A Victory Road Chip: ‘It Should Have Been You, but It Wasn’t, and That’s Okay’

(Image created by Ryan Beckler)

Editor’s note: It has become tradition that every summer when the Eagles report for training camp, we write a column. Sometimes the column will be analytical in nature, and in other instances, we take a more metaphorical angle to examine the state of the franchise. The columns from 2014, 2015, 2016, and 2017 can be found at their respective links. Last year set the bar high, but we believe we topped it with this year’s edition. Either way, your readership means the world to us, and we hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1: Give It To Me Straight, Doc

You can feel your heart rate ramping up as you anxiously pace around, quickly pausing to pray for good news. That magical late July feeling full of hope, anxiety, optimism, and stress is here again.

“Alright, Doc, give it to me straight,” you say.

You’re not in a doctor’s office though, far from it. You’re outside in South Philadelphia as the bright midday sun beats down on your back. You can see Lincoln Financial Field in the distance as the Super Bowl Champions banner hangs in the background, but the Linc isn’t the start of this year’s road trip.

You snap out of your longing gaze at the stadium and refocus.

“She’ll run,” the mechanic says turning to you. “Where you headed again?”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “LA,” you say with a tint of excitement in your voice upon hearing that Doc thinks you’ll be alright.

This trip to visit Chip is going to be longer than the 24 hour one to Bristol that you did last summer. You’ll be on your own but not truly alone. The journey there will be devoid of humans, but you’ll have the Lombardi Trophy to keep you company.

For the first time in your life, it’s yours. No one can take it away from you, and to protect it, you’re relying on your old Ford Mustang that got you through so many long drives in the past.

The trophy sits on the front dashboard as Doc examines the car.

It’s been about 22 months since it’s been driven, but you were lucky enough to track it down in a shop. It’s not incredibly surprising that no one bought it. There was a ton of mileage on it, and the Mustang’s been through its fair share of fender benders, but it was once your baby, and for a week, it will be yours again accompanying you on one of your most important journeys.

You told the shop you wanted their best mechanic getting it ready, and that’s what has brought you here with Doc. This is your first time meeting, but it feels like you know each other well.

Doc rolls out from under the car. “Oh yeah,” he says. “You’ll be just fine. Don’t push her too hard, and make sure to get gas early even if it looks like you have a lot left. Call me during the trip if you encounter any problems, and I’ll talk you through what to do, but she’s ready.”

“Man, thanks a lot, Doc,” you say back. “I’m so pumped to take her out again. Another car just wouldn’t be the same.”

Doc shoots you back a smile as he tosses you the keys.

“Hey,” you say while extending your hands to reel in the keys. There’s this magical feeling as they fall comfortably into your hands. “Why do people call you Doc anyway?” you say. “Whoever answered the phone told me to when I found out you’d be the one working on the Mustang, but they didn’t say why.”

Doc gets a bit emotional, not the reaction you were expecting from a guy who has been all business in your brief time together.

Fighting back tears he says, “Best pitcher on my Beer League Baseball team. Roy Halladay was my hero. Everyone on the team calls me Doc.”

“That’s awesome,” you say back.

The Mustang’s ready. As red and shiny as you remembered it. You thought about painting it green for the Eagles but didn’t want it to lose its roots. A ‘Super Bowl Champions’ flag hangs on the top of the trunk. The one other difference is a new license plate. The new one reads as follows:

ATL-1410–2624

You’ll explain later on. Doc gives you a firm handshake right before you hop in the driver’s seat.

“Good luck, kid,” Doc says to you. “Eat some good food.”

You smile and nod not thinking much of his comment. That’s not why you’re going, but it will naturally be something that happens at some point. You were a bit vague with Doc, simply telling him that you were ‘going to visit an old friend.’

“Thanks again, Doc” you say, lowering your window to make sure he hears you. For the first time, Doc notices the trophy sitting atop your dashboard.

His eyes light up.

“Go Birds!” he says. “Love the Phillies, but the Eagles are my baby.”

You feel like you and Doc are the same person except he’s good at fixing cars and you’re good at making football predictions.

“Go Birds!” you say back while backing out of the shop onto the street.

As good of a way as any to begin an 80+ hour trip, you think, as you drive off.

Chapter 2: Alone But Not Lonely

You merge from I-76-W onto I-70-W — the road you’ll be on for quite some time. It begins to rain. The Mustang is running well where the weather does not cause any major problems but remains a slight annoyance as you settle into the early leg of your trick.

Things are good. You’re a world champion and the trophy to prove it sits a mere arm’s length away. You’re happy, but you also miss your crew from last year’s trip.

The crew that helped deliver the city its first Super Bowl.

LeGarrette is in Detroit now. Nick wanted to spend a few extra days with Tori and Lily before camp. Carson just got married. Doug cited a short offseason and wanting to watch some film on his own and work on his golf game before camp starts in five days.

You read that correctly. Five days. Unlike last year, this isn’t training camp eve. You decided to start this year’s trip a little earlier as driving to the west coast will take some time. You’re also planning a few pit stops along the way.

This is supposed to be a victory tour after all.

You’ve been doing a lot of thinking that this might be the last summer road trip to see Chip. He won’t care about that. He doesn’t even know you’re officially coming, but can he really be surprised at this point?

You’re excited about getting to see the west coast again, but it’s also exhausting. There’s so much to get done before camp starts, before the season is nigh, before you have to be on top of your game to defend your title. You’re not sure how there will be time to do it all, but you’ll figure it out, you always do.

People were surprised when they found out you were going all that way on your own, but it’s never bothered you. You like the peace and serenity of doing things by yourself at times, and if it ever does feel a bit too solitary, you have the trophy by your side.

The trophy won’t talk back to you, but it’s one of the most powerful inanimate objects you could have thought to bring. It reminds you that even when we’re not around others, we’re all bound by what you and your crew accomplished last season.

Even when you’re driving through the West Virginia and Ohio rain on the way to see a former lover that a lot of your friends hate, the Eagles bring you together.

Chapter 3: A South Dakota Detour

The east coast rain has been replaced with the dry air of the midwest as you navigate Indiana and the beginning of Illinois.

Aside from a few rest areas for food, you haven’t made any elongated stops yet. You’re nervous about how long it may take to get there as you still have approximately 28 hours to go, but your head is in a much better place than two years ago when you embarked on the cross-country journey to see Chip in San Francisco.

No nervously rehearsing lines this time. No accidentally telling random fast food employees that you’re breaking up with them.

Upon entering Illinois, the GPS instructed you to head slightly south and follow the signs for St. Louis, but you have other ideas.

You pull over and take out your phone. The number you call rings a few times before going to voicemail. Damn it.

“Cars!” you say, talking loudly into phone to make sure passing vehicles don’t drown out your voice. “It’s me. I’m on my annual road trip and was thinking maybe I’d stop by North Dakota and come see you. Check in before camp and all. Hit me back when you get the message.”

You reprogram the GPS and head for North Dakota. Some of the area looks familiar from when Doug drove you back two years ago from San Francisco, but you don’t entirely know where you’re going outside of occasional computerized directions.

You expect Carson to call back in a bit, but it’s taking longer than you thought. You’re also tired having now been on the road for a full day without sleep.

While hopefully waiting for Carson to get back to you, you call a slight audible and head for Mount Rushmore in South Dakota. You can do something fun and are still close enough to head north when he sees your voicemail. You need to sleep, but getting out of the driver’s seat of the car and on your feet will help in the interim.

The area is beautiful, and with the time change, the sun won’t set for quite a few hours. You hit the Presidential Trail and get as close as you can to seeing the behemoth sculpture that is often mentioned in history books and tourism sites.

You and nature in mid-July with nothing to worry about. An eagle is even spotted flying above the four faces. Talk about symbolism.

For an hour or so, there’s no enemies on Twitter to respond to, no texts, no emails, nothing to do but take in the scene. The anxiety of opening night and defending your crown is temporarily gone.

It will return of course. You wouldn’t have it any other way. Without depth charts, position battles, haters, opponents, games to worry about, there’s no joy. There’s no being right about Nick Foles. There’s no Super Bowl. No parade.

We invest the time, nerves, money, and energy for the ultimate payoff knowing we very well may not get it, but when we do like last season, it’s an otherworldly experience.

You soak in one last look and begin to make your way back to the parking lot. Phone service returns while looking for the Mustang. Still nothing from Carson.

You unhide the trophy from the backseat and return it to its rightful place on the dashboard. “I missed you,” you say to it, knowing very well it can’t respond, but that’s okay.

You smile at it anyway as you start the car and begin driving again.

Chapter 4: “Kid, I’m sorry, but you need to come home.”

Something doesn’t sound quite right as you pull out of the parking lot. The engine makes a slight whimpering sound every time you hit the gas pedal.

You drive another half mile or so. For a few minutes, the Mustang seems mostly functional as the sound has subsided, but coming out of a traffic light, it returns as you slowly ease your foot off the pedal. You can feel your body tightening up with the nerves this has brought on.

You can get by in calm South Dakota where everyone is driving the speed limit, but this won’t get you all the way to Los Angeles and back.

You can feel yourself beginning to doze off as it’s now been 27 hours without sleep. The sky is now mostly dark, and you decide to call it a night, driving about another 20 minutes and pulling into the first hotel you see.

The front desk goes over some amenities that they offer, but you’re not interested. You get to your room where it’s quiet and pull out your phone as quickly as possible.

‘Please answer. Please answer,’ you think to yourself.

The cell service wasn’t particularly strong to begin with, and the muddled voice sounds surprised and tired.

“Hello,” you hear on the other end.

“Doc! “Thank god,” you say. “Look Doc, I’m sorry to call you so late, but the Mustang started acting up in South Dakota, and I wan…’

Doc cuts you off. “South Dakota?” he asks. “That’s pretty far from Louisiana. How the hell did you end up in South Dakota?”

