A 24 Hour Road Chip to Save a Former Loved One’s Career
Editor’s note: Every summer when the Eagles report for training camp, we write a column. Sometimes said column discusses actual football matters, but in other instances, it may offer a more metaphorical look at the state of the franchise. The 2014, 2015, and 2016 versions are all linked for reference, but I can confidently say that this is the best — and weirdest — one yet. We hope you sincerely enjoy.
Morning is less than a few mere seconds away from officially giving way to noon.
In fact, by the time you read this sentence, 11:59 will have all but changed to 12:00. With it comes the triple beep sound followed by a monotone voice.
46 days. 1 hour. 59 minutes and 56 seconds until kickoff in Landover.
The sound concludes as the numbers flash brightly on the voice activated clock you’ve installed within the car.
You’re used to it. Your car mates will get used to it soon enough. It’s motivation for the first game — The only game that matters right now. You’ve been preparing since the schedule came out in April, and it will kick into high gear tomorrow.
The late July sun looking over the Lincoln Financial Field parking lot blasts through your windshield, signaling that the offseason is nearly complete. Training camp is nigh.
Right now though, you’re going on a little trip. Actually you should have left already.
It’s now 12:01. The clock is silent, but the numbers still shine in bright green.
“Where’s LeGarrette?” you ask while annoyingly glancing back and forth between your phone and the now infamous clock. You’re strapped into the passenger seat, ready to roll.
Doug sits in the drivers seat, setting up the GPS. He doesn’t answer. Carson is directly behind Doug buried deep in his iPad watching film of the two Redskins games last season. Nick is in the middle already passed the fuck out.
You knew this would happen. He hasn’t slept since Tori had the baby during minicamp. You guys talked about this and told him you’ll wake him up when needed but to otherwise take it easy and catch up on some shuteye.
This is your crew. Well, 80% of your crew.
12:05 now. Tom Coughlin would not be impressed.
“Okay, where the fuck is LeGarrette?”, this time raising your voice. “We need to go.”
A car emerges from the distance, does a half donut, and pulls up a few feet away. LeGarrette walks out with a duffel bag swung over his shoulder, fist bumps the driver and walks toward you. Doug pops open the trunk and after a few seconds of finagling, LeGarrette closes it and gets in behind you, next to Nick.
“Good to see you’re on time, LeGarrette,” you say in a passive-aggressive voice as Doug fires up the engine. “I’m sure Bill loved that in New England.”
LeGarrette, somewhat confused, takes a look at his phone. “Oh shit, man. I could have sworn you said 12:10. My bad brah. Won’t happen again.”
“It’s alright,” you say. “Let’s just be mindful of it.”
Doug merges onto I-76 and — albeit a few minutes later than desired — you’re underway.
You turn your head around so as to make eye contact with Nick, LeGarrette, and Carson all at once.
“Alright, men, listen up. You all have different levels of context, so we’re going to get everyone on the same page. Every summer, I used to go on a road trip with Chip Kelly before training camp. Nick was with me in 2013 and 2014. Man, 2013 was so fucking fun, wasn’t it Nick?”
Nick remains asleep, but he’ll be there when you need him.
“Last summer, I drove out to California on my own to break up with him. Doug drove me home after my car broke down out there and Carson joined us about halfway through the return trip in North Dakota. Now, LeGarrette, you’ve never been with me before, but if I’m being straight up with you, you’re a big key to this. We’ve never had your skill set on one of these trips in the past, and if you’re focused, I think you could be a big help.”
LeGarrette seems like he wants to speak but is currently chewing. He alternates between two bags — one filled with broccoli, the other with spinach.
Everyone focuses on him. Without much traffic on the road, even Doug momentarily whips his head around to see what’s going on.
“Gotta keep my weight down, brah,” LeGarrette says. “Got three more bags of these for later, but I can say that I’m interested. Tell me more.”
“Alright,” you say. “Gentlemen, we’re going to find Chip. We’re going to save his career. I haven’t talked to him since California last summer, but I feel like I need to do this. All of you are directly or indirectly connected to him in some way. I need you with me.”
Everyone awake nods their head. You take that as permission to continue until Carson looks up.
“Where are we going to find him?” he asks.
“Great question, Carson. Always prepared and thinking ahead,” you say. “So that’s the sort of new thing about this year. We don’t exactly know where he is. We’re going to check out his mom’s place in New Hampshire and go from there.”
You stop for a second to look at the countdown clock. 12:31.
