CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cain
Damn, this NCAA shit was boring. Colt and I already know where we want to go, State’s the place for us and we’re practically admitted already. The head coach has already come by our house three times, they’ve talked with Dad, the school’s already hosted us for pre-admit weekend, all that kind of stuff. So I figured the meeting with the NCAA was just a formality, more talk about rules, regulations, things we already knew.
But it was odd. When we showed up, we were guided to a private conference room and the commissioner was there. Really? Commissioner Dean, the man himself, was sitting inside, another dude by his side, ready to take notes.
But whatever. This was going to be cakewalk and I strode in, confident, assertive.
“Colt, Cain,” the older man said jovially, shaking our hands as we sat down. “Door please,” he directed the other man.
And the door was closed, shutting us into what looked like a sound-proof room.
“What’s this about?” drawled my brother. “We’re into State, that’s the place for us.”
“We realize that,” said the Commissioner formally, “But we wanted to talk to you about infractions.”
What the fuck? We hadn’t even matriculated and they were already talking to us about breaking the rules before they were broken. Fuck my life, this college shit was getting to be a drag.
But the commissioner continued.
“It’s come to our attention that you know Jimmy Long, the equipment manager of the Eagles,” he said.
Colt snorted.
“Of course we know him, the dude’s always around, why?” he asked. “What does it matter? Is he selling drugs or something, dealing dope? Because my brother and I don’t use the juice,” he said, his voice menacing, his eyes already shooting sparks.
“No, no steroids,” said the Commissioner slowly. “Nothing like that. It’s come to our attention that the footballs you use are deflated.”
I sat back, thunderstruck. Deflated balls? What the fuck? Was this some kind of sick joke?
“What do you mean?” I asked slowly. “We use regulation footballs, same as anybody else.”
But the man wasn’t answering my questions.
“Aren’t you the one who checks them before each game?” he asked Colt, his question directed at my brother. “Don’t you check all the game-day balls before they’re used?”
Colt frowned, his handsome face stormy.
“Sure, but it’s routine. I squeeze ‘em and stuff, but it’s not like I get out the gage and check each one’s pressure individually. Why? Was I supposed to?”
“I don’t know,” said the Commish slowly. “We have reports that the balls were underinflated, making it easier for you to grip … and for your brother to catch.”
Oh fuck. What the fuck. This was serious shit, not some slap on the wrist for going to strip clubs and banging hot chicks. This was the real deal, cheating … before our career even started.
“Listen,” I growled, feeling my muscles tense, my jaw clench. “We’ve never skirted the rules, it’s all fucking lies. Where the fuck is this coming from anyways? Did another team complain, sore losers?”
“Well, no,” said the Commish. “Jimmy Long stepped forward himself, saying that you paid him to deflate each ball.”
“That’s a fucking lie!” I roared, standing up, pounding the table with a huge fist. “What the fuck, we barely talk to that guy, and we definitely don’t give him money.”
“Calm down son,” said the other man, “no need to leap to conclusions. All Jimmy said was that you and your brother routinely passed him cash with the understanding that he’d deflate balls before each game, making it easier for the Eagles to win. We haven’t verified his statement,” he said, holding his hands up. “We merely wanted to notify you of the claims, let you prepare a defense.”
Prepare a defense? WTF? This was more serious than I thought.
“Do we need to get lawyers?” I asked slowly. “Because this is starting to sound like a lawsuit.”
“I can’t tell you what you should and shouldn’t do,” said the Commissioner smoothly, the other man nodding in agreement silently. “But there will be an official investigation and from here on out, the McKesson twins are suspended. No game time, no meetings, no practice. You’re effectively benched until this is cleared up.”
And Colt and I sat back, thunderstruck. This was fucking bullshit. We needed to get to the bottom of this clusterfuck pronto.