see when it would be returned and headed to the checkout desk. As I stood behind a young woman in front of me, I noticed that she had the book I wanted in her hand. Then I heard her ask about Milton Friedman’s book. I started to laugh.
“I’ve got the book you want,” I said through my amusement.
The girl turned around and smiled at me. It was like a burst of sunlight hit me. She was about five foot five and slender. The girl standing there reminded me of a pixie without wings. Her short blonde hair was offset by the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen. She seemed so vulnerable and made me want to protect her. I would not say she was gorgeous, but something about her made my heart skip a few beats.
“Are you returning the book?” she asked.
“No, I’m just getting ready to check it out. And I was looking for the book you have,” I chuckled. “I’m guessing we’re both taking the same class – the Reality of Economics Today?”
“Yes,” she giggled. “My name is Staci Carlson.” She stuck out her hand, and I shook it.
“I’m Jason Saunders,” I replied as I stepped back and waited to see if she recognized me. Most students probably would not know me by sight. I mean, put pads, a jersey, and a football helmet on anyone, and their own mother would not recognize them. However, most students who followed football at Florida State, and that was most everyone in Tallahassee, at least knew my name. But Staci was clueless about who I was, and I especially liked that.
“So, what are we going to do about each needing the other’s book?” Staci asked with a shy smile.
“I guess that depends on how long it will take you to read yours,” I responded with a wide smile. “I can finish mine in a week.”
“It’s going to take you that long to read it?” she giggled.
“Yeah, I like to outline it as I go. But you didn’t answer. Can you read your book in a week?”
“Of course, I can,” Staci answered as she bit her thumb. I had never believed in love at first sight, but I was now beginning to rethink that.
“Then why don’t we plan to meet here in a week and check each of our books back in, and then we can check out the one we haven’t read.”
“Okay,” Staci smiled as she gave me her number,” and if you finish it sooner, give me a call.” I felt I should do the same and scribbled my number for her.
I raced through the book and finished it three days later. I had not done as good a job outlining as I wanted, but I was more interested in seeing Staci again. When I called, proud that I had finished in three days, Staci laughed. She said that she had finished hers in two days. We agreed to meet at the library the next day and swap books. I immediately invited her to lunch. That lunch led to lunches three or four times a week.
During these lunches, I learned that Staci was an only child and she had transferred from James Madison College in Michigan. Her parents were divorced, and she lived with her mom. Staci was a communications major with a business minor. And the more time I spent with her, the more I realized I was falling for her. I do not know what it was, but she seemed special.
I finally got up the courage to ask Staci out. However, she told me she had a date for Friday and Saturday and was visiting her mom in Jacksonville on Sunday. Still, Staci told me she was free the following weekend, and that I should call her during the week. While I was disappointed that she was occupied this weekend, I was encouraged that she told me to call her next week.
As things turned out, Staci got sick and withdrew for the semester. I was told that she came down with mono, but I could never catch up with her. I called several times but was told Staci was sleeping or at the doctor’s office. I got the feeling that maybe she was avoiding me. I didn’t know the truth, but I finally stopped calling because I had to prepare for the football season. Still, I was deeply disappointed.
Going into spring training, everyone talked about me being the starting quarterback. But very quickly, I realized I had serious competition for the job. What changed was that Florida State landed a five-star quarterback from some high school in California. He was supposed to be the next coming of Tom Brady. His name was Jackson Samuels. The coaches had also landed a very promising four-star quarterback from Louisiana, Chad Foster. He was a monster at six foot six and two hundred and fifty pounds. He was as big as most of our linebackers.
As practice began, it became obvious that the coaches were drooling over their two new recruits. As for me, it seemed like I was just chopped liver to them. As I watched Jackson in the practices, I quickly realized he was not a Tom Brady clone. To begin with, he was a scrambler. Oh, he had a cannon for an arm and was accurate if he was secure in the pocket.
But I noticed Jackson was afflicted with a severe case of “happy feet.” As soon as the pocket began to collapse in the slightest, he would take off. But the coaches were not looking at that. They only saw the pinpoint passes he made with no pressure on him or the yardage; he could gain scrambling.
Chad was a different story. He also had a cannon for an arm, but he was not nearly as accurate as Jackson. Also, Chad had a funny windup kind of delivery. Obviously, he had talent, but it had never been developed. Chad also had numerous tells that made it easy to determine if it was a pass or running play. And after watching for a while, I could pick out specific plays he had called by how he stood behind the center.
At the end of the first day of practice, I tried to tell him what he was doing wrong. Then I discovered he had a bigger problem by far; he was borderline uncoachable. He rebuffed every suggestion I gave him. Still, I told the quarterback coach what I had noticed, and he told me he had seen it. Chad got in my face the next day for “ratting” him out to the coach. After that, I kept my distance from him. I would be damned if I was going to help him anymore.
By the end of spring practice, Jackson was slotted in as the number one quarterback, with Chad as the backup. I was in my usual position of being the third-string quarterback. I won’t lie and say that I wasn’t disappointed because I was. Still, I had never planned my life around a football, so being relegated to the third string was “old hat” for me.
As the third-string quarterback, I was left with only one job, and it was not the placeholder. I got to carry the clipboard with the plays and shadow the coach. On the upside, I got to wear the headset sometimes. But I never got to sit. And having to hang with the coach sucked; he was a screamer. And I still had to carry my helmet.
Our first game was against Louisiana Tech, and we blew them out 48 – 3 with Jackson throwing for two touchdowns and running for two more. People were already talking about him winning the Heisman Trophy. But that train ran off the track in the next game when we lost to North Carolina, and Jackson looked horrible. Then we barely squeaked by Duke. But Miami was next on our schedule, and Miami was almost as big a rival as Florida. At Florida State, a coach could have a losing season but beat Miami and Florida, and there was a good chance he would keep his job.