“Now what’s tough is we have less than 24 hours to do this. We need to be back by noon tomorrow for practice, so it’s really important we maximize the time and…”
Doug cuts you off and begins to speak. “Actually we have even less time. I think we plan to be back by 11:30 because Howie wants me to check in with him before the first practice and if I’m late…”
Now you cut Doug off.
“Doug! We’ve talked about this. Put your foot down, man. This is your practice to run. Not Howie’s. Talk after practice if you need to. We need all the time we can get for this.”
Doug has the natural reason of needing to focus on the road as an excuse not to answer for the time being.
“That’s about all I got for now, guys. We have about a six hour drive until we even get to New Hampshire, so feel free to sleep, watch tape, whatever. I’ll touch base on the plan when we get closer.”
And for the next 25 or so minutes, there was sleeping. You and Doug will talk later, but you also sit in silence for now. All is quiet.
45 days. 23 hours. 59 minutes and 58 seconds until kickoff in Landover.
“The fuck is this shit, man?” LeGarrette pops up and shouts while hearing the voice for the first time. “This some bullshit.”
You turn back around. “Ah yes, since you were late, you missed this the first time. This is an hourly reminder about kickoff against the Redskins. We need to be as focused as possible.”
LeGarrette rolls his eyes.
“Yes, I know what you’t thinking,” you say. ‘Turn it off.’ “The answer is no. You can go right back to sleep, but understand it. Starting tomorrow, the Washington game is all. We must win the first game.”
2 p.m. rolls around. At this point, you are well into New Jersey, and Doug is doing just fine. He’ll be tested later, but he has this part on lockdown. He proved it to you last summer getting out of North Dakota after picking up Carson.
LeGarrette wakes up again to the voice clock at 2 p.m. and is in a talking mood.
“So we just gonna show up at her house and ask for Chip? That’s kinda whack, don’t you think, bro?”
You were expecting this question.
“And what if he’s not even there? Chances of him being there are slim, dawg,” chimes in LeGarrette again before you get to answer.
“I agree with you, LeGarrette. It’s not ideal, but it’s our best shot. If we can at least get Jean to talk to us, she might be able to tell us where Chip is. We have to try.”
4:50 p.m. You’re getting close. You stop at a local convenience store to try to get directions.
“30 miles down. Neighborhood on the right. First house with a University of Oregon logo in the window is hers,” the cashier says to you.
You use the 5 p.m. clock as an opportunity to let Doug, Carson, and LeGarrette know about the plan.
“Alright, guys. Look, when we get there, I don’t want to scare Mrs. Kelly, and I think all of us going up to the door will be intimidating, so I’ll do the talking initially. You all hang back, and I’ll signal when I need you.”
“What about Nick?” says Carson. “What if he wakes up in the middle of it and doesn’t know what to do?”
“He’ll be alright, Cars,” you say back. “He’s been with me before. Preciate you looking out though.”
Doug drives slowly down the street with eyes darting left and right. LeGarrette yells from the backseat.
“Duck!”
It causes some confusion. There’s no pond around and to your knowledge no flying objects where you need to get out of the way.
Doug breaks in the middle of the street, and you both look back confused.
“The Oregon logo,” shouts LeGarrette. “I know that from a mile away.”
He may have been annoying earlier, but you knew you brought him for a reason.
“Good work, LeGarrette! Let’s do this.”
Doug pulls up a few houses away so as to not draw attention. It will also give you a few extra seconds to gather your thoughts on the walk up.
“Alright, boys I’m going in.”
The area is nice and quaint with a lot of trees. The lawn is well kept, and there’s a car in the driveway, which makes you optimistic. You approach the door and take a deep breath before knocking.
After a few seconds of silence initially got you down, you hear movement. The footsteps get closer.
Here it is. The door swings open.
“Hi Mrs. Kelly, I’m…”
“Whatever insurance you’re selling, I’m not interested,” she says while looking you up and down before closing the door.
You knock again. She was calm and didn’t slam the door. She’ll be annoyed, but you know she’ll open it. Sure enough, in a few seconds she does.
“Hi Mrs. Kelly. My name is…”
“I told you I’m not interested,” she replies again.
“Mrs. Kelly, with all due respect, I am here to save your son’s career. I need to find him. Please.”
“Well he’s not here,” she says back.
“Do you know anywhere he might be? Is there a spot he likes to vacation this time of year? Mrs. Kelly, I promise a year from now you will thank me for this. Anything you can do to help would be much appreciated. Please.”
