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OFF-SEASON ROUNDUP: MIAMI CYCLONES

With Frank Allyoop and Fern Foosball

Frank: Welcome back to F-Squared Football!

Fern: Great to see you guys. What are we talking about today, Frank?

Frank: So glad you asked. We’re continuing this little trend we’ve been doing the past couple of weeks, catching up with our favorite NFA teams for an Off-season News Roundup. Wednesday, you hopefully caught us talking about the Stripes.

Fern: And the Minutemen on Monday.

Frank: Yep, yep. And it’s Friday…

Fern: [singing off-key] T-G-I-F!

Frank: And so, to celebrate, we’re recapping the team that you really want to hear about. The monolith. The drama-magnet nexus of big personalities. I can only be talking about…

Fern: The Miami Cyclones! Yay! Where do we start?

Frank: Well, we need to keep this short, because we only have twenty minutes. And, honestly, the Cyclones’ off-season news could fill an entire segment. So we’re going to hit it rapid-fire, hit it hard. Sound off, Fern.

Fern: The Covelli baby! Congrats are in order for QB #1 Sandy Covelli and his wife Jamie. According to Jamie’s Instagram, they’re expecting their first kiddo this fall. Aww!

Frank: Love to hear it. That’s going to be one genetically-gifted baby. The 2046 draft class better watch out. How about kicker Kurt Dettweiler?

Fern: Touring the circuit of Southern Baptist churches, packing them to the rafters with his inspiring and stirring discussions about abortion being murder, raising arrows for the Lord, the need for women to be submissive, modest keepers of the home… umm, I feel like I’m missing something…

Frank: Don’t forget about the sanctity of marriage.

Fern: Yup. That too. The Family Research Council just presented him with a trailblazer award for his… and I quote… “Stunning contributions to spreading moral goodness in America.” Congratulations, Kurt.

[Womp-womp sound effect. ]

Frank: I’ll take the next one. GoGo Heller…

now, that’s a man whose name is on everyone’s lips.

He and his fiancée, Gabrielle Rose, are currently renting a very large boat in Monte Carlo and inviting a revolving door of celebrities to keep them company.

GoGo’s been documenting the whole thing on IG, while Gabrielle has been mood-boarding their wedding on her TikTok lives.

There were rumors that she was putting new music out, but the word on the street is that GoGo doesn’t like it.

He wants her to be a more traditional wife.

Stay home, make the dinner. Blah blah blah.

Fern: What is with these Cyclones players?

Frank: Must be something in the water. Jameson Page just re-upped his endorsement deal with Under Armour. The details are still under wraps, but you know that was a nice payday.

Fern: Cha-ching, cha-ching. Jameson’s looking amazing these days.

Frank: His trainer, Duncan Quinn, was quoted as saying that Jameson’s in “the best shape of his life.” I’d say that it’s for football, but my guess is that he wants a famous significant other, just like his BFF GoGo.

Fern: Speaking of famous significant others, they don’t get more famous or more significant than Sterling Grayson. What are the Graylords… is that what they’re called?

Frank: Graylings .

Fern: Sorry. What are they up to? The Train posted a picture of the London Eye on X the other day, and captioned it, “current situation.” Sterling just announced an extension of his tour…

Frank: Sold out in twenty-two seconds! Absolute crazytown. I don’t know if there’s any actual news on those two. They are just living their best young, hot, famous lives.

Fern: Mazel tov! Do we have any actual football news to report on the Cyclones?

Frank: Well, I hear that Coach Larry Beausoleil has already issued a general warning to his team. You know that Coach admitted it was a lack of cohesion and team unity that tanked their playoff run last season…

Fern: It was something, all right.

Frank: Anyway, they’re saying that Coach has had it. He’s issued a blanket statement that players are to save the drama for their mamas. No beef. Good vibes only. Anyone feuding on the field or on social media is getting heavily penalized.

Fern: What these young players don’t realize is, who they’re messing with. When Coach Beausoleil was at Notre Dame, they called him The Ironhead. The man ruled with authority. Now he’s gotten good results in Miami with a softer touch …

Frank: But if you mess with the bull, you’ll eventually get the horns. It’s the Beausoleil Way.

Fern: That’s a good one. He should trademark that.