Miami had a great defense that year, and they came at Jackson all day. And as I expected, as soon as the pocket began to collapse even a little, he took off. It did not take the Miami defense long to figure this out and shut him down. Even though the score was not that bad, it was an ugly afternoon, and Jackson was shell-shocked. In the fourth quarter, they finally sat him down with a score of 24 -10 in favor of Miami. Chad was sent in and managed two decent drives, with one ending in a field goal.
Our record was now 2-2, and the only thing I was sure about was that I would not be the starting quarterback in the next game. I practiced with the second team that week, but I was surprised when Chad was not named as the starter. Instead, the coaches decided to go back to Jackson. I thought they would rest Jackson because of the beating he took for three quarters in the Miami game.
That Miami game really screwed with Jackson’s mind. We lost to North Carolina State in our lowest-scoring game of the year, 7 – 3. I did not say anything before, during, or after the game. I figured if I kept my mouth shut, the coach would realize Jackson just was not ready. But Chad ran his mouth during and after the game. He did not endear himself to his teammates, but the coaches must have been listening. They started him against Clemson, and he was horrible in the first half. Going into the locker room at halftime, we were losing 27 – 10. And the ten points had come off an interception the defense ran in for a touchdown and a fumble recovered on Clemson’s twenty-seven-yard line that we converted into a field goal.
The coaches had finally seen enough. They announced that I was starting the second half. As I looked around at my teammates, I was struck by the smiles in the locker room. I also noted the look of relief on Jackson’s face and the anger on Chad’s.
That my teammates were pleased I was going into the game gave me a boost of confidence. And the fact that we ran back the kickoff for a touchdown to start the second half put our momentum into high gear.
The defense held Clemson on the next series, and I engineered a drive from our twenty-two-yard line down the field for another score. Now it was just a three-point game, 27 – 24. On Clemson’s next drive, they were able to kick a field goal. But that was all their scoring for the rest of the day. I was able to move our team down for two more touchdowns and a field goal. The final score was 41 – 30. I was now the starting quarterback for Florida State.
We won the rest of our games that season, including a 28 – 14 win over Florida. With a record of 8 – 3, we were invited to the Gator Bowl, where we would again face Michigan State. Jimmy was still playing for them as he had been “red-shirted” his freshman year. This simply meant that Jimmy’s four years of eligibility would not start until his second year in college. He was also having the best year of his career as he had slightly over fourteen hundred receiving yards. This precipitated much discussion about him being taken in the first round of the NFL draft.
The Bowl game was not even close as we blew out Michigan State 31 – 14, but Jimmy scored both of Michigan State’s touchdowns. I threw for three hundred and seven yards with one touchdown and an interception. Our ground game that day was impressive, eating up the clock and scoring three of our touchdowns.
With the season now over, I settled back into the academic side of my college career. Also, Staci was back at school, and we hooked up again. Strangely, however, she refused to talk about her illness. I figured she was embarrassed because she had caught the “kissing disease.” So, I let the subject drop and never mentioned it.
My last semester in school was interesting. I was doing well in my classes but was up in the air about football. There were at least ten players on Florida State’s team I felt would be drafted, but I did not consider myself among them. But when I received an invitation to the NFL Combine, I thought there might be a chance. I was totally surprised and honored to be invited. It was a big deal because the NFL only invited 335 college players to attend.
Each year, the Combine is held in Indianapolis in late February. All the coaches and scouts for all thirty-two NFL teams are there to watch the invited college players participate in a series of drills. It is a chance for the teams to talk to and get an up-close look at these players before the NFL Draft in April. I trained for it, but unfortunately, I got sick the week before and still was only at about eighty percent when I got to the Combine. Needless to say, I did not do well. I was disappointed because I knew I could have done much better.
When I returned from Indianapolis, Staci knew how disappointed I was. She immediately set about trying to cheer me up, and she succeeded. I was surprised to learn that Staci had watched the Combine on television. And yes, it is televised. Millions of people follow the NFL draft very closely. Staci’s descriptions of what she had watched amused me greatly. I roared as Stace described one drill as a chicken desperately trying to escape from the farmer’s ax.
As the semester began to wind down, both Staci and I had our studies well in hand. We had been dating the whole semester and had become intimate. Although we had not discussed it, as far as I knew, we were only dating each other. And each date seemed to cement our relationship more and more.
I only had one other NFL-related event to attend. Each university held a Pro Day for those players with a chance of playing in the NFL. The number of coaches attending these workouts was dependent on which players the teams were interested in. At Florida State that year, a dozen players would be working out. I was one of them.
I felt I did extremely well at Florida State’s Pro Day, and a few coaches talked with me afterward. However, none of them told me that I would be drafted. In truth, I was not terribly disappointed because I thought my future lay elsewhere, including Staci and me getting married.
Staci and I finished our last exams the day before the draft started. A party had been organized in the lounge of the athlete’s dorm. When I got there, the large-screen television on the wall was already tuned to the NFL network. However, the sound was muted as the draft had not started yet. Music was playing, drinks were available, and there was dancing. I grabbed a beer and started to look for Staci. My heart almost stopped when I found her. She was in the middle of the floor, dancing cheek to cheek with Jimmy.
I threw my beer into the garbage can and walked over to them. I felt my chest begin to contract with each step I took. When I was next to Staci, Jimmy looked at me and smirked.
“Hey, white bread,” Jimmy’s face widened into a malicious smile. “I see that you’ve met my fiancé.”
Staci shook her head at Jimmy and then smiled warmly at me. “Jimmy told me that you two are friends and went to the same high school.”
“Friends?” I snorted. “Congratulations, Jimmy, you did it again.” Then I turned and began walking away.
“Jason,” Staci called after me. “Where are you going?”
I did not answer; I just kept walking.
Finding the girl I wanted to marry in the arms of the person I hated most in the world was beyond devastating. Once outside the dorm, I ran with tears streaming down my cheeks until I couldn’t run anymore. I thought that Staci and I had something special. And to find out that she was Jimmy’s fiancé was soul-crushing.
