I sat on the stool at the island in my kitchen and sighed. "What the hell am I going to do now, Butkus?" I asked my black Labrador. He didn't twitch a muscle. He was more than content to rest. Why couldn't I be that happy doing nothing?
I chugged my large glass of water, as I did every morning to jump start my body, and only then allowed myself to have my first cup of coffee in ages. When I worked my butt off to stay in top shape, I didn't drink caffeine, alcohol, well--anything other than water. I didn't have to do that anymore. I was retired.
What a strange word. Retired. I was thirty-five years old, and I had no job for the first time since I was a kid. Football was always my job. Ever since I could pick up a ball, I was the quarterback.
High school hero, College superstar, professional football future hall of famer, I worked my butt off to be the best. All. The. Time. All that was gone. I was just another retired star. The brightness of my stardom would probably fade as quickly as anyone else's.
The wear and tear of 14 years of professional football had taken its toll on my knees. I could hardly get out of bed in the morning, let alone run anymore. When 300-pound linemen were chasing me down and tackling me from behind, I knew it was coming to the end of my time. My team of doctors did everything they could to keep me in the league for the last three years of my career and it was hell. I couldn't take the constant pain any longer. I had to hang up my spikes.
The television caught my attention when I heard my name. I looked at the too large screen playing in the family room and the top story on the morning show was my replacement's first day at training camp. He was a good kid, coming from a good family and a football factory college program. My team was in good hands with him, but I hated to give him the job.
I sipped the hot and bitter beverage and moaned. I missed coffee. Coffee got me through late night studying sessions in college and then after I was drafted first overall pick by the Chicago Turtles. I stopped drinking it when I became obsessed with what I was putting into my body. I wanted to be in peak physical condition and no stimulants crossed my lips.
"Johnny Martin left a big hole in offense for the Turtles this year." Said the cute blonde as she gave her analysis. "Ken Monroe has some big shoes to fill, and he had this to say."
I sighed and clicked off the TV. I didn't want to hear the platitudes. Ken would say the usual stuff.
"Johnny was an all-time great and I just hope to be half the player he was."
"The Turtles have a great team and I'm glad to be a part of it."
"We're gonna play one game at a blah, blah, blah."
I knew the lines well. I used them too.
"Hey, Johnny," my personal assistant Kendall said when she burst into the room.
"What's up Ken doll."
She groaned. She hated my nickname for her. "You're just one of the peons now, buddy. Call me Ken doll again and I'll quit and make you train someone new."
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Won't happen again."
The last thing I needed was a new assistant. She'd been with me for five years, and it took three of those to get her where I needed her. I didn't mind the sarcastic wit in which she bantered with me. I enjoyed the verbal sparring we would have together; it kept me grounded.
She
kept me grounded.
She looked at my hand and raised an eyebrow, "Is that coffee?"
I nodded. A beautiful smile creased her oval face. Kendall was gorgeous. She had lovely auburn hair which had sun-kissed streaks of blonde highlighting it naturally. No doubt some women would pay good money to have that done artificially.
"Wow! Will miracles ever cease?" she chirped.
I laughed. "I fought living a normal life all spring and summer. It finally hit home last night that I was really done. So, I gave in and decided to expand my diet."
It was a rough night. I drank half a bottle of Pappy Van Winkel and would have kept going if I hadn't passed out. To say I was depressed might have been a stretch, but I was sadder than hell, I can tell you that.
She looked at me with an odd expression I'd never seen before. I hope it wasn't pity.
"Anyway," she chirped as she poured a cup of coffee for herself. "NBC is all over me to get you in there for a screen test."
That made it my turn to groan. "No way. I'm not going to do broadcasting right now. I'll do interviews and guest hits, but I don't want to be that close to the game for a while."
"I understand. I'll tell them to give you a year and we can revisit it next summer."
"Thanks, Ken...dall."
She glared at me but broke it with a smile.
"Knock, knock," came the sing song voice of my girlfriend opening my back door. The sound of her ridiculous and too high heels clicked along my wood floor towards us.
"Good morning, Anya," I smiled, as she gave me that stupid double cheek air kiss thing. God! I hated that pretentious shit.
"Hi, honey, hi, Carol," she sang.
"Kendall," I said correcting her, as Kendall spun away to avoid saying something inappropriate. I knew Kendall hated her. She thought Anya was fake. She wasn't wrong either. Anya had her own little Instagram famous world in which she shared every detail of her life.
I met her at a club, a year before, and within a week she was never too far from my side. She parlayed dating me into a storm of Instagram posts that would make a Kardashian's head spin. Before I knew what was happening, she had made a small fortune from clothing and jewelry companies. At first I felt used, but Kendall told me that if she had her own money, she wouldn't be after mine. That made me feel only slightly better.
