Chapter Ten
JEREMY
March 2017
“So what did the judge say?”
My coach is leaning against his desk, his arms crossed and eyes glaring at me. It wasn’t my preferred choice to share with him that I’d been arrested for a DUI, but anytime you play professional sports, there’s an image component that can’t be ignored, even in a sport that gets minimal attention in the US, like soccer. So I had to let both Coach Kilzer and my agent, Bonnie, know about what happened.
Bonnie went into full damage control mode, talking to me about what I could and could not say, and what responses to use if I was asked by anyone about the ‘unfortunate incident,’ as she refers to it.
Coach has had a slightly different reaction. He’s furious, I’m sure. But also a bit sad. I think he’d pegged me as one of the ones who wouldn’t cause him any problems. So not only does he have to deal with the fact that this is a problem, he also has to accept the fact that he might have been wrong about me.
Hopefully, I’m able to convince him that this was a one-time mistake and not something he has to be concerned about in the long run.
“$5,000 bucks, one year probation, six month license suspension, and mandatory community service,” I reply.
I let my eyes flick around his office. It’s not somewhere I have to be very often, mostly because he reserves this space for things that are a bit more sensitive. Comfortable couches and muted colors, with splashes of the Galaxy blue and gold. Only a few personal things are scattered around, mostly artwork on his cabinets from his daughter.
He nods in response to the outcome of my sentencing hearing earlier this week, and rubs a finger back and forth across his chin in thought.
“Well,” he finally says, “the fines and license suspension and probation are your own problem, so make sure you get that shit sorted. But I might have a connection for you on the community service thing.”
“Yeah, okay.” I lean forward in my chair and rest my elbows on my knees. “What do you have in mind?”
He stands from where he’s been leaning against his desk and walks around it, taking a seat in his desk chair and clicking onto his computer.
“I have a buddy that runs a youth sports league in Burbank for at-risk kids. I’m pretty sure he sent me an email about finding some players to volunteer with the basketball team.” He clicks a few more times, then glances at me. “You played basketball in high school, right?” At my nod, he flicks his eyes back to his screen. “I’ll take a look at it and see what can happen. I don’t know for sure if it will count as community service, but once I have the details, I’ll get them to you so you can check with your lawyer.”
Relief rushes through me. A community service project like working with at-risk kids is much less risky from a PR standpoint than cleaning up litter on the side of the highway.
“That would be great. Thanks, Coach.”
He’s silent for just long enough that I think that’s my cue to leave, so I stand and make my way over to the door.
“You know, Jameson, I never thought you’d be one of the ones that would get into a mess like this,” I hear from behind me just as I put my hand on the doorknob.
My head drops.
So close.
I turn to look at him. “Well, I hope to show you it was just one misstep and you won’t have to worry about it happening again.”
He nods from where he’s seated at his desk, leaning back in his chair and hands interlocked on his stomach. “Yeah, I figured you’d say something like that. And I believe you mean it, too.”
He stands and walks towards me.
“You know, my best friend when I played league ball eons ago was a lot like you.”
I groan internally, knowing this monologue isn’t leading anywhere good.
“He was incredibly smart, charismatic and great on the field.”
My chest puffs a bit at the compliment, something that doesn’t come often from Coach.
“He was a marketing dream, and we were all a bit jealous, if I’m completely honest. But you can’t help it when someone just has that it factor, you know? He was able to wow everyone in pretty much every aspect of his life.” He pauses. “We didn’t notice the drinking problem at first.”
My stomach launches itself into my throat, and my eyes drop to the floor.
“You chalk it up to living the dream life, you know? He’s just an athlete enjoying his time in the limelight. But I knew something was wrong when I’d find him drinking alone, in the quiet of his sprawling house.”
I close my eyes. “Coach…”
“It was a deeper problem. There was something eating at him and he used alcohol to numb it. It ended up ruining his career and shattered the relationships he had with his family and friends. We offered him help and support, tried to get him involved in AA. Nothing took. And then the drinking spiraled to drug use.”
“Coach, I swear to you…”
“Jeremy, I’m not trying to tell you I think you’re suicidal or need to be watched like a hawk, okay?” He lets out an exhausted breath. “I just want to make sure you have someone tell you now, while it’s still early on, that you can find healthier alternatives to dealing with whatever is eating you alive.”
I don’t know what to say. So I don’t say anything and just fixate my eyes on the wall behind him, my hands resting on my hips.
“We care about you here, Jeremy. I know things with your sister and dad have been rough for a while.” My eyes shoot to his. “Your agent called to let me know in case you missed any practices. Which would have been understandable. But you didn’t miss a single one. Some people would call that dedication. And at some point in my career, I might have agreed with them. But I know what’s important in life now, much more than I did when I was in the sunrise of my pro career.”
I see his eyes briefly lock onto the lone photo of his daughter that sits on his small conference table.
“It doesn’t make you less dedicated or weak to take time to focus on something that is more important than soccer,” he says. “The truth is – and if you repeat this to anyone, I’ll deny every word – there should be a lot in your life that is more important than what happens on that field.”
That ball in my chest is growing, the pressure enough to make me feel slightly sick. I’ve been an emotional mess over the past six weeks, ever since Charlie picked me up from the station and tried to get me to open up.
I clear my throat. Then clear it again.