Jimmy had somehow managed to destroy my love life once again. And this time, it hurt worse than all the other times combined. I wandered over to the stadium and sat in the stands for hours. Eventually, I returned to my room, trying to decide what to do. It didn’t take long to figure out that all that was left was to go home. As quickly as I could, I packed up my stuff, loaded it into my car, and hit the road. On the way out of town, my phone started to ring. I grabbed it and threw it out the car window.
When I got home, I told my parents that I had finished school and would graduate with a degree in business administration and a minor in accounting. They were somewhat disappointed when I told them I would not be attending graduation. I did not want to risk meeting up with Staci or Jimmy.
As I expected, I was not drafted. However, it did amuse me that Jimmy was not drafted until near the end of the fourth round when Tennessee picked him. All the pundits had Jimmy going in the first round or early in the second at the latest. So, when Jimmy was picked late in the fourth round, the consensus was that Tennessee had gotten a steal. But the coaches knew what I knew; Jimmy was freakishly fast but had terrible hands. That drop in the draft had cost Jimmy about six million dollars.
Even though I thought I did not care, I finally had to admit that I was disappointed I wasn’t drafted. But after about a week, I realized there was no reason for any team to take me. I had only played a handful of games in college. Besides, my stats were almost nonexistent. Faced with this reality, I decided to look for a real job. However, I did not get too far into the hunt when the quarterback coach of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Ray Sullivan, called and invited me to training camp. Ray told me they could only offer me five thousand dollars as an undrafted free agent, but he told me he thought I had what it took to be an NFL quarterback. So, I figured, what the hell, I would give it a try.
I stuck with Tampa through the OTAs (organized team activities) and the mini-camps. I also got to play in one preseason game. I knew where I stood in the pecking order, but I was busting my ass anyway.
The preseason came, and I stuck with Tampa through one game when coach Sullivan called me into his office.
“This is the hardest part of being a coach,” Ray said after I had taken a seat. “But the situation is that we have a chance to pick up a couple of veterans that could really help us. So, we must let some people go, and unfortunately, you are one of those people.”
I was obviously disappointed but not crushed by the news. I had not expected to get this far. Hell, Tampa had paid me five thousand dollars and eight hundred dollars a week to play football. It had been a great experience, and I knew I could compete at this level even though I had only played twelve downs.
“Coach, getting this far is more than I ever expected,” I said with a smile as I stood and extended my hand. “I want to thank you for the opportunity. I hope you guys have a great season.”
Coach Sullivan stood and shook my hand. “For what it’s worth, I fought to keep you and let Andy Wilder go. He is not going to make it anyway. Jason, I do not think your career is over yet. Stay close to your phone. I’ve had inquiries about you and told them you are worth a look. There is a chance you might get picked up by someone else.”
The coach was right, Atlanta called, and I was with them for the final two games of the preseason. But I was let go when they had to make the final cuts. However, I did get to play two quarters and even threw a touchdown pass. However, at this point, I truly figured that I was done and headed home. Once again, I prepared to start looking for that real job.
I had just dropped my suitcase on my bed when my cellphone rang. It was the Pittsburgh Steelers, and they wanted me on the first flight out. Their future Hall of Fame quarterback, John Buckner, was getting long in the tooth, and their backup, Mark Runner, had been dinged up in the preseason. They needed a third quarterback.
They faxed me ten pages of plays and told me to try to absorb as much as possible on the flight up. One of the things I had going for me was a great memory. By the time I landed in Pittsburgh, I had memorized all the plays they had sent me. They ran me through a tryout and were impressed with how many plays I remembered. They signed me to a rookie contract at the end of the tryout. I was in the NFL.
I signed a contract for three years valued at $2,025,000. My first-year salary was $610,000, with my second-and third-year pay being $660,000 and $785,000, respectively.
When I told my parents and some friends what my contract was for, they thought I was rich, but it was all bullshit. None of the money in that contract was guaranteed. I only got paid for each game I was part of the 53-man roster. If they cut me three games into the season, I would only get paid for three games. Still, that would be about $36,000 a game, which was nothing to sneeze at. My goal, at that point, was to stay with the team as long as possible.
As it turned out, John played every game, with Mark only filling in two games where we had blown out the other side. We won one game by forty-eight points, and I was put in for the last four plays. True, all I had to do was take the snap and knell down, but it still counts. I racked up minus-four yards for the season. Maybe it isn’t a great statistic, but at least I had an NFL statistic.
However, at the end of the season, Pittsburgh cut me. I was not surprised or upset. John, not unexpectedly, retired at the end of the season. So, Pittsburgh traded up in the first round to take a quarterback. Since they were going to pay him mega-bucks, they would definitely start him. They still had Mark and picked up a journeyman quarterback, Jim Tabor, who was a quality player. So, they had no need for a third-stringer like me.
With the season over and me back at my parent’s house, I was having breakfast one morning, trying to figure out what to do next, when my mother shoved the newspaper in front of me. I was annoyed and tried to push it away.
“Didn’t you go to school with Jimmy Washington?” my mother asked.
“Yeah, we were on the football team together,” I answered as I shoveled another spoonful of cereal into my mouth.
“Well, he got some kind of award from the Chamber of Commerce,” my mother pushed the paper in front of me again.
I looked down at the paper, and my heart squeezed. It was a picture of Jimmy and Staci. As if my life was not crappy enough. Not only had I been cut by Pittsburgh, but seeing Staci still with Jimmy hurt like hell.
I stared at the picture for at least a minute, tracing my finger over Staci’s likeness. I couldn’t help it; I still loved her. Seeing Jimmy with her put me in a crappy mood for the next two weeks. I am sure my parents were getting ready to throw my ass out when I finally landed an agent. He kept me pumped up about finding a new team.
All throughout the summer, my agent worked tirelessly to find me a place on a team, any team. Fortunately, he hooked me up with the Chargers at the beginning of the next year’s training camp, but I was cut before the second preseason game. That kind of pissed me off because I had played well in my one game. I played two quarters against the Browns and threw for a hundred and fourteen yards, one touchdown with no interceptions. Still, I was gone.