The most important thing is answering Doc’s main question, but you are also now confused.

“Louisiana?” you ask? “Doc, when did I say anything about Louisiana?”

He cuts you off again.

“Kid, I asked where you were going, and you said ‘LA.’ I assumed you were going to Louisiana when I heard that. That’s why I told you to eat some good food. Cajun food is my favorite.”

Your left arm shakes as you try to maintain your grip with the phone in your right one.

“Oh man, Doc no,” you say. “I’m going to Los Angeles. I assumed that was implied when I said LA, but I guess I can see how that might create some confusion. But yeah, Los Angeles, California. The car was fine until a few hours ago, but…”

“Kid, had I known that, I would have never sent you off,” Doc says. “She’s in no condition to survive a cross-country trip there and back. Sure a small trip here and there down south or to the midwest is alright, but you’re looking at well over 5,000 miles. That’s way too much.”

You don’t respond initially, still in shock about how this miscommunication possibly happened. Doc continues.

“Kid, I’m sorry, but you need to come home,” Doc says. “To be honest, I’m not even sure that is safe, but you cannot take her all the way to LA. If I told you it was remotely safe, I wouldn’t be doing my job.”

This is not what you expected merely a few hours ago while staring at Mount Rushmore with nary a worry in the world, but you stay as calm as possible.

“Doc,” you say. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. Look, when I’m back, I could explain the importance a lot better in-person over a beer, but I have to get to California. I have to.”

There’s a sigh followed by a few seconds of silence. One of three things happened. Either Doc hung up on you, cell service went out, or he’s trying to figure out how to respond without figuratively ripping your head off.

“Okay,” he says. You take a deep breath.

“Look,” Doc says. “I can tell whoever you’re going to see that it’s important to you.”

Doc didn’t come to a complete stop, but you interject.

“Yes.”

“You need to be incredibly careful,” Doc says. “Slow up at times even if it takes you a bit longer. Give her some breaks after long stretches on the way.”

“You got it,” you say.

Doc isn’t finished.

“Whatever you do, no detours. No extra stops,” Doc says. “Anything else and you’re really pushing it.”

You can tell Doc wants to go back to sleep and don’t want to take up more of his time.

“Oh kid, one more thing. “As soon as you get back, you need to bring her back to me. Every extra minute you’re in that car becomes that much riskier that something could go wrong.”

“Can’t thank you enough, Doc” you say.

You fall asleep so quickly that you don’t even remove your shoes. That was perhaps the most interesting day you’ve had in road trip history, and you’re still at least a day away from actually seeing Chip.

Chapter 5: Waking Up In Vegas

If the previous leg of the trip was adventurous, this one is about as mundane as things can get.

It’s a pretty boring day through parts of Wyoming and Utah. You flip on the radio hoping to find some sports talk somewhere but end up disappointed. You’re a far ways away from WIP.

You’re also a little concerned that Carson hasn’t called you back. It’s been over a day now and while you moved on from the idea of stopping to see him, you’d still like to touch base over the phone at some point.

The Mustang is mostly running smooth at least.

Signs begin to appear for Nevada, and you know what that means. You’ve never been to Vegas before and always wanted to check it out. You tell yourself that it will only set you back a few hours.

The internal conflict in your brain flashes back and forth between the two options. On one hand, you’ve always wanted to see Vegas, and it’s right there. On the other, Doc sounded serious when he said no detours.

Feeling straight out of a Robert Frost poem, you reach a literal fork in the road. You come to a stop that feels like an eternity.

Maybe it was. A car comes up behind you and blares their horn as you’re sitting there frozen in time. Without thinking, you go right.

Vegas it is.

You justify your decision by remembering that Doc did say to give the Mustang some breaks at times. A night stored safely in a Vegas hotel lot won’t hurt.

You park and say a quick prayer that it will start up okay in the morning. The trophy comes with you as you hit the Vegas Strip, popping into a casino and finding the nearest Blackjack table.

You receive some weird stares as you sit down at the table with the trophy.

“It’s a confidence thing you say,” to the table mate on the left after you win your first hand. “Makes me play more aggressively.”

The table is a focused bunch but also friendly once you prove you belong.

“You look familiar,” says a man directly across from you as the dealer sets up another hand. “You play here before?”

You shake your head no.

“You on Twitter?” he asks.

“Better believe it,” you shoot back.

“Were you the guy who always said Nick Foles was good even before last season?” the guy says back as you tell the dealer you’ll hit.

In what has become the line of the hour, you respond back again “Better believe it.”

The dealer flips you a nine to go with your 12. Bang. 21. It’s your night.

As more chips are pushed your way, the gentlemen who recognized you comes over to shake your hand.

“Man, good for you,” he says. “Way to stand your ground about what you believe in. I got so much respect for that and for you.”

You guys exchange a hug, and you then point the trophy at him as a sign of acknowledgement while eyeing your chips. $500. That will pay for a decent amount of your gas on the way back.

You begin to pack up your chips while receiving another weird look from a few people at the table who stock up on more drinks. They’re surprised you’re leaving so soon.

“Folks, I’d love to stay, but I’m off to LA early in the morning to see an old friend. Gotta get my rest in.”

(Image created by Ryan Beckler)

Chapter 6: Big Man On Campus

You awake after a few hours of sleep excited to get your day going early so you can maximize your time with Chip, assuming he’s in a good mood and wants to spend time with you that is.

This year there’s no wild goose chase to find him like the classic one last summer that sent you knocking on his mother’s door in New Hampshire. You know he’ll be at UCLA. That part is easy.

There’s something different about doing this trip after achieving your ultimate dream though. A half decade ago, you always imagined that you and Chip would lift the Lombardi Trophy together. You don’t exactly know how you’ll go about talking to him from the initial greeting to conversation topics, but you’ll figure it out when the time comes. You’ve gotten good at that.

You pass a sign welcoming you to California. It’s been almost three days with some surprises along the way, but you’re almost there.

Doc shoots you a text to check in on the Mustang.

“LA traffic is terrible, but she’s running well,” you respond back.

You begin seeing signs for the Wasserman Football Center a few minutes before noon and pull up to a security guard sitting in one of those fancy glass booths.

You’re confident, ready to go.

“I’m here to see Chip,” you say. You can tell the guard is a bit skeptical at first. “Old friend. We used to work together.”

The guard stands up and surveys your car.

“Used to work together, eh?” he asks. “You seem a bit young for that.”

Without saying anything, you point to the Eagles flag and hold up the trophy.

“Alright,” the guard says while pressing the button to lift the gate to let your car through. “Follow the signs for visitor parking. Chip’s office is second floor, ninth door on the right.”

You give the guard a head nod and take your foot off the brake. The whimpering sound is back, and the Mustang is slow to move at first. Maybe you spoke too soon with your response to Doc.

‘Not now, not now,’ you think to yourself.

“Sir, is there a problem?” the guard asks.

“No problem,” you nervously say back praying that will actually be the case. Slowly but surely, it moves. Phew.

You park and head for Chip’s office, wondering if you should shoot Doc a quick update. ‘Nah,’ you figure. ‘She’ll be alright, just needs a bit of a break.’

The trophy is tucked away under your right arm as you walk at a swift pace to avoid any weird stares or drawing attention to yourself that would have you potentially stopped again. The building is nice. Photos of Troy Aikman, Maurice Jones-Drew, Jonathan Ogden, and other UCLA greats plaster the walls as you carefully count the doors.

It’s not the NFL, but it’s nice being back on a college campus as opposed to a studio like last year’s trip.

You reach the door. Here we go as you knock with your left hand, right arm still securing the trophy as tight as possible.

There’s movement. That’s a good sign. The door swings open.

‘Keep eye contact, keep eye contact’ you think to yourself.

Much like the past two summers, you and Chip are now standing face to face a few feet away. He has on a blue and yellow UCLA polo shirt and is holding one of those clickers that coaches use to watch film.

“Really?” Chip says in an annoyed voice.

That wasn’t the exact start you were hoping for, but these things never begin well. You convince yourself that it will get better.

“I just can’t get away from you, can I?” Chip asks. It was likely a rhetorical question, but you start moving your lips to answer.

In classic Chip fashion, he interrupts you before you can get a word in. “I take a job nearly 6,000 fucking miles away and here you are again.”

Chip turns around and takes a step back into his office. He doesn’t invite you in, but he also doesn’t slam the door in your face or tell his Alexa to call security like he initially did last summer.

You take a step into the office too. It’s spacious. You can see some palm trees outside. Very LA. It feels like it’s on you to break the silence considering you haven’t talked yet, so you give it your best shot.

“Of course I’m here, Chip,” you say. “Are you really surprised? I told you last summer that I knew ESPN was going to be a one year gig for you, and that I was coming to whatever job you ended up at.”

Chip doesn’t respond at first but has turned his attention back to the large TV screen. You immediately recognize the game. He’s re-watching the Cactus Bowl from last December.

“Nice office, Chip” you say, just as he starts up another play. It seemed like a standard compliment, but it was calculated in capturing more of Chip’s attention.

He turns back to face you, looking exasperated with a slight eye roll.

“Look,” Chip says. “I’m not going to kick you out. I’m not going to call security, but I really don’t have time to do this right now. We’ve had similar heart to hearts for the past two summers. What do you want?”

You figure slightly lightening the mood as opposed to going super serious might work best. “Chip,” you say. “I gotta be honest. I’ve been driving for pretty much three straight days in a car that may be on its last leg. My sleep cycle is fucked. I haven’t eaten a decent meal. What I actually really want in this immediate moment is food.”

You’re slightly out of breath upon finishing the sentence. The time zone changes, the night in Vegas, the stress of the Mustang, it’s all slowly catching up to you.

