07-15-2022, 10:49 PM
(This post was last modified: 07-20-2022, 02:06 PM by dude_man. Edited 1 time in total.)
The following story was written in collaboration with an AI software that outputs a single sentence at a time after being given an original prompt. You will also be able to observe that it improves as the story goes on. So for every word in here I have probably written about 1.5 of my own in order to get this story (I edited it all as well). Great way to build a character without writing yourself or people you know into it (in my opinion). Also, anything the AI produced that my haters will find controversial has been edited out as to not cause further beef with internet strangers. Enjoy!
Brock Jr. was having a really hard time adjusting to life in the Developmental Sim Football League. Dallas was a completely new experience for him. His mother was from Texas, but he'd spent his whole life between Virginia and Tennessee. At least what he could remember of his life. Quarterbacking the Dallas Birddogs was not an easy task this season. They were bad. Full of rookies and lacking any sort of veteran leadership outside of the quarterback Brock split time with, Roque Santa Cruz. They got along surprisingly well and Roque was a good man as well as a good leader for the young team. Especially given the situation that the coach McQueen put them in. With no chance to make it to the playoffs the Birddogs were in the first division where the top teams were locked into the playoffs. They were given only one opportunity to make the playoffs and a second to be eliminated. This year had the potential to be either a big win for the Dallas Birddogs or the season that will haunt the players forever. With the regular season halfway over the Dallas Birddogs had a chance to grab a spot in the playoffs but a road game against the Norfolk Seawolves meant that it would be a difficult and physically demanding game that they would need to bring their A-game. Not to mention it was the only game in between games this week and only ten days until the second half of the season.
Brock hadn't had a chance to play back home in Norfolk yet, but this week would be his chance to finally shine. He needed a breakout game. It had been a brutal season and he was without a doubt having the worst season of any quarterback in the DSFL. But he had to take advantage of this opportunity.
"Alright, Dallas, you're going to line up at the center position." Brock's mind was preoccupied on some of the details of the game plan and his breathing was slightly erratic as he prepared for his first game in over a week. Brock hadn't played in any games since before his back injury. Not since before he'd even known Roque.
"Three... Two... One!"
The silent count was followed by the shotgun snap to the right tackle who immediately stepped aside to face the play and stepped back into position. Brock began to step forward to take the snap from center. He could see something in the corner of his eye. A player had jumped out of the line for an interception.
Brock looked over and to his horror, the player was still alive and sprinting toward him. Brock looked to the sidelines where the coaches were already rushing onto the field to make a call. The announcers just kept on screaming. Brock tried to get his head in the game. Then he suddenly woke up. It was just a dream. He was still on the team plane sitting next to fellow rookie wide receiver Matthew Mara. Matthew hadn't even noticed Brock tossing and turning. Dreaming of throwing yet another interception. But before Brock could move any further, the Dream Lord began his quick session of darkness once again.
"Alright Dallas, now you are going to take the snap from center. If the defense follows this up you have to throw to the right. The defense is off to the right and the receiver is going to the right on the back side. If they stay the same, that's great, but don't hesitate. Just throw it downfield and it'll be a touchdown."
Brock was having difficulty concentrating on the play-call but it would all be worth it if it worked.
"Now come on Dallas, make it happen. It's the first play of the game. You are the starting quarterback now. Make it count."
The shotgun snap sounded and Brock was mentally preparing for the play. He could see the defensive formation of four high safeties as well as the blitz coming from both the left and the right.
"Alright Dallas, the defense is showing a four high look. You have to throw to the right. The safety is to the right and the linebacker has just tipped off that he is blitzing on this play. You know where the ball needs to go. Just make it happen."
The ball was snapped and Brock was ready. He stepped up into the pocket as the play-call had instructed and opened his mouth to hurl the ball downfield when he heard it.
"Hey Brock!"
Brock's eyes snapped open and he looked over to see Matthew on his right arm, holding his right elbow.
"Sorry, Coach. I had a nightmare. I'm good now."
"That's OK Matthew. You just let us know when you have another one."
Matthew merely smiled, rubbed his elbow and gave Brock a gentle pat on the back.
"Oh man, I hope not," was all he said.
Brock looked down at his quarterback notebook and it was blank. Normally a blank notebook meant one of two things. Either that he'd just had a dream and his subconscious had shut down all possibility of remembering it or that he was simply still asleep. That could be an okay thing too.
But the notebook was completely blank and that meant it had to be a dream. This was not the first time a player had dreamed and taken the field the next day. But this time it was different. He was aware that it was a dream. Was this a lucid dream? Brock had heard stories of this and even seen Vanilla Sky with Tom Cruise, but he'd never actually thought he'd be in one. This was unlike his previous dreams, and if he could dream this easily he wondered if maybe he could control them and that is what this was. Brock wasn't really sure of what to make of it, but one thing he did know. He was ready to play the first play of the season, or at least he was as ready as he would ever be.
The huddle came to life and the team started their first defensive series of the year and got off to a rocky start. With Brock under center it was never a good thing to start poorly. The first series resulted in a three and out and an opportunity to redeem themselves for the first series of the season.
"Alright Dallas, you are going to drop back and pass to the left side. The defense is showing a two high look. The safety is playing over the top and the linebacker on the right is going to try to drop in coverage and take away any crossing routes to the left. That means you have to trust your running back to keep the play alive if your eyes drift away from the receiver.
