Yeah there's no way she and Travis didn't visit the bone zone after that wedding.
| From Friday Nights to Sunday Afternoons - Travis Buchanon's Football Odyssey |
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I deem the bone zone acceptable
Is this a true story?
Yeah you don't have Travis Buchanon on your fantasy team?
2 weeks later bump
DaaaaaBears
Super Star
- May 30, 2006
- 51,757
- 29,338
July 24, 2015
“The first day of training camp is finally upon us, and you won’t find fans more excited anywhere in the country for the start of the season than right here in Seattle. It’s a new year with new faces everywhere you look, and that 4-12 record is a thing of the past.”
Travis had never been a part of so much attrition. The Pioli-Parcells regime was happy to have draft picks again and had accumulated nine in total after pawning off a few veterans, replacing the slew of players Seattle had signed to one-year stopgap deals due to a dearth of depth leading into Travis’ rookie year.
Gone was the retiring Zion Brown, back to the pastures Seattle had summoned him from but feeling more at peace with the conclusion to his career. He’d visited Travis and the rest of the offense during mini-camp while still in a brace.
“How’s the knee, Z?” Travis had asked, trying not to look for the scar. Brown shrugged those massive shoulders of his.
“Better, but it doesn’t matter much now, huh, rook? Longer I stay injured, though, longer the wife gives me a pass on mowing the lawn. So it ain’t all bad.” He nodded to where Kahuna and the offensive line was going through footwork drills. “Caught my first sight of Jumbo.”
“Big boy, right?”
“Massive, my god! What mountain did you Notre Dame guys find him hiding in?”
“The staff didn’t have to do much searching. Believe it or not, Kahuna was the top recruit in the country back in Honolulu.”
Brown huffed, squinting at the rookie’s size. “Guess you can’t hide a talent like that.”
“The Seahawks are slowly but surely adding offensive talent around their Golden Boy. Number-two overall pick Kohola Kahuna turns heads with every pancake in practice, as he and right tackle DJ Fluker should develop into some of the best bookends in football, and seventh-rounder Quest Edwards of Oregon has said to be one of the true surprises of the offseason mini-camps. Buchanon will love his speed on the outside.”
Travis had at first hated the pick since they’d passed on Parker, but he loved what the six-one receiver had to offer downfield. Kenny Britt and the cantankerous Santonio Holmes offered little value as deep threats, so Edwards would get snaps as long as he knew the playbook.
The former Duck wasn’t the only gem the front office unearthed a few months ago. Parcells may have found 2015’s Hope Diamond when he overrode Pioli at pick 34.
“Pro Bowl safety Earl Thomas and pass-rushing linebacker Antonio Burnside weren’t enough to stop Seattle from finishing in the bottom-five on defense, but they may have found the solution to their front-four woes with the guy they took in the second round. The Seahawks took some flak for it, but man, Delmar Daniels looks as talented as he’s been talked up to be … and he’s got a helluva nickname, too.”
Delmar “Dreadnaught” Daniels had been playing football for three years. Florida State had discovered him in the tropics when their secondary coach took a cruise to the Bahamas last spring; he’d immediately changed the trip from luxury to business when he saw an immense 18-year-old lugging steel beams over his shoulder to navy ships in the Nassau ports. One redshirt season and dozens of individual lessons later, and the Seminoles had found their All-American superstar, an unquantifiable talent that led all of college football with 22 sacks on the season. He made Wallace Wakefield look like the Jets version of Vernon Gholston in 2013, and Wakefield had just gone third overall to Buffalo.
So what was the catch? Why was he there at 34? Oh yeah -- a disastrous follow-up season that saw him shatter his femur in a rock climbing accident and blow a .28 on a drive back from a frat party. He went from being the limitless talent who could challenge Aaron James for the first pick in the draft to the knucklehead who needed to stay a fourth year in Tallahassee. Sure enough, his decision to jump to the NFL as a redshirt sophomore was the most criticized of the draft process.
Seattle now had on their hands a 21-year-old who possessed one year of game experience and a ceiling that extended to heaven. Dreadnaught was also coming off a traumatic injury and was still growing accustomed to his new country; given the alarming rumors that hovered over him in college like crows to a carcass, “knucklehead” may be too kind.
That could sort itself out in time, though. Because from the first time Travis saw the Bahamian toss aside Fluker on a bull rush -- all 340 pounds of him -- he knew that this titan could play.
“But as will be the case for as long as they’re a tandem in Seattle, the season rests upon second-year quarterback Travis Buchanon and second-year coach Zachariah Creek. Creek was lauded as a defensive genius at Washington Stone, but he wasn’t able to work miracles with last season’s patchwork unit. Buchanon re-wrote the rookie record book with 31 touchdowns, 4,533 yards, and 606 passing attempts, and he was able to parlay those numbers into a spot on the NFC Pro Bowl roster, but he needs to cut down on those turnovers when the entire offense revolves around him. His 22 interceptions were second in the NFL, but guess who was the only rookie to throw more than that in the last 35 years? None other than Peyton Manning.”