Next, I was picked up by Dallas, but I did not like the culture there. I did not fit in from day one and knew I would not last. I was gone after the second preseason game. Again, I had not played badly. I passed for ninety-four yards, no interceptions, and we had a field goal on the one drive I directed. But professional football is a business, and you must accept that a team will drop you in a heartbeat. Especially, if they think they have found someone better, who is also cheaper.
I was not feeling too stressed about getting cut twice in the preseason. I managed to save almost $350,000 after taxes from my salary last year. It was not a fortune, but it’s more than most people have in savings.
What almost no one realizes is that NFL contracts are very deceptive. The only money a player is sure of getting is what is guaranteed in the contract. Suppose a player signs a hundred-million-dollar contract that guarantees thirty million dollars. The guaranteed money is all he is sure he will be paid. The good part is that if he trips and falls on the first day of training camp, screws up his knee, and can never play again, he will still get thirty million dollars. The bad part is if the contract is for five years, and he plays two years, he has already gotten all the guaranteed money. The team can cut him any time they want and owe him nothing.
After Dallas cut me, I started putting my resume out. But before any job offers came in, I got a call from the New York Jets, and I managed to stick with them for a season. The best part about being a second-year player in the NFL was that they had to pay me the minimum of $675,000 or the pro-rata share for however long I stuck with the team. That meant I was going to get about $40,000 a game. I didn’t think that was too shabby for someone sitting on the bench.
During my year in New York, I could only save about $275,000. Out of the $675,000, I had to pay my agent ten percent. And even though I made more money, living in the New York area was unbelievably expensive. Also, I made the mistake of letting some of my teammates talk me into living in New York City. Not only was the apartment expensive, but it was crappy and rundown. Between the cost of living, state and city taxes, and federal income taxes, I felt like I had taken a royal screwing from the city and the government. Still, I suppose I shouldn’t complain. At that time, no one else seemed to be interested in me.
The upside of playing for the Jets meant I got to play a bit more. I did not start any games, but I had forty-three official snaps. I even threw for one touchdown. I also had to play on special teams, which was fun. I had seven solo tackles before the runner could advance the ball more than five yards. But I was not surprised or unhappy when the Jets cut me after the season. I never want to go back to New York; it sucks.
After two seasons, I again thought no one would want me. As a third-year player, you faced the reality that it would be cheaper for a team to bring in a rookie and pay him less. Who wants to pay someone almost $800,000 to sit on the bench? But my fears were unfounded, and I got a call from Tennessee. At first, I was uneasy about playing for the same team as Jimmy, but then I learned he had been traded to Arizona for a sixth-round draft pick. Despite my dislike of Jimmy, I thought Arizona got a deal. That proved not to be the case.
I lasted in Tennessee until after the second preseason game. Until then, I believed I was a lock to make the team. I had played in both games and thrown for a touchdown in each. But the economics of football sent me packing. Tennessee signed a quarterback out of the Canadian Football League who was cheaper.
I was sitting in the Nashville airport when my cellphone rang. It was a call from the general manager for the Buffalo Bills. Their backup quarterback, Drew Anderson, had suffered his second concussion since the beginning of training camp. Even though Buffalo’s starting quarterback, the future Hall of Famer Roger Stark, was healthy, he was forty years old. This made Buffalo nervous about going into the season with just those two quarterbacks. The team wanted some insurance with Drew’s concussions and Roger’s age. Hence, they offered me $1.1 million to sign with them. I even got a $50,000 signing bonus. Of course, none of the balance of the contract was guaranteed. Still, this was going to be a turning point in my career, and I guess it was for the better. But at the time, I thought otherwise.
The Buffalo culture was pretty laid back, and I fit right in. Still, I was intimidated when I started working with Roger. Thankfully, he put me at ease right away. He was not only a fabulous quarterback but a wonderful teacher. He constantly pointed out things to me throughout training camp and the season. I thought I knew what was required to be a quarterback in the NFL. But working with Roger every day, I realized how much I did not know.
Roger taught me the many tricks that teams used to disguise their defenses and how best to run a progression of my receivers. He even taught me how to release the ball quicker. Watching the game film with Roger was an education in itself. He picked up things that the coaches did not even see. I thought I had really progressed as a quarterback. Still, when the season started, I was relegated to my third-string quarterback duties. I felt like I was back at Florida State since I was required to walk beside the coach. The upside was that I got to wear the headset most of the time. Coach Stombard did not like wearing it unless he wanted to communicate with the coaches in the box upstairs.
Buffalo was having a great season, and Roger had started every game. Drew only played a couple of quarters. Since he had not played much, Drew’s health had been fine. In truth, they didn’t really need me, but for some reason, they didn’t cut me loose. I was having the best time of my life. I was on a winning NFL team and had a new fiancé. But, as they say, all good things must end.
It was close to the end of my tenure with Buffalo that my love life would be sabotaged again. And you guessed it, Jimmy was the cause. But for a time, I thought I had found a woman I loved almost as much as I had loved Staci.
All this time, I thought that Jimmy was just targeting me. But I learned about his many affairs and the two divorces he caused. In my mind, Jimmy was a piece of crap, and I was waiting for someone to squash him like a bug. But somehow, he kept messing with people’s lives, and nothing bad ever seemed to happen to him. One day his payback had to happen, and I just hoped I would be there to see it.
During my first two years in the league, dating became surreal. Somehow, I missed out on the dating scene in high school. I did better in college but always seemed pressed for time between football and my classes. My sex life in college was good, but it exploded when I made the Steelers.
I found that as a professional football player, I could have a date for any night or day I wanted. And this carried over for every season I played in the NFL. Unfortunately, most women chasing athletes were not anyone you wanted to bring home to mom. However, at first, I thought it was great; all the sex you want. But after a while, having sex with someone you have no real feelings for starts to get old. I did, however, date some interesting women.
