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Transcript: Ballin’ Sports News With Pat Pronto!

“NFA Post-Wild Card Weekend Thoughts and Hot Takes”

…Which brings me to the match-up on everyone’s mind.

Miami Cyclones, number two seed. Las Vegas Rogues, number five.

In the wild card, the Cyclones couldn’t have looked more dominant.

Absolute masterclass in defensive strategy, which is becoming the major theme of the Cyclones’ season.

Their offense is good; don’t get me wrong.

Sandro Covelli? Total stud. What’s got the best chance of writing the Cyclones a ticket to the Mega Bowl, however, is the way they have been shutting down big plays and containing the run.

But then, you’ve got the dark horses. The Rogues are hungry for a win.

They’ve spent years in the rebuild phase, and they’ve got momentum on their side, too.

Even as Miami was kicking ass and taking names all year, the Rogues were quietly building their body count.

They suffer a little bit from inconsistency.

They’re either pulling off insane plays and setting records, or they’re in complete dumpster-fire mode, which is how they ended up losing out on an otherwise well-deserved divisional lead against the Horns.

Guess that’s what happens when you have GoGo Heller on the field.

It’s either magic or mayhem. No in-between.

@ballinQUESTIONBOT: YEAH BUT WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT GOGO?

What do I think about GoGo? Like, as a person?

Guy’s a piece of shit. Unfortunately, we live in a society where, sometimes, the worst people play the best ball.

Las Vegas knew what they were getting into when they signed Heller.

Will he still be playing next year, or will baby mama drama eat him alive?

Can’t say. For now, he’s the Rogues’ golden ticket.

Love the guy or hate him, but he’s never played better than this season, and that includes all the years he spent balling out in Miami.

@ballinQUESTIONBOT: BIGGER REVENGE GAME FOR GOGO OR FOR THE TRAIN?

Yowza. You know, I was trying to avoid this topic, because it’s only Tuesday and I swear it’s already been beaten to death, but let’s just put this out there: we know that it’s going to be an emotional game for both GoGo Heller and Kaius Reinhart.

In one corner, the man who, if rumors are to be believed, got GoGo kicked out of Miami.

Even if you don’t believe the rumors, there’s that talk of an “altercation” between the two that came out during Sterling Grayson’s TV interview.

Clearly there’s bad blood. And then, there’s Heller, who undoubtedly has several chips on his shoulder right now, regarding the Train, his boyfriend, and the court of public opinion.

Reinhart’s proven this year that he isn’t the gentle giant that a lot of people mistook him for.

If GoGo gets under his skin, are we going to see a repeat of the Julian Tamatoa incident?

At the risk of sounding crass, these are two men who have trouble keeping their hands to themselves when they get angry. Ba-a-a-d combination.

@ballinQUESTIONBOT: STOP STALLING GIVE US THE O/U

I’m keeping my mouth shut on this one. The bookies favor Miami, but I would not be the least bit surprised if something crazy happens this Sunday at the Hard Rock. I wouldn’t even call it an upset…

***

When the Cyclones face off against the Las Vegas Rogues in the divisional round of the playoffs, you are pretty sure that you are more nervous than Kai.

Every part of you hoped against hope during Wild Card Weekend that it wouldn’t come down to this, to playing GoGo’s team, but luck and conference seeding were clearly not on your side.

There will be four games this weekend, but the Cyclones game is the only one that people seem to care about.

All eyes are on Kai and GoGo in light of Gabi’s interview.

How the pressure isn’t absolutely crushing Kai, you aren’t sure.

His coach pulled him into his office last week for a stern talking-to about expectations regarding his on-field behavior.

You wish you could scoff that Coach Beausoleil was being ridiculous, but that would be an unfair statement.

You also don’t want to see Kai hulk out on the field, no matter how much GoGo would undoubtedly deserve it.

You personally bought out a box for the game, the cost of which was eye-watering even to you.

Kai’s mom is there, accompanied only by Kai’s sister-in-law, Vanessa, and some of the older grandbabies—most of the Reinharts are holding out hope and saving their time off for a possible Mega Bowl trip.

Jamie, Atlas, and Sandy’s parents are in attendance.

