The Cut
Authors: Wil Mara
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Contents
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For Tracey
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Cut
would not exist if not for the overwhelming time, talents, energy, and generosity of so many people. First, my beloved wife and three children, who motivate me to reach ever higher. Then my editor, Pete Wolverton, and my agent, Tony Seidl, who are football fanatics in their own right. Kudos also to Katie Gilligan, Pete's assistant; a tireless worker and a wonderful person.
The number of friends who patiently answered countless questions, reviewed portions of the text, or helped in other vital ways is staggering. I don't even know where to begin, so I'll just list them alphabeticallyâZennie Abraham, Ernie Accorsi, Walter Anaruk, Walter “Butch” Bartlett, Gil Brandt, Mo Carthon, Bill Chachkes, John Clayton (the best there is), Craig Ellenport, Chris Florie, Leslie Hammond (my gratitude is boundless), Jon Harris, Matt Israel, David Kaye, Pat Kirwan, Marv Levy, Milt Love, Warren Murphy, Bill Parcells, Bill Polian, Keyshawn Johnson, Chris Redmond, Tim Ryan, Brian Taylor, Frank Winters, Lisa Zimmerman, and Mark Zimmerman.
I would also like to thank the good media folks who helped promote
The Draft
and generally get the word out about this series. I am grateful to all of you.
And finally, a heartfelt sentiment for Peter Snell, who was always supportive of me and my writing. He passed away, suddenly and tragically, just a few weeks before the '07 draft. He was one of the most beautiful souls I have ever known. I miss you, old friend.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
This story exists in a kind of “alternate universe.” It is a blend of fact and fiction, and the choice of where one element meets another has been made erratically. You may note, for example, that the great bulk of the plot unfolds on the grounds of the State University of New York in Albany. This is, in truth, where the New York Giants hold their annual training camp (unless they change the location before the book hits the shelves, and if that happens, we can't do anything about it). On the other hand, you'll also see that the New York Jets are said to have reached the last AFC Championship Game but lost to the Cincinnati Bengals. While this, too, might reflect reality at some point, it never happened at the time stated in the text. I simply made it up to serve the needs of the story.
Above all else, this is a work of fiction. It is best to take it from that angle before moving forward. There is some factuality, yes, but this isn't an almanac. Read it for the purpose for which it was intendedâenjoyment. Football is, in my view, the greatest of all modern sports. If you're a fan, you should be able to draw great pleasure from this novel and those to follow. But if you're the type who nitpicks over every tiny detail, then I suggest you put the book down and go check the towels hanging on the bathroom rack because one of them might be crooked.
1
Barry Sturtz finally
ran out of patience.
“T. J.'s numbers for the last two years have been
incredible,
” he said for the third time. “No one here can debate that. Last year aloneâeighty-seven receptions for eleven hundred and forty-four yards and thirteen touchdowns. The best stats for any tight end in the
whole damn league
!” He pounded his fist on the burnished mahogany table to underscore the last three words.
“No one's denying his value, Barry,” Palmer responded. “We all know he's one of the best at his position.” Thirty-six-year-old Chet Palmer had been the Giants' general manager for the last three seasons. With his thinning hair, dark suit, and tortoiseshell glasses, he looked more like a corporate accountant.
“No, Chet,” Sturtz corrected, almost out of breath, “he
is
the best at his position.”
“Okay, okay,” Palmer said, hands up defensively. He didn't have much of a stomach for confrontation. “But we have a contract already, and we expect him to honor it. He's got one year left. After that, we'll be happy to discuss a renegotiation.” The third man in the conference room remained silent, as he had throughout most of the meeting.
Sturtz shook his head. “No, we're discussing it now. T. J. has put up the best stats of any tight end in the league for the last two seasons, and what has he been getting for it?
League minimum
âthis year he'll make less than five hundred grand. Dinkins, meanwhile, will get two point seven million from the Cardinals, Schaefer will get two point one from Denver, and Barone will get one point eight in Miami. T. J. is performing better than
all of them.
”
“Barry,” Palmer said calmly, as if his greatest concern during this exercise in organizational thievery was to remain civil, “we took him in the sixth round. We gave him sixth-round money and a sixth-round contract. He didn't have to take it, but he dâ”
“
He's being ripped off!
” Sturtz screamed. An icy silence followed, during which the ticking of the wall clock became noticeably louder. Palmer seemed a little nervous now, whereas head coach Alan Gray continued to appear unaffected.