"But remember, the safety is a big guy. He's very good, but if he commits, you have to just throw the ball up into the air and trust that your receiver will go up and make the play. The defensive end is holding tight right now but if he comes down you can probably get him off of your running back and take him away."
This was too much for Brock. He knew it was a dream, but why are people calling him Dallas? Why can't he wake up. He was growing concerned. He had a big game coming up this week and he was trapped inside his own mind 30,000 feet above Mississippi. Like a scene straight out of Inception mixed with Groundhog's Day.
He clenched his fists. His entire body shook. He was beginning to get upset. He wanted to wake up and now his teammates were. So what was the worst that could happen?
The first play of the game.
Brock marched the offense to the line of scrimmage and took the snap. With no timeouts, he took a deep breath and focused on the game plan.
"You need to beat the defense to the inside," he whispered to himself. "It's one thing to throw the ball on time and just make it look pretty. But when you have the time and space to actually make a throw, that's when you can really shine. It's like shooting a free throw, the ball has to go through the hoop. That's what you need to do. Focus on taking care of the football and letting the receivers go make plays."
He looked to his left and locked eyes with the receiver. The center snapped the ball to him and he stopped on his route and looked upfield for the safety. The defensive end to the left of the defense came down and would have gotten the...
Brock finally snapped out of the dream. Matthew Mara was shaking him. "Are you alright dude?"
Brock wasn't sure. He'd never experienced anything like what was happening on this flight. Every time he closed his eyes there was some old coach from his past, or worse, his father barking nonsensical vaguely football related things at him.
Brock decided he needed to talk to the team doctor about the dreams he was having. He stood up and walked to the back of the plane where the team doctor was sitting, watching a movie on his iPad. He was surprised to see that the team doctor was watching the same exact movie.
"Alright," Brock said to the doctor, "I need to know what's going on with me."
"It's nothing you need to worry about," the team doctor said without looking up from his iPad. "You've been having dreams and thinking about things that make no sense. We just need to make sure you're still feeling good physically. You'll be playing good football once you get back on the field."
He looked up to the doctor and asked, "Why are you watching the same movie I'm watching?"
"Do you really think that's strange? You are doing the same things I'm doing. This is a plane flying in the sky with no engine and no engine at the bottom of the ocean. I'm watching a movie on my iPad. Why wouldn't I watch the movie that's on my iPad."
"That doesn't make sense," Brock said to the team doctor. "I was dreaming about Dallas last night. He was calling me Dallas."
"You're dreaming," the team doctor said. "It's not something you can control. Just go back to your seat and order some coffee so you don't fall back asleep until we get to Virginia."
"Psst. Come here," whispered Roque Santa Cruz. "You want to know why you're really having these dreams? CTE. Chronic traumatic encephalopathy. These NPCs playing offensive line for us have got your brains scrambled from all of the hits you have been taking. You've been sacked more than any other quarterback in the league. You need to start protecting yourself. Throwing the ball away, sliding to avoid hit, and all of that man."
Brock instantly knew Roque was right. He had never taken any hits like the ones he had taken in Dallas. Sure he had been sacked a few times and caught a couple of interceptions, but nothing like the hits he was taking now. But what had the team doctor said?
Those guys were just overcompensating and trying to keep up with you.
"What if I refuse to take those hits?" Brock asked Roque.
"It's going to happen anyway. How are you going to know what hits to avoid? If you want to go play a position that doesn't come with as much risk of getting hit, playing running back is where you need to be. You know that."
"Thanks, Roque," Brock said. "I just want to be back on the field doing the things I've done before this all happened. Trying to make a play. Giving us a shot to win the game. I need to get back out there and prove myself."
"Alright," Roque said, "take me to my seat."
Brock walked back to his seat and sat down. The team doctor was still watching the football game on his iPad and Brock began scrolling through the film he had prepared to study. Norfolk had some mean pass rushers, and they were living rent free in his head alongside the CTE now.
After they got off the plane, he walked back into the team hotel and picked up his iPad. He read through the film he had prepared on Norfolk, and it was obvious the team hadn't looked at that film yet. He needed to go over the film he had prepared earlier.
"Okay," Brock said to Ricky Robinson, the team's assistant equipment manager. "I'm back in the hotel and I've got film to watch."
"I'll make sure it gets to the equipment guys and all of the coaches," Robinson said. "We can sit down here and watch it together."
Brock walked to the back of the team hotel to where Ricky Robinson and a few other team employees were waiting for him. They were sitting down on the ground and Brock opened up the iPad with his fingers. He took the headset out of his backpack and put it on his head. The game started and Ricky Robinson pressed a button on the headset so that it was silent.
"Give me a play," Brock said, closing his eyes and trying to get himself in the mindset to read a defense. The dreams earlier today were making him forget what he was actually supposed to be looking for in a pre-snap defense.
Robinson started running through all of the plays, and Brock started taking notes on all of the plays on the play sheet. He was looking for a play where they were going to blitz, a play where they were going to use a gadget play, a play where they were going to try to run the ball. He was seeing all of the plays and taking notes, and he didn't get caught up with what was happening on the field because it was his nightmare. He had never seen this coming and he couldn't focus on what was happening on the field.
"Hey," Brock said, standing up and walking back over to the equipment managers. "Thanks for watching film with me. I really appreciate it."
"If you ever need anything, just call," Ricky Robinson said. "You've got my number on the film."
"Okay," Brock said. "Thanks again."
The team doctor took the tablet and Brock stepped back outside of the hotel and started walking to his rented car. As he opened the door of his car, his cell phone rang.