Chip looks at you confused and in a moment resembling a classic Mean Girls scene you say in a slightly elevated voice.

“You wanna get lunch? You wanna go to In-N-Out Burger?”

Did that really just happen? ‘Where the hell did that come from?’ you think. The look on Chip’s face hasn’t changed. You figure you blew it.

“Okay sure,” he says. Whoa, you were not anticipating that. There has to be a catch.

“I’ve been watching film all morning. I’m hungry too,” Chip says.

This still sounds too good to be true, but before you can respond, Chip talks again.

“If I do this…,” he says in a mild but also slightly threatening voice. “If I do this, I need you to leave after,” he says. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t have time for this song and dance right now.”

You have another plan you’ve been slowly concocting in your head during pauses in the conversation that give you time to think, but for now, you agree. This is about survival.

“You got it, Chip,” you say.

“Alright, I’ll meet you in 30 minutes,” Chip says to you. Something feels weird.

“I gotta do a quick call,” he says holding up his phone.

“Chip” you say. “How can I be sure you’re going to actually show up?”

You want to blindly believe him but also think it’s a fair question given Chip’s history and how the conversation started.

“If I don’t show up, you’re just going to come right back here to find me, and you being here is a bigger nuisance than us being in a fast food place. I’ll be there.”

A backhanded Chip esque remark if there ever was one. You nod your head, turn around, and make your way back to the car. Coming all the way out here for a quick lunch and nothing more isn’t the most ideal, but you’re not lying when you say that you have an idea in your head. You’ll just need to execute.

The car takes takes a few tries before starting up. You really should text Doc, but right now your biggest concern is trying to extend the day with Chip, and a sleep and nutrition deprived brain can only handle so many things at once.

Chip kept his word sure enough. He emerges from a driver’s car and walks in with you.

Not much small talk is exchanged while waiting for your order, but your plan will make sense soon enough. First though, it’s time to actually enjoy some food for the first time in what feels like forever.

You bite into one of your three burgers and take a huge handful of fries while trying to re-break the ice.

“I’m so happy I got my fries animal style,” you say with a mouth half full of food still. “Made a mistake and didn’t know about it when I was here spring 2017.”

Chip looks nervously around at nearby tables back and forth.

“Chip, are you okay? You look a little flustered.”

He’s changed out of his UCLA polo, now wearing plain clothes and talks in a soft voice.

“I just had our team nutritionist give my players a presentation on healthy eating over the summer before camp. I can’t let anyone see me here,” he says.

Hearing this brings back some bad memories of 2015 when things started to go wrong. You take a deep breath before talking again.

“Chip.” He cuts you off.

“Stop calling me that. I can’t let anyone see me here. Let’s talk in code.”

You begin to laugh.

“I’ll stop calling you by name, but we don’t need to talk in code. Chip…”

He glares at you from across the table.

“Sorry,” you say. “Bad habit. Look man, most of these kids aren’t even 20 years old. Yeah, there’s value in nutrition, but you gotta let these kids have a little fun. They’re in college, and it’s a burger and fries. It’s not like they’re doing this every day. Doug back in Philly. He lets the guys have ice cream every Saturday night. You gotta find a balance, man.”

Chip doesn’t respond. You could continue about the importance of this, but it’s probably not worth hammering too much if you have hopes of keeping this going beyond lunch.

There’s so much to talk about. Chip hasn’t even asked about the Super Bowl yet. Your conversations — once they get going — always end up being pretty deep despite the rocky starts, but this one is going to be tough.

Silence remains for the rest of the meal. To Chip’s relief, no one recognizes him as you walk out of the restaurant, him slightly ahead of you.

His driver pulls up. This is your last shot.

“Do you realize we haven’t rode in a car together since the crash in 2015?” you ask.

Chip pauses for a second looking as if he’s trying to find a way to dispute your claim.

You continue.

“Even in 2016 when I visited you in San Francisco. I mean, we sat in that car together for a few minutes, but it never moved. It’s been almost three years, Chip.”

You said his name by mistake, drawing another glare. Habit.

“Let’s go somewhere,” you say to Chip.

There it is. Your last ditch hope as Chip has one foot in his driver’s car.

You haven’t been this nervous since the Super Bowl.

“I must be insane for even entertaining this,” Chip says. “Where would we even g-”

His phone rings just as you thought you were getting somewhere. Talk about bad timing.

“I have to handle a few things. I really can’t do this right now.” Chip says that, but you can tell deep down he secretly kind of wants to. He hasn’t said no yet. “I need a few hours,” he says.

“That’s perfect,” you say. “I’ll come back with you, sleep in your office for a few hours, and we can drive through the night.”

“You’re not coming back with me. Come pick me up at 8 and depending on what I can get done, I will consider this semi-ridiculous idea.”

Despite Chip keeping his word about In-N-Out Burger, you know that if you let him get away now, it could be the end.

“You’re asking a helluva lot of trust,” you say. “You can very easily go back to your office, tell security not to let me in at 8, and then I wasted five hours.”

Chip doesn’t say anything. If you want to do this, you’re just gonna have to take a chance and believe him.

You walk back to your car and don’t even bother trying to start the engine to make sure it works, instead passing out in the parking lot of In-N-Out Burger.

At some unknown point, you awake and immediately panic.

‘How did I get here? Oh that’s right, lunch with Chip. Your mind is slowly starting to work again after the classic post-nap daze as you fumble around the car for your phone.

The screen says 7:27 p.m. Phew, you didn’t oversleep, and Chip’s office is only a short drive away. You drive back to the complex and approach the same guard as before. For all you know, Chip pulled a bait and switch and told him not to let you in, but you won’t know unless you try.

You pull up all the way to the booth and to your pleasant surprise, the guard lifts the gate right away. The car is running fine, but you’re so shocked that you don’t even do anything for a second.

“I don’t know what type of relationship you guys used to have,” the guard says to you with your window rolled down. “But he hasn’t left the office before 10 p.m. at the earliest all summer.”

You crack a smile. “I could explain it to you, but we’ll both be here all night,” you say driving off.

You keep the car running just to be safe while waiting for Chip. After a few minutes, sure enough, he makes his way down, once again dressed in plain clothes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was just another middle-aged man and not once one of the most innovative minds in college football a mere six years ago.

Chip quietly makes his way to the driver’s side of the car and goes to get in.

‘Nope,’ you think. ‘Things are different now.’

Standing your ground, you don’t move, but Chip doesn’t take your cue.

“Chip,” you say. “I’m driving this one. I got this.”

Chip shoots a glare back at you.

“If you expect me to go anywhere with you, I’m driving,” he says. “I remember your car not working two years ago in San Francisco. You said earlier this piece of crap is on its last leg. If we have any problems, I’m gonna be the one in control.”

On top of putting up a fight, Chip has insulted your Mustang.

“Chip, get in the car, man. You ride with me now. I’m calling the shots here, and I promise you’ll thank me down the line if you do this.”

He walks around the perimeter of the Mustang as if he’s surveying it.

“New license plate?” Chip asks. Even during stressful times, he was always sharp with attention to detail. “What does these numbers mean?” he asks.

“Think on it,” you say. “I’ll explain on the way. “We have a lot of driving to do. Let’s get a nice start before the sun goes down fully.”

Chip gets in the car, and you inch it through the parking lot. For the first time since December 2015, you’re in a car together. For the first time ever, Chip’s in the passenger seat, and you’re driving.

“Where are we even going?” Chip asks as he turns to you.

“Don’t worry,” you say. “That will come soon enough.”

Chapter 7: An Overnight Heart to Heart

The first five minutes of the ride are uninterrupted silence. You don’t even think to turn on the radio.

“Okay, where are you taking me?” Chip asks again. “I’m not gonna let you just kidnap me. I need to know where we’re going.”

You wanted to keep it a surprise, but if you don’t tell him, you run the risk of the trip falling apart before it really started.

“Oregon,” you say.

The next five seconds are so loud that you nearly drive off the road in shock.

“WHATTTTTT?!?!!?! ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?”

Chip is still screaming as you get ahold of the car and make a sharp right turn onto I-405 N.

“I CAN’T GO TO OREGON. TURN THIS FUCKING CAR AROUND RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!”

Too late. You already merged on.

“We’re going to Oregon, Chip” you say calmly. “If this is our last road trip together, I’m gonna take you back to the place where we first fell in love. We’re going to Oregon, and it’s going to be great.”

Chip’s voice has lowered back to a normal level, but he’s obviously still not happy.

“I cannot go there,” he says. “Pick a different place.”

“Chip, you do realize that you play at Oregon in November, right?” “Are you planning on just missing the game? Think of this as a walk-through.”

He doesn’t say anything but has at least stopped protesting.

The next hour is again met with silence. Twelve more to go, and it will feel longer if you can’t get Chip to talk.

You’re running through different ways to break the ice in your head when all of a sudden he does it for you.

“Alright,” Chip says. “I gotta ask. What was the best part?”

Chip doesn’t have to be specific and mention the Super Bowl for you to know what he’s asking about.

You take a deep breath, looking at the trophy sitting on the dashboard and then surveying the night sky.

“For me, it’s knowing that I was right. My ultimate dream was realized almost exactly how I envisioned it. I don’t have any mea culpas to issue. There are so many people who didn’t believe in Nick who look like complete horses asses if you go back and look at their tweets from December, from the past few years. I don’t carry that burden. I’m gonna be able to tell my future kids ‘Daddy was there to see the Eagles win the Super Bowl, and he knew the quarterback was good before almost anyone.’ That’s the best part for me, Chip.”

That was a mouthful but you’re glad Chip asked.

“What got into you over the past year?” Chip asks.

This one took you by surprise.

“What are you talking about?” you ask back.

