Play by Play (A Play Makers Novella) (3 page)

But first, an update on the Elevator Girl situation. We’ve been jogging together twice a week for two weeks, right? Now we’ve got a date for dinner and a movie this Saturday. Yep, you’ve all suffered with me, and now victory is within reach. Let’s hope I don’t blow it, which nearly happened yesterday when she asked me out. That’s correct—
she
asked
me
. (Full disclosure: I’ve been asking her every day I see her, but still, this one’s on her.)

Believe it or not, I almost blew it when she broached the subject. I was so pumped at the idea, and then she said she had some questions for me first, like—wait for it—my last name and what I did for a living. She joked that she needed to Google my name before our date to be sure I wasn’t an ax murderer. I panicked for obvious reasons, and yeah, I probably should’ve seized the moment and come clean about these blog tributes, but my survival instinct made me blink instead. A serious low point for me, because I may be a bullshitter, exaggerator, and omitter, but I usually draw the line at lying.

But there she was, looking so pretty and trusting, so instead of saying my name was Jake Dublin, I said Jake
Dev
lin. You wouldn’t believe how many people think that’s my actual name, by the way. I guess Jake and Devlin just go together, right? But I’m a Dublin through and through, and I hated lying to her, but . . .

I lied just the same.

It didn’t help when she said that was a sexy name, because let’s face it, I’m going for sexy in her eyes. Anyway, I told her I was in the newspaper biz as a freelance editor and writer, all of which is true—misleading but true. I
do
write a dead-tree column as well as this blog, and I
do
get paid to edit entry-level coworkers.

She seemed impressed.

Elevator Girl
: Wow, what kind of articles do you write?

Me
: It’s a mix. Whatever the readers want, more or less.

EG
: Maybe you’ll show me some of them sometime?

Me
: Or you’ll find them on Google?

EG
: I was just kidding about that. I mean, sure, I’ll check to be sure you’re not the infamous Condo Stalker. But after that—well, I want to learn all about you from your own lips.

Okay, folks, I’ll admit I paraphrased that scene a
little
lot. For one thing, she didn’t mention my lips. That was just wishful thinking.

But the fact is, she actually
touched
my lips with her finger, like she was trying to reassure me. It was amazing. Humbling. Not to mention sexy as hell.

Did I feel guilty? Sure. But we have such a genuine connection, it seemed crazy to put it at risk so early in the relationship. And from the way she acted, I’m positive she feels that way too.

And seriously, can you imagine how differently the conversation would’ve gone if I’d told the whole truth? I’ve never had my face slapped even tho I’ve probably deserved it more than once. I def don’t want my first time for
that
to be with
her
.

Anyway, I’ll show up at the
War Room
at 1:00 on Saturday, and then come clean with EG over dinner. Don’t try to talk me out of it;
well, not unless you have a really persuasive argument in my favor; wait, scratch that.
I’m committed to truth, starting 34 hours from now.

Now for the final expansion team rundown before tonight’s preseason kickoff . . .

Click
here
for more sports from Jake Dublin

COMMENTS:

Anon from SD
:

Congrats, dude! I figured by now she just wanted to be your friend, paint each other’s nails, and so on. But that sounds like some serious foreplay. I know you want us to keep it clean for the kids, so let me just say I see the whole playbook in your near future.

The Opinionated Sports Guy
:

Thanks for keeping it PG, AnonSD. And yeah, I think there’ll be a huddle and a few snaps at the very least.

Tweetie Burred
:

U R both pigs. I hope Hutchison makes you his bitch.

Anon 2
:

Just invite us all to the wedding, will you? And watch out for Hutch, he made mincemeat out of my favorite play-by-play guy last year, lots of shots below the belt. If I had to guess, I’d say he’ll zero in on Coach Spurling’s bad ticker, so be ready. We all know how much you love that old guy.