Manning and Brady were gone. Brees and his Saints were fading fast. The media had spent much of the offseason painting the current NFL landscape as Aaron Rodgers’ to rule before he bowed to the league’s halcyon youth movement -- rookies Aaron James and Nico Schlesinger, California kids Andrew Luck and Matt Barkley, and the best of the bunch, the future touchdown king of the sport, Travis Buchanon.
People could pretend this season rode on anyone other than the Golden Boy, but that would be a lie. It was all him -- it was always on him. Michael Turner was on his last legs two or three years ago, so the running game looked to be one of the three-worst in the league again. If Seattle wanted to sniff .500, Travis was going to have toss a fuck-ton of touchdowns.
“Ready to throw 35 this year?” Creek asked him during a water break for quarterbacks. They were watching the running backs slog through drills.
“Guess I gotta,” Travis said nonchalantly. Creek peered at him from the corner of his eye, arms folded.
“Guess you better.”
[blockquote]_____[/blockquote]
Travis had a great training camp. Or at least, the media said he did; only two passes were intercepted in the entire month he spent in Renton, Washington. But it was hard for him to tell since he was playing against Seattle’s corners and a bunch of guys who wouldn’t even be good enough to join that ragtag bunch.
Among a dozen other things, interceptions kept Travis up at night. They were a paradox of his profile as a player. He had long been a gunslinger at heart, utilizing his arm strength while stretching the field to its limits, but he’d only thrown 27 picks in his entire Notre Dame career … just five more than his rookie season alone. Scouts that had analyzed his 2014 film all agreed his accuracy was pinpoint and his decision-making remained sound, but Travis had been forced to take more shots than anyone else thanks to the scoreboard.
He hadn’t been on a truly bad team since his junior year of high school, but Travis was never going to be the guy to check down to his running back or play into a prevent defense’s hand when his defense had spotted him a big hole late in the game. Even if the fans would groan when the rookie heaved a prayer into a postage stamp-sized window, the reward would be far greater than dumping it off the whole second half. He wasn’t scared to muck up his stat sheet if it meant he was giving his team a better chance to win.
That’s why his coaches didn’t repeat the mass media’s platitude of “he needs to cut down on those interceptions this year” -- Creek and Co. knew they were situational. They knew the math would reflect the talent when they gave their Audi a better road to run on.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t earn an earful, though. The guy who got the covers and commercials was also the one who served as the lightning rod for when the offense wasn’t performing.
“Why’re you avoiding Nelson, huh? Tell me why!”
Travis hadn’t expected the team’s secondary coach to tear into him that August morning, but apparently he was going soft on one of the team’s rookie corners, an undrafted pickup who’d been in sparingly during scrimmages. The quarterback shrugged.
“Found another man open. It was a 20-yard play, Coach.”
“And you had Britt more open, dammit! Wide open downfield!”
The Kentuckian didn’t remember that -- there was a safety shading the streak route, he recalled -- but he nodded his head dutifully and returned to the huddle. “Go at Nelson!” the man urged again before he called the play.
This time the rookie was on Holmes, and there was a hell of a cushion for his seam. Travis acquiesced and nailed the 31-year-old as soon as he broke for the middle of the field, leaving Nelson in the dust and forcing Earl Thomas to clean up his mess.
“Again!” the coach shouted as soon as the play was blown dead.
For the next half hour, all but two or three passes were sent Nelson’s way, and all but two or three of those were completed with little resistance. Travis assumed there was a point being made here, one that he wasn’t aware of, but it felt cruel. Nelson looked like he’d rather be dead after the fifth pass soared past his outstretched gloves, and the growing disapproval of his fellow defenders just made it worse.
Travis would learn later that day that Nelson had been cut before lunch break.
[blockquote]…[/blockquote]
“So that isn’t fucked up to you? Not in any way?”
Babe didn’t even blink. “Happens all the time.”
Travis scowled from the opposite seat of the restaurant table. Babe was visiting him in Renton with the intention of talking about his last-minute commercial obligations before the season, but it had quickly devolved into a discussion about the rookie’s release.
“They didn’t even wait until first cuts,” Travis continued while cutting up his rib eye. “That asshole just wanted to make an example outta someone.”
His agent remained noncommittal. “Cut today, cut tomorrow, cut next week. What’s it matter to you?”
“I didn’t want to play executioner. What if he was your client?”
“You think I’d represent someone that low on the totem pole?” Babe snapped.
Travis was taken off guard by the face Liebermann made at him. Those gray eyes were usually clouded behind their owner’s horn-rimmed glasses, mulling over numbers and reading invisible tealeaves. But here was … disdain?
“Well, someone does. Don’t you feel bad for that guy? Agent sympathy?”
“No one gets anywhere in this business -- on the field or behind the scenes -- by feeling sorry for anyone. I sure didn’t,” Babe replied matter-of-factly. “And neither did you.”