I dated four or five models and had eight or nine dates with Miss Colorado, Sandra Fulsome. She was beautiful and fun. Also, she was not one of the groupie types looking to jump into bed. I started to get interested until we had sex. The next day, she started talking about us getting married. I thought that was rushing things a tad. Besides, Sandra became possessive, jealous, and demanding after our night in bed. I quickly broke up with her and braced for the blowback. But it never came. Instead, Sandra shifted gears and began going out with Lance Turbin, one of our linebackers. Lance and Sandra were married three months after that, only to be divorced eight months later. Despite her great outward appearance, Sandra was a certifiable nutjob.
During my short stint in Tennessee, I was introduced to Wendy Worthington, who would become my fiancé. She was a true southern belle. Her light brown hair and soft brown eyes had gotten my full attention. Her eyes seemed to sparkle when she smiled. But I think it was her easy southern grace and accent that captivated me. She was petite at only five foot four but perfectly proportioned. Also, Wendy had a way about her that made me feel like I was the most important man in the world to her.
We started dating three days after I met her, but I figured the relationship was over when Tennessee cut me. But Wendy wanted to stay in touch. I did not think anything would come of it, but I had underestimated her determination. Her father was quite wealthy, owning a string of fitness clubs. In fact, he had franchised his clubs, “Worthington Fitness,” and they were nationwide. At the time I met her, Wendy was the company’s CFO. That was one of the things that Wendy and I had in common. We both had business degrees.
Long story short, Wendy convinced her father to let her work from Buffalo. Even though Wendy wanted to be exclusive, I was hesitant. I knew that Wendy changed boyfriends like most people change their socks. Besides, I was gun-shy after Miss Colorado.
But when Wendy arrived in Buffalo with six suitcases the first week of the season, I figured she was serious. I, naturally, assumed that Wendy would share my apartment. Instead, she opted to rent one of her own. Wendy’s reason made sense. She would be working in the apartment and occasionally meeting with customers. In fact, she set it up more like an office than a true apartment. The living room was more like a reception area, with the second bedroom as her office. Wendy even hired an administrative assistant. Still, most nights, Wendy slept at my place.
Our relationship progressed, and we were engaged by the twelfth week of the season. We planned to be married the following July. But those plans fell apart rather quickly when I caught her cheating. As I mentioned, Wendy usually slept at my place, but on rare occasions, if she had to work late, I would sleep at her place. I never thought much about it at the time, but I was never given a key to her apartment. I should have been suspicious, but I was in love.
The Friday before the AFC Championship Game, the coach only had a walkthrough. We were finished by ten that morning, so with nothing to do, I hustled over to Wendy’s office. As I got out of my car, I saw Wendy’s administrative assistant pulling out of the parking garage. I was happy about that because it meant that Wendy would be alone.
I was going to ring the bell, but then I figured that her assistant had probably just gone on an errand and the door would be open. I walked in and headed for Wendy’s office but stopped abruptly when I heard noises in the bedroom. Pushing the door open, I was stunned. Wendy’s pussy was getting pounded by a black guy. I recognized him immediately as Darryl Hawks, the Tennessee Titans’ starting strong safety.
I walked to the bed without saying a word and grabbed Wendy’s left arm. I pulled the engagement ring off her finger as she was in mid-scream. For a second, I thought about beating the shit out of Darryl but figured it was not worth the effort.
“Oh, God no!” I heard Wendy wail. “Jason, please don’t go. I can explain. Please, Jason, I love you.”
I was almost to the door when I heard Darryl laugh. “Jimmy said you were nothing but white bread and a big loser. He told me that Wendy would spread her legs for me and that you were a pushover. He certainly was right on all scores.”
At that moment, I said to myself, “Fuck it. I am going to smack that smug piece of shit.”
I turned on a dime and went back. Darryl was surprised to see me turn around and tried to bolt out of bed. However, he got tangled in the blanket and fell to the floor. I did not hesitate; I kicked him as hard as I could in the mouth.
“Please, Jason, don’t hurt him,” Wendy yelled. “They’ll arrest you.”
In my anger, I had not thought about that. But I knew something about Darryl that would keep him quiet. He was even a bigger horndog than Jimmy, and Darryl had been involved in two messy scandals with married women. So, the team stuck a moral’s clause in his contract that was stronger than the standard one. If he got messed up with another woman, they would cut him.
I stood over him as he sat there, dazed and holding his mouth. “Listen to me closely, you piece of shit. If you call the police, I will make such a stink about you sleeping with my fiancé that everybody in the sports world will know about it. Chances are the Titans would not like that. They probably would cut you. So, if you call the police, I may get arrested, but you will be out of football. Think about what you really want to do.”
Darryl looked up at me and nodded. I realized that I had kicked one of his front teeth out. I know it sounds terrible, but that made me feel good. Then I turned to Wendy.
“Do not ever call me again. We are done,” I spit out through gritted teeth.
The last thing I heard was Wendy sobbing her heart out, but I could not have cared less. The fact that Jimmy was involved in this hardened me to where there was no way I would ever take her back. Even though he had not been there, Jimmy played a major part in destroying another of my relationships. And it was good he wasn’t around, or I definitely would be going to jail.
Wendy called, texted, emailed, and even sent me a telegram. I ignored them all. Even her father called me, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth, so I told him his daughter was too controlling. That he understood.
When I thought about it, I should not have been surprised that Wendy and Jimmy had been an item. Wendy’s father had some sort of relationship with the Tennessee Titans. And Jimmy would have zeroed in on someone like Wendy.
Jimmy had been drafted by the Tennessee Titans, but after two seasons, they traded him to Arizona. As I said, I thought Arizona got a bargain. Granted, he did not have great hands, but he had an uncanny ability to get open. He was still good for five or six touchdowns a year, and he could make some big gains if he hung onto the ball. But talking to some of his fellow players, I learned that Jimmy was “a cancer” in the locker room. It galled me that he destroyed lives, but nothing happened to him.