“When I first met you, you were this quiet guy. I could tell you loved your Eagles and were ridiculously focused on gamedays, but you were pretty calm about it. Now, you’re telling people to kiss your ass on the radio. You’re putting these ridiculous videos on social media and starting fights with people on Twitter.”

You had no idea Chip paid attention to any of this.

“All I’m saying is you seem like you had a different type of edge to you last season,” Chip says. “I had never seen anything like it from you before.”

This conversation will take a long time, but you have all night.

“Yeah,” you say. “You know, it’s funny, my girlfriend has actually been talking to me a lot about that.”

“Jaime, right?” asks Chip.

“Yeah,” you say smiling, impressed that he remembered.

“How is she?” Chip asks. “What does she tell you?”

“She’s great,” you say. “She talks to me a lot about putting positive energy out in the world. That if you do that, you’ll get it back in return. It’s tough because I agree with her, and at the same time, sometimes when you’re the best, you just gotta come out and say you’re the best, and that’s what a lot of last season was. I’ve forgotten more football than most of those people will ever know. I know more football in one nostril than these people who tweet deranged things at Adam Schefter all day for attention know in their entire bodies. I’m the king baby.”

You quickly turn to look at your crown sitting in the backseat of the car and are now fired up to the point where you’re driving almost 100 mph in a 70 mph zone. Go any faster, and you might top Chip’s speed from summer 2015 when you were screaming for dear life on the way down to Georgia.

“Jaime’s totally right,” you say. “It’s something I’m working on this upcoming season, and simultaneously, I think it’s about striking a balance of not instigating things but being ready to stand up for yourself and stand up for others. It’s like Jason said. “”No one likes us. We don’t care.””

It appears you’ve lost Chip as he stirs in his seat.

“I don’t think that’s true about you,” he says. “At least not the first part. I think you’ve gotten into this habit of exaggerating the number of people who dislike you and their level of dislike. You’re a nice guy. I’m sure there are some people who hate you, but a lot of people like you. You can try to act tough. You can try to run from it, but you’re still who you are.”

That was deep from Chip. Even if it’s not what you imagined talking about, you feel like you’re getting somewhere now where he’ll talk to you. The floodgates are open so to speak.

Chip starts up again.

“I think you like playing this vigilante role, and you think one post or one tweet is going to be the ultimate zinger and change the minds of your haters, but you can’t always change people’s minds. Think about it. If everyone thought like you, there wouldn’t be a need for you. You wouldn’t be unique or different. There’s a reason they exist, and there’s a reason you exist.

Much of the traffic has died down as you’ve hit the 11 p.m. hour. You’ve slowed to a more normal pace, and Chip’s talking has kept you from feeling tired.

“You might think a guy like Treblaw is an ass,” says Chip.

“I do,” you say.

“You might think the same about KMart93,” Chip says.

“Guy is just a pathetic, insecure loser,” you say back.”Everyone has hobbies and passion points. Anyone who makes fun of someone for being emotional about sports or anything else has something seriously wrong with them.”

“I agree with you on both,” Chip says. “But you can’t make them act differently.”

You open your mouth to get a word in and start talking.

“The thing with those guys is they prey on people who don’t understand the Internet — People who might be a little older and less tech savvy. That’s their comfort zone, but when they have to go up against someone like me who’s a step ahead of them, they don’t know what to do. They get owned.”

Your face has now turned red with fury upon finishing your sentence.

“I get it,” Chip says. “Everyone knows you know more football than those guys, but you’re fighting a losing battle if you think they’re just gonna come out and say it. All I’m saying is pick your battles. Use your voice to stand up for others who may not have one, but also know that it’s okay to let some stuff go.”

Chip goes off on a different tangent after a few seconds.

“I can promise you one thing,” he says. “If I ever get scheduled against Texas Tech, I will beat the fuck out of them for you. Make Papa V cry.”

“That guy might be the biggest hardo I have ever crossed paths with. He’s a miserable jackass, and the best part is he knows it.”

You can tell Chip wants to steer the conversation away from individual people and back towards the advice he was giving.

You gather your thoughts, re-calibrate, and start up again.

“I really appreciate it, Chip,” you say. “Every year we try to do certain things differently, and one of our goals this year is to show off the more positive side a bit more and let people in there. We’re still going to have an edge to ourself, but we’ll to it strategically.”

Silence for a few seconds. You both needed it.

“Man, that was pretty heavy,” you say to Chip shooting a quick half smile while keeping one eye on the road.

Chip is now in a talkative mood.

“What do they think of me?” he asks.

It might be that it’s late and you’re still running on little sleep, but you’ve very confused. “Who’s they, Chip?” you ask back. “What are you talking about?”

“What do Eagles fans in Philadelphia think about me?” asks Chip.

You understand the question but are surprised. Chip has never asked for your opinion on something like this before nor has he ever been one to care about what other people think. You have the perfect response ready but never expected to be in a position to use it.

“Well,” you say. “It’s complicated. On one hand, you have people who hate your guts, understandably so. People who think you’re one of the worst things that ever happened to Philadelphia sports. You have me obviously, who for some reason that I can’t totally explain retains this fondness for you.”

You pause for a second.

“The most interesting group, I think, are the people who dislike you, but at the same time, they’ve rationalized that if it wasn’t for your tenure, we likely don’t hire Doug immediately after, and in turn, we likely don’t win the Super Bowl two years later. I think after Andy, you were exactly what we needed, and it just didn’t work out after March 2015. And after you, Doug was exactly what we needed. Sports can go in really interesting cycles like that.”

Chip pushes his seat back slightly as you continue talking.

“That’s the most upsetting thing to me, Chip. We always talked about doing this together, and a lot of your ideas were there. Teams have embraced sports science. A lot of the run-pass option concepts that Nick ran through the playoffs were made up by you.”

“We’ve gone through it before,” you say. “The initial strategy was there, but the adjustments, the communication, the interpersonal skills were so off by the end that it didn’t matter.”

You decide to lighten the mood a bit with a couple of topic changes as the clock strikes midnight.

“How’s Marissa doing?” you ask. “You go to KC for that playoff game she played in? Helluva comeback she helped lead.”

Chip never liked when you brought up his ex-girlfriend, but this prompts one of his calmer reactions.

“She’s good,” he says. “We don’t talk as much as we used to. I was busy settling in here and recruiting so I didn’t get to her game, but I’m glad Marissa’s making her way. She’s a great kid.”

“How’s your squad?” you say. “Are you ready to do this again? Is Chip Kelly gonna turn UCLA into the powerhouse that was Oregon for four years?”

Chip blinks his eyes a couple times trying to stay awake.

“It’s gonna be a process,” he says. “Well get there, but this is a completely different situation. We play at Oklahoma in Week 2. We’ll get there, but I want people to know that it may take time. Much like I said when I was hired with the Eagles, we’ll look up at the end of the regular season and see where we are in the standings.”

Chip yawns when he finishes talking.

“Listen, Chip, if you want to go to sleep, I understand. I’ve been doing this for almost four days now, I’m used to…”

“What does your new license plate mean?”

You’re caught off guard again, forgetting that he even noticed that to begin with a few hours earlier.

“Our opener is against the Falcons,” you say. You’re now fired up.

“The fucking Falcons are coming into MY house on Opening Night. We’ve had two recent season openers against the Falcons. Monday Night in 2005 after we went to the Super Bowl the year before. Lost 14–10.”

“You know all about the Monday night opener in 2015.”

“That night sucked,” Chip says.

‘Duh,’ you’re thinking in your head.

That night in ways was the beginning of the end before you knew it.

“You don’t need to remind me. 26–24. I hated everything about that night.”

There is another component to the license plate. It will serve as motivation on your drive home, but you keep going.

“That team. Those scores. They’re a reminder for me all summer. You know how much I value the first game. How important I say it is. We won our first game last year. The Patriots didn’t. I’m not saying that won us the Super Bowl because it didn’t, but it sets a tone. You absolutely have to win the first game.

“You don’t get a second chance to win your first game. The Falcons have stolen two season openers from me, and they’re not taking a third. Ever since the Super Bowl, I really haven’t thought about bad losses in the past. Ronde Barber means nothing to me, but man, I want this Falcons game bad. I know that they’re viewing it as a revenge game for them, but that’s not how I’m looking at it. There’s a score to settle.

You didn’t think what you said was funny, but Chip lets out a laugh.

“Only you could possibly take that angle,” Chip says, still laughing. “Here’s a team that you beat in the playoffs last year. They lost the Super Bowl the year prior. You won yours against the same opponent. You’re the one with the ring, and yet, you’re acting like you’re the underdog and saying you want revenge. “It’s so on brand that I have to respect it.”

There’s still a lot to cover, but this conversations is one of the best you’ve had since the break up. If the car stopped running and the trip were to end right now, it wouldn’t be a full success, but it wouldn’t be a complete failure either.

You are now unintentionally taking turns yawning.

“And no,” Chip says.

That felt random. You wonder what he’s talking about.

“I’m not going to sleep,” Chip says. “I’m staying up with you. It’s pitch black out with hardly any cars to follow, and San Fran can be hard to navigate. You’re going to need me.”

You’re happy to have the company, and as you pass exit signs for San Francisco, something pops into your head.

“Hey Chip,” you say. “Remember last summer we talked about you calling some former Eagles players you got rid of to apologize? About how it would set good vibes going forward. Did you ever do that?”

Chip doesn’t answer, and this is a scenario where the silence speaks volumes.

You look over at him in slight disgust. You could find a way to keep harping on it, but you’ll save it for a better time later with a slightly different approach.

“You know, Chip, you and I, we ain’t that different man. We’re both right about a lot of things, and also incredibly stubborn about other things. It’s what makes us great, and it’s what holds us back at times. If you think about it, that’s probably why we got along well in the beginning.”