"Hey, it's me," Brock's mother said. "I just wanted to see if you were going to stop by while you were here in Norfolk?".
"Of course I'll be by today ma," said Brock. He really missed her, but he was a 22 year old man now and couldn't say that to his mother until he was sure nobody from the team was around. So he took a quick peek. "In fact I'm getting in the car now to come see you, mom," He said, getting into the driver's seat and starting up the car.
"I'm so glad you made it here okay," Brock's mom said.
"Yeah, it's cool to see my mom for a couple of days," Brock said, starting to drive and looking in the rear view mirror to look at the team doctors and Ricky Robinson. "Thanks for taking me to Norfolk."
"You're just so young and so talented and you need to take care of yourself," said Lisa Hamilton. "I understand the game now. I understand what it means for you and the team. I can see you and the team have it all, and I know that it's okay to take time off if it's what's best for you. But I can see you coming back even stronger."
Brock was driving to his mom's house and thinking about everything that was happening. How strange life was. He wasn't thinking about football anymore. He had been thinking about football for the past 24 hours, but not in the way he had been thinking about football. He was thinking about what the doctors were saying and how they were right, and now he was thinking about what was happening with his brain. Some really crazy side effects come along with CTE. Junior Seau and that Kansas City NFL player both ended up dead because of it. Brock was suddenly terrified when he remembered he wouldn't even know for sure if he had it until after he died. There was no way to detect it in a living person yet. He started to drive into the darkness of Norfolk, trying to push the thought of dying and living through it away from his mind.
He reached his mom's neighborhood and drove down the driveway. He was tired and felt like he was too young to be having these thoughts, but he couldn't get these feelings out of his head. How could he be so young to have this fear in his head? He was still worried that he had the disease because he was only 22.
He parked the car and stepped out into the yard. He saw his mother's car sitting in the driveway and saw her car lights on in the front window. He reached into the trunk and grabbed the key to the house and slowly opened the front door. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, taking a big deep breath to smell the smell of his mother's house. She had a scent that she wore everywhere and that smell was so familiar to him.
He stood in the entry way and reached out to turn on the light. "Mom?" he called out. "Anybody home?" he asked louder.
"Coming, baby," his mother said from the kitchen. "Hold on a sec," she said and walked into the living room. She walked around the couches and glanced in his direction, seeing him standing in the middle of the room, looking like he was at a loss for words. "Brock, baby, are you okay?"
Lisa came out of the kitchen, looking a little scared to see her son standing there, as if she was afraid he had something to do with the blood in the house.
"Mom, I'm fine," Brock said. "Why aren't you inside?"
"You're getting to be a tall man, Brock," Lisa said.
"Are you okay, mom? I've been this tall since I graduated high school," Brock said.
"No no no. I want to know if you're okay baby," said Lisa. "You look like you've seen a ghost." She could always see right through Brock. So he decided to tell his mother about his dreams and the possible CTE.
"I've been having really weird dreams. I have this team doctor and a team doctor in Norfolk that keeps calling me. I've been asking if anyone in Norfolk knows what's wrong with me, and they keep telling me that I'm just having anxiety attacks and I have to go see the VA psychiatrist," Brock said. "But I think they know something I don't. I think they're trying to tell me that I've got something wrong in my brain."
"Mom, I'm fine," Brock said. "I'm not having anxiety attacks or PTSD or anything like that. I just have these really weird dreams, and that's all I've been thinking about."
"We need to get you checked out. This is a serious thing," Lisa said. "You're 22 years old and you have this thing that's inside your brain and I want you to take care of it so that you can take care of yourself."
Brock could tell that his mother was scared and worried. He was worried, too. And he knew that there was a chance that she was right.
He got back into his car and headed back to Norfolk to sleep for the night and get ready for the Seawolves game the next day. He walked up to his hotel room and climbed into bed. At this point he kind of wished that he'd just slept in his old room in his mother's house and driven to the hotel in the morning. He wanted to sleep more and just relax.
That night he dreamed of throwing the ball around with his old high school teammates. But in the dream he wasn't worried about his position or the game. He was throwing the ball with his friends and throwing the ball all over the place. He was laughing and having a good time, not worrying about anything.
He didn't get a good night's sleep. He tossed and turned and tried to go to sleep but his mind wouldn't stop racing. He had to keep thinking about everything. He worried about his mom and what she would think if she knew what he was really worried about.
"Brock, you really don't have to go to Norfolk. It's just anxiety and stress. You're just worrying about something that you've probably been worrying about since you were in high school, Brock," Lisa said.
"I just want to know what's wrong with me, mom," Brock said.
"Okay, baby, just take some deep breaths and relax. You can go to Norfolk for a couple of days, get some things done and don't worry about football except for when you're on the field."
When Brock woke up he knew something was really wrong in his head. The only time you dream about how you wished a conversation would have went is when you're somehow sick. At least that was Brock's experience with these kinds of dreams. Let's just say Taco Bell food poisoning as a child made him dream a complete alternate ending to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
He shook it off though, determined to give his best performance that afternoon in front of his hometown team that passed over him twice in the draft. There was a little resentment on his part and this would be a grudge match, even if the Seawolves didn't realize it. Dallas will get their first win here, thought Brock as he ate his breakfast alone as his teammates still slept.
He went out and ran drills and threw the ball around as if there wasn't a storm brewing in his head. Then it was time for the game. He sat down in the locker room with his teammates.
