08-01-2023, 11:09 AM
(This post was last modified: 08-02-2023, 08:58 AM by lemonoppy. Edited 2 times in total.)
BZZZT… … … BZZZT … … … BZZZT… … …
The buzzing of a cell phone woke Jamie from his slumber. Not bothering to lift his head from the pillow, he fumbled around the nightstand with one hand. After a few failed attempts he located the offending device, but the vibration stopped as soon as he grabbed it. Resisting the temptation to chuck the phone into a mountain of dirty clothes at the far end of this room, he sat up and checked the lock screen.
“4 missed calls?” he thought, letting out a yawn. It was still dark – who on earth was so desperate to get ahold of him at this hour? He barely had time to play out the worst-case scenario in his mind before the phone buzzed again. 'Jordan Bamford' appeared on the screen. He clicked the green circle to answer the call.
“Jordan? What’s going on?”
“Where are you man? The team’s getting ready to board the bus!”
“What for?”
The incredulous silence from the other end lasted several seconds. “For the Prospect Bowl, you idiot! What do you think?!”
“We already played that, last weekend.”
The sound from the other end of the call was something between a grunt of annoyance and a sigh of disappointment. A frustrated srunt, like air escaping from a flat tire that someone had tried to fix poorly with duct tape.
“We played in ONE round! There are three games each round, for three rounds! Nine games! And here I thought you were smart…”
Realization dawned into understanding, which exploded into panic. There was a game today. The team was already boarding the bus. If he wasn’t there soon he wouldn’t play, and every scout and GM would hear why. His DSFL career would be over before it could even begin. Jamie shot out of bed and pulled open his dresser, balancing the phone on one shoulder.
“I’m on my way! Don’t let them leave without me!”
Jordan’s reply was cut off as Jamie hung up the phone to dash around his apartment, chucking clothes and personal items pell-mell into a gym bag. He knew how to move fast, even off the field, and he wasn’t going to miss his one chance at the pros because of a single sleepy morning.
* * * * *
Jordan waved out the window as Jamie raced around the final turn, finally catching sight of the last bus. The only figure not on board was the team’s strength and conditioning coach, holding a tablet so tightly it seemed like the thin electronic device could snap at any moment. Disapproval was etched onto his aging face, and the dawning sunlight carved deep lines into it that curved around his cheekbones like a dry riverbed. He tapped the tablet curtly as Jamie raced up to the bus and bent double, desperately gulping huge lungfuls of air.
“Let’s go,” the coach said simply. Jamie nodded and clambered on board; Jordan was waiting with an open seat at the very front of the bus. At his appearance the entire team erupted into mocking applause. Jamie was too tired to give more than a feeble smile as he collapsed on the seat next to his friend.
“Remind me to check your diploma for crayon marks,” Jordan muttered as the bus rumbled off.
* * * * *
The weekend would not improve much for Jamie Orion. While he had avoided complete disaster, he was not in his usual fighting shape. He felt cramped and exhausted from his impromptu morning sprint, and he couldn’t shake his anxiety over what would have happened if he hadn’t answered that call from Jordan. The mental and emotional toll of that morning stuck around for all 3 games.
He finished the second round of the Prospect Bowl with tepid stats – 6 tackles and 2 pass breakups spread over 3 games. But he’ll get a chance at redemption tonight with three more games, before the draft results are announced on Thursday. According to team sources Jamie set 3 different alarms last night, pre-packed his bags, and even live-streamed his morning walk to the team bus “just to make sure”. Hopefully this advanced preparation leads to some better on-field results in the last round of games.
The buzzing of a cell phone woke Jamie from his slumber. Not bothering to lift his head from the pillow, he fumbled around the nightstand with one hand. After a few failed attempts he located the offending device, but the vibration stopped as soon as he grabbed it. Resisting the temptation to chuck the phone into a mountain of dirty clothes at the far end of this room, he sat up and checked the lock screen.
“4 missed calls?” he thought, letting out a yawn. It was still dark – who on earth was so desperate to get ahold of him at this hour? He barely had time to play out the worst-case scenario in his mind before the phone buzzed again. 'Jordan Bamford' appeared on the screen. He clicked the green circle to answer the call.
“Jordan? What’s going on?”
“Where are you man? The team’s getting ready to board the bus!”
“What for?”
The incredulous silence from the other end lasted several seconds. “For the Prospect Bowl, you idiot! What do you think?!”
“We already played that, last weekend.”
The sound from the other end of the call was something between a grunt of annoyance and a sigh of disappointment. A frustrated srunt, like air escaping from a flat tire that someone had tried to fix poorly with duct tape.
“We played in ONE round! There are three games each round, for three rounds! Nine games! And here I thought you were smart…”
Realization dawned into understanding, which exploded into panic. There was a game today. The team was already boarding the bus. If he wasn’t there soon he wouldn’t play, and every scout and GM would hear why. His DSFL career would be over before it could even begin. Jamie shot out of bed and pulled open his dresser, balancing the phone on one shoulder.
“I’m on my way! Don’t let them leave without me!”
Jordan’s reply was cut off as Jamie hung up the phone to dash around his apartment, chucking clothes and personal items pell-mell into a gym bag. He knew how to move fast, even off the field, and he wasn’t going to miss his one chance at the pros because of a single sleepy morning.
* * * * *
Jordan waved out the window as Jamie raced around the final turn, finally catching sight of the last bus. The only figure not on board was the team’s strength and conditioning coach, holding a tablet so tightly it seemed like the thin electronic device could snap at any moment. Disapproval was etched onto his aging face, and the dawning sunlight carved deep lines into it that curved around his cheekbones like a dry riverbed. He tapped the tablet curtly as Jamie raced up to the bus and bent double, desperately gulping huge lungfuls of air.
“Let’s go,” the coach said simply. Jamie nodded and clambered on board; Jordan was waiting with an open seat at the very front of the bus. At his appearance the entire team erupted into mocking applause. Jamie was too tired to give more than a feeble smile as he collapsed on the seat next to his friend.
“Remind me to check your diploma for crayon marks,” Jordan muttered as the bus rumbled off.
* * * * *
The weekend would not improve much for Jamie Orion. While he had avoided complete disaster, he was not in his usual fighting shape. He felt cramped and exhausted from his impromptu morning sprint, and he couldn’t shake his anxiety over what would have happened if he hadn’t answered that call from Jordan. The mental and emotional toll of that morning stuck around for all 3 games.
He finished the second round of the Prospect Bowl with tepid stats – 6 tackles and 2 pass breakups spread over 3 games. But he’ll get a chance at redemption tonight with three more games, before the draft results are announced on Thursday. According to team sources Jamie set 3 different alarms last night, pre-packed his bags, and even live-streamed his morning walk to the team bus “just to make sure”. Hopefully this advanced preparation leads to some better on-field results in the last round of games.