Chip again doesn’t answer, but that’s okay.

“Hey, if you get bored at all, you can check out some extra Super Bowl merchandise I have tucked under the backseat. Don’t touch it, but you can feel free to look,” you offer.

The next few hours are met with mostly silence. Chip fidgets with his phone. You occasionally put the car on cruise control and use it as an opportunity to stretch your legs in your seat.

“I have to say the Oregon sunrise is very beautiful,” you say to try to break up the silence.

You’re still about a half hour away from Eugene, but Chip looks ridiculously nervous.

“Chip, I really think you’re worrying too much, man. It’s not like there’s a game there today and crazed fans are going to be walking around. This is a Monday in the summer. Outside of some big football fans, most students likely don’t even know who you are.”

Chip pops open your glove compartment without asking when you come to a stop at a traffic light and digs for anything that could disguise his face.

“Nah, Chip. I’m not a big sunglasses guy actually,” you say. “You’re going to be fine.”

Chapter 8: Peace, Serenity, and A Promise

You pull into a parking lot on Oregon’s campus and immediately have an opportunity to prove your theory to Chip upon getting out of the car.

“Excuse me, folks,” you say to a somewhat started couple holding hands that looks like they couldn’t be much older than 19, likely freshmen or sophomores experiencing the beauty of a college campus in the summer for the first time. Do you know who this man is?”

Both of them shake their head. Still somewhat caught off guard, they walk in the other direction before you can thank them.

“See, Chip,” you say. “And I’m going to call you Chip. We’re just two friends here on a summer road trip. No one will recognize you.”

“Now where should we go?”

Chip suggests going for a walk in Alton Baker Park. You can see Autzen Stadium in the distance, and he mentions that he used to like coming here after games.

You find a can on the ground and start kicking it as the two of you walk along a mostly empty trail save for the occasional person passing on a bicycle.

Chip comes to a fork in a path and stops for a second.

“This is cool,” he says. “I’m glad you convinced me to come, but I do really need to get back.”

Along with additional conversation, there’s one more thing you want to do, but you can’t tell Chip just yet. Instead, you circle back to one of the final topics in the car.

“You know, Chip, about that list I gave you last summer.”

You can tell Chip looks annoyed at you bringing it up again, but you continue.

“You really should give Nick a call. I understand if you want to forget those other names for now, but reach out to him. He’ll love it.”

“Even if I did, what do I possibly say to him? The guy just just won a fucking Super Bowl for crying out loud, and I’m on my fourth coaching job in seven years.”

It’s rare to see Chip this vulnerable.

You smile.

“Why don’t you ask him how his daughter’s doing. Is she talking yet? What’s her favorite color? Ask stuff like that.”

Chip has become fixated on something in the distance so you try something else.

“You know who else you could call, Chip?” “What about Brandon? You don’t owe him any major personal apologies, and he’s a really positive guy. I think talking to him would be good.”

“I was really happy for BG,” Chip says. “What a play he made.”

A gust of wind whips through the hot Oregon air.

“He’s become one of my favorite Eagles,” you say. “Jaime’s favorite player by far. He reads to his two year-old daughter every night on Instagram.”

You go to take out your phone to show Chip, but his head has now turned in the other direction.

“A lot of these guys, Chip, they’re husbands, they’re fathers. They’re good guys.”

The scoreboard lights pop on inside Autzen Stadium, the elevated view on the trail illuminating the massive building below. Oregon’s 2010 Pac-12 Championship banner hangs from the outside as well as an old photo of Marissa.

“There it is, Chip. The place where we first fell in love almost a decade ago now.”

“Those days were really something,” Chip says.

You take a step towards Chip as you’re both now overlooking the stadium.

You have your next line ready, but he gets his out first.

“Is this really the last time you’re gonna do this?” Chip asks. “You mentioned something before about this being our last road trip together.”

You knew this would come up at some point, and you’re glad it did.

“Well Chip, the thing is, you’ve been in different places the last four years. I’ve always had a reason to come see you, but there’s no sense in me coming out to UCLA two years in a row, so I think this could be the last one, at least for a while, yeah.”

You were expecting Chip to be excited, maybe even a fist pump or some showing of emotion, but his face remains stoic.

“You know, it’s funny, Chip says.” “I thought I would be happy to get rid of you, but I actually think I’ll miss you doing this every summer.”

There is of course one scenario where this wouldn’t be the final trip.

“Chip, do you remember last summer when we talked about getting back to the NFL?”

Chip nods his head.

“I want that for you,” Chip. “I want that for you so bad if you want it.”

You pause for a second.

“Chip, you know how much shit I took for years for insisting Nick was good, right? I am prepared to take that again. The controversial opinion that I’ll stand by is that you will one day be a head coach in the NFL again. Just like the way Pete Carroll did. And when that happens, I will visit you wherever you’re at the summer before the season.”

“If you can help it, don’t go to Cleveland though,” you say. Chip laughs during an otherwise serious conversation. You had to get that in. Jabs at the Browns never get old especially after they passed on Carson.

“I will be there, Chip. I swear. I’ll start planning my 2026 summer trip to some unknown NFL city now, but it’s gonna take work from you, and it’s gonna take a lot more than winning games, conference titles, and national championships.”

You continue.

“I want the positive stories to come back. I know the college football media can be tough and often makes things up, but I want to read positive stories about how kids are enjoying playing for you, and not because your offense is fast, but because you respect them and treat them well. It’s just like how you talked to me about picking my battles. You gotta keep those core values but also know where to relent and change things up in certain places.”

It often feels like these trips typically hit a climax point where not much more can be said, but you’ve gone deeper here than the past two summers.

“You could always stay,” says Chip.

“We’ve been over this, Chip,” you say back. “You asked me this when I was in San Francisco, and I said no. Plus, LA’s not really for me. I love San Francisco and you couldn’t get me to stay out there. I’m not staying in LA. You should come watch us when we play the Rams in December though. Take a break from bowl prep. Homefield advantage in the NFC potentially on the line. It’s gonna be epic. I mean we won’t see each other, but check out Doug’s offense, watch Sean McVay. Get some ideas. Watch Cars vs. Jared Goff.”

“Jared Goff ain’t that good,” you whisper. “McVay is carrying him.”

“You still writing?” Chip asks.

‘That was really random,’ you think.

“Not enough,” you say. “I mean emails and reports and stuff, but not enough. Work’s busy, ya know.”

“You should do it more often,” says Chip. “You’re good at it when you want to be.”

“I appreciate that, Chip,” you say back, not expecting the compliment. “That means a lot.”

You’ve now begun to make your way back off the trail. The late morning fog has fully cleared, making way for early afternoon sun. You can see your car in the distance.

If you were to try the automatic unlock on your keys, it would probably reach. Chip walks a few feet in front of you. This feels like the end.

Time for your final idea.

“Well, I guess I should get going,” Chip says. “If I leave now, I can at least get a few hours of sleep before going at more film tomorrow.”

Your voice softens.

“You want a ride?” you ask.

“Oh no,” says Chip. “That’s okay. I’ll have a driver here in no time.

Chip begins to punch a number in his phone and puts it to his year.

“CHIP WAIT!” you yell, reaching for the phone.

Chapter 9: COME AND GET ME COPPERS

“What is the most fun we’ve ever had? What is the coolest thing we’ve ever done?” you ask.

Chip thinks for a second. “The first game in Washington was pretty epic,” he says.

“Yes, but no,” you say. Not that.”

Chip thinks for another second but looks your way as if he wants you to answer your own question.

“DALLAS CHIP, DALLAS. DALLAS 2013,” you say jumping around barely being able to contain your excitement. “The night we won the division.”

“Oh yeah,” says Chip. “That was cool. I did a bunch of donuts outside of their stadium with you yelling ‘COME AND GET ME COPPERS’ at the top of your lungs. To be honest, I still don’t know what that phrase means, but you seemed like you enjoyed it so…”

“Angelica Pickles once said it on Rugrats,” you say. “I thought it was cool.”

It’s further away now, but you can still see the stadium in the distance. It’s almost as if it’s staring back at you — inviting you in.

“Chip, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

It doesn’t take that much convincing.

“This is ridiculous, but why not,” says Chip.

You both run to the car as if it’s a race. It starts up without a problem.

“You sure your Mustang can handle this?” Chip asks peering over at the dashboard from the passenger’s seat.

“We’re about to find out,” you say. “Tell me how to get down there.”

“Every day right around 1 pm anyone working on the stadium used to take a break for lunch,” Chip says. “I guarantee you they still do. Follow my directions, and we’ll get the car on the field without anyone seeing us.”

The next 10 minutes feels as if you’re navigating a maze. Left turn, right turn, right turn, break, left turn, right turn, left turn, left turn, speed bump. You’re dizzy by the end of it, but your patience pays off.

“It’s a good thing you have a small car,” Chip says. “There’s a gate open here that we can fit through that will lead right to the field.”

Chip isn’t lying. You can feel your tires kick up a little grass as you make your way out to the 50-yard line. Holy shit, you’re really doing it.

You pause for a second just to take in the scene. Autzen Stadium, home of 54,000 and counting on seven Saturdays in the fall. Current population: 2

You put your car back in gear and begin to floor the accelerator while turning slightly.

Doc is going to kill you when you get back. If you get back. Too late to worry about that.

You can feel the car begin to twist and turn. You’re feeling confident and hit the accelerator again. There it is. It’s like a roller coaster, but you’re both the rider and operator.

The speedometer hits trouble digits. It’s happening. Windows go down.

“COME AND GET ME COPPERS,” you yell, in a scene reminiscent of almost five years ago in Dallas. “COME AND FUCKING GET ME. ARE YOU SCARED? THE EAGLES WON THE SUPER BOWL. THE EAGLES WON THE SUPER BOWL. COME AND GET ME COPPERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

This lasts for well over a minute.