"How do you feel, Brock?" asked Head Coach Chip Kelly.
"I'm good," Brock said.
"Okay, good, good. Don't worry about the doctor."
It was all easy. Brock was a young star quarterback at a school that went nowhere in the previous decade. He had a sick mother who needed him and a whole city that wanted to see him play. He wasn't worried about how he'd do on the football field. He didn't know what he was going to do, but it would be fine.
"Have you looked into your phone recently?" Lisa asked Brock when she picked him up at the airport.
"No, I've been watching sports, drinking my coffee and sleeping a lot. I'm still asleep right now," Brock said. "Why, mom? What's wrong?"
"Your doctor has been calling you. They're asking if you've ever had any anxiety or PTSD or any mental illness, because they think..."
"Are you okay man?" It was Matthew Mara again shaking him awake as he looked around and still had half of his breakfast sitting on the table next to him. He'd fallen asleep again and launched into more nonsensical dreams. "I really don't think you should be playing today man. Roque thinks you've got a concussion and shouldn't be on the field today."
"I'm fine," Brock said matter of factly. He wasn't going to miss the game in front of his hometown team.
Brock gave the team some instructions on their game plan and looked out at the field. There was still lightning in the sky, but he'd deal with that later. He had a game to win.
"Alright, Brock, it's your first game back here in Norfolk since high school," Coach Kelly said. "You've been waiting your whole life to play in front of all these people. Don't make it any more stressful than it needs to be."
"I will, coach," Brock said.
He went back to his locker room. The Birddogs had lost every game this season and had a six game losing streak going into today. The Seawolves were okay, but this wouldn't be the hardest game they played. There was a new challenge and it was time to go prove everyone wrong.
"How do you feel, Brock?" asked Coach Wilson as he greeted Brock.
"I'm good," Brock replied.
"Good, good. What do you have to worry about today?"
"Just giving my best performance."
"Yes, good. You're going to be fine, Brock. Just relax, take deep breaths and have a good time today."
Brock smiled and just kept repeating his mantra. "I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a big bright shining star" as he took the field. The bright lights shined down on him and he squinted. Maybe he did have a concussion, but this light sensitivity wasn't anything that couldn't be remedied with a visor. Plus it would probably look bad ass to be a QB wearing a tinted visor. He asked the equipment guy to throw one on his helmet as he warmed up with rookie receiver Rocky Moreaux.
"Your visor is done, sir," said the equipment guy as he approached Brock and threw the visor on his head. "I just love being a part of this team. It's just so cool seeing these people wear my visor."
"It's done, but how do I look?" asked Brock.
"You look like a star," the equipment guy replied.
Brock smiled and looked over at the crowd. Maybe they wouldn't laugh.
The ball was dropped. It was his third dropped pass of the game. He went back to the bench and Roque jogged onto the field. The rain had stopped and the sun was out, creating a beautiful day. He stretched and rubbed his shoulder, which was now completely fine. "Now what do I do?" asked Brock.
"Now we're going to start game planning, so you're going to be getting in the game if we lose another receiver or tight end," Roque said. "Just get in there and have fun with it."
Brock went back out on the field and Roque went through his offensive game plan.
"I'm going to put you back in, Brock. Just let me know when you're ready," Roque said as he put on his headset and waited for Brock to tell him that he was ready.
The ball was dropped again. The team went back to their locker room as the rain started again. They had lost three receivers and lost a tight end. The bench was getting crowded and Brock was glad he'd gotten his ass kicked the last two games to make room for younger players to get some experience. Now he had to be the motivator and leader and lead his team out of this doldrums of losing and into a winning streak that would get them into the playoffs and then to the Ultimini. Though the chances were beginning to look slim for that.
"You need to stop doing that," said Roque when he heard Brock screaming at the players in the locker room. "What is that about?"
"That, coach, is my players. I'm only going to be in this situation one more time before I play in the NFL. I need to get the best out of my players and not just the stars."
"How about some work on your technique?" Roque asked.
"You're right, coach. I need to improve my technique," Brock said as he pulled off his shoulder pads and put on his practice shoulder pads. He ran out on the field, stopping every few yards to look around. Everything looked fine, but maybe he was over reacting. Maybe it was just exhaustion that made him look this bad. He went back to his locker room and asked the equipment guy for some tape. He taped up his shoulders and biceps, working on his technique in the process.
He came out of the locker room and went to get the tape and noticed the rain starting again. "God, what do I have to do to stop the rain?" Brock asked himself. The ball was dropped two more times on the next drive. They were getting their asses kicked yet again. In the cold rain and mud, in his hometown. In front of his high school crush most likely. Just humiliating stuff. There was a ringing in Brock's ears, but he kept going out there and the offense kept sputtering no matter if it was him or Roque playing quarterback. He just wanted to get to the offseason. He was so tired and his body had been punished for weeks on end now.
"This is your last chance, Brock," said Roque. "Get this offense going or I'm going to have to make some adjustments."
"Just do what you have to do," Brock screamed back.
The rain picked up again, but that was a cold rain compared to the freezing rain they'd been experiencing. "We're done here, Brock," said Roque. "Get your ass back to the locker room."
Brock went back to his locker room and slammed the door. "You're not helping my cause with all the bullshit you're putting me through," Brock said to Roque.
"The shit is no longer bullshit, Brock. I've had it with you. I'm your offensive coordinator for life now and that is the way it's going to be until you're done playing this game, if ever."