Mrs. Kelly looks exasperated, but you can tell the “save your son’s career” line resonated with her. You’re in.
“Look. I know over the past month he’s been at ESPN prepping for his job. You can try there.”
The next leg in your journey has been dictated. You have a chance.
“Thank you, Mrs. Kelly,” you say in an anxious but also relieved voice. “This is exactly what I needed.”
You reach into your wallet, pull out a slightly crumbled $20 bill from your wallet, and extend it to her.
She begins to close the door without taking the money. That’s your cue. You got what you needed. It’s time to act on it now and let her get back to life.
During your conversation, Doug inched the car closer to the house. You turn around and flash a thumbs up to him, but just as you do you hear the door opening again and whip your head around.
Mrs. Kelly sticks her head out.
“I don’t want your money. I can’t do anything else to help, and I ask that you please do not come back here again, but…”
She pauses. You wait.
“…I hope you find him.”
You crack a slight smile back.”
“I will,” you say before turning to the car once again.
It’s now 6:02 p.m. The sun still shines brightly, but you know you’ll have to make good time to have a realistic chance of pulling this off. You swing open the passenger side door and begin talking while closing it.
“Boys, we’re going to Bristol. Doug, floor it.”
Doug’s a people pleaser. He never argues, but LeGarrette looks less than thrilled.
“Man, we been in this stuffy car all day. We’re hungry,” he says.
“Okay,” you respond. “We’ll get back on the highway, stop at a rest stop, get some food, and be on our way.”
“Rest stop? Oh hell naw. LeGarrette ain’t bout that life. I don’t do that.”
“Alright, then what do you want?”
“Chinese,” LeGarrette says back.
“We really don’t have time for this,” you quip back. “We have less than 18 hours to find Chip, talk to Chip, and make it all the way back to Philly, but I need you right now, so if you want Chinese, fine. We’ll do Chinese.”
“Doug,” you say. “Drive for about 90 minutes. Get us close to Bristol, and we’ll stop for Chinese.”
“Carson, how you doing?” you say while looking back.
He flashes his iPad at you, and you recognize the scene in less than a second. It’s the final drive of the second Redskins game — the one where you were 15 yards away from a game-winning touchdown and came up just short.
You nod your head as Doug gains speed.
7:36 p.m. You can see signs for Bristol. ESPN advertisements plaster every billboard in site in an otherwise quiet town. Doug pulls into a Chinese restaurant as promised.
Everyone files out of the car, LeGarrette slightly ahead of the pack. Nick still looks groggy but is awake for the first time all day. You’re seated quickly while LeGarrette splits off to use the restroom.
“Order something you small,” you whisper to the the rest of the table. “So we can get out of here quickly”
Everyone nods their head, but LeGarrette has other ideas. He comes back to the table as the waitress approaches.
“Twenty five soup dumplings.”
You bury your face in your hands.
“LeGarrette,” you say. “What happened to the weight stuff you were talking about? Camp starts tomorrow.”
“Brah, I got that shit on lockdown. Don’t worry.”
“Okay fine, whatever,” you say, still shaking your head slightly.
The waitress takes the menus away, and a few minutes pass. You can sense morale is a bit low.
“Alright look, let’s talk some shop while we wait for the food, eh?” you say. “Carson, what did you see on tape watching the Skins games last year?”
Carson takes a sip of water. “They’re good, man,” he says. “Solid defense, but we were close in both games. Left some plays on the field. We can get them.”
For the first time all day, Nick speaks.
“I can talk to you about beating the Redskins,” he says.
You jump in. “Fuck yeah, you can, Nick! You were the quarterback the last time we beat them. Do it.”
At this point the food arrives, and LeGarrette begins eating, but Nick and Carson are looking right at each other. A quarterback to quarterback moment.
“Similar to you, I lost to them my first two games,” Nick says. “Also similar to you, the second game, we were real close. We fought. I felt like if the game was five minutes longer, we would have won for sure, but next year, I was ready. 298 yards. A rushing touchdown.”
Nick is now smiling.
“That was the day we told the league we were serious. That we were coming for their division title. We broke a 10-game losing streak at home. The Linc was rockin.”
The mood has brightened now.
‘Nick,” you say. “Tell ’em about 2014.”
“That was such a special game,” he says. Carson listening intently. “We came in 2–0, Linc rockin again, and the game was so back and forth. I took a tough hit in the fourth quarter.”