"Whatever," Anya sighed. "What are we doing today?"
"I was going to watch Sports Central this morning. Later, I think I have some interviews. Kendall?"
"10:05, 11:30, 1:20, and 4:40. The producers for each show will call you on your office line. I have a breakdown of each host and how rough they've been on you over the years."
I laughed and thanked her. "Sorry, Anya. I'll be tied up with interviews all day."
"Whatevs!" She cheerily shrugged. "Let's go out to dinner tonight?"
"Okay. You make the reservation..." she started clapping, "...somewhere lowkey. I don't want a circus."
"Of course, baby. See you later."
She bounced out the back door and I flopped onto the couch. Kendall laughed, "You're such an ass. When are you going to cut that girl loose and find someone your mom will approve of?"
"Hey," I chided, "show a little respect for my girlfriend, will ya? You know I can fire you."
She laughed at me. "You can't fire me. You'd be lost without me. And screw her. She knows my name and I know hers. It's fucking Anna. Not
An-ya
."
I shook my head. Who cared if Anya changed her name? I didn't care because she made me happy. Well, most of the time anyway.
She was a stunning bleached blond with long legs that squeezed the hell out of me when she orgasmed. She had a model's beauty and after I found her in that club, she took every opportunity that flew her way. She became quite famous in her own right.
It was true my mom didn't like her. I didn't know why; I guessed some people just rubbed each other the wrong way.
*****
A month later, I was already bored out of my mind. The season was going to start in another month, and I'd been doing a lot of interviews, but they were slowing down. At that point, I wasn't even doing one a day. Kendall had my calendar organized to the extreme, and I started playing video games to bide my time.
I walked into the kitchen one morning and saw an issue of a fantasy football magazine on the counter. Kendall must have been reading it. I picked it up and read through the rankings. It surprised me that they weren't that bad. I'd always thought of that stuff as a joke, but I realized I never looked that hard into it. I couldn't play fantasy football when I was a player as the league considered it gambling.
I sat in my recliner and downloaded some apps. Before I knew it, several hours had passed and Kendall was leaving for the day.
"Have you seen my..." I tossed her the magazine and she smirked. "Gonna play this year?"
"Maybe. I was looking at some apps and I'm thinking about it."
"You should. I'd invite you to my big money league, but we're at max teams already."
"Big money?" I smirked.
"Big money for us, Mr. Millionaire. It's a $500 entry. That's not pocket money for us common folk."
"Come on, Kendall. You know I'm not like that."
She nodded and smiled. "Yeah, I know. I wouldn't work for you if you were."
She left and I decided to do something I never did; I went out for a beer.
It was strange for me. All my friends were on the team and my only other so-called friend was my agent. He lived in California, so I was on my own to go out.
I drank so little in public; I didn't know where to go. I decided to drive around and stop at the first bar I saw. It was a little dive bar called, "The Gym." I smiled at the clever name. I could envision a beer-bellied middle-aged guy telling his wife, "Hey, honey, I'm going to the gym after work today." I was easily amused.
I walked in and I was glad it was dark. I wasn't in any kind of a disguise, but on a Wednesday night, I didn't expect it to be too busy. I hoped I wouldn't be recognized too often.
I couldn't walk in a crowded mall or store without a mob of people approaching me. Restaurants were hit and miss. I think a lot of people didn't want to bother someone when they ate. Lately, Anya was posting when we were out somewhere, and a crowd would show up before we left. It drove me crazy.
I found a booth in the back that had a view of a baseball game and waitress service. It wasn't bad inside. There was plenty of room to hide away.
"What can I get you, honey?" the well-worn older woman in way too short of a skirt asked.
"Lite beer and do you have wings?"
"Best damn wings in the state."
I laughed and said, "Okay, give me an order of wings."
"What kind of sauce?" she asked looking away at someone else.
"Hot?" I asked.
"Ranch or bleu cheese dressing."
"Bleu cheese."
She walked away and I looked around. There were only a handful of people in the place. A couple of guys at the bar, and two couples sitting at tables. I smiled when I saw the dartboards in the corner. I loved playing darts when I was in college. I never had time to play once I made the league.
"Here you go, honey," she said as she put a pitcher of beer and a glass on the table.
"A pitcher?" I asked confused.
"Pitchers are five bucks on Wednesdays. A bottle or draft is three bucks. You don't have to drink it all."
She walked away as if it made the most sense in the world. I suppose it did. If I drank two beers I was ahead, but more importantly, she wouldn't have to walk over to my table as often. It was presumptuous of her though.
