Tuesday, January 27

Los Angeles, California

During the regular season, a PFL player’s life was all about routines, habits, and ruts. Each day had its own practices, its own meetings, and its own workouts. The routine helped keep down the stress level of playing a game in front of millions of people each week. The routine was the reality in what could often become a surreal existence.

Unfortunately, when PFL Cup week rolled around, you could toss that routine out the window.

This was especially true of this year’s New York Dragons vs. New York Liberty championship game. Apart from the excitement of a New York/New York rivalry, the hype surrounding the game included countless tributes and memorials for the Colorado Mustangs and Baltimore Predators. The fans were more passionate than ever, and the media took frenzy to a new level. The distractions for the players were almost unbearable.

On the Tuesday before the big game, Jesse Emrick, rookie running back for the New York Liberty, woke up to find more bags in the entryway of his hotel suite. Each night, the security guards quietly opened the players’ rooms one by one to admit representatives from various companies. The reps would leave bags and bags of freebies in each suite in the hopes that maybe their shoes or their shirts would be seen protecting the feet or covering the backs of some of the players. It wasn’t unusual for a player to finish the PFL Cup week with twenty or thirty pairs of shoes, countless shirts, and multiple electronic gizmos and gadgets. Many players ended up shipping their stash home via UPS or FedEx, as it would be impossible to carry their enormous haul onto the charter flight.

Emrick opened one of the bags and pulled out a beautiful black leather jacket with a Reebok logo across the back. This’ll come in handy in New York, he thought. He hung the jacket up, then tossed the rest of the bags into the hall closet-no time to examine their contents now.

After getting dressed, Emrick checked the clock-7:25 a.m. Just enough time to get down to breakfast in the ballroom. He hurriedly left his room, nodded to the two LAPD officers stationed at the elevator, and headed downstairs.

When he exited onto the main floor, the noise wound his already tense nerves even tighter. Fans who had managed to sneak their way into the lobby shouted their greetings. The ever-present and ever-diligent press called out their requests for interviews. Emrick did what he had seen some of the veterans do-he waved and flashed a smile, then quickly made his way to breakfast.

Pancakes, waffles, oatmeal, cereals, breads, and every kind of meat commonly accepted as edible in the Western world were on the buffet table. Emrick watched as two offensive linemen stood over a warming tray, picking out fat sausages with their fingers and downing each of them in two bites. At the end of the row was an egg bar, where a third lineman was waiting for his six-egg ham-and-cheese omelet to be prepared.

The rookie back speared some fresh melon wedges, six slices of sourdough toast, and a 24-ounce glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. He was trying to eat a little bit lighter than usual. His insides had been bothering him the last couple of days, which he was sure related more to his nerves than to any virus.

When the players’ stomachs were full, the team boarded buses and headed to the Rose Bowl-site of the big game.

Simply making one’s way to the bus was an ordeal. Hundreds of fans crowded the driveway, forcing the uniformed members of the LAPD to create a pathway with their bodies. If Tuesday is this bad, Emrick wondered, what will Sunday be like?

When the buses arrived at the stadium, the players went to the locker room to dress in their uniforms-no pads-and then headed onto the field for the daily hour of interviews.

Emrick had played in eleven different PFL stadiums and countless college ones, but this field was different. Fifteen years ago, he had come to this stadium with his father and watched Tyrone Wheatley lead the Michigan Wolverines to a 38-31 victory over the Washington Huskies. That day he had decided he would do whatever it took to become a running back in the PFL. He breathed in the cool air, wishing his dad, who had died two years ago, could be here to see that dream fulfilled.

On most days during PFL Cup week, tents were set up at the practice facilities, and the press lined up to interview the players there. But today was special. This was the mother of all media days. Each player and coach was stationed in a different part of the stadium, and the press could talk to any or all of them at their leisure.

Because of his rookie status, Emrick’s table was placed in the upper rows of section 24. He sat down and pulled out a paperback, figuring no one would want to make the trek up just to talk to a second-string rookie. When the media were let loose, he barely had time to read half a page before he had to put the book down for the day.

The sheer number of print, radio, and television reporters was staggering. They had come from all over the world. Rarely was any player without at least one reporter, while some of the star players would have fifty to seventy-five waiting at any given time. Emrick never had more than seven in his line, but the number never dropped below four.

He had just finished an interview with a lady from the Peoria Journal Star when up stepped a man from Japan’s TV Asahi. That interview completed, a TV crew from Eurosport moved to the front of the line. Once he even had a reporter from Al Jazeera put a microphone in his face.

At first all the media attention was a bit of a head trip for Emrick. People actually wanted to know his opinion of the coaches, the other team, the refs; they wanted to know his history and where he saw his career heading. Soon, however, the excitement wore off and tedium set in.

Despite the massive amount of media, the questions rarely varied from reporter to reporter. Emrick had heard offensive linemen constantly answer the question, “Do you feel that you guys on the line get the respect you deserve?” Kickers were asked countless times, “Is it a lot of pressure knowing that the game might ride on one kick from you?” Emrick’s déjà vu question was, “Is it a dream come true to make it to the PFL Cup your rookie season?” He found it difficult to keep up the enthusiasm the fiftieth time he answered, “Yes.”

And these were just the mandatory interviews. In addition to the thousands of reporters and tens of thousands of questions asked during this hour and the other daily media times, Emrick had a couple hundred requests for private interviews waiting for him back at the hotel. And he knew that his little stack of requests was nothing compared to the ones the big-name players faced.

Yesterday, one of the veteran players had seen him sorting through his pile. Emrick had been wrestling with his need to keep balance in his schedule and his feeling of obligation to fulfill at least some of these requests. The vet had snatched the stack from Emrick’s hands, dropped it in the trash, and said, “See how easy it is? Keep your head in the game, boy. You ain’t got no necessity for making these guys’ jobs easier.”

But ignoring the media requests was often easier said than done. Last night, more than a dozen Liberty players had received 1:30 a.m. phone calls from a reporter pleading, “Come on, man, do me a solid! Set me up with an interview tomorrow!” Needless to say, the tactic had been less than effective. The next day, all the Liberty players had reregistered in the hotel using pseudonyms. Emrick had been christened Bill Glover by one of the veteran running backs who said Emrick reminded him of his toddler’s television hero, Little Bill. The quarterback moseyed around acting out his new name-John Wayne. The starting left guard asked to be renamed Anne Heche-everyone was sure there was a story behind that, but they were all afraid to ask.