“Don’t undersell it, Nick” you say. “That scumbag Chris Baker cheap-shotted you on a dead play. Tried to end your season. Piece of shit.”
Nick nods his head and looks back at Carson.
“But I got up,” he says. “And the whole team had my back. Especially Jason Peters. He went right at Baker. Mauled him. Got himself ejected from the game, but it fired us up. I marched us down the field and threw the go-ahead touchdown to Jeremy.”
“Everyone has your back now, Carson. I’ve got your back. You’re ready. And if you beat them Week 1, I know good things will happen.”
Nick stops talking and reaches out his hand to fist bump Carson.
“I can tell you all about beating the Skins too,” LeGarrette chimes in between mouthfuls of the dumplings. “November 2015. 129 yards and a touchdown. Won 27–10.”
The second year quarterback is now fired up, pulling out Sweet ‘N Low and Duck Sauce packets to diagram plays on the table.
“Doug, can we go deep first play from scrimmage?” he asks. “Let me do it. Alshon. Even if Josh Norman is on him. Let’s go right at him.”
Doug looks up from a sip of wonton soup. “I like it, Carson,” he says. “Let me see what Howie thinks when we get back.”
You throw an egg roll against the wall. “DAMMIT DOUG!’ you yell. This has drawn attention as other tables look up from their meals.
You don’t stop.
“You are THE COACH. Not Howie. If you wanna go deep first play, then you go deep. Have some confidence in yourself, man. We’ve talked about this.”
So much for that good mood. Silence unfolds for the next few minutes. LeGarrette still has a few dumplings left, but the waitress drops the check on the table.
“Alright, guys. We’re all a little on edge. I know it’s gonna be a long night. Let’s read some fortune cookies, yeah? What you got, Nick?”
Nick unwraps his fortune.
“Be ready. Your past accomplishments are not forgotten.”
“What about you, Carson?”
“Great success is in your future if you continue working hard.”
The vibe is back on the upswing.
“LeGarrette?”
“Stay focused. Your talents can help a new place flourish.”
“Let’s gooooooo! What about you, Doug?”
“Knowledge is important, but self-confidence in the knowledge you possess is essential.”
“Fitting. Alright, men. Let’s roll,” you say while standing up.
“What about you, man?” says LeGarrette. “You make us all read our fortunes but won’t say yours? That’s fucked up.”
You sit back down and open the cookie.
“You don’t get a second chance to win your first game.”
“Think on it in the car,” you say. “Let’s roll.”
You stop to talk to the waitress real quick. LeGarrette looks back at you confused after you seemed in such a hurry. It will make sense later.
8:59 p.m. Here comes the reminder clock. This time it’s met with enthusiastic cheers after the Redskins conversation and fortune cookie reading during dinner. With fewer cars on the road, Doug honks the horn in approval a few times drawing claps from the car.
Nick is tired but has vowed to stay awake. He knows you’ll need him when you go in.
“Let’s talk about the plan because as soon as Doug parks, we’ll have to move quickly,” you say. “Nick and LeGarrette. You guys are with me. We’re finding Chip.”
“Doug and Carson. You guys are a team, and I have a special assignment for the two of you. I want you to go into their film vault and soak in everything you can about the 2000 Eagles.
Doug spent the season as a backup in Cleveland. Carson was seven years old.
“Like us, they had a second year quarterback and second year coach. That’s all I’ll say. Figure out the rest.”
Doug parks the car in a visitor section. It’s now a half past nine.
“Let’s plan to meet back here at midnight. That should hopefully be enough time,” you say.
Doug and Carson go their separate ways while you, Nick, and LeGarrette gameplan.
“Ideally, we’ll get to him on our own, but if anyone stops us, let’s just ask for a tour. We’ll play along and figure out how to get away from there.”
This place is massive. Noise buzzing everywhere. You walk into the first lobby you see and are greeted by a hulking guard.
“Identify yourself,” barks the guard while walking closer to you.
Your lips slowly move. “I’m…”
Nick sees you struggling. “We’re here for a tour,” he says.
“Well that’s cute,” the guard laughs. “But it’s late, and my shift ends at 10. You’ll have to wait until the morning.”
There’s no time to wait. You jump back in.
“Look, man. I could keep bullshitting you, but I won’t. We’re here looking for Chip. Chip Kelly. Can you help us?”
“So you lied to me?” the guard asks raising his voice. “You show up late at night, lie about why you’re here. Give me one good reason why I should help you.”
