Quinton|
ONE HARD KNOCK AND THE GENTLE CALL OF MY NAME yanked my undivided attention from Wentworth Miller. A marathon of his old ESPN compiled games were playing out on replay from my MacBook. Next to that were a tab series of enviable star profiles done by the Bleacher's Report. Stemming from as far back when he was a freshman in high school. One more glance at my screen and the rambling voices of the announcers clawed in to draw back my full attention back to Miller. Altogether making me ignore the knock on my bedroom door.
"The kid is a perfectionist to his offense and how it should be run. Now look at him! Look at that! Whoa!" The game on screen reversed to the last ten seconds at slow motion and the broadcast announcers stared on with open jaws. "Yea baby! Now that's what I'm talking about!" The red necked announcer marveled at the tight end with the number eighty nine Jersey.
And I could see why I almost wanted to celebrate the touch down too and I also wanted a second to ogle at his backside.
"Damn straight," came the other's fierce agreement. "Looking at statistics alone Miller is the best tight in college football. And I'm talking national level, tell me I'm wrong." One of the four announcers claimed with a challenging tone to his four colleagues.
The one in a blue button down agreed. "You're right Mathews. Over the past two years, Miller has had sixty nine receptions, twenty one touchdowns and he never has anything less than five hundred yards in a season. He's a genuine aerial threat, it's clear the kid has established and solidified himself as one of the premier players in the Big Ten and his production for the NFL is only trending upwards. He'll be back next year to serve the Rafters as Captain which will help Miami State compete for a Big 10 Championship."
"Will they win though? With Karim gone it's hopeless. He can't carry the team alone."
"He has Starks and Wilson with him."
"It's still gonna be a hard one." This was said with a finality. "Maybe they'll get a really good recruit for the coming season."
I shifted uncomfortably on my bed, because I knew next season I was transferring out from the LA Timberwolves to the Miami Rafters. My father had made the decision for me in light of all my extracurricular activities. I wasn't particularly looking forward to joining a new tribe and men in jocks could be very brutal. Which is how I'd started gathering up intel on the players. Well, that's how I'd started before Miller's stats and games had me a deep dark web.
"I also hear he's a shoo in for the All American award?" The only one female of the announcers enquired with a pep in her voice.
"He has a perfect three point seven GPA, he's under Coach Whitey and he's basically Karim protege. We can't say this enough Wentworth Miller; the six two, college ball tight end that weights a perfect one hundred and six pounds. Is Miami State's best weapon against Alabama, both in skill and stellar leadership. Period."
As the announcer's voices drew on with admiration for the new Captain. My eyes drew back to the screen; Wentworth was on the charged field maintaining a very impressive zig zag sprint. Dodging opposition players like it was nothing.
"Quinton?" came that gentle voice for me again and the sharp creak of my door opening.
The voice belonged to my brother, I quickly jerked to my feet almost knocking over the Macbook sitting on top of my bed, as if it held in it a dirty little secret. "Yo, what are you doing in here?"
It's not that they weren't allowed in my room, but the entire family was downstairs where I was expecting them to be for a long time. For a week since the good news had been made formal, we had been practically living downstairs celebrating my brother day and night non-stop. With industry professionals, friends and teammates, coaches and teachers alike. Hell, a few family members had even flown from as far as the homeland to join us in celebrating my parent's success.
A decade ago my Father had proclaimed that one day all of his sons would play for the league.
Industry professionals in his heyday mocked him for that ambition, he says that he lost friends who thought it was just his sense of self-importance dreaming. Even today plenty of fans and professionals think and write about how him and mom parent us like tyrants. Neither of them pay respect to bad publicity, instead determination and perseverance are their anthems and their anthems respond to their calls.
Case in point. Four years ago Qauvo our family's firstborn had been drafted; first pick in the league, a week ago history in the NFL was made when our family's second-born Quadir was drafted third pick in the league as well. Two blood brothers drafted in the top three picks during draft week, the sports world was thrown in a loop of excitement, shock and mad conspiracy theories. With that kind of attention on my family from the sports world also came the attacks on my image from sports blogs. Some of which were already into the business of printing out articles of my shortcomings.
