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brUTUS

B rutus hated coming to Bluecat Stadium in the offseason.

The complex was cavernous and felt like a hollow wound of his failures.

At least during the season, there was always some sort of energy, workers either cleaning up from or preparing for the next game.

And of course… game days. Glorious, glorious game days.

Looking out at the snow-covered field, he was reminded that this past season ended in failure, a bitter pill to swallow, especially with the league championship just days away. And the meeting he was heading into wasn't going to make him feel any better.

Coming up the escalator to the team offices level, Brutus saw his agent and legal representative, Keith Stone, waiting for him.

"Brutus, what's up baby?" he asked, exchanging handshakes. Keith was a bit old school, and always seemed to talk like he was straight out of an eighties or nineties movie. "How's the ankle?"

"It sucks," Brutus confessed. "You know what the MRI said."

Keith nodded, his face tightening. The results of the last two plays were serious, a high ankle sprain for Brutus, and this time the injury was lingering.

During the regular season, Brutus would be missing time for sure, with as little pressure as he could put on the foot.

While there was nothing torn, that didn't mean the pain wasn't there.

"Well you've got time to rest and rehab it now, so you'll be fine come minicamp," he said. "In the meantime…"

"I got it." Brutus looked towards the wooden double doors with the Bluecats logo painted on them.

Normally his interactions with team executives were casual, friendly. After all, he was the poster boy of the Bluecat defense. Keeping him happy was important to the team.

This wasn't one of those days, and as Brutus was shown into the general manager's office, he could feel the storm clouds in the room.

They started with the eyebrows of Hank McMahon, the team's president and general manager, and were reflected in the face of head coach Don Pugh.

Both men were clearly in a bad mood, and didn't really care how Brutus felt about it.

"Have a seat, Brutus." McMahon indicated the chair on the other side of his desk. "How's the ankle?"

"I'll heal." Brutus settled into the chair gratefully. He didn't like showing pain, but that didn't mean he was going to put himself through agony just to look like a tough guy by standing up. "Let's get to business. What's the league telling you?"

"Hold on a minute," Coach Pugh said. "Brutus… damn boy, you keep wanting to gloss over the problem without actually addressing the cause."

Keith held up a hand, popping off. "Just a minute Coach Pugh, my client…”

"Stop, Keith," Brutus said, holding up a hand.

Keith was a good contract negotiator, and had made Brutus a lot of money. But that didn't mean Brutus wanted him always talking for him.

"Let Coach speak. He's earned the right."

"Fine… but you're the one who's the All Pro linebacker," Keith reminded Brutus, doing his job as Brutus's pitchman. "You're the second generation superstar."

Brutus grit his teeth. Keith had been around since his college days, but sometimes his "man above the team" attitude grated. Besides, Coach Pugh detested the man, he knew that for certain.

"Brutus, your agent's got a certain point," Coach slowly admitted, "in that you are the biggest attention grabber on the defense.

I'm sure Mr. McMahon can tell you the numbers, but you sell more jerseys than any member of the team for certain.

My problem is that you're making headlines for headaches almost as often as you are for great plays. "

"Come on Coach, I haven't-"

"Week two, five thousand dollar fine for roughing the passer," Coach said.

"I don't give a damn about your paycheck, but that one cost us three points on the field.

Week five, another roughing the passer. Week eight, two unnecessary roughness penalties.

The past two seasons, you've racked up nearly a hundred thousand dollars in on-field penalties. "

Brutus couldn't deny it. He was certain he wasn't a dirty player, but he knew that he had a temper. And he hated the way the league was enforcing roughing the passer currently.

"Coach, those penalties are up across the board. I think my contributions are more than my drawbacks."

"Fine… until you start trying to start fights with military personnel in uniform," Mr. McMahon said. "Brutus, those men were there at the invitation of the Bluecats and the league. Do you know how much money our partnership with the Pentagon is worth?"

"More than my contract?" Brutus asked.

McMahon scoffed.

"Look, I was hurt and pissed off. I know I fucked up, and I'm sorry for what I said. That's why I had Keith release that statement."