Liebermann went back to his steak, thinking that was the end of the matter. Why were they wasting breath on a minimum-salary afterthought?
He was right, though -- about the lack of sympathy from Travis’ side, that is. Football was a zero sum game. Almost every contest had one winner and one loser, and the end of the season resulted in a single champion and 31 also-rans. Travis didn’t worry about jobs being at risk when he rained bullets on other teams’ backups, and who knows how much draft stock he ruined back in college.
His gain was always someone else’s loss. That was football. That was sports. That was competition, or human nature, even. Whatever level you wanted to take it to.
Babe was the absolute best in the world at what he did for a living, and a lot of people thought Travis would soon be at that zenith, too. He knew his agent symbolized everything one should want in a professional counsel -- intelligence, experience, and a ruthless, uncompromising work ethic -- but as he sat across the table from Babe and saw him slip back into a steak-infused anesthesia, blissfully indifferent to concerns that weren’t his own, Travis wondered what would happen to himself when his own hair grayed and the seasons began to pass.
“The first day of training camp is finally upon us, and you won’t find fans more excited anywhere in the country for the start of the season than right here in Seattle. It’s a new year with new faces everywhere you look, and that 4-12 record is a thing of the past.”
Travis had never been a part of so much attrition. The Pioli-Parcells regime was happy to have draft picks again and had accumulated nine in total after pawning off a few veterans, replacing the slew of players Seattle had signed to one-year stopgap deals due to a dearth of depth leading into Travis’ rookie year.
Gone was the retiring Zion Brown, back to the pastures Seattle had summoned him from but feeling more at peace with the conclusion to his career. He’d visited Travis and the rest of the offense during mini-camp while still in a brace.
“How’s the knee, Z?” Travis had asked, trying not to look for the scar. Brown shrugged those massive shoulders of his.
“Better, but it doesn’t matter much now, huh, rook? Longer I stay injured, though, longer the wife gives me a pass on mowing the lawn. So it ain’t all bad.” He nodded to where Kahuna and the offensive line was going through footwork drills. “Caught my first sight of Jumbo.”
“Big boy, right?”
“Massive, my god! What mountain did you Notre Dame guys find him hiding in?”
“The staff didn’t have to do much searching. Believe it or not, Kahuna was the top recruit in the country back in Honolulu.”
Brown huffed, squinting at the rookie’s size. “Guess you can’t hide a talent like that.”
“The Seahawks are slowly but surely adding offensive talent around their Golden Boy. Number-two overall pick Kohola Kahuna turns heads with every pancake in practice, as he and right tackle DJ Fluker should develop into some of the best bookends in football, and seventh-rounder Quest Edwards of Oregon has said to be one of the true surprises of the offseason mini-camps. Buchanon will love his speed on the outside.”
Travis had at first hated the pick since they’d passed on Parker, but he loved what the six-one receiver had to offer downfield. Kenny Britt and the cantankerous Santonio Holmes offered little value as deep threats, so Edwards would get snaps as long as he knew the playbook.
The former Duck wasn’t the only gem the front office unearthed a few months ago. Parcells may have found 2015’s Hope Diamond when he overrode Pioli at pick 34.
“Pro Bowl safety Earl Thomas and pass-rushing linebacker Antonio Burnside weren’t enough to stop Seattle from finishing in the bottom-five on defense, but they may have found the solution to their front-four woes with the guy they took in the second round. The Seahawks took some flak for it, but man, Delmar Daniels looks as talented as he’s been talked up to be … and he’s got a helluva nickname, too.”
Delmar “Dreadnaught” Daniels had been playing football for three years. Florida State had discovered him in the tropics when their secondary coach took a cruise to the Bahamas last spring; he’d immediately changed the trip from luxury to business when he saw an immense 18-year-old lugging steel beams over his shoulder to navy ships in the Nassau ports. One redshirt season and dozens of individual lessons later, and the Seminoles had found their All-American superstar, an unquantifiable talent that led all of college football with 22 sacks on the season. He made Wallace Wakefield look like the Jets version of Vernon Gholston in 2013, and Wakefield had just gone third overall to Buffalo.
So what was the catch? Why was he there at 34? Oh yeah -- a disastrous follow-up season that saw him shatter his femur in a rock climbing accident and blow a .28 on a drive back from a frat party. He went from being the limitless talent who could challenge Aaron James for the first pick in the draft to the knucklehead who needed to stay a fourth year in Tallahassee. Sure enough, his decision to jump to the NFL as a redshirt sophomore was the most criticized of the draft process.
Seattle now had on their hands a 21-year-old who possessed one year of game experience and a ceiling that extended to heaven. Dreadnaught was also coming off a traumatic injury and was still growing accustomed to his new country; given the alarming rumors that hovered over him in college like crows to a carcass, “knucklehead” may be too kind.
That could sort itself out in time, though. Because from the first time Travis saw the Bahamian toss aside Fluker on a bull rush -- all 340 pounds of him -- he knew that this titan could play.
