NFL
By: Brock Vierra
There is no point, no theory, no hypothesis. There will be no judgment, no criticisms, no outlandish statements as usually expected from me. This is just a story that has taken me too long to share. I am someone whom one of my closest friends in the world of sports, my College Football Forecast co-host Bill Carroll has named “the baby-faced assassin.” I got named this because I desire to fire as many head coaches as possible. Now I wasn’t always such a mean-spirited guy but the heartaches experienced at the age of 10 aren’t the topic of discussion. My disdain for sports built on a childhood of San Diego Charger trauma in a subject for my therapist and for another time. Today I want to talk about the fall of 2020. A strange time in human history when we as a society traded health and safety for comfort when we refused to practice simple health standards so that mee maw and pee paw could live, a time when we had barroom fights over toilet paper, and when we learned that we’ll never stop playing football.
The year was 2020 and COVID changed lives all around the world. Lockdowns were in full effect, many people turned their homes into workplaces, and parents trying to teach their toddlers showed us why school teachers need to be paid more and there sat me. In the abandoned town of Las Vegas, a place that welcomed millions closed its doors to all. That place sat me. A college kid who would go to school to work my student job and would leave my job at school to go home and attend class online. COVID was a wild time. I would be in my room, acting as the scholarly scholar that I was, representing the Scarlett and Grey of UNLV while my girl whom I love so much was studying hard to graduate from little brother Nevada State College in her hopes to pursue a career as an elementary school teacher who I can genuinely say, needs to be paid more.
She would be playing music and listening through her Airpods, letting her ears be filled by the voices of the men that she would spend all her money to see, Harry Styles and his backup dancers…oh sorry, I mean One Direction. I on the other hand listened to something even more soothing to the soul. The sweet duo of Andre Ware and Jason Benetti. That’s right, I spent my Friday nights while I was 21 doing what I should’ve been doing when I was 18, watching football. To be fair, I probably should’ve been doing what I was doing at 18 at the age of 21 but 2017 was a different time and Yung Brock prioritized tryna spit game to fellow freshman females and finding a 21-year-old to buy us foko lokos from the gas station with the combined twelve dollars my group and I had. Those nights of fun consisted of good friends, no food, and endless booze. UNLV’s Williams Hall room 161 used to be a wild place. Thanks for my mini fridge Dad, it was money well spent. Well, the fall of my 21st year of age wasn’t spent how I imagined it. Instead of late-night swiping on Tinder, matching with girls, and engaging in conversations that brisky ended with them saying goodnight, I found peace.
My girl, my guys, football, and film. I am not a sports journalist by trade. I am just a writer who likes to talk about my various loves. I am a screenwriter. I write movies and I hope one day you will see, enjoy and experience a film written by me. In the present day, ideas feel so hard to come by. This crazy world moves faster than anyone can truly handle and by the time you get a hold of yourself, day has turned into night and back into day. I find myself caught up in the world that surrounds me and that causes me to neglect what I feel inside. However, that’s not how things used to be.
During those fall Fridays of 2020, it was simple and beautiful. The night was planned and I loved it. In this small room, I typed away at what I thought was my masterpiece. In my eyesight was my girl who would go on to be the class chair in just her second year of professional teaching. I could look up and watch Appalachian State play football on one of the most beautiful fields in the country or watch Zach Wilson light up defenses that had no shot. Andre Ware in his home office with his University of Houston and Detroit Lions helmets in the back. Benetti, the constant professional who was laying the foundation for his move to Fox. Food on the way. Maybe it would be pizza tonight or maybe burgers. Maybe the future Mrs. and I would dare venture out, masked up for sushi. Until dinner time sat this moment with Kacey Musgraves playing on my speaker as background noise. Her album Golden Hour was always on repeat and remains a favorite.
Why do I talk about this? Simple. I was watching one of my favorite movies in The Green Mile the other day and before he is taken to be executed, Graham Greene’s character speaks to Tom Hanks. He talks about his youth. How he spent time with his young wife in the wilderness. She would be naked in the firelight and sometimes they’d just lay together and talk till the sun came up. He would say that was his best time so I thought about what was mine.
Musgraves Oh, What a World came on my radio the other day, and that moment came back and hit me like a truck. I almost had tears in my eyes, it was so beautiful. The world, so quiet and calm. Almost still. I had the ability to tend to my inside feelings and outside responsibilities. Now I am not saying I want another lockdown or another pandemic. I’m not sadistic so don’t twist my words.
Just at that moment for such a short time, I had nothing and I had it all. No car, no money, no career prospects but I had peace and I had it all to myself. To be able to watch college football, to relax, to have the one you love stand up from the bed and approach you, effort spent all because she wanted a kiss. After the game ends, maybe we lay together and watch a movie. We got our drinks and snacks. She was so considerate to make me grab her water from downstairs before I got comfy. The Fall of 2020. That was my best time. Oh, what a world it was.