The Opinionated Sports Guy
:

Good tip. I’ve never met Hutch but I’ve been a fan of his show for years. My experience is he doesn’t cross the line, just gets real, real close. Coach Spurling’s got a big family, grandkids and all that. So I don’t expect a lot of personal crap. Particularly about the heart condition. Totally off-limits.

Ed the first
:

I’m with Anon 2, he’s gonna grill you on Spurling, so wear asbestos undershorts.

The Opinionated Sports Guy
:

Will do. But remember, the Niners-Raiders game starts right after the
War Room
. So I predict we’ll also talk Bay Area sports since I’m in Northern Cal and a known Niners fan.

Ed the first
:

True, and Hutch hates the Niners. So you may be right.

New commenter from SoCal
:

Been reading your stuff a few months now. Congrats on scoring the
War Room
gig. Maybe they’ll pick you up as a regular. They’re getting stale. Go easy on my Chargers tho, we’ve got heart.

The Opinionated Sports Guy
:

Welcome to the comments, NewComm. Your team’s got heart for sure. Could use a little more D, but I predict a decent yr for them. And trust me, I’m just honored to be a guest on the
War Room
. Nothing stale about that panel, they’re savvy.

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Chapter Six

They called it a War Room for a reason. These four guys—Hutch Hutchison, his brother Steve, former player Randy McDowell, and veteran announcer Chuck Messina—came loaded for bear every Saturday. Even their console looked like a battlefield schematic, showing the various NFL matchups for the week.

The “Hot Seat” was for the guest—usually a player or coach, sometimes a fellow broadcaster or nationally syndicated columnist. Jake’s column, while syndicated, wasn’t high-profile, and his blog, while gaining more hits every day, hadn’t reached anything near critical mass.

So why Jake?

He suspected it was due to his bold predictions that an expansion team would hit it big its first year in the NFL, all on the back of a sixty-eight-year-old ex-coach who had been lured out of retirement against doctor’s orders. Coach Aaron Spurling had been beloved in his day and had a rabid following even now. And not just a sentimental following, but rather a fiercely loyal one based on the amazing things Spurling had accomplished in his career in terms of brilliant draft picks and lethal strategy.

And while Jake hadn’t intentionally used the old guy as a way to gain notoriety, he knew his idol would approve of this effort to capitalize on his achievements. Coaches like Spurling used every weapon in their arsenal and never apologized for it if it led to a win. They knew the value of a hot hand. Knew how to use it.

Now Jake had the hot hand, reporting-wise. If Hutch Hutchison wanted to exploit that, Jake was more than willing to go along for the ride.

As the theme music sounded, he waited in the wings while three of the panelists took their seats around the war table. Then Hutch himself emerged from his dressing room and strode over, extending his hand in exaggerated welcome.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show,” he told Jake with a grin. “Last chance to back out. It’s no fun being fresh meat.”

Jake laughed. “Fresh meat or new blood? Hopefully I can shake things up a little.”

Hutch—a scrawny man with dark hair and blazing eyes—glared. “That’s the trouble with amateurs on the show, they think they know better than their betters. Come on, I’ll show you to your chair.”

Trying to look more confident than he felt, Jake followed him to the infamous Hot Seat, designed to resemble an electric chair from an old black-and-white movie. The hard wood seat proved to be even more uncomfortable than expected, but Jake didn’t care about comfort. He just wanted to make it through his five minutes of fame without completely embarrassing himself.

After a scathing overview of the previous week in sports, Hutch eyed the camera directly and said, “We’ve got a change of pace for the Hot Seat this week, a guy who blogs on the Internet, probably out of his mom’s basement. But he’s gotten enough of a following to make it interesting. So meet Jake Dublin. He calls himself the Opinionated Sports Guy. Tell us, Jake, what’s the story behind that?”