Brock pulled off his shoulder pads and threw them into the locker and tossed his pads over his shoulder and stepped over them, closing the door behind him. He looked at himself in the mirror, trying to get a sense of who was standing in front of him. The guy he saw in the mirror was the man he told himself he'd never be, his father, Brock Sr.
Brock Jr. was having a really hard time adjusting to life in the Developmental Sim Football League. Dallas was a completely new experience for him. His mother was from Texas, but he'd spent his whole life between Virginia and Tennessee. At least what he could remember of his life. Quarterbacking the Dallas Birddogs was not an easy task this season. They were bad. Full of rookies and lacking any sort of veteran leadership outside of the quarterback Brock split time with, Roque Santa Cruz. They got along surprisingly well and Roque was a good man as well as a good leader for the young team. Especially given the situation that the coach McQueen put them in. With no chance to make it to the playoffs the Birddogs were in the first division where the top teams were locked into the playoffs. They were given only one opportunity to make the playoffs and a second to be eliminated. This year had the potential to be either a big win for the Dallas Birddogs or the season that will haunt the players forever. With the regular season halfway over the Dallas Birddogs had a chance to grab a spot in the playoffs but a road game against the Norfolk Seawolves meant that it would be a difficult and physically demanding game that they would need to bring their A-game. Not to mention it was the only game in between games this week and only ten days until the second half of the season.
Brock hadn't had a chance to play back home in Norfolk yet, but this week would be his chance to finally shine. He needed a breakout game. It had been a brutal season and he was without a doubt having the worst season of any quarterback in the DSFL. But he had to take advantage of this opportunity.
"Alright, Dallas, you're going to line up at the center position." Brock's mind was preoccupied on some of the details of the game plan and his breathing was slightly erratic as he prepared for his first game in over a week. Brock hadn't played in any games since before his back injury. Not since before he'd even known Roque.
"Three... Two... One!"
The silent count was followed by the shotgun snap to the right tackle who immediately stepped aside to face the play and stepped back into position. Brock began to step forward to take the snap from center. He could see something in the corner of his eye. A player had jumped out of the line for an interception.
Brock looked over and to his horror, the player was still alive and sprinting toward him. Brock looked to the sidelines where the coaches were already rushing onto the field to make a call. The announcers just kept on screaming. Brock tried to get his head in the game. Then he suddenly woke up. It was just a dream. He was still on the team plane sitting next to fellow rookie wide receiver Matthew Mara. Matthew hadn't even noticed Brock tossing and turning. Dreaming of throwing yet another interception. But before Brock could move any further, the Dream Lord began his quick session of darkness once again.
"Alright Dallas, now you are going to take the snap from center. If the defense follows this up you have to throw to the right. The defense is off to the right and the receiver is going to the right on the back side. If they stay the same, that's great, but don't hesitate. Just throw it downfield and it'll be a touchdown."
Brock was having difficulty concentrating on the play-call but it would all be worth it if it worked.
"Now come on Dallas, make it happen. It's the first play of the game. You are the starting quarterback now. Make it count."
The shotgun snap sounded and Brock was mentally preparing for the play. He could see the defensive formation of four high safeties as well as the blitz coming from both the left and the right.
"Alright Dallas, the defense is showing a four high look. You have to throw to the right. The safety is to the right and the linebacker has just tipped off that he is blitzing on this play. You know where the ball needs to go. Just make it happen."
The ball was snapped and Brock was ready. He stepped up into the pocket as the play-call had instructed and opened his mouth to hurl the ball downfield when he heard it.
"Hey Brock!"
Brock's eyes snapped open and he looked over to see Matthew on his right arm, holding his right elbow.
"Sorry, Coach. I had a nightmare. I'm good now."
"That's OK Matthew. You just let us know when you have another one."
Matthew merely smiled, rubbed his elbow and gave Brock a gentle pat on the back.
"Oh man, I hope not," was all he said.
Brock looked down at his quarterback notebook and it was blank. Normally a blank notebook meant one of two things. Either that he'd just had a dream and his subconscious had shut down all possibility of remembering it or that he was simply still asleep. That could be an okay thing too.
But the notebook was completely blank and that meant it had to be a dream. This was not the first time a player had dreamed and taken the field the next day. But this time it was different. He was aware that it was a dream. Was this a lucid dream? Brock had heard stories of this and even seen Vanilla Sky with Tom Cruise, but he'd never actually thought he'd be in one. This was unlike his previous dreams, and if he could dream this easily he wondered if maybe he could control them and that is what this was. Brock wasn't really sure of what to make of it, but one thing he did know. He was ready to play the first play of the season, or at least he was as ready as he would ever be.
The huddle came to life and the team started their first defensive series of the year and got off to a rocky start. With Brock under center it was never a good thing to start poorly. The first series resulted in a three and out and an opportunity to redeem themselves for the first series of the season.
"Alright Dallas, you are going to drop back and pass to the left side. The defense is showing a two high look. The safety is playing over the top and the linebacker on the right is going to try to drop in coverage and take away any crossing routes to the left. That means you have to trust your running back to keep the play alive if your eyes drift away from the receiver.
"But remember, the safety is a big guy. He's very good, but if he commits, you have to just throw the ball up into the air and trust that your receiver will go up and make the play. The defensive end is holding tight right now but if he comes down you can probably get him off of your running back and take him away."
