The next game we play is in Portland, thank God. However, it’s not what I expect. At first glance, everything seems to be fairly normal. Only, right before the game, I realize what’s happening. They’re shutting me out.

“Get in there, boys! Let’s show these idiots how it’s done!” my coach screams as we run onto the field. “Whoa, not so fast,” Coach grabs my jersey as I walk past him.

“What’s up?” I jog lightly.

“We need to talk,” he says. I run onto the field and head to the sidelines. We need to talk. This is never a good phrase to hear, on or off the field.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him. “You worried about the game or what? Dallas is pretty tough, but I think I can take them on. How’re we doing this, coach?”

I glance to my left and Landon is off to the side, giving a short interview to a local sports station. The image burns a fire inside me, so I force myself to look away immediately.

“I’m going to have you sit this one out,” the coach sighs and crosses his arms, standing in front of me. He sees me glancing at Landon and smirks a little. “That’s exactly the reason why.”

“Because of Landon?!” I blurt out, nearly laughing myself. “Come on, Coach. You’re not serious. Are you?”

“I’m very serious, son. And if you think you can just smile your way back on the field, you’re wrong about that,” he says, turning a bit angry. I back off with the smiling and listen intently. All I feel is that this is bullshit.

“Sorry, Coach,” I say, sucking up my pride. “I’m listening to you. I promise. I’ll follow whatever orders you give me. I know we’ll win this and go to the Super Bowl under your guidance.”

“Enough with the ass kissing, Jackson. I know you want to be on that field more than anything,” he says. The sound of the cheering, among the sounds of cleats hitting the field, always gets to me. I need to be out on that field, dammit! “But I think, for the team’s morale, I need to do this. It was wrong to keep you in the Arizona game. If it was any other player, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Coach, that’s because I’m the best in the league,” I whisper, making sure none of the other players or media can hear me. Cameras are turned to me and I know they’re saying shit on the Sports Network about how I’m getting talked down to about my past behavior. I can just see Fiona’s reaction. The hearts in her eyes are probably fading as I speak.

“You need me in this game, Coach. The players need me. This game is huge. We need to win this if we want to go to the Championships,” I plead to him. I’m practically begging at this point. If the coach wants me to drop to my knees, I’ll do it. I swear.

“The players may need your ball playing, but they sure as hell don’t want to be around you right now,” he says. “Look, I heard all about the little incident at the bar. I know you tried to swing at Landon.”

This time, I throw my helmet down on the ground. I can’t stand for this bullshit. I can’t sit here and listen to the coach spit lies. I know it’s not his fault. I know Landon, or one of his goons, probably told the coach that I swung at him, but it’s not true. He swung at me, remember?

“He swung at me,” I protest. “Ask Loke, coach. I’ve been good since that practice.”

“I don’t want to hear it, son. Something happened at that bar. I’ve heard multiple accounts that you went nuts in there. Who am I supposed to believe? You? Or the other 5 people that don’t corroborate your story?”

“Respectfully, this is bullshit!” I yell out, throwing my hands up into the air. All the cameras are on me now and I know I’ve made a big mistake.

“Get the hell off my field,” the coach says.

“Are you kidding me?” I scream back at him. “This is bullshit! It’s utter bullshit!” I turn to my right and find Landon smiling on the bench, just looking at this go down.

“Fuck you, Landon! I know what you’re up to,” I scream at him. Security’s already on the sidelines to escort me off the field and I’m fucking pissed. It takes all of my energy not to swing at the one guy who grabs my arm to lead me out. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss at him, but he just pushes me hard into the catacombs of the arena.

* * *

In the center of the arena, everything is quiet and muffled. The filtered sounds of cleats echo on the ceiling above me, as someone makes a play for the highlights reel on the field.

Right now, it all hits home for me. I start to remember something back in high school. During one of our big games, I threw a punch at an opposing player. This hardly happened back then. If it did, you better believe you’d be sent to the Principal’s office to face expulsion. At least, that’s what they told you happened to everyone.

Instead, nothing happened to me. I remember it like it was yesterday. There were the sounds of kazoos and wacky horns being blown for all the players, the stomping of the crowd’s feet, and the sounds of helmets bashing into one another, all in the name of football. That really lured me in and the next day, I got the offer to join a really great college team. They told me “Son, you could make it to the pros with your talent.”

And I did. I made it. And now I’m standing here, in no-man’s land, underneath the arena. I start pacing and the guards simply walk away. “Go home,” one of the guys says to me. “It’ll work out by the Super Bowl.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I tell them both. “I’ll get on out of here.”

They turn away from me and I walk in the direction of the exit. I circle around the building and come back through a side entrance. Of course, they let me in. Most of the staff has no idea what goes on during the game, so they move aside within seconds. I come back to the entrance of the field, but I don’t walk on.

I just watch. If I can’t play the damn game, I need to at least watch it from the sidelines. I deserve that much, right? My eyes meet Landon’s back and I target him. “You bastard,” I mutter under my breath. It’s times like these that make me lose my cool.

He’s sitting on the benches, laughing his ass of. But that smirk can’t last long. Once he’s sent onto the field, all hell breaks loose. Dallas seems to have made a comeback while I was gone. While we were neck and neck, we’re now losing by two touchdowns. I can see my coach’s face, turn bright as a tomato. I know a lot about the guy, and I can tell he’s pissed.

“Looks like you made the wrong choice,” I whisper.

Landon lives up to his name, Brickwall. He stands his ground and, I have to say, he does it really well. The defensive line is unable to shake him, letting the rest of our team through and the ball is ours. The coach’s face turns to a normal-looking color and everything is okay again.

I turn and walk off the field. I’ve seen all I needed to see. At this point, I know my role. I’m the black sheep. I’ve always been the black sheep. When I made it to the pros, I realized I could go above and beyond what was considered “normal.” Now, I think it’s time to realize that my crown has been thrown into the wind. Landon’s won, and I’ve given up.