“But as will be the case for as long as they’re a tandem in Seattle, the season rests upon second-year quarterback Travis Buchanon and second-year coach Zachariah Creek. Creek was lauded as a defensive genius at Washington Stone, but he wasn’t able to work miracles with last season’s patchwork unit. Buchanon re-wrote the rookie record book with 31 touchdowns, 4,533 yards, and 606 passing attempts, and he was able to parlay those numbers into a spot on the NFC Pro Bowl roster, but he needs to cut down on those turnovers when the entire offense revolves around him. His 22 interceptions were second in the NFL, but guess who was the only rookie to throw more than that in the last 35 years? None other than Peyton Manning.”
Manning and Brady were gone. Brees and his Saints were fading fast. The media had spent much of the offseason painting the current NFL landscape as Aaron Rodgers’ to rule before he bowed to the league’s halcyon youth movement -- rookies Aaron James and Nico Schlesinger, California kids Andrew Luck and Matt Barkley, and the best of the bunch, the future touchdown king of the sport, Travis Buchanon.
People could pretend this season rode on anyone other than the Golden Boy, but that would be a lie. It was all him -- it was always on him. Michael Turner was on his last legs two or three years ago, so the running game looked to be one of the three-worst in the league again. If Seattle wanted to sniff .500, Travis was going to have toss a fuck-ton of touchdowns.
“Ready to throw 35 this year?” Creek asked him during a water break for quarterbacks. They were watching the running backs slog through drills.
“Guess I gotta,” Travis said nonchalantly. Creek peered at him from the corner of his eye, arms folded.
“Guess you better.”
[blockquote]_____[/blockquote]
Travis had a great training camp. Or at least, the media said he did; only two passes were intercepted in the entire month he spent in Renton, Washington. But it was hard for him to tell since he was playing against Seattle’s corners and a bunch of guys who wouldn’t even be good enough to join that ragtag bunch.
Among a dozen other things, interceptions kept Travis up at night. They were a paradox of his profile as a player. He had long been a gunslinger at heart, utilizing his arm strength while stretching the field to its limits, but he’d only thrown 27 picks in his entire Notre Dame career … just five more than his rookie season alone. Scouts that had analyzed his 2014 film all agreed his accuracy was pinpoint and his decision-making remained sound, but Travis had been forced to take more shots than anyone else thanks to the scoreboard.
He hadn’t been on a truly bad team since his junior year of high school, but Travis was never going to be the guy to check down to his running back or play into a prevent defense’s hand when his defense had spotted him a big hole late in the game. Even if the fans would groan when the rookie heaved a prayer into a postage stamp-sized window, the reward would be far greater than dumping it off the whole second half. He wasn’t scared to muck up his stat sheet if it meant he was giving his team a better chance to win.
That’s why his coaches didn’t repeat the mass media’s platitude of “he needs to cut down on those interceptions this year” -- Creek and Co. knew they were situational. They knew the math would reflect the talent when they gave their Audi a better road to run on.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t earn an earful, though. The guy who got the covers and commercials was also the one who served as the lightning rod for when the offense wasn’t performing.
“Why’re you avoiding Nelson, huh? Tell me why!”
Travis hadn’t expected the team’s secondary coach to tear into him that August morning, but apparently he was going soft on one of the team’s rookie corners, an undrafted pickup who’d been in sparingly during scrimmages. The quarterback shrugged.
“Found another man open. It was a 20-yard play, Coach.”
“And you had Britt more open, dammit! Wide open downfield!”
The Kentuckian didn’t remember that -- there was a safety shading the streak route, he recalled -- but he nodded his head dutifully and returned to the huddle. “Go at Nelson!” the man urged again before he called the play.
This time the rookie was on Holmes, and there was a hell of a cushion for his seam. Travis acquiesced and nailed the 31-year-old as soon as he broke for the middle of the field, leaving Nelson in the dust and forcing Earl Thomas to clean up his mess.
“Again!” the coach shouted as soon as the play was blown dead.
For the next half hour, all but two or three passes were sent Nelson’s way, and all but two or three of those were completed with little resistance. Travis assumed there was a point being made here, one that he wasn’t aware of, but it felt cruel. Nelson looked like he’d rather be dead after the fifth pass soared past his outstretched gloves, and the growing disapproval of his fellow defenders just made it worse.
Travis would learn later that day that Nelson had been cut before lunch break.
[blockquote]…[/blockquote]
“So that isn’t fucked up to you? Not in any way?”
Babe didn’t even blink. “Happens all the time.”
Travis scowled from the opposite seat of the restaurant table. Babe was visiting him in Renton with the intention of talking about his last-minute commercial obligations before the season, but it had quickly devolved into a discussion about the rookie’s release.
“They didn’t even wait until first cuts,” Travis continued while cutting up his rib eye. “That asshole just wanted to make an example outta someone.”
His agent remained noncommittal. “Cut today, cut tomorrow, cut next week. What’s it matter to you?”
