Before she let me go, she had me sing Silver Bells one last time. She played back all three versions, and I could tell we’d made progress. Maybe there was hope for me after all.
Jett sent me a text with where her band would be playing for the next couple of weeks. I promised to come see her. She made me promise to practice what she’d taught me, and we would get together on Thursday to work some more.
◊◊◊
When I got home, Dad told me we were going to Coach Mason’s house. The reasons we were going to his place instead of having them come to ours were twofold. First, he was still recovering from his stroke. Second, Bo Harrington was there too, and if Bo came to my place, it would be considered an in-home visit. This way, we could say we just bumped into one another at a mutual friend’s house.
Flo, usually Halle’s security person, took over for Jane. I was quickly finding out that in LA, nothing was as close as it seemed when you looked on a map. Dad and I settled into the back seat, and it gave me a chance to talk to him.
“Why are we meeting with Coach Mason and Bo Harrington?”
“With you so busy, I imagine you haven’t really thought about your plans for school next year.”
“I can’t say that I have since our trips,” I admitted.
“When I talked to Bo Harrington, he told me that the first period to sign a National Letter of Intent to play college football begins this Wednesday. I realize there’s another signing period in the spring, and that’s when you intend to make your final decision. But I thought that for something this important, you needed to start thinking about it more.”
“It makes sense, then, because I trust those two the most to give me good advice.”
“That was what I thought. It would give you a chance to bounce your thoughts off two guys who know what you can expect, and they can help guide you to the best decision. It was nice of them to volunteer,” Dad reminded me.
His last statement made me realize that they were more than just my coaches; they’d become friends.
Bo had experience at both the pro and college level ‘fixing’ quarterbacks. He’d been the coach who helped me develop to the point where, in my junior year, I won Elite 11. That was the competition Nike put on each year to find the best high school quarterback in the country. He was currently the quarterback coach at Alabama.
Coach Mason was a longtime coach in the NFL. He’d been involved with the Oakland Raiders and worked his way up to become their offensive coordinator. When there had been a coaching change, they had retained him as a consultant. He was retired now but had kept in the game, teaching young quarterbacks at camps like the one I’d attended in Houston, Texas.
We’d bonded. Coach Mason must have seen something in me because he had volunteered to be the offensive coordinator for my high school team. That was after we lost our old one to conference rival Washington.
While everything Bo taught me made me technically a top-tier quarterback, working with Coach Mason on a full-time basis was invaluable to my development. He taught me how to think like a quarterback. It all began with preparation and knowing how to look at game film. By watching him break down film, I started to understand the nuances of the game. That understanding translated to the field. I was able to process what I was seeing in the game and figure out what defenses were trying to do to stop us. I evolved from being the guy who got by on extraordinary athletic ability to becoming an actual quarterback.
What Coach Mason had taught me would usually take a college-level quarterback leading their team for a couple of years to learn. That was why one of the primary considerations NFL teams had in drafting quarterbacks was how long they’d started. The sad truth was that the starters got the lion’s share of the coaching. You needed that to be able to break down a game correctly on the field and in the film room.
Dad’s point about me using them as a sounding board was spot-on. These two men had been around higher levels of football, and both were within the higher levels of my circles of trust. That made me confident they would give me good advice.
◊◊◊
Coach Mason lived in a condo near downtown. When Coach Mason met us at the door, I noticed he had a cane.
“When did you get that?” I asked.
“My left side is still weak from the stroke. I sometimes lose my balance.”
That sucked.
Bo Harrington was already there. I gave him a warm smile and shook his hand.
“Congratulations. I see you’ve made it into the National Championship Playoffs once again. I expect you should be able to handle Washington,” I predicted.
They’d announced the matchups. Alabama faced Washington, and Ohio State had drawn Clemson. I predicted we would see a rematch in the Championship game of Alabama and Clemson. Neither Washington nor Ohio State had the talent and depth of the top two teams in the country.
“Let me know if you want tickets to the game,” Bo teased me.