Frank: He probably should. But anyway. That’s what we’ve got on the highest-profile team in the Association. What are we discussing next?

Fern: Probably draft chatter. We’re just three weeks away, aand the speculation on the first-round picks has never been more controversial.

Frank: Can’t wait to talk it out. But first, a word from our sponsor…

***

You fall in love with London at first sight. From the moment Sterling’s plane lands at Heathrow and you get your initial glimpse of the city, you are enchanted. And things just keep getting better.

The house that Sterling’s management has rented for him is in the South Kensington neighborhood, a hop, skip, and a jump from Hyde Park.

To you, the streets look like the Christmas cards your great-aunt Melba likes to send: quaint Victorian townhomes with wrought-iron terraces, quaint stores and bars at the base of them, their picture windows polished clean and crowded with vibrant displays.

It’s summertime, but you can easily imagine them banked in December snow, holly wreaths on the doors.

The mews home that will be Sterling’s base for the next six weeks is nothing like what you imagined.

The front of the house is on a cobblestone side street where no cars are allowed, the door heavy old wood that’s garlanded with a thick coat of ivy.

All the houses are attached in neat rows.

It’s got four bedrooms spread over three stories, and it’s smaller than you would have expected.

The furnishings are plush and cozy, and everything’s a little cramped in a charming way.

The living room has an ornate fireplace, despite the weather being too hot to light it, with overstuffed furniture and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with interesting volumes.

There’s a grandfather clock—its chimes nearly make you jump out of your skin when you first hear it—and decor you’ve never seen outside a museum, plaster busts and oil paintings of ladies with fancy hats decked in feathers.

The galley kitchen has delicate flowers hand-painted on the white tiles, and a huge window overlooking the street.

There are two bedrooms on the second floor, and the whole third floor is the primary suite.

The landing of the staircase has flat, glass tiles overhead that soak the creaking steps in sunlight.

It gives way to a sprawling bedchamber with red-and-white toile curtains and walls the color of a robin’s egg.

The bed has a cream-colored rattan headboard that you guess was already old when your Nana was born.

Underfoot, the wooden floors have what you have heard people call character : they are noisy and weathered, scattered with Oriental rugs that are somehow both threadbare and very expensive-looking.

The whole place has a nerdy, retro charm that you adore.

Directly across the street—the actual street, not the mews—there’s a little black-paneled café called Delilah’s and a pub called The Spotted Cow.

You want to press your nose against the glass and stare at them, to drink in every weird, charming little detail.

You have no sooner tipped your taxi driver and dropped your bags on the floor inside the house than the uproarious clamor of barking dogs greets you.

Apollo and Artemis come skidding around the corner, their groomed nails clacking on the hardwood, to see who’s visiting.

Apollo knows you well and gets excited, lolling his tongue and drooling until you drop to the floor for hugs and ear scratches.

Artemis is more standoffish, hanging back at the doorway.

You know that she hates travel, and you wonder how Sterling was able to get her across the ocean comfortably.

Doggie Prozac? You haven’t spent a lot of time with her, and you have gathered that she’s shy.

She rejects your offered hand, ducking her head and whining, so you give her the space she needs.

Making a mental note to spend the next few weeks winning her over .

Sterling isn’t at home. He’s in a meeting, and then is catching drinks with his dancers—rather, they will be drinking, and Sterling will be hydrating and enjoying their company.

It’s Monday afternoon, and his first show is Friday night.

After wandering around the house and getting the lay of it, you wonder what you are supposed to be doing.

Where you ought to be. Maeve gave you the address and the code for the lock pad, but the evening stretches in front of you with twin sensations of excitement and discomfort.

You know already that there will be plenty of time that you and Sterling are separated in the next several weeks.

He hasn’t said so, but you want to give him as much space as he needs.

Not get in his way. You don’t want him to think that you’re mooning around waiting for him, even if that’s kind of what you’re doing.

You are examining the grandfather clock in the living room—it has gone off every fifteen minutes that you’ve been home; two short tolls at quarter-’til and quarter-past, with one long one counting off the hours at 3 PM—and wondering if it will need to be wound or something when a chipper knock on the door startles you.

Apollo, who had just settled down on the rug in front of the fireplace, picks his big head up and cocks it inquisitively.