“I didn’t want to play executioner. What if he was your client?”
“You think I’d represent someone that low on the totem pole?” Babe snapped.
Travis was taken off guard by the face Liebermann made at him. Those gray eyes were usually clouded behind their owner’s horn-rimmed glasses, mulling over numbers and reading invisible tealeaves. But here was … disdain?
“Well, someone does. Don’t you feel bad for that guy? Agent sympathy?”
“No one gets anywhere in this business -- on the field or behind the scenes -- by feeling sorry for anyone. I sure didn’t,” Babe replied matter-of-factly. “And neither did you.”
Liebermann went back to his steak, thinking that was the end of the matter. Why were they wasting breath on a minimum-salary afterthought?
He was right, though -- about the lack of sympathy from Travis’ side, that is. Football was a zero sum game. Almost every contest had one winner and one loser, and the end of the season resulted in a single champion and 31 also-rans. Travis didn’t worry about jobs being at risk when he rained bullets on other teams’ backups, and who knows how much draft stock he ruined back in college.
His gain was always someone else’s loss. That was football. That was sports. That was competition, or human nature, even. Whatever level you wanted to take it to.
Babe was the absolute best in the world at what he did for a living, and a lot of people thought Travis would soon be at that zenith, too. He knew his agent symbolized everything one should want in a professional counsel -- intelligence, experience, and a ruthless, uncompromising work ethic -- but as he sat across the table from Babe and saw him slip back into a steak-infused anesthesia, blissfully indifferent to concerns that weren’t his own, Travis wondered what would happen to himself when his own hair grayed and the seasons began to pass.
Last edited:
DaaaaaBears
Super Star
- May 30, 2006
- 51,757
- 29,338
Pretty annoyed that the update took away the [/hr] line.
I still don't trust Babe. I get the feeling that he's trying to push Travis into being like he was as a junior at PLD, and Travis is fighting back. I see a rift forming between them down the road come contract renegotiations that leads to Travis firing him or Babe willingly walking away.
Seahawks prediction: 8-8, just miss out on the playoffs.
Seahawks prediction: 8-8, just miss out on the playoffs.
Seems a little early in his career for Travis to be thinking about old age
Babe wouldn't willingly walk away from the walking endorsement that is Travis Buchanon. Not a chance.
Lets goooo!!!, just caught up on these. The wedding was one of my favorite updates. I forgot that one of Travis PLD teammates went to Yale. I play for Harvard so we kind of fucking hate them. Super hype for the season.
I miss this
Undeniable proof that Bears is an asshole.
/or that we're all getting old and busy
//probably just an asshole
/or that we're all getting old and busy
//probably just an asshole
DaaaaaBears
Super Star
- May 30, 2006
- 51,757
- 29,338
My grad program works in 8-week semesters, and finals just kicked my ass. I'll update this as soon as a I can now that that's over (for the moment).
He's back(':
More importantly what happened to Travis?
525,600 minutes...
How do you measure, measure a year?
[URL='http://www.ign.com/boards/members/daaaaabears.4120204/']@DaaaaaBears[/URL] yo fuck your grad program. Update this.
DaaaaaBears
Super Star
- May 30, 2006
- 51,757
- 29,338
August 28, 2015
It was midday when Travis got the call from Buffalo that he’d been waiting months for. He almost dropped his phone and swerved off the road he was driving on all in one motion, and he had to take a deep breath before putting the receiver to his ear.
“Parker! Did you-“
“I made it, Trav. I made the 53.”
Another near-collision. Travis hoped that Parker didn’t expect him to articulate his happiness for him; the incomprehensible scream of joy should’ve been enough of an answer.
There was a brief conversation—Dawn and Gabrielle were joining him in New York any day now, apparently—but both were too excited to speak for long. Travis took a detour off the highway to Seattle, stopping at a secluded spot by a cliff that overlooked Puget Sound. He was too amped to be behind a wheel.
Even with the season opener peering just around the corner, Travis felt a sense of resolution overcome him. One of completion, of accomplishment. Parker had his own life to live, but Travis had always felt responsible for his friend’s initial struggles at Notre Dame. Parker had followed him there, and at one point he seemed like the least likely player on the roster to ever play an NFL down.
Now, after countless obstacles and setbacks, the linebacker was ready to join Travis, Jamaal, TJ, and so many of his former teammates in realizing his dream. And his old roommate would no longer have to worry about him. Even if it was just for his rookie contract, or one season, or a few weeks, Parker was officially a Buffalo Bill. That $400,000 salary was his, and that meant he and Dawn would be on strong financial footing for a pair of 23-year-olds with a kid.
Travis could let go now … something he still had to do with Danny. He’d done his best this summer not to think about his brother quitting football, but it was difficult to ignore. The sport comprised so much of Travis’ life that it was practically woven into his DNA at this point—how could his ownflesh and blood reject the game that had made their family famous? That brought credence to their name?