This was too much for Brock. He knew it was a dream, but why are people calling him Dallas? Why can't he wake up. He was growing concerned. He had a big game coming up this week and he was trapped inside his own mind 30,000 feet above Mississippi. Like a scene straight out of Inception mixed with Groundhog's Day.
He clenched his fists. His entire body shook. He was beginning to get upset. He wanted to wake up and now his teammates were. So what was the worst that could happen?
The first play of the game.
Brock marched the offense to the line of scrimmage and took the snap. With no timeouts, he took a deep breath and focused on the game plan.
"You need to beat the defense to the inside," he whispered to himself. "It's one thing to throw the ball on time and just make it look pretty. But when you have the time and space to actually make a throw, that's when you can really shine. It's like shooting a free throw, the ball has to go through the hoop. That's what you need to do. Focus on taking care of the football and letting the receivers go make plays."
He looked to his left and locked eyes with the receiver. The center snapped the ball to him and he stopped on his route and looked upfield for the safety. The defensive end to the left of the defense came down and would have gotten the...
Brock finally snapped out of the dream. Matthew Mara was shaking him. "Are you alright dude?"
Brock wasn't sure. He'd never experienced anything like what was happening on this flight. Every time he closed his eyes there was some old coach from his past, or worse, his father barking nonsensical vaguely football related things at him.
Brock decided he needed to talk to the team doctor about the dreams he was having. He stood up and walked to the back of the plane where the team doctor was sitting, watching a movie on his iPad. He was surprised to see that the team doctor was watching the same exact movie.
"Alright," Brock said to the doctor, "I need to know what's going on with me."
"It's nothing you need to worry about," the team doctor said without looking up from his iPad. "You've been having dreams and thinking about things that make no sense. We just need to make sure you're still feeling good physically. You'll be playing good football once you get back on the field."
He looked up to the doctor and asked, "Why are you watching the same movie I'm watching?"
"Do you really think that's strange? You are doing the same things I'm doing. This is a plane flying in the sky with no engine and no engine at the bottom of the ocean. I'm watching a movie on my iPad. Why wouldn't I watch the movie that's on my iPad."
"That doesn't make sense," Brock said to the team doctor. "I was dreaming about Dallas last night. He was calling me Dallas."
"You're dreaming," the team doctor said. "It's not something you can control. Just go back to your seat and order some coffee so you don't fall back asleep until we get to Virginia."
"Psst. Come here," whispered Roque Santa Cruz. "You want to know why you're really having these dreams? CTE. Chronic traumatic encephalopathy. These NPCs playing offensive line for us have got your brains scrambled from all of the hits you have been taking. You've been sacked more than any other quarterback in the league. You need to start protecting yourself. Throwing the ball away, sliding to avoid hit, and all of that man."
Brock instantly knew Roque was right. He had never taken any hits like the ones he had taken in Dallas. Sure he had been sacked a few times and caught a couple of interceptions, but nothing like the hits he was taking now. But what had the team doctor said?
Those guys were just overcompensating and trying to keep up with you.
"What if I refuse to take those hits?" Brock asked Roque.
"It's going to happen anyway. How are you going to know what hits to avoid? If you want to go play a position that doesn't come with as much risk of getting hit, playing running back is where you need to be. You know that."
"Thanks, Roque," Brock said. "I just want to be back on the field doing the things I've done before this all happened. Trying to make a play. Giving us a shot to win the game. I need to get back out there and prove myself."
"Alright," Roque said, "take me to my seat."
Brock walked back to his seat and sat down. The team doctor was still watching the football game on his iPad and Brock began scrolling through the film he had prepared to study. Norfolk had some mean pass rushers, and they were living rent free in his head alongside the CTE now.
After they got off the plane, he walked back into the team hotel and picked up his iPad. He read through the film he had prepared on Norfolk, and it was obvious the team hadn't looked at that film yet. He needed to go over the film he had prepared earlier.
"Okay," Brock said to Ricky Robinson, the team's assistant equipment manager. "I'm back in the hotel and I've got film to watch."
"I'll make sure it gets to the equipment guys and all of the coaches," Robinson said. "We can sit down here and watch it together."
Brock walked to the back of the team hotel to where Ricky Robinson and a few other team employees were waiting for him. They were sitting down on the ground and Brock opened up the iPad with his fingers. He took the headset out of his backpack and put it on his head. The game started and Ricky Robinson pressed a button on the headset so that it was silent.
"Give me a play," Brock said, closing his eyes and trying to get himself in the mindset to read a defense. The dreams earlier today were making him forget what he was actually supposed to be looking for in a pre-snap defense.
Robinson started running through all of the plays, and Brock started taking notes on all of the plays on the play sheet. He was looking for a play where they were going to blitz, a play where they were going to use a gadget play, a play where they were going to try to run the ball. He was seeing all of the plays and taking notes, and he didn't get caught up with what was happening on the field because it was his nightmare. He had never seen this coming and he couldn't focus on what was happening on the field.
"Hey," Brock said, standing up and walking back over to the equipment managers. "Thanks for watching film with me. I really appreciate it."
"If you ever need anything, just call," Ricky Robinson said. "You've got my number on the film."
"Okay," Brock said. "Thanks again."
The team doctor took the tablet and Brock stepped back outside of the hotel and started walking to his rented car. As he opened the door of his car, his cell phone rang.
"Hey, it's me," Brock's mother said. "I just wanted to see if you were going to stop by while you were here in Norfolk?".
