CHAPTER 16 Tanner Banks
Refreshed and Ready for Game Day
It’s been a shitty training camp as I worked my ass off to get my head in the game, but our first game of the season is tomorrow, and I think I finally pieced together why that night affected me the way it did.
It was her .
She was genuine that night, and she seemed like the first person I’d met in a long time who didn’t just tell me what they thought I wanted to hear.
Everybody always just tells me what I want to hear.
Except coaches. They almost never tell me what I want to hear.
She didn’t acknowledge me at practice when I saw her that day, and the thought crossed my mind that maybe she didn’t know who I was. Of course she did, though. She asked me if I was a football player. She had to know who I was. She must’ve just been distracted by the kids I didn’t know she had.
Who the fuck knows?
All I know is that tomorrow is our first game, and I need my focus back .
We’re at the hotel our team will stay at the night before every home game this season, and I’m shooting the shit with a few of the offensive linemen in a room a few down from my own when Miller walks in.
He tips his head at me in that silent way that says he wants to talk to me, and I finish up my conversation with these men before I excuse myself. We head a few doors down to his room, and I sit on the office chair.
I raise my brows and nod at him to say whatever it is he wants to say. He holds his hand out for our secret handshake.
I slap his hand, slap backward, grab his hand and shake, fist bump, and then I stand for a hug.
“We did it, man,” he says as he pounds me on the back.
I pound him back, and I pull apart from him. “Season seven, dude. San Di-fucking-ego. Can you believe it?”
“San Di-fucking-ego?” he echoes, and he laughs as I slug him in the arm.
“Not bad having the beach out the window and salt in the air on the way to work, am I right?”
“No lie,” he says. “You doing okay?”
I shrug. “Yeah, man. I’m fine.”
“You know you can’t hide it from me, right?”
I sit back on the chair, knowing full well he’s not going to let me out of here without getting the truth out of me.
“Fine. A few weeks ago at one of the practices that was open to the public…I saw the woman I met that night in Vegas.”
His jaw slackens. “The one that’s got you all fucked up?”
I nod slowly and press my lips together. I haven’t mentioned it because it felt like giving voice to it would only give it the attention it doesn’t deserve.
“Yeah. And she had two kids with her. They looked just like her, and she left them out of the conversation the night we met. So…” I trail off. I’m not really su re where to go with that.
So it feels like she lied the way everyone else always lies to me. But did she? Is leaving her personal life out of it really that big of a deal?
“Anyway,” I say, dodging the questions I know are coming, “I think I’m just stuck on it because she’s the last girl I had sex with, you know? Rookie camp started, and then we were back on the field, and we’re new to town, so I’m trying to build bonds with our teammates, and I just haven’t had time.”
“I get it. Neither have I,” he admits.
“Yeah, but yours is a conscious decision,” I point out.
He rolls his eyes. “Is it, though?”
“Dude, we all know you’ve been in love since you were fourteen.”
He sighs, and he diverts the conversation back to me as he chooses to ignore the jab. “What are you going to do?”
I shake my head and blow out a long breath. “I’m going to let it go.”
“Because that’s worked so well for you over the last month and a half,” he points out.
“Fuck off with that.” I glare at him.
He holds up both hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, not really sounding all that sorry. “Just show up tomorrow, okay? It’s our chance to show this city what we’re made of.”
I nod. “I know. I’ll be there. Guaranteed. We’re in season now, and that’s the only thing that matters.”
I stick to that. I say goodnight and head to my own room. I take a shower, jerk off, and clear my mind. It’s all part of my night-before-the-game ritual, a way to relax myself before bed.
It does the trick. I get a full nine hours of rest, and I wake refreshed and ready for game day.
I chug a BODYARMOR sports drink in my favorite tropical punch flavor as soon as I get out of bed, and I order breakfast to my room. While I wait, I do some light yoga to get my body warmed up and my mind centered. Once my eggs and Greek yogurt arrive, I spend the next hour eating and reviewing film Coach sent me to ensure I’m ready for what the defensive line is going to bring against us today.
I feel focused. I feel dialed in and ready.
I get on the team bus that will take us to the stadium, and I sit in silence next to my brother. We head our separate directions once we get to the stadium to talk to our position coaches about last-minute adjustments and to review game plans, and then we hit the field for warm-ups.
It’s all going so well. Too well.