He wondered what Danny would focus on now that his life as a quarterback was over. He’d seemed to really like that mission trip to Argentina; maybe he’d do something with that. Who knows. Danny was a smart kid who could probably do just about anything he put his mind to.
Travis had just thought football was one of things.
The Kentuckian leaned over the guardrail, letting his senses absorb the sweeping sea breeze and the sound of water meeting cliff. He’d taken the Lambo out to a charity event the Seahawks brass wanted him to attend—Babe maintained it was good for appearances—andit sat idly on the beaten dirt path behind him, as out of place here as its millionaire owner. But it was a breathtaking view of Seattle, and it gave Travis the chance to clear his head in a cliché sort of way.
His on-field goals for this year were easy to elucidate. 5,000 yards, improved efficiency, division title, Super Bowl victory, his first MVP … you know, the works. But as he looked out into the vastness of the water basin that surrounded his new domain, Travis was determined to stop worrying so damn much this year—to stop concerning himself with Parker and Dawn’s business, or his brother’s future, or even the state of his father’s fledgling business back home. These were competent people he’d come to love in his life, and it was time that he treated them as such.
His mind began focusing on the season opener, visions of blitzes and coverages and exposable holes in the defense fervently peppering his brain. Yep, some twenty years and ten Super Bowls later, this would be the year where Seattle fans could point to as the year “Cannon” Buchanon turned the franchise around.
_____
Fast forward two months.
“Down four, Buchanon drops back as time expires. This is it, the final play. He goes for the back of the end zone, he’s got Holmes in single coverage … but it’s batted away! No flags on the play, the game is over! The Seahawks drops another one in heart-stopping fashion!”
…
Fast forward to the post-game press conference.
“Travis, a lot has been said about your strained relationship with Santonio— “
“Santonio and I get along fine.”
“Well, that isn’t what’s been written in recent—“
“I don’t care what you guys write about. I throw, he catches, it’s a beautiful relationship. Not too complicated.”
For once, Travis was the biggest bullshitter in the room.
“Well, regardless of the veracity to those stories, they have still been written. But I was going to ask about the argument you and Coach Creek seemed to have in the fourth quarter. The cameras caught you two in a shouting match.”
Travis chewed on his lip. “Next question.”
…
Fast forward to the Monday morning recap.
“The loss to Minnesota is Seattle’s third straight on the season and drops them to 3-5 heading into their bye. There’s more talent this year, sure, but to be blunt there doesn’t seem to be much different between this Seahawks team and the one that limped to a 4-12 record last year. And it al starts and ends with the play of Travis Buchanon.”
“Look at this throw in the second quarter. I know Buchanon’s leading the league in passing yards, I know he’s second in touchdowns, but he’s got 12 interceptions halfway through the year precisely because of decisions like these. The rookie Quest Edwards is clearly in double coverage here without any chance at separation on his route, but Buchanon chucks it deep for him on a second-and-short anyway. He was the only one in CenturyLink Field that didn’t that was getting intercepted.”
“And just look at that graphic they flashed. Buchanon threw 27 picks in 52 games at Notre Dame, but he’s already thrown 34 of them in 24 games as a Seahawk.”
…
Fast forward to the end of a mid-week practice.
To keep consistent with their three-game skid, Wednesday’s scrimmage was an uninspired and ineffective affair. They were a team that didn’t do anything well right now—their defensive guru hadn’t fielded an average defense yet, and the best prospect in history was the leader of the league’s 18th-ranked scoring attack. These weren’t the dark days of 2013, but they might be the most blasé.
Travis lingered at his locker seemingly without purpose. He’d spoken about five words in five answers in an obligatory interview session before turning down some teammates who wanted to blow off some steam at the club. He reasoned that he needed to study for Sunday, to find some flaws in the defense that could put the nail in this losing streak, but Travis seemed glued to his seat. Unable or unwilling to move, he wasn’t sure; it was like he was waiting for a sign to get off his ass and turn this season around.
“Yo, Travis. You got a visitor.”
He thanked one of the team’s safeties for the heads up, but he had to suppress a sigh when he saw his agent approaching him. Babe knew Travis hated it when he showed up in the locker room. The Kentuckian didn’t want his teammates seeing them together in such sheltered quarters … it gave off the vibe that he was a brand that needed to be carefully managed.
Travis may have been worlds apart from his third-stringer in the realm of red carpets and endorsement deals, but in the locker room they were supposed to be on more equal footing. Johnny Hayseed of North Arkansas Tech didn’t have to deal with representation amidst a sea of towels and jock straps.
“Look, Babe, you know I don’t like it when you come in here like this—“
“Shut up. I’m fetching you.”
The curtness in Liebermann’s tone took his client aback. Travis raised an eyebrow. “For what?”
“No time. Come with me.”
The quarterback was still sweaty and smelly from the day’s hard work, but he threw on a shirt and did as he was told. He almost had to jog to keep up with Babe as they snaked through the practice facility en route to the top floor.
