"Welcome folks, it's a beautiful evening here in Denver, Colorado. The perfect fall evening to kick off the new season, and, honestly, the best place to play it."
"That's right, Bob, the first game of the season sees the Detroit Tigers play the Denver Mustangs, after a pretty stormy, and, let's face it, devastating summer. Losing not only their president, but their owner too."
"Still, they've bounced back with some new, but not unfamiliar faces. They have a hot new signing in Eric Cartman, the team no doubt hoping to replicate his tremendous success at Philadelphia, and also his late father's legendary success. I'm sure we can both agree, Mike, that Eric Cartman is still the number one fullback in the association right now."
"He sure is, Bob."
"Let's not forget also, that this is Kyle Broflovski's first game as owner. Of course, the son of the disgraced Gerald Broflovski. He's the youngest owner in the Association, at only twenty eight. That's a lot of pressure and responsibility for such a young man."
"True, but football is in his DNA like no other owner, and he's been a presence on the team for a few years now. Since graduating college, he's been preparing to take on this role... though I doubt he ever imagined it would be quite thrust upon him in this way."
"He certainly wouldn't have, Mike, and I'm sure the Mustangs are dying to get back to some good, old-fashioned football. The adrenaline must be running high for the team right now. They're no doubt in that locker room raring to go."
Kyle had never asked his dad what it felt like to watch his first Mustangs game as owner. Perhaps it was so long ago that he couldn't remember, the first day of a whole new life. Football was different back then, smaller, still joyous, and intense, and unifying, but not larger than the people it was made up of. Football had become a behemoth. Now, sat in that familiar Executive Lounge surrounded by the same local politicians, celebrities, and AFA directors he had been making small talk with since he was a teenager, Kyle felt like he was in the hungry, jagged mouth of that formidable beast, just trying to hold its jaws open.
He had retired to the leather seats close to the window after making the usual rounds of small talk. He was too distracted by his feverish anxiety to discuss anything deeper than the weather and business. He thought he wanted silence, needed it, but his obsessions over the impending game, the morale of his players, and Eric's unpredictable behaviour were deafening. He stared at the empty field below him, and the hoards of loyal fans, and hoped he could do them proud.
A hand clutched his forearm and squeezed.
"Are you sure you don't want something to drink, bubbe?" his mom asked beside him.
She had attended all the home games with his dad as the dutiful wife, and didn't seem to be relinquishing that role even when his father was no longer present.
Kyle offered her a quick, small smile and shook his head.
"I'm fine, thanks."
She frowned, eyes gleaming with concern.
"I just think it will help you relax."
"Do you think I should go down to the locker room? Say a few words? Check on how the guys are doing? I just want them to be in the right frame of mind going out there..."
"Stan and Coach Kern will take care of that."
"Maybe I still have some time before the game starts?" Kyle asked, rising from his seat, but his mom tightened her grip and pulled him back down.
He started at her, puzzled, but felt his anxiety dissipate under her gentle, reassuring touch and imploring gaze.
"Oh, bubbe... you're such a thoughtful, caring man. I love that about you. But maybe you care a little too much?"
Kyle sighed. How could he not care about this team with every inch of his being? He shook his head.
"All I'm trying to say is, you can't predict what's going to happen out on that field," she added, in the same tone she had used when assuring Kyle there were no monsters under his bed, or that his trip to the dentist wouldn't be so bad. When he glanced at her, she was wearing the same, quietly confident grin he remembered from all those years ago. "There is nothing you can do now to change the outcome of the game. I know that's the last thing you want to hear right now, but it's the most freeing thing you can hear right now too. Believe in your players, bubbe, and they'll come through for you. All you have to do is sit back, and relax."
Kyle nodded, sure that the weight being lifted off his chest was a childhood reflex. But he was glad that he could still remember the feeling, and that his mom's comforting spell hadn't worn off.
"Alright..." he whispered. He offered her a tight smile. "Alright..."
His mom returned the smile, and squeezed his arm again. Out of the corner of his eye, Kyle noticed the flat screen was showing his players running out of the tunnel and onto the field. They both turned their attentions to it, and Kyle smiled at every player who passed the camera. But it wobbled when he saw Eric, wondering if indeed he could count on him to come through.