I’m listening to my pregame playlist, jamming the fuck out to Metallica as usual, this time to “Battery,” and then the song switches and Fall Out Boy’s “Centuries” blasts into my ears.
A chill runs down my spine as this sense of impending doom washes over me.
I immediately switch the song, and I make a mental note to take it off my playlist.
It’s a great song, but there are too many emotions tied up in it, and right now I’m working hard to keep those emotions in check. The only emotions allowed on this field are game-related. The rest get put in a little box that I’ll deal with later. Or never.
We head to the locker room, and we change into our uniforms. I pull my jersey on over my pads, and I stare quietly into my locker as I take a second to meditate, just like a lot of guys are quietly doing as we prepare for the game.
First, visualization.
I visualize my distractions, and then I force myself to let them go so that I can be present and grounded. I imagine myself throwing the ball down the field as it sails into the arms of a receiver. I imagine the perfect handoff to a running back—always my brother in these visualizations since he’s one of the greats .
Next, affirmation and purpose.
You are ready. You are focused. You are a winner. San Diego is your home. The goal is to win and to make this new home proud.
Finally, gratitude.
I’m thankful I get to play for the San Diego Storm.
I’m ready. Coach Dell calls us to gather, and he gives us some motivating words.
“Every play counts. Get out there and do your job. You’ve worked hard over the last few weeks, and I know what you’re capable of. Get out on that field and prove it.” And then he asks, “Does anyone else have anything to say?”
As the new team leader and captain, I glance around the room and find myself speaking up. “We’re a new team with a new mission, men. Let’s believe in each other and execute. Let’s make this town proud, and let’s get the fuck out there and leave everything we have on the field.” I stick my hand out toward the middle of the group, and my teammates gather around and do the same until we’re huddled. “Let’s fucking go.”
I’m met with a resounding, “Let’s fucking go!” from my teammates, and we all grab our helmets and head toward the tunnel where we’ll head onto the field as we’re announced.
Adrenaline courses through me as we hear the pre-introduction show start up on the public address system. I haven’t actually seen it, but I remember posing for videos with my arms crossed over my chest as the cameraperson told me to give my fiercest, most intense glare to the camera as if it were for our opponent, so I assume I’ll be up there at some point.
We hear, “Ladies and gentlemen, your San Diego Storm!”
The line starts to move—first the mascot, which is a big bear carrying a lightning bolt, then the flag runners, and then the players. I’m at the back of the line since I’ll run out last, but this team doesn’t do individual player announcements.
Still, the crowd is going wild as I make my way out onto the field, through the tunnel the cheerleaders are making with their pompoms, and toward the sidelines, where the coaches are already in game mode and making more adjustments to the plan.
I wave to the fans. My mom and my stepdad are here somewhere. She texted me to let me know they were coming, and I replied that I needed to focus on the game and wasn’t ready to discuss our issues.
My biological father might be here, too, since three of his sons play for this team now.
I wonder if Cassie is here with her kids, and I immediately berate myself for allowing those thoughts to make their way in. I thought I locked those up and let them go this morning, and it would serve me better if I had.
I take my spot on the sidelines beside Coach Dell, and then we wait. I’m pumped as adrenaline floods me. I’m ready to take on the Cowboys.
We win the coin toss, and we choose to receive first. The Cowboys kick off to us, and we take it to the thirty-yard line, which is where I’ll go to work.
This is it.
Preseason games are over. This isn’t just practice. This isn’t me taking a few snaps and warming the bench to preserve my health and give the rest of the players a chance to show what they’re made of.
I get to lead every offensive play for this game. I get to head out onto that field and do the thing I was born to do.
I get to prove to this city that I’m worth the money the Storm shelled out for me.
I’m one lucky guy, and I know that.
Not many people get to achieve their dreams, and my dream was to play professional football. Here I am, standing on the sideline with the rest of my teammates, all of us ready to take the field and play the game that we have a shared love and passion for.
It doesn’t get much better than this.
I draw in a deep breath as I glance at my brother, and then together we jog out to our places on the field—just like we’ve done every single time we’ve taken the field together.
We head to the thirty-yard line where we’ll start. Everyone on this field knows our first play, but I call it anyway as the offense gathers in a loose formation to give our opponents less time to prepare.
As it turns out, though, a tight formation might’ve prevented what comes next. Any different formation might’ve prevented it.
But we went with loose, and it fucked everything up.
Everything.