“Thanks, Coach. I really do appreciate it. And I know it sounds like I’m bullshitting you, but I really do have things under control.”
He plops a hand on my shoulder and gives me a sad smile, then takes a step back and turns towards his desk.
“I’ll have more info for you later today about the sports league. Make sure to check your email.”
I say my thanks one more time, then hightail it out of the office before he can add anything else.
* * * * *
As horrible as this may sound, there are some perks to having to hire a driver to get around. I should have considered this a long time ago, but always thought it was a bit too self-indulgent. I mean, I’m not David Beckham.
Malory is sitting inside of the already air conditioned SUV when I walk out front. Once I’ve gotten settled in the back, he begins the 45-minute traffic-congested drive to my house. I take the time to flick through my phone and answer a few emails. I’ve lived in SoCal my entire life and I have to say, having a driver handle this traffic while I mess around on my phone is definitely not the worst.
Once we pull into my spot in the underground lot beneath my building, he stays with the car, and I head upstairs. Part of me feels like a prick for essentially hiring someone to sit around and wait for me. But, what am I gonna do? Take the bus?
I chuckle to myself at the thought.
Once I make it inside, I change into my workout gear and hit the building gym for a much-needed chance to get rid of some excess energy. When I get back to my apartment an hour later, tired in the best way, I find a new email alert.
To: Jeremy Jameson <[email protected]>
From: Robert Kilzer <[email protected]>
Subject: Community Service
Jameson,
Patrick Gary is the guy organizing the at-risk youth sports league in Burbank. He’s thrilled to have you help. He asked if you know anyone who can be your second. I figure you could ask one of the guys, but you might have a friend or something you’d rather ask?
Regardless, make sure to contact him in the next day or so. He can give you more info that you can share with your lawyer to make sure it all clears the community service requirements.
And think about what I said. Let me know if I can do anything for you.
Coach
At the bottom is Patrick’s contact info. I immediately give him a call as I grab a water bottle from the fridge.
“Patrick Gary.”
“Hi Patrick, my name is Jeremy Jameson. Coach Kilzer said I should reach out to you about helping with the youth league?” I take a swig of my water and post up at the bar in my kitchen.
“Oh, hey man!” he says, his tone of voice completely changing. “Yeah, thanks for giving me a call. I’m in a real bind, here, and would really appreciate some extra hands.”
“Well I would love to help. So how do I get started?”
“I’ll send you the details so you can forward them to your lawyer,” he says, and I cringe. I mean, we both know why I need to find a way to do community service, but I hate hearing it said out loud. “I’ll also include the practice schedule and curriculum. We do a two-hour weekly practice on Thursday evenings. You start with some physical activity, and tie in some evidence-based curriculum to help share with students why getting involved in athletics can help them long-term. It’s only about 20 minutes of each practice, so don’t worry that I’ll have you reading from a textbook,” he says with a laugh.
“And then you take them into a normal practice. Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know anyone who can help, would you? It’s really a program built to be done in pairs. The other person doesn’t even have to know anything about sports, they just have to be able to act as your assistant. Pass things out, keep track of players, handle the waivers and some of the gear.”
“I’m… well, I haven’t really shared with anyone that I have to do community service, so, I don’t think there’s really anyone…”
But I let my voice trail off.
Maybe there is someone.
Someone who doesn’t know anything about sports but would be great at keeping things organized.
“Actually, I might have someone.”
* * * * *
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on Charlie. I’ve never asked you to do me a favor before.”
“Jeremy, you have got to be joking. First of all, you asked me to pick you up from the police station after your DUI. If I were to categorize that request it would be in the favors category. Second, not only do I know nothing about basketball, I’m incredibly busy with my final semester of college. You remember college? It’s that thing you have to do in order to be a contributing member of society.”
I roll my eyes, thankful she can’t see me through the phone. She is equal parts adorable and exasperating.
“I went to college, Char, I remember.”
“So then, you’ll understand why I’m saying no.”
“Charlie. Please. I’m not ready to share with anyone else what happened, and you’re really the only person apart from my Coach and lawyer and agent who know about it.”
“So ask one of them.”
I laugh. “You’re crazy, you know that right?”
I know she’s cranky at me, but I can hear her smile over the phone when she says, “I’ve always known that.”
I let out a sigh.
“Look, Charlie. I wouldn’t be asking you if I had another option, okay?” Technically, it’s true. “It’s once a week, and if you can’t get things sorted out with work, you can just skip those practices or something. It’s only a 12-week program, so if you have to miss a few, it’s not a big deal.”
There’s silence on the other end.
“Aren’t you the one who just told me I need to start reaching out more and not pushing people away?”
She groans.
“Yeah, well, I meant mostly RJ when I said that. But I’ll sound like a hypocrite if I say no when you’re finally clawing your way out of whatever funk you’ve been in.”
“I’m not clawing my way out of anyth…”
“I’ll do it, Jeremy,” she says, interrupting me and putting a smile on my face. “Just… send me the details or whatever.”
“Thank you, Charlie. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”
“Yeah, well…” and she trails off.
“Check your email tonight, okay?”
“Sounds good.”
“And Charlie?”
“Yeah?”
“Let me know if you need any tutoring on what a basketball court is, okay?”
She huffs and then the call ends.
Maybe that wasn’t the smartest way to wrap things up, but it sure was funny.