Kyle had almost made it to the end of the second quarter without throwing up or chewing his fingernails to the bone. A personal victory, but also a credit to the performance of his players, and begrudgingly, one player in particular. Eric was fantastic, even if he wasn't the speediest when hurtling down the field. He shrugged off the opposing players going in for attack like they were bothersome flies buzzing around him. His eyes seemed to be trained on the ball like a cat on a ball of yarn. His quick hands were always ready to receive the ball from his teammates, and Kyle imagined his fingers constantly flexing for it. A little selfish, yes, but Kyle tried not to let that bother him when another touchdown was scored. In fact, he cheered and jumped out of his seat just like everybody else, swept along in the festivities.
Eric, however, chose to celebrate another touchdown alone. Fist pumps and gracious waves to the raucous crowd when he was responsible for a touchdown, and modest applause for his teammates when he wasn't. This wasn't disconcerting to Kyle, but the frostiness that remained between Stan and Eric was. Kyle hoped a victory today would thaw their relationship out, and as long as Eric was following Stan's orders then the rest of the game was sure to run smoothly.
Kyle watched the huddle intently, and after the snap his eyes followed the movements of his players and recognised the play in an instant. He shifted forward in his seat, biting his lip to control the grin aching to spread across his face. It was a play sure to tip the Mustangs' game in their favour and earn them a touchdown, when currently they were neck and neck with the Tigers. The ball whistled through the air, ready to be caught by Eric, who would then pass it to the famously swift Craig who would carry it through to the end zone. Eric kept the ball close to his chest, impassable, and unshakeable as he seemed to plough through the Tigers' defence, leaving them trailing at his ankles, or stumbling to catch up to him. Soon, he would hand the ball over to Craig who would score that coveted touchdown while the Tigers were still dazed from their literal run-ins with Eric. Kyle could hardly wait. His ass would have hit the floor if he wasn't clinging on so tight to the armrests of his chair. He chewed at his lip.
Come on come on come on
But Eric didn't pass the ball, and for a team so regimented in their plays the shock was noticeable even from where Kyle was sitting. One kink in the conveyor belt and the whole operation descends into meltdown, panic. At least Kyle was frozen, a lump in his throat and a boulder in his stomach. An astute Tigers' player seized the advantage Eric had basically handed them on a platter, and tackled him. Not enough to bring Eric down, but enough to make him fumble the ball. The crowd roared in displeasure, and the guests in the Executive Lounge gasped and tutted. Kyle simply closed his eyes and shifted back into his seat, bringing his hands to his face. He wanted to hide from the shame and frustration crowding around him.
The referee blew his whistle for half time, and when Kyle glanced at the screen he saw that Stan had beaten Craig to it in giving Eric a piece of his mind. But Eric wasn't afraid, both helmets off and nose to nose, screaming at each other. He gritted his teeth, every quickening breath snagging on anger as he watched the appalling display. How could they think this behaviour was acceptable? And how could he sit there and tolerate it?
He shook his head and lifted himself out of his chair.
"Fuck it..." he muttered, before storming out.
"Bubbe!" he heard his mom call after him. "Bubbe, come on, sit down! It's not worth it!"
He hurried to the locker room, seething and sweating when he finally reached it. Even walking down the airy, dim corridor he could hear the commotion, and Eric and Stan's voices slicing through it. Nobody looked at him when he stepped inside, the room cramped and everybody preoccupied with their own laments of a wasted opportunity. Stan and Eric were still in each other's faces, strained red and vicious.
"I don't give a shit how talented you think you are, asshole, I'm your quarterback! You follow my direction, and you don't make a call like that without consulting me first!"
"I didn't fucking need to consult you because my intuition is a thousand times better than a player who's only quarterback because 'Uncle Jimbo' is his coach!"
Stan growled, grabbing Eric by the front of his jersey and raising his fist.
"Hey, hey, break it up!" Coach Kern shouted, parting the crowd that had gathered to watch the fight like kids in a playground.
"Fellas, come on!" Butters pleaded, stepping forward with wide, desperate eyes. "We can't be fighting like this!"
"What the hell is going on in here?!" Kyle yelled.
Everyone's eyes were drawn to him, and turned sheepish. Some glanced at the floor, some looked away and rubbed their necks. He must have looked crazy. He felt it with some wild, unfamiliar adrenaline coursing through his veins. Stan, suddenly solemn, let go of Eric's shirt (but not without tugging at it a little first). Eric simply scowled, tugging at the hem and fixing it back into place. Kyle stepped forward, fists clenched at his sides.
"I hope you two are pretty pleased with yourselves!" he continued. "You have no idea how pathetic you looked fighting like that out on the field! We're trying to set an example here! It's our first game of the season, and you're already at each other's throats! I don't care how you do it, but this shit needs to be dealt with before our next game!" he looked at Eric. His eyes were on the ceiling like a bored, indignant teenager. "And you!"