"Of course I'll be by today ma," said Brock. He really missed her, but he was a 22 year old man now and couldn't say that to his mother until he was sure nobody from the team was around. So he took a quick peek. "In fact I'm getting in the car now to come see you, mom," He said, getting into the driver's seat and starting up the car.
"I'm so glad you made it here okay," Brock's mom said.
"Yeah, it's cool to see my mom for a couple of days," Brock said, starting to drive and looking in the rear view mirror to look at the team doctors and Ricky Robinson. "Thanks for taking me to Norfolk."
"You're just so young and so talented and you need to take care of yourself," said Lisa Hamilton. "I understand the game now. I understand what it means for you and the team. I can see you and the team have it all, and I know that it's okay to take time off if it's what's best for you. But I can see you coming back even stronger."
Brock was driving to his mom's house and thinking about everything that was happening. How strange life was. He wasn't thinking about football anymore. He had been thinking about football for the past 24 hours, but not in the way he had been thinking about football. He was thinking about what the doctors were saying and how they were right, and now he was thinking about what was happening with his brain. Some really crazy side effects come along with CTE. Junior Seau and that Kansas City NFL player both ended up dead because of it. Brock was suddenly terrified when he remembered he wouldn't even know for sure if he had it until after he died. There was no way to detect it in a living person yet. He started to drive into the darkness of Norfolk, trying to push the thought of dying and living through it away from his mind.
He reached his mom's neighborhood and drove down the driveway. He was tired and felt like he was too young to be having these thoughts, but he couldn't get these feelings out of his head. How could he be so young to have this fear in his head? He was still worried that he had the disease because he was only 22.
He parked the car and stepped out into the yard. He saw his mother's car sitting in the driveway and saw her car lights on in the front window. He reached into the trunk and grabbed the key to the house and slowly opened the front door. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, taking a big deep breath to smell the smell of his mother's house. She had a scent that she wore everywhere and that smell was so familiar to him.
He stood in the entry way and reached out to turn on the light. "Mom?" he called out. "Anybody home?" he asked louder.
"Coming, baby," his mother said from the kitchen. "Hold on a sec," she said and walked into the living room. She walked around the couches and glanced in his direction, seeing him standing in the middle of the room, looking like he was at a loss for words. "Brock, baby, are you okay?"
Lisa came out of the kitchen, looking a little scared to see her son standing there, as if she was afraid he had something to do with the blood in the house.
"Mom, I'm fine," Brock said. "Why aren't you inside?"
"You're getting to be a tall man, Brock," Lisa said.
"Are you okay, mom? I've been this tall since I graduated high school," Brock said.
"No no no. I want to know if you're okay baby," said Lisa. "You look like you've seen a ghost." She could always see right through Brock. So he decided to tell his mother about his dreams and the possible CTE.
"I've been having really weird dreams. I have this team doctor and a team doctor in Norfolk that keeps calling me. I've been asking if anyone in Norfolk knows what's wrong with me, and they keep telling me that I'm just having anxiety attacks and I have to go see the VA psychiatrist," Brock said. "But I think they know something I don't. I think they're trying to tell me that I've got something wrong in my brain."
"Mom, I'm fine," Brock said. "I'm not having anxiety attacks or PTSD or anything like that. I just have these really weird dreams, and that's all I've been thinking about."
"We need to get you checked out. This is a serious thing," Lisa said. "You're 22 years old and you have this thing that's inside your brain and I want you to take care of it so that you can take care of yourself."
Brock could tell that his mother was scared and worried. He was worried, too. And he knew that there was a chance that she was right.
He got back into his car and headed back to Norfolk to sleep for the night and get ready for the Seawolves game the next day. He walked up to his hotel room and climbed into bed. At this point he kind of wished that he'd just slept in his old room in his mother's house and driven to the hotel in the morning. He wanted to sleep more and just relax.
That night he dreamed of throwing the ball around with his old high school teammates. But in the dream he wasn't worried about his position or the game. He was throwing the ball with his friends and throwing the ball all over the place. He was laughing and having a good time, not worrying about anything.
He didn't get a good night's sleep. He tossed and turned and tried to go to sleep but his mind wouldn't stop racing. He had to keep thinking about everything. He worried about his mom and what she would think if she knew what he was really worried about.
"Brock, you really don't have to go to Norfolk. It's just anxiety and stress. You're just worrying about something that you've probably been worrying about since you were in high school, Brock," Lisa said.
"I just want to know what's wrong with me, mom," Brock said.
"Okay, baby, just take some deep breaths and relax. You can go to Norfolk for a couple of days, get some things done and don't worry about football except for when you're on the field."
When Brock woke up he knew something was really wrong in his head. The only time you dream about how you wished a conversation would have went is when you're somehow sick. At least that was Brock's experience with these kinds of dreams. Let's just say Taco Bell food poisoning as a child made him dream a complete alternate ending to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
He shook it off though, determined to give his best performance that afternoon in front of his hometown team that passed over him twice in the draft. There was a little resentment on his part and this would be a grudge match, even if the Seawolves didn't realize it. Dallas will get their first win here, thought Brock as he ate his breakfast alone as his teammates still slept.
He went out and ran drills and threw the ball around as if there wasn't a storm brewing in his head. Then it was time for the game. He sat down in the locker room with his teammates.
"How do you feel, Brock?" asked Head Coach Chip Kelly.
"I'm good," Brock said.
"Okay, good, good. Don't worry about the doctor."
