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It’s been a whirlwind of a month. I spent a good chunk of it in Vegas with my brothers, and now I’m staring at this building that might become my new home. Or, my new second home, anyway.
It feels like the start of something new, and I almost get this strange sense of freedom here. It took me a while to pin down the word for it, but it’s like I can breathe again.
And maybe it’s because I’m leaving the past behind me in Minnesota for this fresh start.
I finally gear myself up to get out of the car and walk toward the building a full ten minutes early, and a receptionist greets me when I walk in.
“Good morning. Who are you here to see?”
“I have an appointment with Mr. Dell, Mr. Hall, and Mr. Elliott,” I say.
“You must be Spencer Nash,” she says with a bright smile.
“That’s me.” I offer a smile back, and she nods.
“Okay, Mr. Nash. Take a seat, and Coach Dell will be right down.” She nods over toward a deserted row of chairs, and I thank her as I head toward them.
Not two minutes later, the elevator doors open, and the head coach of the San Diego Storm, Brian Dell, steps out. He beelines right toward me, walking quickly as if he has somewhere to be.
And he does. Right here. With me.
He’s on the younger side at just forty-three, and he’s smart, a little quirky, and an incredible play caller. He’s single with no kids, and his entire life is dedicated to football—much like mine has been since I started playing as a kid. Much like everyone in my family was, now that I think about it. But that can’t be said anymore for Lincoln, who’s married now with a kid and a step-kid, or Grayson, who’s getting married in a month and a half.
Coach Dell holds out a hand as I stand.
“Spencer Nash. What an incredible honor it is to meet you,” he says as we shake hands.
“And you, Coach Dell,” I say respectfully.
“Please. It’s Brian. Or just Coach.”
I chuckle. “Okay, then, Coach.”
He nods with a smile. “Come with me, and we’ll start with a tour around our training facility.”
I nod, and we get started. He shows me the weight room and locker room. We go through the training room, rehab center, and hydrotherapy rooms. We stop in a player lounge with a VR system for game simulations and other video-game-type consoles that will help us prepare for games. He takes me to a nutrition center and cafeteria, and he points out the practice fields—two outdoor fields and a smaller indoor field that only gets used on rainy days. And then he takes me through the meeting rooms, classrooms, and, lastly, the offices.
It’s a state-of-the-art facility with all sorts of advanced technology to help us analyze our performances as we turn into faster, stronger, and better players, and honestly, the excitement of being in a new place starts to take root in the pit of my stomach.
I loved my time in Minnesota, but that doesn’t mean I can’t love my time somewhere else, too. It’s been long enough now that I can focus on a new mindset that will allow me to feel this sense of anticipation rather than the dread that lanced through me when I first heard the news that I was being released.
The tour ends in the team owner’s office, and the man behind the desk lifts to a stand as he walks around to greet me. “William Hall,” he says as he reaches out a hand to shake mine.
“Spencer Nash,” I say in return. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
He offers a smile. “Welcome to our facility. Coach has shown you around?”
“Yes, sir. What an extraordinary and progressive facility,” I say.
“We look forward to the opportunity to have you train here.”
A knock at the door pulls our attention in that direction, and another man walks into the office. “Spencer Nash,” he says. “Great to meet you. I’m John Elliott, the general manager here.”
“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Elliott,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Please, it’s John. Hey, are you available for the next few hours? I was able to secure a tee time in twenty minutes at the course across the street, and I tell you what, there’s no better way to get to know a guy than on the golf course, you know what I’m saying?” he asks.
I nod. “I can make that work if you’ve got a set of clubs that isn’t from when Bobby Jones played.”