Eric returned Kyle's gaze, stunned and affronted.
"What the fuck were you thinking out there?!"
"I was thinking of how we could score that touchdown, and actually assessing the situation! It seems like I'm the only player on this team who does that! That play wouldn't have been enough-"
"Well, your plan didn't work out too well either, did it?" Kyle replied with a caustic, derisive chuckle. "But it would have, if you weren't such an arrogant smartass, and let everybody else in on it! Except that would mean sharing the glory, and you don't wanna do that, do you?"
Eric's eyes darkened like a storm cloud passing over his topaz eyes. He scowled, and charged forward. Kyle didn't flinch. He was too angry at Eric to be unnerved by him. Right now, he would have gladly punched him in the face.
"I don't give a shit about glory, but I damn sure care about victories and that's all I have on my mind when I'm out there!" Eric replied. "And even if my great idea didn't pan out because these guys can't improvise, then at least I had the guts to try!"
"That's not the point!" Kyle cried. "Victories are a collaborative effort. Everybody has to be on the same page and working together to pull them off. We run these plays over and over in training, so it's like clockwork out on that field, and that mechanism is so tight that the opposing team can't slip through the cracks."
"But this isn't training!" Eric exclaimed. "This is the real thing, and it's unpredictable! And that pressure is so overwhelming that you can't rely on the familiar. It's just not good enough! But why would you get that? When you're not even fucking out there! In fact, why have you even come down from your fucking ivory executive tower in the first place? Why do you even show up to training? You're our owner! Not our coach, or a player, this isn't your fucking problem! So why do you make it your problem?! You haven't got a life, is that it?"
Kyle winced, his mouth opening to retort but nothing would come out. He glanced at the other players, watching with pity and confusion, and he scowled, hating that Eric had reduced him to this. He wouldn't give him what he wanted. He wouldn't win. He found his answer buried deep beneath his anger and fixed Eric a hard stare.
"This team has been my life ever since I was old enough to come to these games with my father," he replied. "It's who I am. I care about this team, and these players like my family and I will protect them from anything – and anybody – who threatens it. And right now, you're starting to look like a real fucking problem to me. Now, I don't know how they did things in Philadelphia, but you don't run the show here, and you certainly don't fucking speak to me that way!" he pointed a warning finger at Eric, almost jabbing him in the chest. "I don't care how much you're worth, or what an 'asset' you are to us, I'll fire you if you ever talk to me like that again! Because however much we paid for you is not enough to have to deal with this bullshit!"
Kyle was shaking in the silence, and he backed away from Eric. He didn't want to be too close to his wide-eyed stare, or his speechless mouth hanging agape. He shivered when Eric raked his gaze over him. Smoothing down his tie, he glanced at his shoes and cleared his throat before he addressed his shocked players.
"You only have a few minutes before the third quarter so I'll let Coach Kern take it from here," he said, voice strained.
Before Coach Kern, or Stan, or especially Eric, could stop him, Kyle stormed out of the locker room. He kept his head down as he walked, and he was still shaking by the time he returned to the Executive Lounge. Luckily, everybody seemed to be engaged in their own conversations about the game that they didn't need to ask for his opinion. He would have no idea what to say anyway, if he could even talk at all. He sat down and propped his elbow on the armrest, forehead pressed to his palm. His mom soon sat beside him, two drinks in hand.
"Bubbe, I know you said you didn't want a drink but I got you a-"
Kyle snatched the whiskey from her hand, and started to gladly gulp it down.
"Oh, sweetie, please don't let this get to you." His mom frowned, stroking his hair. "It really isn't worth it, you know."
Kyle nodded, tumbler still pressed to his lips.
After a closely fought, more co-operative game in the two remaining quarters the Mustangs lost by the smallest of margins. Kyle was surprised at how well he could process the defeat, how easy he found it to shake the well-meaning hands of important people who consoled him on his team's loss with a gracious smile. Because those worn-out clichés were actually true. They may have lost, but the Mustangs put in a terrific performance, and Kyle had every right to be proud of his players. His mom was right, they did come through for him... even the ones he didn't expect. There were no arguments started, or no glory hogged by Eric in the last half of the game, and no matter how embarrassed he was by yelling at Eric, he couldn't regret it when his words seemed to have resonated. Still, he needed to acknowledge good behaviour as well as bad... even if that did make Eric seem like a pet. The thought made Kyle cringe, and wonder if a disciplinarian was what he really wanted – or needed – to be.