As I drove away from Wendy’s love nest, two emotions warred within me – burning anger and crushing betrayal. A lonely pain filled me. Fortunately, I had something to divert my attention from my troubles – the AFC Championship game.
The game actually did divert my misery for a few hours. Everyone thought it would be a close game, but Roger picked apart Denver’s secondary. He threw three touchdowns in a 38 – 17 stomping of the Broncos. Even though I did not play a single down, I was as excited as anyone else on the team. That is the wonderful thing about playing a team sport; it’s like being part of a family. And you always want the best for each member of your family.
The excitement carried over for me until the next day. Then the sadness and the pain of Wendy’s betrayal consumed me. As wonderful as love is, having it ripped away from you is a pain I would not wish on anyone. Well, maybe I would wish it on Jimmy because he was the instrument of so much pain for dozens of other people and me. A couple of days later, I could put most of my pain aside as we prepared for the Super Bowl.
I have never understood why it is called “Super.” It’s just another championship game. Baseball is another sport that has over-hyped its championship game. I mean, “the World Series?” How can it be called that when only American teams participate? Whatever the reason they named this championship “Super,” the people who ran it certainly hyped it to the extreme. For my present state of mind, this was ideal. There was so much hustle and bustle that I had little time to think about Wendy. Even as the third-string quarterback, I gave numerous interviews and had to attend one team event after another. Then there was the day-to-day preparation for the big game. Even though I was not part of the game plan, I prepared as though I was going to be the starting quarterback.
As game time approached, my mind was totally consumed with the contest about to commence. The oddsmakers had listed the Packers as slight favorites. But by halftime, a blowout of huge proportions appeared to be underway. Sadly, the Packers were blowing us out.
In the first quarter, Green Bay ran off a nine-play drive that ended in the first score. In a rare miscue, Roger threw a pick-six. Less than six minutes into the game, we were down 14 – 0.
Disaster struck on the very next series of downs for us. Roger tried to scramble when the pocket began to collapse, but when he tried to slide down, he caught a cleat, twisting his ankle. He had to be carried from the field. Drew immediately raced onto the field to take Roger’s place, but two plays later, he threw an interception. Three plays after that, Green Bay scored again. On the ensuing kickoff, Ronnie Tanner fumbled the ball away. Green Bay struck immediately, and we were down 28 – 0.
The rest of the first half was a total lack of offense by us and another score by Green Bay. Halftime mercifully came. With a score of 35 – 0, we were totally humiliated. I settled into a very subdued locker room with the realization that no team in Super Bowl history had ever come back from a thirty-five-point deficit.
The coach said nothing for ten minutes as he read over a series of notes. Finally, he looked up and singled me out.
“Jason, you’re starting the second half.”
I looked around and saw my teammates nodding and smiling. Then I spotted Terry Schuster and Warren Porter. They had both been acquired at different times, but both played sparingly. Most of the time, they practiced with the second team as I did.
“Coach,” I spoke quickly, “I’d like to use Terry and Warren.”
“Brad and Jerry are better,” he responded.
“That may be true,” I continued to press, “but I’ve worked with Terry and Warren in practice almost all season. I know their moves.”
The coach thought about that for a moment and then nodded. “Okay, we’ll give it a try.”
We had the ball at the start of the second half. Strangely, I was not nervous. I focused on each play as it was flashed in and executed it as best I could. With a precision that startled the Packers, we marched down the field and ended the drive with a field goal. The team’s spirit started to rise.
The coaches’ adjustments to the defense changed the game’s complexion. They shut down the Packers on their first series and dominated them for the rest of the afternoon.
I led three drives of six, eight, and nine plays that ended in scores. The defense intercepted a pass and ran it in for another score. With a little less than two minutes, we were down 35 – 31. Having Terry and Warren in the game with me had been a good decision. Warren caught two touchdown passes, and Terry extended three scoring drives with five clutch catches.
We took over the ball at our own nine-yard line with a minute and nine seconds left. I immediately hit Warren with a twelve-yard pass, and he got out of bounds. The drive continued until it was fourth and eight at our forty-three-yard line. Then Terry came up big, grabbing a pass that was a little behind him for a nine-yard gain. Then we had to burn our second timeout.
With only twelve seconds to go and facing fourth down again, I had to hit Terry over the middle for a seven-yard pass and a first down. This put us on Green Bay’s nine-yard line, but we had to use our last timeout. Now there were only three seconds left in the game. Time for one last pass.
When the ball was snapped, I scanned the field as Roger had taught me, but no one was open. Then I saw Terry open in the endzone and fired the ball. Just as the ball left my hand, I realized in horror that the safety had cut in front. He easily intercepted the pass. The game was over, and I had lost the Super Bowl.
No one else on the team saw it that way. I realized this when a television reporter asked me about the last drive, and I bluntly told him that we lost because of me. I explained that I should have seen the safety hanging back, waiting to pounce, but I didn’t. Immediately, three teammates jumped into the interview and disputed my assertion that the loss was my fault. I can’t tell you how much I appreciated them defending me.
Nevertheless, I still felt like I had let the team down. Apparently, management agreed with my assessment because I was cut two weeks later. No explanation was given; that’s just how pro football works.
Over the following month, I had two good things happen and one not-so-good thing. The two good things were receiving my pay for the AFC Championship Game and the loser’s share of the Super Bowl. Both together totaled $116,000, which I put with my financial advisor. The not-so-good news was that my agent called, informing me that my contract with him was up. Worse, he did not want to renew it. He gave me some bullshit about having too many clients and not being able to care for them all properly. In my mind, the truth was that he had landed three first-round draft picks the previous year, and he was trying to up his image by dropping marginal players.
Now, both my pro football career and my love life had totally cratered. In my mind, I felt the NFL was done with me, and my love life, at this point, was nonexistent. Worse, I felt that it was unlikely that either would be resurrected. I was to learn that I was wrong on both counts in a big way.