“Gonna bother hinting what I’m in store for?” Travis huffed.
Liebermann was mechanical in his movements when they reached the elevator, and his voice couldn’t sound more robotic as he turned Travis’ world upside down.
“You’re about to served with a paternity lawsuit. Let’s go and stop that, shall we?”
It was midday when Travis got the call from Buffalo that he’d been waiting months for. He almost dropped his phone and swerved off the road he was driving on all in one motion, and he had to take a deep breath before putting the receiver to his ear.
“Parker! Did you-“
“I made it, Trav. I made the 53.”
Another near-collision. Travis hoped that Parker didn’t expect him to articulate his happiness for him; the incomprehensible scream of joy should’ve been enough of an answer.
There was a brief conversation—Dawn and Gabrielle were joining him in New York any day now, apparently—but both were too excited to speak for long. Travis took a detour off the highway to Seattle, stopping at a secluded spot by a cliff that overlooked Puget Sound. He was too amped to be behind a wheel.
Even with the season opener peering just around the corner, Travis felt a sense of resolution overcome him. One of completion, of accomplishment. Parker had his own life to live, but Travis had always felt responsible for his friend’s initial struggles at Notre Dame. Parker had followed him there, and at one point he seemed like the least likely player on the roster to ever play an NFL down.
Now, after countless obstacles and setbacks, the linebacker was ready to join Travis, Jamaal, TJ, and so many of his former teammates in realizing his dream. And his old roommate would no longer have to worry about him. Even if it was just for his rookie contract, or one season, or a few weeks, Parker was officially a Buffalo Bill. That $400,000 salary was his, and that meant he and Dawn would be on strong financial footing for a pair of 23-year-olds with a kid.
Travis could let go now … something he still had to do with Danny. He’d done his best this summer not to think about his brother quitting football, but it was difficult to ignore. The sport comprised so much of Travis’ life that it was practically woven into his DNA at this point—how could his ownflesh and blood reject the game that had made their family famous? That brought credence to their name?
He wondered what Danny would focus on now that his life as a quarterback was over. He’d seemed to really like that mission trip to Argentina; maybe he’d do something with that. Who knows. Danny was a smart kid who could probably do just about anything he put his mind to.
Travis had just thought football was one of things.
The Kentuckian leaned over the guardrail, letting his senses absorb the sweeping sea breeze and the sound of water meeting cliff. He’d taken the Lambo out to a charity event the Seahawks brass wanted him to attend—Babe maintained it was good for appearances—andit sat idly on the beaten dirt path behind him, as out of place here as its millionaire owner. But it was a breathtaking view of Seattle, and it gave Travis the chance to clear his head in a cliché sort of way.
His on-field goals for this year were easy to elucidate. 5,000 yards, improved efficiency, division title, Super Bowl victory, his first MVP … you know, the works. But as he looked out into the vastness of the water basin that surrounded his new domain, Travis was determined to stop worrying so damn much this year—to stop concerning himself with Parker and Dawn’s business, or his brother’s future, or even the state of his father’s fledgling business back home. These were competent people he’d come to love in his life, and it was time that he treated them as such.
His mind began focusing on the season opener, visions of blitzes and coverages and exposable holes in the defense fervently peppering his brain. Yep, some twenty years and ten Super Bowls later, this would be the year where Seattle fans could point to as the year “Cannon” Buchanon turned the franchise around.
_____
Fast forward two months.
“Down four, Buchanon drops back as time expires. This is it, the final play. He goes for the back of the end zone, he’s got Holmes in single coverage … but it’s batted away! No flags on the play, the game is over! The Seahawks drops another one in heart-stopping fashion!”
…
Fast forward to the post-game press conference.
“Travis, a lot has been said about your strained relationship with Santonio— “
“Santonio and I get along fine.”
“Well, that isn’t what’s been written in recent—“
“I don’t care what you guys write about. I throw, he catches, it’s a beautiful relationship. Not too complicated.”
For once, Travis was the biggest bullshitter in the room.
“Well, regardless of the veracity to those stories, they have still been written. But I was going to ask about the argument you and Coach Creek seemed to have in the fourth quarter. The cameras caught you two in a shouting match.”
Travis chewed on his lip. “Next question.”
…
Fast forward to the Monday morning recap.
“The loss to Minnesota is Seattle’s third straight on the season and drops them to 3-5 heading into their bye. There’s more talent this year, sure, but to be blunt there doesn’t seem to be much different between this Seahawks team and the one that limped to a 4-12 record last year. And it al starts and ends with the play of Travis Buchanon.”
“Look at this throw in the second quarter. I know Buchanon’s leading the league in passing yards, I know he’s second in touchdowns, but he’s got 12 interceptions halfway through the year precisely because of decisions like these. The rookie Quest Edwards is clearly in double coverage here without any chance at separation on his route, but Buchanon chucks it deep for him on a second-and-short anyway. He was the only one in CenturyLink Field that didn’t that was getting intercepted.”