“Because I’m here to save Chip Kelly’s career,” you say. “And if you help us, I’ll make sure you’re mentioned when the story is retold a decade from now.”
This seems to pique the guard’s interest. He pauses and looks around. “Chip, man. I really thought that dude was gonna bring Philly a championship. That was a shame how it ended.”
You know this story all too well.
“Hey boss, let me ask you something,” the guard says. “I’m a Notre Dame grad. You think Chip could be the coach of the Irish?”
“Well,” you say. “If I can truly get through to him, I think he’ll be back in the NFL someday. Plus, he hated boosters at Oregon, so I’m not sure if Notre Dame is the best fit, but sure, if it’s available next year and he wants to spend a few years back in college, it could happen.”
Hopefully that worked. You tried to set expectations but also gave him a realistic chance.
“Shit man, that’d be cool,” the guard says. “Okay look, I could get in a lot of trouble for this, so you guys gotta play it smooth, but I’ll take you to his office. You can see if he’s there.”
“Thank you so much!” you say. “Which way?”
“You guys will never get there by walking,” says the guard. “This place is huge, reminds me of a college campus, man. Let me get my golf cart, and I’ll drive you guys over.”
The guard returns with his golf cart 10 minutes later. The ride feels like it lasts an eternity.
“How you feeling, Nick?” you turn to him and ask. “If he is there, this will be your first time seeing Chip since IT happened.”
“I feel good, man,” Nick says. “I know you’re gonna bring me up, but I don’t think this at the highest level is about me. I think it’s about you trying to help Chip.”
You turn to Nick. “That’s why you the best,” you say. “I’ll do most of the talking, but don’t be afraid to say something if you want.”
Nick nods his head.
It’s now a few minutes past 10 p.m. You imagine the voice going off in the car as the guard drives past a series of offices and stops.
After nine long hours, you’ve made it. The security guard swings open the door to a narrow room. Nick follows you in while LeGarrette waits outside polishing his Super Bowl ring. You’ll need him later.
Chip’s back is turned to you, phone to his ear. You only have to listen for a few seconds to realize what’s going on.
“He did what?!? Thanks, mom. I will handle this.”
Yep, it’s exactly what you thought it was.
“Was he polite at least? Alright, good. I promise it won’t happen again. Love you too.”
Chip slowly removes the wireless AirPods from his ears. An Amazon Alexa rests on his desk. The 10 months spent in San Francisco made him really fascinated with technology.
You’re face to face for the first time since the staredown in California last summer. Back then you had a plan, but this time it’s a bit more open. A handshake feels too formal, but you begin to move your lips, hoping the words come through your brain to break the ice.
He beats you to it. Of course.
“I don’t really appreciate you driving to my mother’s house and knocking on her door,” Chip says to you hastily.
He’s not wrong. That’s not usually your style, but it was the only way to find him, and you had to do it. Plus, you’re in a snarky mood.
“I don’t really appreciate you taking a sledgehammer to my 10–6 football team back in March 2015, but we all have to deal with things we don’t like sometimes, don’t we, Chip?”
This one irked him. It’s like the “Sam Bradford has never been to a playoff game and never will” comment from last summer all over again.
“What are you even doing here?” Chip snaps at you.
Of all the times to get on a soapbox, now is probably not ideal, but there’s no turning back.
“Chip Chip Chip. You and me both know why I’m here. Come on now. I’m here to save your career.”
You continue. “I’m here to break you out of here. I mean, sure, maybe not this second. You’ll stay here — -analyze games for a few month, but you know what I mean.”
Chip looks over your shoulder at the tall figure without a seat, standing a few feet behind you.
“Nick rides with me again,” you say. “Our road trips were always the best when he was a part of them.”
Chip stands up from behind his desk. “Alexa, call security,” he says.
“Calling security,” Alexa responds.
“Chip no wait,” you say. “You don’t need to do that. Look, I didn’t want to do it this early, but if you won’t listen to me, maybe you’ll listen to someone else from your past.”
In walks LeGarrette. “Hey coach,” he says holding out his right hand while the left one — the one with the ring, hangs by his side.
Chip seems frozen in time, and LeGarrette continues.
“I just want to thank you, coach,” he says. “You saved my career. You could have kicked me off the team after I punched that Boise State guy, but you gave me a second chance.”
Chip is ready to speak. “You’re a good kid, LeGarrette. You needed discipline, but you showed me that you learned your lesson and were remorseful”
“Everywhere I go,” Legarrette says, “I tell people ‘Chip Kelly saved my career.’ I owe you so much.”