After the heartbreaking collapse of my love life and being released by the Buffalo Bills, I hit rock bottom. After three years in the NFL, I figured my chances of playing a fourth were between slim and none. So, I decided it was finally time to get serious about finding that real job I kept talking about. Even though my heart was not in it, I managed to set up three interviews. I had appointments with Ford Motor, Merrill Lynch, and a regional bank, First Century, which currently had branches in nine states.
I left my meeting with Ford Motor with the sense that no one there would even take a shit without consulting two other executives. My meeting with Merrill Lynch made me want to go home and take a shower. The meeting with First Century, however, was a real pleasure.
I met with Carl Domino, the Chairman of the Board and majority stockholder in the bank. Carl was a gregarious fifty-four-year-old man. Even though his hair was gray, he looked like a man ten years younger. Carl had built the bank from one branch in a storefront into a sixty-four-branch bank covering nine states. He wanted me to work on their marketing and expansion plans because he was already deep into planning an expansion into six more states. Ultimately, it was Carl’s dream to go nationwide.
The annual salary offered was a tenth of my last contract with Buffalo. However, it would be steady, and I could see a real future. And there was another plus to the job, even though I did not realize it at the time. This new job would have me working with Charlotte Domino, Carl’s daughter. She was the Executive Vice President for First Century. However, when I first met with her, I was ready to tell her to stuff the job.
Charlotte was a beautiful woman. I estimated her to be about five foot eight with long auburn hair and deep emerald eyes. After talking with her for only fifteen minutes, it was clearly apparent that she was not only beautiful but extremely intelligent. But Charlotte gave off an air of arrogance and entitlement. In short, she came off as a bitch.
I went away from the meeting with Mr. Domino feeling pretty good. The job they talked to me about had me fully involved with the expansion plans. When I got home, I did a detailed study of the First Century Bank. I read everything available online and asked my financial advisor to dig out everything he could about the company. I wanted to be prepared in case I was called back for a second interview. I admit that I was very intrigued by Century First’s expansion plans.
A week later, Mr. Domino called to arrange a second interview. However, he assured me the job was mine and that the second interview was simply a formality. However, I was unhappy when I discovered the second interview would be with Charlotte alone. That feeling quickly escalated when the interview began. Charlotte started by telling me that she was vehemently opposed to hiring me. I was too stunned to say anything other than, “I’m sorry to hear that.” I was allotted a thirty-minute meeting with Charlotte, most of which was taken up with her discussing what I would not be doing. From there, the meeting went downhill. Charlotte told me I would be working for her if I took the job. Without saying so, she made it very clear that she would not be pleasant to work for. I was shocked and angered by her attitude and tone.
“Look, I’m confused,” I sought clarification, “I’ll just be the new guy working on the expansion. Why would I be reporting to the Executive Vice President?”
“Because that’s what my father wants,” she said brusquely.
“Okay,” I said. “I don’t care whom I have to report to, but I still have many questions about this job.”
“Unfortunately,” Charlotte said as she glanced at her watch, “I don’t have any more time to discuss it right now.”
“Perhaps, we could have lunch or dinner sometime and discuss it in more detail.”
“No, I wouldn’t be interested in that,” Charlotte’s eyes flashed. “I do not date employees. All you need to understand is that you are being offered this job because you are a celebrity. All that will be expected of you is to smile and shake hands. If you can throw in an intelligent sentence here and there, that would be helpful.”
I was stunned by the total arrogance, rudeness, and lack of respect. As Charlotte stood to leave, I jumped to my feet. I was now beyond angry and wanted nothing to do with this bitch.
“I don’t know where you got the idea that you have a golden pussy,” I snapped, “because you don’t. And you want to know something else. You can take that stick out of your ass and shove this job up there instead.”
I then stormed past her, but not before I had the opportunity to see the total shock on her face. As I left the building, I calmed down and started to chuckle. Once in my car, I was rather pleased with myself; the interview had gone quite well, in my opinion. I had extricated myself from working for a real bitch of a woman. There was no fucking way I was going to be her whipping boy. I then resigned myself to sending out a bunch more resumes. However, while I thought I was through with Century First, Century First was not through with me.
Two things happened that stopped any further job hunting. One of those things was that Ray Sullivan had been hired as the new head coach of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. When I read the story in the paper, I was very happy for him. He was a quality coach, and I knew he would do great things for Tampa. The second thing that happened was Carl Domino came to my parent’s house to talk to me. You could have knocked me over with a feather when he showed up at our front door.
My parents were super impressed that the head of a large bank would come all the way to talk to their son. And they were further impressed when Carl insisted that they sit in on the discussion.
After a little bit of small talk, Carl launched into the reason for his visit. “I want to apologize for my daughter’s behavior. And Jason, I must compliment you on how you handled her. Telling her to take the stick out of her ass so that she could replace it with the job offer was brilliant.”
“Jason, you didn’t really say that, did you?” my mother was horrified. On the other hand, my father was terribly amused but tried to hide it.
“Oh, he said that and more,” Carl confirmed with a chuckle. “But my daughter deserved it. No one has ever put her in her place, which was long overdue.
“Mr. Domino, I appreciate you coming in person,” I said, wanting to end this awkward situation. “However, I’m not interested in being a resident celebrity.”
“I wouldn’t want you to be either,” Carl laughed. “But that is not the job that I envisioned. I do not want to hire you because you played in a Super Bowl. I will admit that’s a plus, but I did some digging on you before I scheduled your interview. I learned that you were a business major and wrote a paper on franchising. The plan you put forward in one of your papers caught my eye. I think it could be used as a blueprint for expanding my bank. I also know that you took a course on banking regulations. You are not going to be a flunky celebrity. Once you complete six months to a year of training, I want you involved in the day-to-day planning of the Bank’s expansion.”
I was stunned by Carl’s explanation of my future with the bank. But I still did not think it would work.