Chapter 10: When Darkness Turns To Light It Ends Tonight It Ends Tonight

Chip doesn’t say a word, but has a look that indicates he’s enjoying the moment for you. You let out one more taunt and begin to hit the breaks. The car does a full 720 before finally coming to a full stop.

“Holy fucking shit,” you say. “That was incredible. Just like I remembered, only better being in the driver’s seat.”

Chip closes his hand and reaches out his fist. You bump it while slowly coming down from your high.

Chip goes back into direction mode, talking fast, almost as if this is an in-game situation.

“Gottabecarefulturnleft. Out this waythroughthetunnelbut be discreet. Shhh.”

A few minutes later you’re back on solid road and pull into another parking lot, stadium now out of the distance.

Both you and Chip get out of the Mustang and stretch a bit. Maybe it isn’t, but if that was the last thing you ever do together, you’re happy.

Chip’s driver pulls up a few minutes later in a long black car. You spend a few minutes checking out the inside of his vehicle while Chip gathers his stuff from the passenger seat of yours.

The driver without being asked seems to understand that you want a minute alone with each other and steps away.

You and Chip both stand to the right side of the car. It’s beautiful out. Not a cloud in the sky.

You decide to talk first. It’s only fitting after you initiated the trips. The past few years you had a gut feeling there would be another, but not next summer. Chip will have his work cut out for him if he wants the NFL again and it will take time.

“Chip,” you say trying to fight back an outpouring of emotion. “I really do believe our paths will cross again with another one of these in a decade or so, but if this was the final time, we went out swinging. What a way to end it.”

Chip looks you up and down as you stand up tall against the picturesque Eugene backdrop.

“Pick your battles, man. You’re a good kid. I know you like to put on this tough guy act at times, and what you did is generally working for you, but you don’t have a bad bone in your body.”

Chip pauses for a second. For all of his communication flaws, he was always pretty good at timely one-liners.

“Well aside from what we just did likely being incredibly illegal, you don’t have a bad bone in your body. Don’t run from who you are.”

You know what you want to say back. It goes something like

‘And you’re a good football coach when you want to be. You changed a lot of things about the game even if you don’t get credit for it. Don’t let your ego impede you from future success.’

Sometimes it’s best to let others get the last word in though. Chip takes a step towards the car and then pivots slightly back in your direction. You take a step closer.

It’s similar to the 2016 scene in San Francisco yet so much different at the same time.

You’re a Super Bowl champion. Chip is trying to get his career back on track, but for these two seconds, you’re just two inherently good but flawed individuals standing in Eugene, Oregon.

After almost a decade of admiration, six road trips, and three up and down seasons together, you hug for the first time.

Neither of you are big huggers, but this one lasts a couple of Mississippi’s.

The hug ends and Chip disappears into his car. The windows are tinted. If he tried to wave, you don’t see it. The driver speeds off.

Just like that, he’s gone, and you’re standing all alone, trying to process what’s transpired over the past two days. That wasn’t necessarily a goodbye, but it was definitely a see you — not so soon — later.

Chapter 11: That Ain’t Me Bro

You get in your car and start it up. It’s whimpering again. You’re glad Chip isn’t here to see this. Would have made the whole moment less cool.

At least the engine is running. You have an almost 44 hour drive ahead, and that’s assuming things go well. It’s even possible you might miss a day of camp, but it won’t be more than that if you have anything to say about it.

Your GPS doesn’t pick up the signal right away and you end up hitting a couple of dead ends and one-way streets. College campuses are always tough to navigate.

All of a sudden, a cop pulls up next to you. He doesn’t flash his siren but body language and facial expression indicates he wants to talk.

You take a long breath and roll down your window.

“Officer,” you say nodding your head.

“How you doing?” the cop asks back. “You looked a little lost.”

“All good,” you say back, pointing to your now working GPS.

The cop nods.

“Sir, maybe you can help me with something,” the cop says. “We got reports of someone driving a car on the football field doing donuts.”

Part of you wants to laugh. Part of you wants to cry. Outside of one speeding ticket, you don’t have any experience with cops.

“We can’t figure out all the words, but apparently the driver kept yelling ‘Come and get me’ taunts the whole time. Now no damage was done, but we’re obviously taking this kind of seriously. You don’t know anything about this that might help, do you?”

Oh man will you have a story for Chip if there is another road trip in the future.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you say. “I was just visiting an old friend. I ain’t from here, man. “Don’t think I know the campus well enough to offer much.”

“I got you,” says the cop. “So you didn’t see, hear, have anything to do with this, yeah?”

You roll up your window slightly and move your foot off the break.

“Nah, bro, that ain’t me,” you say as you slowly drive your car away.

Chapter 12: Exorcising Old Falcon Demons

It’s going to be a long drive back, so you decide to focus on some actual football matters. Two tapes have been with you the whole time. One is from Opening Night 2005 down in Atlanta. The other is from Opening Night 2015 also in Atlanta.

Remember the license plate? You said it would come back into play at some point.

It’s like this year’s version of the countdown to Kickoff In Landover voice activated clock. The tapes and plate serve to remind you of seasons that were taken from you too soon and how important it is to win the first game.

You can’t see the footage while you’re driving, but you can hear the audio. Warrick Dunn rumbling past an overmatched Mike Labinjo again and again as the Falcons go up 14–0 early on in 2005.

These will play on a loop for most of the ride home. If it weren’t for last February, they would be torturous. Instead they’re more of an annoyance but a refresher nevertheless and the thing that will drive you for the rest of the summer. Things are different this time. The Falcons are coming to your house, but you’ll need to be as prepared as you were last January when Rodney McLeod called out their play with the season on the line.

Chapter 13: Bad Carma

As nightfall approaches, you’re entering Idaho. Ten hours into the drive, but minus the Atlanta games continually playing in the background, you’re feeling good.

You decide you need a bit of a break from pure football stuff after watching the Eagles final drive in 2005 come up short. You’re thinking about what Chip said about being who you are, about not having a bad bone in your body, about your demeanor throughout the thrill that was last season.

Every season is different. Once each one ends, you typically audit all of the content you put out into the world and what you want to do differently. Last year was a higher focus on video content and radio calls. You wanted to be relatable. At the end of the day, you’re just a student of the game. Much to the chagrin of your enemies, those calls will continue, but there’s slight things that you can change.

The edge will still exist. The chip on the shoulder will still be there. You reached the ultimate goal, and you’re going to do it again, but you’re also going to try to let things come to you a bit more. If one of your haters who tweets weird stuff at Adam Schefter for attention starts something with you or is being a dick to people, you’ll look for occasional opportunities to jump in, but you’re also gonna try to remember that you can’t change their pathetic behavior no matter how much you may want to.

‘This will be good,’ you think.

You’re suddenly broken out of your trance like state as the Mustang makes a loud banging sound seven miles into Idaho.

“That is not good,” you say out loud to yourself.

You check your gas tank. Maybe between the Falcons games and the self-audit, you forgot and let it run low. Nope, more than half full. You press harder on the pedal, but the speedometer won’t go above 36.

“This is really bad,” you say. If this had happened five hours ago in California it might be even worse, but thankfully there’s no one driving behind you. You’re able to get the Mustang off to the side of the road before it dies completely.

“Dammit,” you say pounding the steering wheel. Outside of a wolf howling in the distance, there are no signs of civilization whatsoever.

You look at your phone. 10:23 p.m. That means it’s past midnight on the east coast, but you’re desperate. You pull up Doc’s name in your phone and stare at it for a second before calling. Bless his heart for not killing you yet.

He answers on the first ring, and before you can even greet him, he can tell something is wrong.

“What is it now kid?” he asks.

“Oh Doc, thank god,” you say. “Listen I…”

Doc stops you.

“Cut the bullshit, and just tell me what the problem is,” Doc says.

“The mustang is dead in Idaho. I had to pull over.”

“IDAHO?!?! HOW THE FUCK DID YOU END UP IN IDAHO?”

Doc’s screaming is so loud that you have to pull the phone away from your ear and can still hear him.

“People who drive back from California don’t go through Idaho,” Doc says.

“I…I…well there’s kind of a twist. I actually ended up in Oregon and then…”

“Okay whatever,” Doc says. “That’s not important. Did you do anything to the car that could cause something else to be wrong. You remember I told you to take it easy and be careful, right?”

“For the most part,” you say. “I mean gas tank is mostly full. I’ve been taking it easy. Haven’t been going super fast.”

Here comes the kicker.

“I may have done a few donuts on Oregon’s football field.”

You pull the phone further away anticipating screaming again, but it doesn’t come.

“Kid I’ll tell you, you are really something,” Doc says. “I am shocked she even held up that long after what you did.”

“I know. I know,” you say. “But what can I do now to fix it?”

You can hear Doc sigh into the phone. “Kid, I don’t think there’s much you can do. You’re gonna have to leave her behind and find another way home. Train, rental car, plane, something.”

“Doc, you know I can’t do that,” you say. “I’m gonna get her home.”

“You CAN’T,” Doc yells back. “You are borderline risking your life.”

“Doc, no one believed me that Nick Foles was good,” you say back. “Look what happened.”

Even though you can’t see it, you can picture Doc’s face visibly annoyed. This conversation is going nowhere, and neither is the Mustang.

Bright lights shine in the distance and begin to momentarily blind you as they get closer. It’s a cop. Talk about a serious conflict of interest right now.

“Doc, gotta go,” you say. “I’ll figure it out,” hanging up the phone before he can respond back.

“Please stop, please stop,” you say out loud while holding your hand out the window to try to flag his attention.

Sure enough the cop does pull up in front of you and gets out of his car. He shines his flashlight into the pitch black night.