"A statement isn't going to fix this," Coach Pugh said.

"Especially some text wall on Instagram and Twitter.

You didn't even say it on camera. Brutus, on a teammate level, you pissed off about half the locker room.

That's the number of your teammates who have family members either in the military or are military veterans.

Shit, our starting left tackle went to Annapolis!

Those are people that you have to play with, that you have to trust and have watching your back next season. "

"On a professional level, the team's fielded thousands of letters, phone calls, and emails calling for your release," McMahon added.

"Including season ticket holders threatening to cancel their tickets for next year if you're in a Bluecats uniform.

The league has fielded even more calls, and a massive online petition for your release has roughly a quarter million subscribers.

The cable news pundits are screaming about how you're disrespecting the flag and the military, and it's become a major national controversy. "

Brutus sighed, and leaned back in his chair. He knew that his outburst had gone viral, but the pure scale of it was disheartening.

"And now the league's having to answer. How bad is it?"

"Well, the Commissioner's office is giving you three options before making a public decision," McMahon said. "There's a fourth, of course."

"Fuck around and find out?" Brutus asked.

McMahon nodded.

"Go ahead with what the league offered then."

"Option one. You don't say anything other than what you have," McMahon said. "Sit on that press release, keep your head down, and don't fuck up between now and the end of the situation. For that, you get a half million dollar fine and an eight game suspension."

"There's no way the union would allow that!" Keith exploded. "This is excessive! They can't just cave to public pressure like this!"

"They have to be more mindful of their collective bargaining agreement," McMahon said. "Such as the upcoming talks. The union does not want to go into those on bad footing. Defending Brutus won't be a good image."

Brutus nodded, unsurprised. "You said three options."

"Option two, same fine, four game suspension, but you have to go through a full-blown PR campaign, including public apologies and charitable donations. Basically, you get to wrap yourself in sackcloth and ashes, and they take four games off your suspension."

"The donations would be more money than sitting out the additional four games," Keith pointed out.

Brutus shook his head. He definitely didn't like that one.

"Which is why I talked with the league," Coach Pugh said. "As you know, the head of the player conduct committee and I have a connection."

"You coached him to one of his two league championship rings," Brutus pointed out.

Pugh closed his eyes to agree.

"So what did you two hash out?"

"Quarter million dollar fine," Pugh said, "and a three game suspension that can be served during the preseason.

So no real suspension at all. But there's a couple of contingencies.

One, you start seeing a shrink, on your dime, Brutus.

Look, I've seen you carry the weight of that name and your father's legacy your whole life.

This option gives you a chance to address that and get the help you need. "

Brutus had to silently agree. He hated being treated like a dumb jock. "Go on."

"The second part is that you do a sort of outreach with the Army, not stuff that'll involve money but will involve a good chunk of time in your off season," Pugh said.

"Including charity work the Army will approve of.

Again, not so much money but time and lending your image and endorsement to Army approved causes. "

"So, what kind of commitment are we talking about?" Keith asked. "A quick photo op, or something more involved?"

"That's up for the Army to decide after Brutus takes the offer," Pugh admits. "I know it's not great, but the Army will be flexible and take your team commitments into account with its requests. It's a generous offer, Brutus. And one that won't come again."

"Or option four," McMahon said quickly. He leaned forward. "Let's be clear, Brutus. We value you, but we can't carry a liability. We need you on the field, contributing, and that starts with making the right choice here. You're not getting any younger."

"Are you threatening to fire me, Hank?" Brutus asked, his jaw clenching. "Trust me, you do and I'll make the Bluecats regret it. I don't care if I sign with Miami, Los Angeles, or New York. I'll sign somewhere, and when I do, I'm going to make it my mission to make your life a living hell."

"After you serve your suspension," McMahon pointed out.

"Because the league won't waive it if we cut you.

Now, we want you on the team, Brutus. I'm not trying to insult you.

I see this as a respect move, talking to you dead even like a man.

So as a man, and as the GM, I'm saying I won't go into next year with a dead spot in the linebacker corps for half the season. "