Jake gave him a confident smile. “Sports is my life—always has been. But I’ve got opinions on other stuff too, and it just made sense to integrate them. So, for example, when I’m writing a column about a rained-out game, I don’t mind mixing it up with global warming or Mayan calendars. And since I go to a
ton
of games, I’ve got strong feelings about the brands of beer served at the stadiums. That sort of thing. It keeps things fresh,” he added, hoping Hutch would catch the reference to his earlier “shake things up” remark.

“So? No topics are off-limits?”

“Nope.”

“How about your aborted career as a wideout? Torn ACL and compound fracture, right? That must’ve hurt. In more ways than one.”

Jake had been expecting that particular question. “Yeah, I was considering whether to enter the draft a year early, but my knee made the decision for me.”

“You were the man—the QB—in high school. Any problems stepping down to wide receiver at Notre Dame?”

“You’re kidding, right? I had a choice—backup quarterback to Shawn Merrill or starting wideout. I chose both, and I’ll never regret that. It worked until it didn’t, and even then it felt right.”

“Tony Rametti’s the one who clocked you. Ended your career. Any hard feelings?”

“He and I are buds to this day.”

Hutch’s brother Steve interrupted them to say, “I have a question, Dublin. Don’t you think it’s a little gimmicky for the Rustlers to hire Aaron Spurling? He was washed up five years ago, now suddenly he’s expected to build a brand-new franchise? Sounds like a PR thing to me.”

Jake shrugged. “You call this the
War Room
, which is pretty gimmicky too, right? You don’t actually strategize or go to battle or win anything.” When they stared in disbelief, Jake continued with a grin. “It’s not a perfect analogy, though, because Spurling actually
is
a strategist—the most brilliant one the game has ever known. And those strategies won three Super Bowls. So actually, no. I don’t think hiring him is a PR move, it’s a genius one.”

“We’re running out of time and we still haven’t gotten to the
real
reason you’re here today,” Hutch said with a smirk. “You really weren’t on our radar at all until this business with your new girlfriend. What do you call her? The Elevator Girl?” He chuckled. “Insert the obligatory ‘going down’ joke here.”

Oh, crap
. . .

It hadn’t occurred to him that they’d mention Sophie, but of course it made sense. These guys enjoyed making their victims squirm. And even though Jake’s blog had been building readership steadily for months, it had gotten a nice bump because of the “Elevator Girl” thread.

“It’s mostly in my own imagination,” Jake told Hutch coolly. “Some guys have fantasy football teams, I fantasize about dates with girls I meet along the way. And since I’m the
opinionated
sports guy, some of it ends up on my blog. Just good clean fun and I’d appreciate it if you’d treat it that way.”

“Or else what?”

Jake paused, his stare coldly fixed on the scrawny host. “You’re already considered a jackass. Why add misogynist to the list?” Before Hutch could answer, he continued cheerfully. “The Raiders play the Niners in a couple of hours. You still follow sports, right? Care to make a prediction?”

Former tight end Randy McDowell jumped into the fray. “I’ll take the Raiders. You don’t even have to spot me any points.” Flashing a smile, he added, “I like your column, Dublin. And my son reads your blog to us at the breakfast table every day. We appreciate the way you keep it clean. There’s not a lot on the Internet these days that parents can trust.”

“Thanks.”

“I watched some old tape on you from your college days. Too bad about the knee. You had some moves for sure.”

“Well,” Chuck Messina announced in a booming voice, “we’re overdue for a commercial break so we’ll let Jake off the Hot Seat. As long as he promises to come back. Next up, a recap of Thursday night’s games and an injury report.”

“And we’re clear,” a disembodied voice told them from the shadows.

Hutch stood up, grinning. “No hard feelings. Right, Jake? I warned you, that’s what we do here.”

“Except girlfriends and wives are usually off-limits,” Randy McDowell muttered.

Jake walked over and shook each man’s hand in turn. “No hard feelings at all. It’s a great opportunity for a guy like me. Plus, I’ve got some great new material for the blog, right?”