Chip has now gotten somewhat emotional, clearly moved by what he’s hearing from LeGarrette.
“You see, Chip?” LeGarrette continues. “Our sport needs you. College, NFL, whatever, man. I know you can be that guy again.”
Now LeGarrette has begun to tear up. “I don’t like to cry in front of other people,” he says. “I’m gonna let you two talk. Good to see you, Chip. Thank you.”
LeGarrette walks out of the room. Nick does too. “I’ll go keep an eye on him, make sure he’s okay,” Nick says.
Now it’s you and Chip. Alone. Of course.
“Damn,” Chip says. “I knew in a direct sense it gave him another chance, but I didn’t realize I meant that much to him.”
You sit down across from him at his desk.
“You did, Chip,” you say while attempting not to yawn. “That’s why I brought him here. That’s why I came here. You needed a reminder of what you once meant to a lot of guys. That’s the Chip I want to see come back.”
Chip sits in silence for about half a minute. You were down a similar path last summer that ended with the infamous Sam Bradford line.
There’s no sense in going down that same road again. You get up and walk toward the door. Security isn’t needed. You’ll leave on your own.
“I want to help you Chip, but I can’t if you don’t want to help yourself. Good luck. I’ll be watc…”
Chip cuts you off as you reach for the doorknob.
“Let me ask you something,” he says. You turn back and face him.
“You were one of my biggest supporters from the beginning in Philly. What happened? When did you start losing confidence in me?”
You sit back down. It’s now midnight. You picture the Landover clock going off in the car.
“Well Chip, in a way, I never did. That’s why I’m here. I mean 2013 was so fun, and 2014 was even better at the beginning. And then Nick got hurt. And then we went our separate ways for the offseason.”
Your breaths get a little shorter and eyes well up.
“And then everything happened in March. And even after all that, I came back for our road trip that summer and tried to be excited. The ride down to Atlanta was fun — if not really fucking scary — but once we got there, it was clear we weren’t as close.”
You pause again to gather your thoughts.
“Nothing was the same.”
“It would have worked,” Chip says. “I just needed time.”
“I don’t know if it would have, Chip” you say back. “You stopped listening to everyone. You forgot about the guys who made you successful. You were out of control.”
Chip doesn’t respond, which you take as permission to continue.
“I know you want to coach again, Chip. I don’t want to come back next summer and see you here. For what it’s worth, I actually think you’re going to be a really good analyst, but you belong on the sidelines. I’ve been to South Bend before. It was cool. I’d go again. Knoxville. You wouldn’t be far from Marissa. Anywhere.”
“How is Marissa by the way?” you ask, figuring it can’t hurt to loosen up the conversation a bit.
“She’s good,” Chip says, cracking a smile for the first time all night. “We still talk on the phone every few weeks. I sent her flowers when she hurt her ankle last winter.”
“That’s good, Chip,” you say. “But going back to our conversation befo…”
Chip interrupts you.
“The NFL,” he says. “I want the NFL. No one will give me a shot again, but I want the NFL.”
“That might not be true, Chip,” you say. “Look at my favorite coach in sports — Pete Carroll. He was a lot like you. Thought he knew it all and was gonna take the league by storm. Fired from two jobs. Bought his time killing it at USC, and when Seattle gave him a shot, he started listening to people.”
“That could be you, Chip,” you say, now also smiling for the first time all night. “In fact, I have something you can do this summer to get back on track.”
You pull a piece of paper out of your pocket. It has sloppy but legible handwriting, containing the following names:
LeSean McCoy
Jeremy Maclin
Nick Foles
DeSean Jackson
Trent Cole
Evan Mathis
Todd Herremans
Alex Henery
Now sitting next to him, you show the paper to Chip.
“All of these guys were with you when we won the NFC East in 2013,” you say. “You’re going to call each of them one by one and apologize for letting them go.”
Chip gets to the last name on the list and stops.
“Alex Henery, man. Really?” he says. “I’m not calling a kicker to apologize. He missed a big field goal in our playoff game.”
“Okay, you’re right,” you say. “He did make a big kick the week before when we won the division, but I agree with you. You can take him off. The others stand.”
The division winning game in Dallas was always a soft spot for you, and you veer off course a bit.
“Man, remember that night?” you ask.
“We had fun,” Chip says.