“What we got going on here?” the cop asks.

“Car is dead, officer. Won’t start.”

The cop continues to examine the Mustang outside while talking. You don’t have anything to hide. Well maybe the whole donut in the stadium thing, but nothing in the car to hide.

“You from here son?” the cop asks. “You don’t sound like you’re from here.”

“No sir,” you say back. “From Philadelphia.”

“I figured you weren’t from here,” the cop says back. “This is a pretty sleepy town. Not many cars come down here at night. You’re lucky I was driving by.”

You nod.

“What brought you all the way out here anyway?” the cop asks. “I mean I’ve never been to Philadelphia before, but that’s awfully far from here, yeah?”

“Coming from a trip in Oregon,” you say back.

The cop’s head suddenly perks up as if he just discovered something groundbreaking.

‘Fuck, you think in your head.’ Why did I say Oregon? Dammit.’

“Oregon,” the cop says. “A shame what happened there today. That news made it all the way here. I hear they’re still trying to find the guy who drove on the field.”

There are two options here. Deny, deny, deny or come clean and hope the cop somehow understands. You think about what Chip says about remembering who you are.

“Officer,” you say while gulping. “That was actually me. I did that.”

Your throat tightens up. You’re expecting his next line to be something along the lines of ‘Get out and put your hands on the car.’

It’s not.

“That’s fucking awesome,” the cop says pulling his flashlight back.

You begin to open your door to get out of the car before realizing what he actually said.

You sit back down still in shock.

“Damn son,” the cop says. “I need you to relax and loosen up a bit. I don’t care that you did that. Field wasn’t damaged, no one was hurt. To be honest, I thought they were taking it a little too seriously. I think it’s epic. Was it as fun as it sounded?”

If you fully trusted what he was saying, your personality might return where you would answer with a little more color, but all you manage right now is a “Yeah.”

“I love it,” the cop says. “No wonder this thing is dead though. Let’s jump it and get you on your way.”

You still don’t fully believe what you’re hearing.

“Officer, do you need any information from me?” you ask, trying to gauge if this is actually real.”

He begins to shake his head before thinking of something. “Actually come to think of it, was there some famous guy with you? The picture we got sent was super grainy, but he looked kind of familiar to me.”

You want to keep telling the truth, but you also don’t want to get Chip in trouble.

“Just me and an old friend,” you say.

“That’s great, kid” the cop says while opening up the hood of his car.

“Hey, by the way, what were you yelling while doing that?”

“Come and get me coppers,” you say back trying to keep a straight face while giggling slightly under your breath.

The cop does not look amused.

“Officer,” you say. “I have a ton of respect for all of the good police officers. I heard Angelica Pickles say it once on Rugrats when I was six and thought it was funny. That’s it.”

The cop is cool about it.

“Never seen the show. You should probably watch it with lines like that, but I can see how it’d be fun from afar. I feel you kid.”

“Understood on all fronts, officer,” you say back.

A few minutes pass while the cop works his magic.

“Give it a go,” the cop says as you ready yourself to turn the key while saying a quick prayer.

No go.

“Again,” he says.

Nothing.

“Third time’s a charm. Again.”

Bang. The sound of your engine echoes through the night.

“Good as new. You’ll be good to get home, kid,” the cop says while handing you his card. “If you hit any problems, call me. I got contacts in Wyoming, Utah, Nebraska. They’ll help you.”

The exhaustion is returning off the emotional high. You nearly break down in tears.

“Officer, I can’t thank you enough,” you say, reaching your hand out in thanks.

“Hey, thank you, kid. I really appreciate you telling me the truth. I also appreciate you covering for Chip Kelly and not wanting to get your friend in trouble.”

Your mouth drops what feels like a good five feet as the cop starts laughing.

“Hey kid, I may be from small town Idaho, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know my football.”

This whole thing has been surreal. Maybe you fell asleep from exhaustion and have been dreaming all of this.

“Congrats on your Super Bowl,” the cop says.

Nope, you’re not dreaming.

There’s so much you want to say, but it’s probably best to not be long-winded here.

“Go Birds!” you yell, saluting the cop as you drive off.

You put your phone on speaker and call Doc again. It’s now almost 2 a.m. in Philadelphia. It will be training camp eve by the time people wake up.

He answers without saying anything.

“Doc, I’m good,” you yell. “I’m good!”

“You’re not,” Doc says back.

“No Doc, I really am. A cop jumped my car. I’m good! I’m getting her home, Doc. I got this.”

“When you get back…,” Doc says.

‘He’s going to murder me,’ you think.

“When you get back, go directly to my shop. No exceptions. This car should not be on the road.”

“You got it, Doc” you say back.

Chapter 14: Going Deep with Cars

Signs for Wyoming appear as dawn breaks. Just a 36 hour drive home, and you’re determined to make it for the start of camp. You’ll miss Wednesday when players report, but you think you can get there Thursday for the first practice. Doug did it last year coming back from Bristol. You got this.

The early part of the day is uneventful. You watch the 2015 Falcons game one more time.

The play that used to haunt you is coming up. 4th and 1 from the Atlanta 26-yard line with a little over two minutes to go. You’re down 26–24, and field goal kicker Cody Parkey had a rough summer and may be somewhat hurt.

‘Go for it, Chip’ you remember yelling to yourself while watching the Eagles sideline look confused and indecisive as they ultimately line up for a rushed kick attempt.

Cody Parkey’s field goal sails wide right. No good.

You look away and begin thinking of better memories of the Falcons playoff game from January. Brandon Graham stuffing Devonta Freeman. Rodney calling out the fourth down play. Nicky getting Grady Jarrett in the hard count and Bill Vinovich signaling Corey Clement’s first down that ended the game and prompted a wild scene at the Linc, setting the tone for the NFC Championship Game eight days later.

We look back on the memories that once terrorized us to find motivation and have greater appreciation for the ones from last season that we’ll never forget.

“We’re going to get them in the first game,” you say out loud to your empty car. “I’m not losing another opener to this fucking team.”

Just as you finish talking to yourself, your phone rings. Your head hits the roof of the car, jumping up in excitement.

“CARSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!” you scream at the top of your lungs.

“Hey man,” Carson calmly says back.

“You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice right now,” you say.

“I’m sorry it took so long to get back to you,” Carson says. “Between rehab, the wedding, going to Greece with Maddie and now getting ready for camp, it’s…”

You stop him.

“Cars, you don’t ever have to apologize to me for working hard. Understand that. I’m just glad to hear you’re alright. How you feeling, man? Training camp eve. I’m driving as quick as I can to back there.”

You’re now about to enter Nebraska.

“I’m good, man” Carson says. “Real good. So excited to get out there.”

“That’s great, Cars,” you say.

He doesn’t know it, but you are smiling ear to ear.

“Hey man, you need anything else from me?” Carson asks. “Trying to get some final work in on my own before things start up.”

“Yeah, Cars,” you say. “I won’t keep you for long, but I’ve been meaning to ask. You’re eligible to sign a contract extension after this season. Have you thought about it at all?” you ask.

“I love it here,” Carson says. “Love the team. Love the city. I want to play my whole career here. Do you think the city loves me back though?”

You pause in disbelief, clutching the steering wheel so you don’t drive over the median onto the other side of the road.

“Everyone here loves you, Cars. What do you mean?”

“I think they do too,” Carson says. “It’s just, you know. I’m not from here and sometimes I wonder if people…”

You cut him off a bit more aggressively this time.

“Cars Cars Cars Cars CARS! Understand this,” you say. “People don’t give a damn where you’re from.”

You stop yourself and want to clarify your point to make sure he doesn’t misinterpret it.

“And I mean that in the best way possible,” you say. “We think North Dakota is cool, really cool. All we care about is you being healthy, throwing touchdown passes, and winning football games.”

“I feel you, man” Carson says back. “I know that too, but it’s definitely good to have the reassurance.”

“Cars,” you say. “I want you to know from me directly that I am so invested in your success. Yeah, Nicky and I have something special that extends beyond the football field, but when you got drafted, Cars, you were the best thing to happen to this franchise in 17 years. Everyone here loves you, and anyone who doesn’t is out of their damn mind.”

“I love it, man,” Carson says back.

“Camp tomorrow, Cars. We’re gonna get you right. We’re gonna get you ready for Opening Night. Beat Atlanta, and we’re on our way to that repeat. Be well, my man, I’ll see you soon.”

Chapter 15: Paying It Forward

Your call with Cars was the final planned communication while on the road. No more stops, but you’ve been thinking a lot about what the cop in Idaho did for you, and if there’s any way you could perform some type of good deed before you get home.

You won’t force it if it doesn’t present itself, but you’re hoping something does.

You spot a guy on the side of the road who looks a few years younger than you and hit the brakes to pull over.

That probably wasn’t good for the Mustang, but this could be your chance.

You keep the engine running to avoid any problems and roll down your window.

“Hey, thanks for stopping boss,” the guy says. “You’re the first car who didn’t just go blazing by.”

You nod your head.

“No problem, kid. Where you headed?”

“I think somewhere on the east coast. I’m kinda trying to figure that out for myself,” he says. “Where you headed?”

“Philadelphia,” you say back.

“You mind if I ride with you for a couple hours, boss?” he asks.

He seems like he won’t kill you, and you’ve taken plenty of risks on this trip already. One more won’t hurt.

“Sure thing,” you say. “My car’s a bit of a mess, but why don’t you hop in the back.”

“Hey thanks a lot, boss,” he says back. “Really appreciate it.”

You nod again and merge back onto the road. He is quiet but seems mesmerized by your Super Bowl memorabilia in the backseat, turning a mini helmet back and forth.

After about another hour, you decide to break the silence.

“What’s your name anyway, kid?” you ask.

