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He laughs at my request. “I keep a spare set in my trunk at all times just for such an occasion. Graphite shafts, not wood like ol’ Bobby used.”
I chuckle as I nod. “Then I’m in.”
“Brian?” John asks the head coach.
“You know it,” Coach says, agreeing to this seemingly impromptu tee time that was likely planned all along.
“Mr. Hall?” John asks, turning to the team owner.
“Rain check.”
John nods. “I also have Clayton Mack joining us,” John says, naming a wide receiver on the Storm. I’ve met him twice post-game on the field, and he’s young at just twenty-five, but he’s definitely someone I’ve kept my eye on.
We exchange a few more pleasantries before we head down to John’s Escalade to head over to the course. I jump in back to allow Coach in the front seat while John drives.
“Let us know if you need some recommendations for housing or activities nearby,” John says.
“I do, actually,” I say.
They launch into what’s nearby, and I take mental notes as I stare out the window at the terrain that’s much, much different from Minnesota.
Four hours later, I’m feeling good with a few beers in me and a decent score as I walk off the eighteenth green.
John was right—the relaxed atmosphere of the long game of golf combined with the camaraderie of being with men who enjoy the same activities I do has given me a chance to get to know them a bit. I shared a golf cart with Clay, and I got to know him the best as we searched for our balls together and complained about slices and the landscape of the course when it was really just our terrible shots causing the issues.
We laughed a lot. We drank some. We golfed hard.
I learned that Clay is a San Diego native. He’s single, and from the way he spoke on the course, I get the feeling he’s reveling in the single life as he uses his status as a professional football player to his advantage.
I can see him becoming a good friend of mine even if our lifestyles aren’t the same, and at one point during our golf outing, he leaned over and said quietly to me that since he’s a native, he can recommend better places than what the staff at the Storm will.
It feels like I made my first friend here, and I hope it’s just the start of this brand-new life.
I hang around a few days solo as I get to know this new town and wait for the official offer to come through, and it’s Friday morning when my phone rings with a call from my agent, Jake Barlow.
“Hey, Jake,” I answer.
“Mr. Nash, good morning. I just fielded an offer from the San Diego Storm and wanted to present it to you.”
“That’s great news,” I say, excitement shooting up my spine at this new opportunity.
“Before I tell you, though, I want you to be aware that I’ve heard rumors that some other teams are also getting ready to make an offer to you.”
“But they haven’t yet. So what’s this one?”
He clears his throat. “Forty-eight over three years with twenty guaranteed and a twelve-point-seven-five signing bonus.”
“So sixteen million a year?” I ask.
“That’s right. Thoughts?”
“What do you think?” I don’t want to share my thoughts before I hear his.
“I think it’s an incredible offer.”
I feel like he’s leaving something out. It’s an incredible offer for a player like you. I’m aging, but it hasn’t affected my performance.
It’s more than I would’ve made on what was left on my contract in Minnesota, and the signing bonus will be an immediate paycheck.