“That’s an understatement,” you respond back. “There was about a 20-minute span in the middle of night where we drove around Jerry World, doing donut after donut, screaming ‘COME AND GET ME COPPERS!’ Everyone in Dallas was too sad about the game to care”
“I want you to experience that again, Chip,” you say. “I won’t be there when it happens, but someone else will enjoy it just as much. And I promise you, if you do this, someday it will happen.”
“You can even apologize to Nick right now,” you say. “I’ll go get him”
“Wait,” Chip says. “I might rather call him. It’s not that I’m afraid, but I don’t know what I would say. I need to think about this.”
“Okay, well you got your wish,” you say while peeking your head outside. “Nick is asleep.”
Chip looks confused.
“New baby,” you say. “Now how are you feeling about the rest of the names on the list?”
Chip grabs a beer from his office fridge and cracks it open. “Not sure it’s worth it,” he says. “They won’t care or accept the apology.”
In your head, your first reaction is ‘Well, can you blame them?’ but you know that won’t help right now.
“Not every call will go well,” you say. “DeSean and LeSean, if they pick up, might have some choice words for you. I actually think Jeremy will be very reasonable and want to talk.”
You take a deep breath before the next line.
“The important thing is that you’re admitting your mistakes,” you say. “Doesn’t matter if they believe you, but if you come off as sincere and really do it, others will find out down the line. I’ll make sure they do.”
It’s now past 1 a.m.
“I think I have to get going,” you say. “Training camp tomorrow.”
“Look, Chip. We can reminisce all night. I think you’re going to be really great on ESPN, but you’re not an analyst. You’re a coach. You’re not a general manager.
Chip makes a face at you.
“That’s okay though,” you say. “95% of coaches aren’t. But when you bet on your strengths, you’re a damn good coach. And that’s where I want to see you next summer. Will you call those guys? When it gets tough, think about LeGarrette. Think about all the examples I don’t know about. Do it for them.”
Chip gives you a stereotypical Chip answer. “I’ll think about it,” he says.
‘He didn’t say no,’ you think to yourself, and with that mindset. those four imperfect but semi-optimistic words justify the past 13 hours.
Unlike last year, they’ll be no follow-up text message on the way home. You’ll maybe touchbase after the season when some jobs come open, but the ball’s in Chip’s court.
He reaches out his hand. You shake it and both nod your heads. You slowly walk out, subtly dropping a small, folder piece of paper on the ground before closing the door.
Nick and LeGarrette are passed out in the hallway. You shake them to wake them up.
“Guys, guys. We gotta go,” you say. “We gotta get back to the car..”
After a minute, they wake up. “Does anyone remember where Doug parked?” you ask now outside in the pitch black backdrop of ESPN HQ.
“It’s dark, bro,” LeGarrette says.
“Thanks, LeGarrette,” you say. “I’m gonna need some comic relief while we look for the car.”
You call Doug. Straight to voicemail. His phone must be dead. Yours is low on battery but serves as a flashlight through the parking lot.
After an hour that feels like an eternity, you find it. Doug is passed out in the drivers seat with Carson behind him, and after a few minutes of banging on the windows, he wakes up.
“Doug,” you say, walking into the car. “I’m so sorry. We lost track of time. I didn’t think it’d take this long, but I really need you to be awake. We gotta get back for practice. I’ll stay up with you, but we gotta go.”
Doug wipes his eyes and groggily reaches for the keys while Nick and LeGarrette file back in the car.
They’re fast asleep with everyone else within five minutes, and it’s now you and Doug as he navigates Connecticut in the middle of the night.
“Let’s talk 2000 Eagles, Doug. What did you and Carson learn?”
Doug’s voice becomes a bit higher-pitched. “That team looked awesome. And so fun,” he says.
You let him continue.
“The onside kick to open the season in Dallas. What a call by Andy. And that defense was nasty. Jim Johnson sure was something.”
“Best there ever was,” you say. “Best there ever will be.”
“What about the playoff game?” you ask. “What did you guys learn there?”
“Dude, Hugh Douglas knocked the shit out of Shaun King. Jacked his ass up. And those two touchdowns from Donovan right before halftime to give us the lead.”
“Makes you think of what Carson could do if we get to January, right?” you ask.
“I see why you told me to study them now,” Doug says. “Second year quarterback. Second year coach. Under the radar team with a couple of good veteran leaders. You could tell they were hungry.”
“Andy set the tone for that,” you say. “They played for him. That team went 11–5, Doug,” you say staring out the still pitch black window as the car merges onto the highway.