Most importantly, Gabi is by your side, sick with nerves.

She’s more dressed-down than you’ve ever seen her, wearing an oversized Cyclones spirit jersey, jeans, and a simple ponytail under a ball cap, with her face hidden behind sunglasses.

She sticks to the back of the box, hoping not to be caught by the roving cameras.

If it’s possible, you think, she’s depending on the Cyclones even more than you are today.

There’s copious food and drink in the box, the wide counters fully stacked with trays.

The kids are all pretty hyped, and Atlas seems to have picked up on the vibe, his eyes tracking all the action.

You can’t eat a thing, and you manage to make nothing more than the bare minimum polite conversation.

The game gets off to a slow start. At halftime, which seems to take hours upon hours to approach, the score is 10 - 7, Miami’s lead.

GoGo is visibly frustrated when both teams head to the locker rooms, kicking a bench in a fit of pique.

The defense, including Kai, is putting a lot of pressure on Las Vegas’s QB.

The Rogues’ sole score came about due to a long, successful run-heavy drive, and even that felt like a freak accident.

At the same time, the Cyclones’ offense seems restrained.

Even Jamie and the Covelli parents feel like Sandy is playing a bit tentatively.

You force yourself to get up during the enforced break and stretch both your legs and your social muscles.

You manage a few bites of melon-prosciuitto mozzarella salad, which is dressed with olive oil and mint, and, on Jamie’s urging, sample one of the guava bundt cakes made by a local vendor.

It’s objectively delicious, but the pastry crumbles like ash in your mouth.

With over ten minutes still to go before Q3, you grab a Negroni and huddle back in your seat.

The bitter chill in the air had been lingering since the holidays, and clings to Miami in late January.

It’s a bit eerie to be shivering while surrounded by beaches and palm trees, you think.

On the field, a lot of the female reporters are wearing scarves and hats.

You stand very close to the glass, the warmth of your breath fogging the window.

As the players run back from their respective tunnels, it’s like looking down on a gladiator’s pit from a sealed chamber.

Warm. Quiet, except for the murmur of laughter and conversation from your suitemates. Surreal.

Nothing feels comfortable about the Cyclones’ modest lead. Even from up high, you can feel the edge tightening. In the suite, bottles of untouched champagne sit on ice, just waiting for a victory celebration that may or may not come. They shine dully under the overhead lighting.

“It’s starting,” Jamie announces, making everyone quickly scramble to their seats. Gabi hangs near the back, choosing to watch one of the TVs. All eyes are on the field.

Below, a river of green and gold jerseys pulse on Miami’s sideline.

The Rogues, for their part, come out fast and energetic, like men who hadn’t been informed that they were, technically, losing.

Dressed in white from top to toe, the black lettering of their jersey names and numbers is stark under the flood of the stadium lights.

The Rogue’s quarterback is a grizzled journeyman with a grudge, Marcus Simone.

His jaw is set like stone, his face determined.

GoGo stalks the length of the bench, a tiger ready to strike.

Las Vegas had won the coin toss and deferred earlier, so they get first possession in the second half. The Rogues start out safe—an inside run, a gain of barely two yards. Like they were just feeling the defense that had been holding them down the entire game so far. But then, on the second play…

There was something in the air; you would swear that afterward. You feel a shift, and you aren’t the only one. On the field, in the stands, even in the suite with the murmuring loved ones and the kids too hyped up on sugar and staying up late. Something is about to crack.

Las Vegas lines up with three wide receivers to the left, one of them GoGo. Sandy’s dad leans forward, the drink in his hand forgotten.

“They’re setting something up,” he announces, as if to himself.

Motion. In a heartbeat, One of the Vegas receivers sprints across the formation. Snap.

Simone’s fake handoff to a Rogue running back is textbook.

The RB surges forward, pretending to cradle a nonexistent ball in his arms. Miami’s linebackers bite just enough.

Then Simone pitches it to the motion man, quick and slick, who, without breaking stride, tosses it backwards to GoGo on a reverse.

Gasps from the stadium are loud enough to hear through the glass.

It isn’t just trickery; it’s a high-stakes sleight of hand.

For a second, it almost works.