“Mr. Domino,” I said tentatively, “I appreciate your vote of confidence, but I still do not think it will work. There is no way I could put up with your daughter.”
This brought a hearty laugh from Carl. “I must admit, having you report directly to Charlotte was not one of my better ideas. My daughter is a workaholic and has almost no social life. I will also admit that I thought that forcing her to work with a good-looking guy like you might prompt her to reconsider her lack of dating. But if you do not want to work with her, you will report directly to me.”
I mulled over Mr. Domino’s description of my potential job for only a second before deciding. “As long as I don’t have to work for your daughter, Mr. Domino, I accept your offer.”
However, going to work for Century First was also not to be. At least, it was not going to happen as I thought it would. And at one point, I thought the only honorable thing to do was to resign from the bank.
I was to start working at Century on the first of February. The plan was for me to spend a month training at their headquarters in Jacksonville, Florida. Then I was to spend the next five months moving through various departments as I tried to learn as much as possible. After that, I would be touring a select number of branches. Finally, I would return to Jacksonville to work on the expansion plans. But as I said, that didn’t happen as it was planned.
I started working for Century First on the first and was soon working my ass off to get up to speed. But about a week into March, I got a call from Ray Sullivan. I could not for the life of me understand why the coach of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers would be calling me.
“Coach Sullivan, congratulations on your new job,” I offered as I settled onto my couch.
He laughed. “Some say that moving up to head coach is one step closer to being pushed out the door. If I don’t do well here, I’ll be gone and have to get a coaching job elsewhere. And I really do not want to leave this area. But I don’t have to tell you how things work in the NFL.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Well, the solution is simple; do a good job.”
“That’s what I plan to do, and speaking of that, I was wondering if you’d be interested in giving the NFL another try? I would like to sign you to a contract with the Buccaneers.”
The offer was like a lightning bolt out of the blue. “I don’t understand, coach. You already have Donny Taylor as your starter and Tyler Simmons as your backup. Donny’s a good quarterback, and Tyler is a quality backup.”
Donny had been a first-round draft pick four years ago and had played well enough for Tampa to pick up the fifth-year option on his contract. And Tyler was a journeyman quarterback. He was safe and steady, but he was not a starter. Then again, neither was I.
“I’m hedging my bets,” Coach Sullivan said. “I have always thought you were a quality quarterback who did not get a real shot. And you proved it in the Super Bowl. You brought Buffalo back from disaster to being one pass away from Super Bowl Champs. I am prepared to offer you a contract for eight hundred thousand dollars with $100,000 guaranteed. The rest will be fully guaranteed if you make the team. Also, there will be incentives in the contract based on playing time and performance that could boost it to two million dollars. What do you say? Are you interested?”
“I don’t know, coach,” I said hesitantly. “I just started a new job with Century First. It’s a job that offers a real future, and I can’t just walk away.”
There was a moment’s pause, and Coach Sullivan said, “I know Carl Domino from when we worked on a couple of charities. Let me talk to him before you decide.”
After I agreed, I immediately called my parents. I explained to my dad what was happening and asked for his advice. He put the phone on speaker, so my mother could hear also.
“Jason, tell your mother what you told me about the offer from the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.”
I explained the offer that had been made to me by Coach Sullivan. I told my mother that I had told the coach about my new job and his offer to talk to Mr. Domino.
“Jason, I don’t think you should even consider taking the offer from Tampa Bay,” my mother said emphatically. “It’s just pie in the sky. You have an excellent job with the bank. Don’t risk losing it.”
I must admit that I was torn. I did want another shot at the NFL, but I was realistic to know that it would probably amount to nothing. My mother was right that my job with Century First was a fantastic opportunity. Still, I wanted my father’s input.
“What do you think, dad?”
“Well,” he began tentatively, “with all due respect to your mother, I think she is totally wrong.”
“Harold,” I heard my mother begin to chide my father.
“Susan, I listened to what you had to say, so I’d appreciate it if you’d be quiet while I talk,” my father pushed back. “As I said, I think your mother is totally wrong. And this has nothing to do with me wanting to brag that my son is a pro football player. Jason, I want you to consider that you only get a few opportunities in life to shoot for the moon. This is one of those opportunities. If you don’t do it, you will always wonder whether you could have made it. The things we regret the most in life are not the things we tried and failed at. We regret most the things we never tried at all.”
I was still unsure what to do, but I knew I had to talk to Mr. Domino before making any decision. But as it was, I did not have to call him. First thing in the morning, Carl was on the phone with me.
“Jason, I understand you have a bit of a dilemma,” he said with a chuckle.
“Yes, sir,” I responded. “I assume that you’ve talked to Coach Sullivan.”
“Yes, I have, and I think we have come up with a workable solution.”
That was not what I expected to hear from my boss. I expected Carl to tell me to decide whether I wanted a career with his bank or one in Pro Football. That was not what he offered.
“I’m not sure I understand, sir,” I admitted my confusion. “To be honest, I still haven’t decided what to do. However, I will give you proper notice if I decide to play football. As you can imagine, I am torn and struggling with my decision.”
“Coach Sullivan and I think you should do both,” I did not expect this suggestion.
“Both?” I questioned.
“Yes, we should be able to work around your schedule,” Carl explained. “Training camp does not start until August. You will have to attend some mini-camps before then, but that shouldn’t be a problem. We will work around the mini-camps and give you a leave of absence for the season. During the offseason, you’ll come back to work for the bank. And when your football career is over, you will have a steady job. And I will have a quality employee. How does that work for you?”
“It, it, it works very well for me,” I stuttered.
And so, I was signed to play for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. The announcement of my signing merited only a single line in the sports pages. No one else around the league or the country took notice except Charlotte. She was royally pissed that I was being given special treatment. I expected nothing less. However, I was going to get another shot at playing in the NFL.
What I did not know at the time was that my love life would take a couple of twists and turns, and Jimmy would fuck with me again. But finally, I would find a way to pay him back big time.