It was all easy. Brock was a young star quarterback at a school that went nowhere in the previous decade. He had a sick mother who needed him and a whole city that wanted to see him play. He wasn't worried about how he'd do on the football field. He didn't know what he was going to do, but it would be fine.
"Have you looked into your phone recently?" Lisa asked Brock when she picked him up at the airport.
"No, I've been watching sports, drinking my coffee and sleeping a lot. I'm still asleep right now," Brock said. "Why, mom? What's wrong?"
"Your doctor has been calling you. They're asking if you've ever had any anxiety or PTSD or any mental illness, because they think..."
"Are you okay man?" It was Matthew Mara again shaking him awake as he looked around and still had half of his breakfast sitting on the table next to him. He'd fallen asleep again and launched into more nonsensical dreams. "I really don't think you should be playing today man. Roque thinks you've got a concussion and shouldn't be on the field today."
"I'm fine," Brock said matter of factly. He wasn't going to miss the game in front of his hometown team.
Brock gave the team some instructions on their game plan and looked out at the field. There was still lightning in the sky, but he'd deal with that later. He had a game to win.
"Alright, Brock, it's your first game back here in Norfolk since high school," Coach Kelly said. "You've been waiting your whole life to play in front of all these people. Don't make it any more stressful than it needs to be."
"I will, coach," Brock said.
He went back to his locker room. The Birddogs had lost every game this season and had a six game losing streak going into today. The Seawolves were okay, but this wouldn't be the hardest game they played. There was a new challenge and it was time to go prove everyone wrong.
"How do you feel, Brock?" asked Coach Wilson as he greeted Brock.
"I'm good," Brock replied.
"Good, good. What do you have to worry about today?"
"Just giving my best performance."
"Yes, good. You're going to be fine, Brock. Just relax, take deep breaths and have a good time today."
Brock smiled and just kept repeating his mantra. "I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a big bright shining star" as he took the field. The bright lights shined down on him and he squinted. Maybe he did have a concussion, but this light sensitivity wasn't anything that couldn't be remedied with a visor. Plus it would probably look bad ass to be a QB wearing a tinted visor. He asked the equipment guy to throw one on his helmet as he warmed up with rookie receiver Rocky Moreaux.
"Your visor is done, sir," said the equipment guy as he approached Brock and threw the visor on his head. "I just love being a part of this team. It's just so cool seeing these people wear my visor."
"It's done, but how do I look?" asked Brock.
"You look like a star," the equipment guy replied.
Brock smiled and looked over at the crowd. Maybe they wouldn't laugh.
The ball was dropped. It was his third dropped pass of the game. He went back to the bench and Roque jogged onto the field. The rain had stopped and the sun was out, creating a beautiful day. He stretched and rubbed his shoulder, which was now completely fine. "Now what do I do?" asked Brock.
"Now we're going to start game planning, so you're going to be getting in the game if we lose another receiver or tight end," Roque said. "Just get in there and have fun with it."
Brock went back out on the field and Roque went through his offensive game plan.
"I'm going to put you back in, Brock. Just let me know when you're ready," Roque said as he put on his headset and waited for Brock to tell him that he was ready.
The ball was dropped again. The team went back to their locker room as the rain started again. They had lost three receivers and lost a tight end. The bench was getting crowded and Brock was glad he'd gotten his ass kicked the last two games to make room for younger players to get some experience. Now he had to be the motivator and leader and lead his team out of this doldrums of losing and into a winning streak that would get them into the playoffs and then to the Ultimini. Though the chances were beginning to look slim for that.
"You need to stop doing that," said Roque when he heard Brock screaming at the players in the locker room. "What is that about?"
"That, coach, is my players. I'm only going to be in this situation one more time before I play in the NFL. I need to get the best out of my players and not just the stars."
"How about some work on your technique?" Roque asked.
"You're right, coach. I need to improve my technique," Brock said as he pulled off his shoulder pads and put on his practice shoulder pads. He ran out on the field, stopping every few yards to look around. Everything looked fine, but maybe he was over reacting. Maybe it was just exhaustion that made him look this bad. He went back to his locker room and asked the equipment guy for some tape. He taped up his shoulders and biceps, working on his technique in the process.
He came out of the locker room and went to get the tape and noticed the rain starting again. "God, what do I have to do to stop the rain?" Brock asked himself. The ball was dropped two more times on the next drive. They were getting their asses kicked yet again. In the cold rain and mud, in his hometown. In front of his high school crush most likely. Just humiliating stuff. There was a ringing in Brock's ears, but he kept going out there and the offense kept sputtering no matter if it was him or Roque playing quarterback. He just wanted to get to the offseason. He was so tired and his body had been punished for weeks on end now.
"This is your last chance, Brock," said Roque. "Get this offense going or I'm going to have to make some adjustments."
"Just do what you have to do," Brock screamed back.
The rain picked up again, but that was a cold rain compared to the freezing rain they'd been experiencing. "We're done here, Brock," said Roque. "Get your ass back to the locker room."
Brock went back to his locker room and slammed the door. "You're not helping my cause with all the bullshit you're putting me through," Brock said to Roque.
"The shit is no longer bullshit, Brock. I've had it with you. I'm your offensive coordinator for life now and that is the way it's going to be until you're done playing this game, if ever."
Brock pulled off his shoulder pads and threw them into the locker and tossed his pads over his shoulder and stepped over them, closing the door behind him. He looked at himself in the mirror, trying to get a sense of who was standing in front of him. The guy he saw in the mirror was the man he told himself he'd never be, his father, Brock Sr.
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