“Can you imagine if we go 11–5, Doug? You would own this city. Forget buzz around the Sixers or anyone else. This town would be crazy come January.”
You stare forward for a few seconds with memories of the past running through your head.
“Haven’t gone 11–5 in almost a decade,” you say. “I thought we were going to with Chip in 2014. And then that guy got hurt,” you say looking back at Nick.
Doug all of a sudden stops short causing you to whip your head back around. There’s construction in the middle of the night, and traffic has piled into one lane.
“I may need to call Frank and Jim,” Doug says lightly pounding his hand against the wheel in frustration. “Tell them to run the beginning of practice. Getting back on time is looking bleak.”
You reach over and grab the phone from Doug. “Don’t do that,” you say. “You navigated California last year. We’re going to figure this out.”
“Alright, I trust you,” says Doug. “So what happened with you? You were in there for a while. Talk with Chip go well?”
You take a few seconds to gather your thoughts.
“It was…interesting,” you say. “We could have talked for hours more, but I think I said everything that I wanted to for now.”
“Can you…can you tell me about him?” Doug asks. You weren’t done answering his question, and you’re not entirely used to Doug cutting you off.
“What do you want to know?” you ask Doug.
“Everything,” Doug says back. “It interests me, man. You clearly saw something in him, and to do what you did last summer but at the same time to not entirely hate his guts and round up all of us together to come see him here, it intrigues me. A lot.”
You give an — unintentional — yawn. You’re not bothered by Doug’s question but naturally tired after the past 17 hours and the emotional toll that comes with it.
“He could have been great,” you say back to Doug. “He was in so many ways a genius. I thought he was going to change the game. And we started off so well too. His biggest strengths became his biggest security flaws. Players stopped believing in him, and to be honest, even though the ego was still there, I think he largely stopped believing in himself.
You wait and see if that answer is sufficient details for Doug. The traffic has slightly opened up, and he signals to change from the right to left lane.
Now traveling at a normal speed again, Doug turns back to you and goes back to his original question. “So what happened?” Doug asks. “What did you tell him?”
You yawn again and this time stretch in your seat.
“I talked to him about listening to people. About getting back to his strengths. And about admitting his mistakes. Apologizing to a lot of people who he did wrong in the past.”
“And right as I was leaving, I dropped a fortune cookie on his floor hoping he’ll see it. Remember when I stopped to talk to our waitress and LeGarrette looked back at me? That’s what I was doing.
“What did it say?” Doug asks.
“Admit your mistakes. If you do, you’ll find success, and be able to make new ones.”
Fittingly the sun has broken through the clouds as you finish your sentence. Training camp is hours away.
“What did Chip say?” Doug asks. “About apologizing to people?”
“He told me he would think about it,” you say calmly back, expecting the conversation to be over at this point.
“Do you believe him?” Doug asks. “Do you think he’ll listen to you?”
“What?” you say back without thinking. You understood the question, but you’re shocked. For a year now, you’ve been trying to get Doug to push back on more things and challenge you, but you didn’t expect he’d pick now to do it.
“I’m not sure,” you say back. Doug knows you have more to say.
“But if he does, a decade from now after our trophy case is a bit more full and he’s standing on the Super Bowl podium with some other team, I think he’ll thank me for helping to save his career.”
Doug pushes again.
“Do you believe THAT?”he asks.
“Not entirely,” you say back. “But I have to.”
Doug hears your final line and nods his head as a sign of respect. You nod back.
“Hey,” Doug says slightly nudging you in your seat. “How long until kickoff in Landover?”
No worries though. The clock has you covered striking 11 a.m. as Doug veers off I-95 and pulls back into the Lincoln Financial Field parking lot, 30 minutes ahead of schedule.
45 days, 2 hours, 55 minutes, and 54 seconds until kickoff in Landover.
“Let’s fucking go,” Doug says.
You like when he curses. It’s rare enough that it feels authentic and real.
“Let’s fucking go,” you say back.
Doug shifts gears to park, and the once sleepy car all of a sudden has energy.
Carson is the first player out walking towards the stadium. Nick exits through his side.
“I love this place, man.” I’m so happy to back.”
LeGarrette packs up his vegetables and heads out too.
You’re the only one left. You look back at the clock one final time. It doesn’t talk, but you can see the numbers. You press your hands to it so as to metaphorically soak it in.
45:02:55:14
Kickoff in Landover will be here soon enough.
