Page 82 of Over Time Advantage

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Do you get a thrill when someone gives you a loaf of sourdough bread?”

“No.”

“Did you have a Trapper Keeper in high school?”

He chuckles. “Nope. Don’t even know what that is.”

“Then you are not yet middle-aged. Get back to me when those things change.”

He laughs overly loudly. “You’re the funniest guy I know.” His face turns serious. “Thanks for the save. DeBurg is annoying. And for what it’s worth, I would never marry someone for superficial reasons like him, and I would never talk about my wife the way he talks about his.” He swallows nervously. “Wives should be respected, right?”

I nod in agreement, but I’m finding his behavior to be extremely bizarre. “You alright, Humblecut? Are you sick?”

He chuckles. “No, Coach. Like everyone else, I’m just figuring out what I do and don’t want in life. I know I don’t want to be like DeBurg,” he says with what appears to be sincerity.

I slap him on the back, hopeful that maybe he is, in fact, maturing. “Glad to hear it.”

A few hours later, DeBurg walks into my office as I’m reviewing a few possible formations I’ve been considering now that we have more options on the pass plays. “I thought you were coming by,” he whines like a baby.

I exhale a long breath. “You said to stop by on my way out. I’m still here.” You fucking dipshit.

“Right.” He points to a chair. “May I sit?”

I nod. “Feel free.”

He eases down into one of the two chairs in front of my desk before leaning back and steepling his fingers. “Why do you think we’ve underachieved in the playoffs the past few years?”

“A breakdown in our defense,” I respond without hesitation. “Between injuries and a lack of personnel, we can’t seem to prevent other teams from scoring.”

He nods. “I agree. I think it’s time to make some changes in that regard.”

“We signed a few guys who will help,” I offer. “With Fudd leading the charge and a better supporting cast, I think things will be better this coming season.”

He’s silent.

“You obviously have something to say,” I grit out. “Get on with it.”

He clears his throat. He’s nervous to tell me whatever it is he’s about to reveal. I’m not going to like this.

“We’re in negotiations for a blockbuster trade with San Diego,” he announces with a shaky voice.

“Okay. Who are we giving them and who are we getting?”

He goes on to give me the names of San Diego’s three best defensive players. Three players who would immediately impact our defense in the best way possible.

I take it all in, knowing there must be a huge cost for players like them. “What would we be giving up in said trade?”

He licks his lips nervously. “McCaffrey.”

“What?” I scream as I stand. “You don’t fucking trade the best quarterback in the sport. Are you fucking nuts? Over my cold, dead body.”

His shoulders fall. “He’s on the back end of his career. We can get a lot of young talent for him now while he’s still functional.”

“Functional? He’s a first-team All-Pro quarterback. He’s the face of the franchise. He’s the offensive leader. He’s the reason we win games.” I point at him. “You trade McCaffrey, my resignation will follow within the hour. I will not coach this team without Vance. For fuck’s sake, we can’t win a Super Bowl without him.”

“Would you stake your career on that?” he immediately fires back in challenge.