Only this time questions and comparison scales of me versus my brothers were being drafted for the world to see. And for example where Miller's production was trending upwards mine was slipping down and rapidly with each new report of my hookups. Being my father's son, an Acosta brother and a star college quarterback, the spotlight was nothing new to me, neither was bad publicity. Not many articles on me fact or fiction moved me, however, that had changed when the profile done on me by the Bleacher's Report brought my father to his knees in prayer. I heard him confide in my mom that seeing my stock value plummeting had moved him to seek religion.
It was his fear that moved me.
Because normally my father was a fearless man.
"Press pause on your gay porn and shower us with attention." Quavo jocked, treating me to a smug smile as he closed the door behind and carefully entered my room with a bounce to his step. He was dressed in his usual off-day uniform; a pair of black joggers, a plain white t-shirt a matching brand hoodie over it. The words Acosta Kings sprawled out in gold across it and our Dad's old jersey number below the name. Next to Quadair they looked like fraternal twins and next to me we all looked like triplets. From our towering heights, football builts, matching off-day wardrobes, shoulder length bleached dreads and similar personalities.
"I don't have to watch porn," I flipped him with an equally smug smile.
Quadir came at me with an anticipated headlock and then we were roughhousing until Quavo the oldest of us tapped out minutes later. "So what are you doing up here by yourself?"
"What's happening my G?" Quadir wore the kindest tone.
I sat back down on my bed and contemplated telling them my frustrations. When I knew deep down I know deep down there was nothing to take them away. My fears and insecurities were my fight to fight and my life shift was my battle to face. Sometimes I'd lay awake at night just staring at the ceiling, listening to the resounding voices in my head. Saying all kinds of things broadcast announcers usually said about me when they were comparing me to my brothers. I'd spent my whole life trying to run away from the feeling that comparison brought. It had been in vain and in the end I'd found a way to bring individuality to myself.
That had been my sexual preference since of my brothers I was the only one who wasn't attracted to women. Initially I thought coming out would stop the comparisons, it had been a childish notion because it did nothing but only fuel the fans and commentators. The first time I'd hooked up with a stranger it had brought me freedom, a marveling sense of self. On and on I did it again until I didn't care about hiding it anymore and until the point where I'd earned myself a reputation that threatened my future and the mission statement of our family. The final pull came when I hooked up with more people than days in a week.
That's when my father pulled the plug and gave me no choice but to let him transfer me from one state to the other.
Quavo sat beside me on the bed and started to speak when I didn't reply. "So listen, what I'm about to tell is top secret. Not even mom knows." He rose his eyebrows.
"Oh phucking hell, Dad's gonna kill you. You knocked someone up?" Quadir lamented.
"What? No. Its.... listen. My last year in college Dad almost transferred me to Miami."
"You?" Quadir and I echoed each other.
"Yes, he thought girls were distracting me far too much he also wasn't wrong. I was juggling four baddies, football, school and academics. And we all know you can only serve one master so on a whim when the pressure was too much I bought a ticket to Miami."
"No way."
He gave a lopsided grin, "Sure did, I flew out there to a game. I even spied a little on the players and in the end thanks to that quiet time I decided to clean up my baddie roaster and give priority to what really mattered. Look at me now I got that league position, I got my degree and I still jersey chasers. Fun fact they get even better they higher you go."
"Do they?" Someone in the room wondered out loud.
"Yup. So my point is I know of know what you're going through. You can talk to me, talk to us."
More than anything I wanted to be honest with him, with both of them. I was afraid to though, I feared that if I did then they wouldn't think highly of me. Quadir had a girl he'd been dating since they were seventeen, Of all his jokes about baddies and jersey chasers that, Quavo had one girl he always went back to. I had nothing, no friends, no teammates to have my back off the field. I also had no morals of that sort and I didn't want to rock the boat any longer.
My brothers were the world to me, they believed in me even in times when I was less of. They had high hopes for me everything they wanted me to be was everything I was dying to be. Yet everything I really was, was all I didn't want to be.
Just then our sixteen year old sister swooshed in the room without knocking, "mom said to come get you, all men are outside chasing a ball and we all know how much y'all love that." she rolled her eyes then pivoted with sass and banged the door shut on her way out.
We all laughed as we got up anyway.
On our way out Quadir flipped my laptop to open, "Ah football porn?"
"Grow up."
[unedited]
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