“Dallas,” he says.

“We might have to do something about that,” you say. “Where you from and how’d you end up on that road. What’s your deal?”

“From South Dakota,” he says.

“No way,” you say. “I was just there less than a week ago. Mount Rushmore really is incredible.”

“It’s awesome,” Dallas says.

“Anyway, sorry to cut you off,” you say. “Keep going.”

“From South Dakota,” Dallas says. “Looking for a place to get my career started and heard good things about the east coast.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask. “Small town kid wants to come to the big city?”

“Yeah,” Dallas says enthusiastically. “You know for the longest time I thought maybe I would end up in Texas and was headed that way. My dad was a huge Cowboys fan, but I don’t know, I kind of want forge my own path, you know? Plus, I hear east coast football fans are crazy. Passionate, loyal, dedicated. Some people told me that if you show you care, they’ll love you forever. That’s what I’m looking for.”

“Well, kid, you’re in luck,” you say. Dallas can’t see your face nor body language with your back turned and head fixated on the road, but your tone is one of approval. “We’re kinda going to a place like that, and…”

Dallas cuts you off in sheer excitement.

“Hey man, that sounds incredible,” he says. “I think I’ll ride with you the whole way if you don’t mind.”

“You got it,” you say back. “I think you’re really gonna like it.”

Silence again, and you welcome it this time. Every time you talk takes up a bit more of the little energy you have remaining. You can’t wait to sleep when you get home.

“Hey boss, what about you?” Dallas asks. “How does a guy from Philly end up all the way in the midwest like that?”

You figured this question was coming at some point.

“Let’s just say I was visiting an old friend,” you say. “I can go into some more detail once you understand the city a bit more, but it’s complicated.”

“Interesting,” Dallas says. “You guys used to date?”

This one caught you off guard. While it’s not true, you actually think it’s a very interesting analogy.

“Nah,” you say. “Just been friends for a while and wanted to see each other one more time.”

“I got you, boss,” he says. “Again, thank you so much. I can’t wait to get there with you.”

You’re not curing cancer or solving a major political problem, but your good deed has been done.

(Image created by Ryan Beckler)

Chapter 16: Reunited and It Feels So Good

Dallas passes out in the backseat and wakes up around 5 a.m.

Once you know he’s up after a night of driving in solitude, you punch in Doc’s number and start talking before he has a chance to.

“Doc listen, I know you said to meet at your shop, but I’m actually gonna need you to meet me at the Linc. Got a guy riding with me and need to drop him off there.”

“You are lucky I love my Eagles, kid. For all the stress you’ve put me through this week, I must be nuts to keep answering these calls.”

“See you soon,” Doc you say with a grin on your face.

You’re now rolling through the western part of Pennsylvania with Philadelphia only a few hours away.

The Falcons games are still playing in the background, TV muted. You go to unmute, thinking you can get in one more listen as motivation, but then instead let go of the remote and finagle with your radio knob.

The sound is muzzled for a minute or two, but WIP begins to come in. It feels like home again even if you’re not there yet.

Angelo is opening with a rant about Gabe Kapler’s bullpen management from earlier in the week. Having been on the road for almost a week, you don’t have enough context yet to know what happened.

“IT’S A JOKE!” Angelo yells. The radio goes out again for a second as you hit some mountainous areas, but you’re pretty sure you heard a “SCREW YOU!” too.

“Dallas, pay attention,” you say while turning the radio louder. “You want to make it in this town? This is the guy you need to win over.”

“Yeah, boss, he sounds really intense,” Dallas says.

“He is going on 30 years doing this,” you say. “You won’t always agree with his opinions, but no one demands winning and accountability of the teams like he does. No one.”

“I definitely respect that,” Dallas says. “I like when people push me to be my best.”

“There is nothing like hearing his callers on Monday morning after a big win,” you say. “They are some of the most passionate people in the city. I don’t even put myself in that group. The same people have been calling him for over two decades waiting for what they got to see last February. I call some other shows, but it can be impossible to get on that one. You can be on hold with Angelo for an entire morning.”

Dallas listens intently.

“Some people. Some people — losers online, like to make fun of his callers. ‘They’re too intense, too opinionated, too loud, you say in a mocking voice’

“The people who make fun of them are losers with nothing better to do,” you say. “Tweeting weird stuff at Adam Schefter all day for attention because they’re bored with their own lives. I can’t stop them from doing it. That’s their prerogative, but I can think they’re losers,” you say. “Losers.”

You are now fired up to the point where you can no longer hear Angelo and nearly miss the exit you’re supposed to merge onto.

“I’ll get off my soapbox,” you say. “But you get my point.”

“Totally, I got you, man,” Dallas says.

“In any case,” you say. “Let’s get all the way back to Philly. You’re gonna love it.”

The sun has fully risen, and the Mustang is humming along just fine as you complete the final leg of the trip. The Idaho cop really did know what he was doing when he jumped it.

You expected to do the full trip all alone but met some folks along the way and even ended bringing back one.

You’ll still be Super Bowl champions when camp officially gets underway, but once the pads go on, everyone is chasing you, coming for what you have.

While it ended on a pretty happy note in Oregon, of all the road trips with and to see Chip, this one definitely pushed and tested you the most.

You’re excited to be back home again. To see Doug and the rest of your boys.

Lincoln Financial Field appears in the distance.

“That’s where we’re going,” you say to Dallas pointing out the window.

“Whoa!” Dallas exclaims. “That place looks incredible.”

“Oh yeah,” you say. “It’s a place where the beginning of dreams come true.”

Dallas gazes out the window, mesmerized.

“I gotta catch up with a few folks when we first get there,” you say. “Then I’ll introduce you to some buddies.”

Dallas nods his head as you pull into the parking lot, pressing your foot lightly on the break.

You did it. You made it back. People doubted you, just like they did about Nick, but you did it.

You didn’t even need to call Doc to let him know you’re here. He spots you like a hawk and walks your way, arms folded.

“You,” Doc says. “You might be the most stubborn mother fucker I have ever done work for, but I respect your hustle.”

You feel a massive sigh of relief. “Doc, give me about nine minutes,” you say. “Then she’s all yours. I need to sleep for about five days, but after, we’ll grab a beer, and I’ll tell you about everything.”

You turn back to face the car. Dallas has gotten out with his eyes still locked on the stadium, now examining the Super Bowl Champions banner.

You can see Doug in the distance carrying a play sheet and run over to give him a hug.

“DOUGGG!” you yell. “How’s your summer been?”

“Great, man, you’d be proud of me,” he says.

“Oh yeah?” you ask.

“Yesterday Howie told me to meet him at 11 to go over some depth chart stuff. I told him I was watching some film and we should meet at 2 instead.”

“Fuck yeah, Doug!” you say reaching out your fist as he pounds it. “That’s what I’m talking about. You’re a Super Bowl champion head coach. Stand up for yourself. I love it, man. Hope Howie’s doing well too.”

Carson walks over and joins you guys.

“CARSSSSSSSSSSS! Day one baby. You ready?”

“You know it,” says Carson. You guys hug while making sure you don’t get too close to his left knee.

A tall figure emerges in the distance, and you know exactly who it is, sprinting towards him.

“NICKYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! “You have no idea how good it is to see you,” you say as the two of you embrace for the first time since February.

“You have no idea how good it is to see you, man” Nick says back. “I was looking for you earlier this morning when I got here early, was worried you weren’t gonna make it back in time.”

“Me too, man,” you say. “I was, you know, out west for a bit.”

Nick nods knowing exactly what you’re talking about without you having to say it.

You and Nick walk together back towards Carson and Doug.

Minus LeGarrette, the crew from last summer is back together again, only this time with a little more bling on your fingers.

“Let’s get a picture before practice starts,” you say. The four of you huddle together, but you realize you left your phone in the Mustang

Your brain works in spurts, but the lack of sleep has really made you really forgetful.

It lights up on the seat as soon as you open the door with a text message waiting for you.

You slide the phone in your pocket after pressing send for the second time and look around your car, swooping up all of the Super Bowl stuff in the backseat.

“Yooooooo man, you coming?” Doug asks.

“Be right there,” you shout back.

The 2015 Falcons tape is still playing. You take one more look and turn it off, the turf from the old Georgia Dome slowly fading to black as the TV goes dark.

You glare at the license plate as if you’re locked in a staring contest with it.

“We’re gonna get you Opening Night,” you say out loud, soft enough where no one pulling into the lot hears, but loud enough where you know it’s been spoken.

Chapter 17: Let’s Fucking Go

You shut the doors and give the Mustang a kiss on the hood. It’s sweltering and nearly burns your mouth, but you had to do it as a token of thanks for all it’s done for you.

After one final moment of self-reflection, you jog back towards your crew.

There’s one small problem though.

“Who’s gonna take the picture?” Carson asks.

“Yooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo Doc, you yell” from afar. “Take this picture of the four of us, and she’s yours.”

Arms linked, the four of you get close and smile.

There’s no need for a flash in the bright training camp sun. Doc putting the phone down will be your sign that the photo been taken successfully. Sure enough, he does a few seconds later.

Doc tosses the phone back to you underhand. Perfect catch. You take a step back as if you’re a quarterback avoiding the rush and lob the Mustang keys in Doc’s direction. He makes an over the shoulder catch and waves as he walks toward the car.

You, Cars, Nicky, and Doug all lock eyes on the Linc together.

“Gentlemen,” you say. “We won the Super Bowl.”

“Not my opinion,” says Doug.

“Not your opinion,” says Carson.

“Sure as hell not fake news,” says Nick.

“An undeniable fact that happened,” you say to close it out.

There’s nothing left to do but get ready for Atlanta, get ready to defend your title.

The four of you — arms still linked — enter the stadium together.

“Let’s fucking go!” you say.

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