“Oh, The Places You’ll Go…To Find A Lineman” – Part 1: The Ultimatum

Setting: The Virginia Mason Athletic Center, Renton, WA. February 9, 2021

Ext. A third floor office. One man sits behind a desk. A plethora of coloured papers and binders scatter the desktop about them.

Pete Carroll sits at his desk, preparing to wrap up the team year-end interviews. He is chatting with an intern before the final player arrives.

Pete Carroll: … and ever since I found Sherman’s Adderall I haven’t once thought that bird was actually telling me what plays to run. Probably should have let Taima run the offence instead of Schottenheimer, though. But buying the handler that hood also helped.

He can’t read my thoughts if he can’t look into my eyes.

Intern: That’s…great, coach.

PC: Anyway, where was I?

Intern: You were discussing the lunch options for you and Mr. Wilson.

PC: Right. Now, what did I put down for a menu?

Intern: Well, last time you said, “Whatever’s in the fridge!” But I know how… picky Mr. Wilson can be. So I read that GQ article and went ahead with chicken, rice, and a green vegetable, with some fruit and 12 almonds as his dessert.

PC: Good, good. And for me?

Intern: Slim Jims & chicken nuggets, as you requested.

PC: HOT DAMN! Just like the ARCO back home.

Intern: And before you ask, sir, Recovery Water for Mr. Wilson and eight year-old Coke Zero for you.

PC: That’s perfect, Kevin. Just order it when he gets here, and have it brought in while we’re talking.

Intern: Excellent. Anything else?

PC: That’s all for now; please let me know when Russell arrives.

Intern: Yes sir. (leaves office)

Pete Carroll gets a buzz on the intercom

PC: Yes Kevin?

Intern: (voice on speaker) Sir? Mr. Wilson is here to see you.

PC: Excellent. Please send him in, Kevin, and have our lunch brought up.

Intern: Will do, sir.

The phone goes silent, as Pete Carroll prepares for the arrival of his star quarterback.

A door opens

PC: Russell! It’s good to see you, son.

I love the jacket. Is it new?

Russell Wilson: Mmph mmth ffth yyobb. Gghh sathh wwth dhbb…kthh!

PC: I’m sorry, Russ, but I don’t speak Dutch. You might have to take off that ceremonial headdress you’re wearing.

Russell Wilson begins unwrapping his head 

RW: Goddammit, Pete – they’re bandages! Whoopsie – said a bad.

PC: Oh, are you hurt?

RW: Look at my head, man. I didn’t look like this before Aaron Donald took the field!

PC: I’ll have to take your word on that, since we were both wearing masks last time we saw each other.

Anyway, you said something in…Portugese? as you came in.

RW: Dam- Darn it, I said, “Look Pete, we need to get some things straight before next season”!

PC: What are you getting at exactly?

RW: C’mon Pete. We’ve done some great things together, and I’d like to keep building on that going forward…

PC: Uh huh…

RW: But I can’t continue to do that if I’ve got to run for my life every third play.

PC: But scrambling’s always been a big part of your game. You love scrambling!

RW: But it’s different now. When we went to the Super Bowls, the guys I had up front had been with me since the beginning. I could trust them when I had to become creative. Now, when I run on the field, I have to look at the scoreboard to see if I recognize any of the names.

I couldn’t trust those guys to get me water. Do you know how many times I called for the wrong player this season? That shouldn’t happen!

PC: Look, Russ. I know you’re frustrated. Last year was supposed to be a rebuilding year. We got incredibly far, farther than we’d projected – and you were a large part in making that happen.

RW: Thanks Pete. But listen, I’ve been talking to God, and I ju–

PC: You’ve been talking to Belichick? Russell, that’s tampering. I’m going to have to tell John Schn–

RW: No Pete. God, through which His vessel Jesus Christ, my personal Lord & Savior, showed me The Way…

PC: (under his breath) Oh Christ, here we go…

RW: …and The Way now seems to be possibly exploring my options.

PC: Uhh…Russ, what does that mean?

RW: It means that, unless you find me some disciples to guard my path, I might have to explore taking my talents & Ministry somewhere else, however the Lord chooses to work.

PC:

RW: (dropping the veneer) Linemen, Pete! Find some fucking linemen to keep me alive. Just because I fucking follow Jesus doesn’t mean I want to fucking die like Him.

PC: Gotcha. Linemen. To keep you alive.

RW: Real linemen Pete. Not these fucking lacrosse players who all seem to be real estate agents from Bellevue.

PC: Right. Actual players.

RW: Guys who’ve played the fucking position before. In college, not Pop Warner.

PC: Jesus, you’re really dotting the Is & crossing the Ts.

RW: DO NOT TAKE MY LORD’S NAME IN VAIN, MOTHERFUCKER!

PC:

RW: (straightening his tie) Sorry Pete. I’m just emotional; forgive the language. Look, just speak with John, and let him know how I feel. I want to stay a Seahawk, not die a Seahawk.

PC: No worries, Russ. I got rid of Cable’s swear jar years ago. As for John, he & I have a meeting for tomorrow, after I’ve concluded all this season’s exit interviews. I’ll make sure to let him know.

RW: Okay. Thanks Pete. Have a good offseason. (gets up to leave)

PC: Thanks Russell. You too.

RW: Thanks.

PC: Hey buddy – “Go Hawks”?

RW: Sure… whatever.

As Russell Wilson closed the door behind him, Pete Carroll sat open-mouthed, staring at the door. Everything seemed a bit darker. He couldn’t recall the last time Russell had left a conversation without a customary “Go Hawks”, and he wondered what that foretold for the future.

Right up until Kevin arrived with lunch.

Intern: (opens door slowly) Mr. Carroll, I heard how the meeting was going, so I took the liberty of cancelling Mr. Wilson’s lunch and bringing you the Happy Meal version of yours.

The intern places a tray down on a nearby table.

PC: Oh Kevin. You deep fried it!

A tear finally came to Pete Carroll’s eye. Perhaps his day would get better.