He tried to be as inconspicuous as possible hanging out outside the locker room, but it seemed he wasn't the only one who wanted to talk to Eric. He only had to set one foot out of the locker room before a horde of reporters were crowding around him. He had grinned, placating them immediately and raising an exasperated, quieting hand as if he wasn't enjoying every moment of strangers calling out his name.
"Eric, it was your first game playing for the Mustangs tonight, was it anything like you imagined?"
"Well, uh, no because we lost and I never go out on that field with the intention to lose."
They all laughed, infectious enough for Kyle to chuckle under his breath and roll his eyes.
"But hey, these things happen, you know, however hard you try," Eric continued. "Do I know I played a good game? Absolutely, I always do."
"Do you think it was the pressure that got to you guys tonight?" A second reporter asked.
Eric shrugged, with a nonchalance that seemed rehearsed.
"Maybe, but that's just an excuse and winners don't make excuses. There are kinks we have to work out, sure, but I intend to work on them. I don't want to coast on excuses."
"Is one of those kinks your relationship with your quarterback?" A third reporter asked. Eric tilted his chin to the ceiling again, tired and indignant like he had been in the locker room. He may have found this wearisome, but Kyle leaned in a little closer to hear his answer. "Seems like you two got into quite the heated debate after your fumble-"
"Come on, of course he's gonna be frustrated by my error – and that was my error – and you can criticise me all you want for that mistake, but I had the best intentions," Eric replied. "Of course I didn't want to fumble the ball, I wanted to score a touchdown but that tiger pounced on me-"
Eric stopped when everybody chuckled to themselves, grinning to himself too.
"And uh... look, I always say nobody will understand the pressure, and the heat, and the intensity out on that field, until you've played in it," he continued, serious now. "Us, as players, we gotta live with it, we gotta play in it, and try to keep our cool, but that's easier said than done when we're all competitive, driven guys, all amped up for a victory. Sometimes you fight with your opponents, sometimes you fight with your teammates because we don't always get along. I know that's probably not what you guys wanna hear but we don't. It's not a big deal, and I don't wanna turn this thing with Marsh into a big deal because it's history as far as I'm concerned. I just wanna win. That's always been my M.O."
He offered them a tight, polite smile and lifted his hand again.
"Thanks for your time, guys," he added, as if they had done him a favour.
Although they were tripping over each other with more questions, Eric ignored them. Just as heady as his collisions out on the field, Kyle blinked when their eyes met, flushing in the shadows and drowning in the racket of eager reporters. Ignoring their demands, Eric walked away from them but they were soon distracted by Token coming out of the locker room, barking questions at him instead.
To Kyle's surprise, Eric's smile relaxed him, rather than tense with irritation.
"You come down here to yell at me again?"
Spoke too soon.
Kyle's shoulders drooped and he arched an eyebrow at him.
"Right." Eric nodded. "Gotta watch the sarcasm around you."
Kyle rolled his eyes, a smile on his face before he could stop it. At least Eric was learning.
"I just wanted to congratulate you on the game."
Eric's eyebrows furrowed.
"But we lost?"
"I know that, but it was still a great game and you played so much better in the third and fourth quarters. I'm not blind, Eric, I know you're a good player. You have incredible skill..."
Eric's eyes flashed and he grinned, puffing his chest out.
"But being a good player is about more than how many touchdowns you can score, or how big your hits are," Kyle added. "It's about camaraderie, and respect for your teammates, and seeing the wider picture. It's not about you." He sighed. "Come on, I shouldn't have to tell you this."
Eric's grin wavered, disappearing altogether when he cleared his throat.
"No, you shouldn't," he replied, taut. "I've been playing this game long enough."
Kyle tucked his hands in his pockets and glanced at his shoes. How else did he think Eric was going to react to his advice?
"But thanks."
When Kyle looked up, there was a small smile on Eric's face he had never seen before. It was so surprising that it drew a smile out of Kyle too.
"You're welcome."
A/N: Trying to figure out actual gameplay for this gave me such a headache (having never played football myself) and that's what I'm quite light on the details here, pfft! Even though this is a football AU, I don't want to bog the story down with stuff like this, and hopefully I'm not disappointing any football fans here who were looking to read some gameplay. But what this fic lacks in actual football, it more than makes up for in Eric and Kyle interactions, and there'll be plenty of those to come! In the meantime, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed!