“And just look at that graphic they flashed. Buchanon threw 27 picks in 52 games at Notre Dame, but he’s already thrown 34 of them in 24 games as a Seahawk.”
…
Fast forward to the end of a mid-week practice.
To keep consistent with their three-game skid, Wednesday’s scrimmage was an uninspired and ineffective affair. They were a team that didn’t do anything well right now—their defensive guru hadn’t fielded an average defense yet, and the best prospect in history was the leader of the league’s 18th-ranked scoring attack. These weren’t the dark days of 2013, but they might be the most blasé.
Travis lingered at his locker seemingly without purpose. He’d spoken about five words in five answers in an obligatory interview session before turning down some teammates who wanted to blow off some steam at the club. He reasoned that he needed to study for Sunday, to find some flaws in the defense that could put the nail in this losing streak, but Travis seemed glued to his seat. Unable or unwilling to move, he wasn’t sure; it was like he was waiting for a sign to get off his ass and turn this season around.
“Yo, Travis. You got a visitor.”
He thanked one of the team’s safeties for the heads up, but he had to suppress a sigh when he saw his agent approaching him. Babe knew Travis hated it when he showed up in the locker room. The Kentuckian didn’t want his teammates seeing them together in such sheltered quarters … it gave off the vibe that he was a brand that needed to be carefully managed.
Travis may have been worlds apart from his third-stringer in the realm of red carpets and endorsement deals, but in the locker room they were supposed to be on more equal footing. Johnny Hayseed of North Arkansas Tech didn’t have to deal with representation amidst a sea of towels and jock straps.
“Look, Babe, you know I don’t like it when you come in here like this—“
“Shut up. I’m fetching you.”
The curtness in Liebermann’s tone took his client aback. Travis raised an eyebrow. “For what?”
“No time. Come with me.”
The quarterback was still sweaty and smelly from the day’s hard work, but he threw on a shirt and did as he was told. He almost had to jog to keep up with Babe as they snaked through the practice facility en route to the top floor.
“Gonna bother hinting what I’m in store for?” Travis huffed.
Liebermann was mechanical in his movements when they reached the elevator, and his voice couldn’t sound more robotic as he turned Travis’ world upside down.
“You’re about to served with a paternity lawsuit. Let’s go and stop that, shall we?”
Baby mama drama, Im dead. Great to see this back...at least for now lol
Well, that's certainly a wake-up call for the Golden Boy. Excited to see where this leads to
Great to see you and this back in action, Bears. Reminds me of my own story that needs attending to.
Great to see you and this back in action, Bears. Reminds me of my own story that needs attending to.
More details! I miss the nitty gritty details! But very happy to have you back!
And the new profile pic?
<----Against Paul Laurence Dunbar High School, Travis' high school!
And the new profile pic?
<----Against Paul Laurence Dunbar High School, Travis' high school!
GMSFootballa54
Who's Got It Better Than Us?
Shiiiiiiiit
Glad you're back. But meh.
PLD's band just played on the Macy's parade
So watching the Macy's parade with my family and Icheered PLD, confusing my family on why I would know a high school from Kentucky so well
That's why I didn't bring up recognizing the name :lol:, didn't want the conversation
DaaaaaBears
Super Star
- May 30, 2006
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You just saw my sister, who's a drum major in the band! I was a drummer in the band that went there in 2007. Will never forget Matt Lauer saying "from Lexing, Kentucky..." on the broadcast, lol.
It is somewhat saddening at the slow rate of updating this story is having recently. This story is literally the only reason I've looked at IGN in the past 2 years maybe?
^Same sadly/:
Me too
Bears... 
DaaaaaBears
Super Star
- May 30, 2006
- 51,757
- 29,338
Hey guys, real life's just been sapping away all of my creative juices lately. Sorry that updates have become so infrequent, but you don't have to worry about me abandoning something I've put 300+ chapters and almost five years of time into. I already know how the story will turn out.
Fair enough, take your time, the quality is incredible. How many chapters do you think this story has left?
Have we seen the last of Travis Buchanon?
DaaaaaBears
Super Star
- May 30, 2006
- 51,757
- 29,338
No! I swear I'll get around to this, although I'll admit my creative juices have been diverted elsewhere lately.
6 month sabbatical is what I'm hoping for.
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Hopefully soon, (nearly one year anniversary)
I used to know this guy, Travis. Hell of a football player. He don't come round here no more.
Hey Bears,
Do you know a guy named Andrew Brennen? I'm looking at scholarship stuff and saw he was from PLD. I know it's a long shot, but I figured I'd ask because my mom was wondering why exactly my face would light up hearing that a guy from from some random high school in Kentucky.
Do you know a guy named Andrew Brennen? I'm looking at scholarship stuff and saw he was from PLD. I know it's a long shot, but I figured I'd ask because my mom was wondering why exactly my face would light up hearing that a guy from from some random high school in Kentucky.
...And they all lived happily ever after. The end.
Conceal...Don't feel, let it go...