Of course Brookman was being ripped off. They both knew that. The whole team knew it. The team, the league, the sportswriters, the fansâanyone who knew the first thing about the business of professional football knew that T. J. Brookman was being grossly underpaid for his services. He was the best new tight end the game had seen in agesâamazing considering he was a nobody from a nowhere school out west. His statistics had been damn good there, but then most of his opponents had been a joke, barely a notch above high school talent. He did well at the combines, too, but he was still written off. That was what most scouts did to anyone who wasn't playing at the top schools in the top systems. In spite of decades of evidence to the contrary, the pros still turned their noses up at anyone who wasn't considered elite. When T. J. started shining in New Yorkâbeginning the second half of his rookie season when the starter went down with a broken legâGray was quick to take credit for the “find.” “I knew he had something to offer,” he told the media after Brookman's third gameâeighty-eight yards, two touchdowns, and eleven key blocks against the Redskins. The fact that Gray had to be talked into drafting T. J. by the scout who had
actually
discovered him seemed to have slipped his mind.
Sturtz laid his hands flat on the table and leaned forward. “We're not asking for top money, even though T. J. is the league's top tight end. We're asking for an average of the three top salaries. That's more than reasonable. T. J.'s younger than those guys, so he'll be productive for a long time. He signed for nothing, he's played his heart out, he's lived for this team day and night. He deserves this, and you damn well know it.”
Palmer said, “I'm sorry, Barry, we just can't do it. Not at this time.”
Sturtz shot into an upright position, shaking his head and looking out the window at a perfect summer afternoon. He'd rather be anywhere else in the world than in here with these two bastards.
“Okay, then,” he said, “I'm going to have to insist that he sit out until we get something done.”
“Sit out? You mean a holdout?”
The shock in Palmer's voice was pleasing. “That's right.”
“Camp is right around the corner. Be reasonable.”
“I'm trying to be,” Sturtz said quickly. “But I see no other way. I'm doing this with a clear conscience, believe me.”
This wasn't completely trueâSturtz hated contract holdouts. While they did create leverage for a player, they usually accomplished little else, and the long-term damage was always considerable. Bruised egos, hurt feelings, seeds of mistrust, not to mention the time that the player missed practicing and learning the team's system. Also, the agent's reputation took a hit, as other teams would be wary of himâand his clientsâin the future.
“Barry⦔
“You've left me with no other option. You've backed me into a corner.”
Alan Gray smiled as he ran a hand over his hair. It was short and neat, a bit longer than a military cut. It had once been dark brown, almost black. Now it was evolving into a pewtery silver. The face wasn't exactly handsome, but the features were strong and fully realized. His eyes were particularly striking, small and watchful, and they seemed to burn with a kind of sinister intensity.
“No,” Gray said quietly as he spoke for the first time in almost a half hour. “No new contract. I need your kid on the field, in camp and practicing, in less than two weeks.”
Sturtz laughed. “I'm sorry, Coach, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that T. J. sit out until he gets a fair deal.”
Sturtz was happy that Gray had finally jumped into the mix. He had wanted to address him directly from the start. In his view, this was the man who had the most to lose if T. J. didn't play.
“This team suffers without him,” Sturtz went on. “Last season he was the most productive receiver you had.” This was an incredible fact, but a fact nonetheless. The Giants' wide receivers had all been spectacular years ago, but they had drifted beyond their prime and were now in the twilight of their careers. Last season had been a comedy of errorsâdropped balls, missed routes, easy interceptions. T. J. was the bright spot. The experts were saying he was their future, as well as the future of the tight end positionâone that was becoming increasingly important in modern football.
Some even said T. J. Brookman was Alan Gray's only hope of keeping his job.
Gray pursed his lips and began nodding. “Yeah, maybe you're right,” he said, rising to his feet. “Maybe we need to get this matter settled, and right quick, too.”
“I couldn't agree more.”
“As of this moment, consider your boy on the bench.”
“Excuse me?”
“If he doesn't practice, he doesn't play,” Gray told him. “That's my rule.”
Sturtz studied Gray for a moment, then chuckled and tucked his hands into his pockets. “You're bluffing. You can't afford to do this. Your offense will crumble.”
“I doubt that. We can always find someone else.”
“There's no one else like T. J., and you know it.”
“We'll have to alter the system a little bit, but⦔ Gray finished the sentence with a shrug.
“Okay,” Sturtz said, a fine layer of perspiration breaking out across his brow, “then release him. Let us get a deal somewhere else.”