On a typical day during the PFL Cup week, once the interview hour was mercifully concluded, the teams broke into position meetings until lunch. There was rarely anything new taught in these meetings. All the Liberty’s plays and assignments had been thoroughly hashed over the previous week in their New Jersey training facility. The meetings were mainly to make sure everyone was still keeping their focus and that each player’s memory of his role in every play was perfect. Then, after lunch, it would be practice until dinner.

Today was different. Rather than breaking into the meetings, the players all gathered together for a team photo. Emrick stood with the backs in the third row.

Quite a few pictures had to be taken; it seemed that every shot caught either half the team with their eyes closed or someone doing something obnoxious to one of the rookies. On the third attempt, the veterans on either side of Emrick gave him simultaneous wet willies. It took him two more pictures to get over the sensation of having those guys’ damp fingers wiggling in his ears.

When the exasperated photographer finally declared that he had gotten the best photo he was going to get, the players lined up to have their network headshots filmed. These were the short video clips that would be shown when each player was first introduced and again when he did something worthy of either commendation or derision.

As Emrick stood in line, he could hear comments from the TV crews like “A little more smile… That’s it” and “Now we’re going to toss you a ball” mixing with less G-rated taunts from the waiting players. Each player’s shoot took about two minutes, after which they were free to stand to the side, where they could return some of the verbal abuse that had been hurled at them.

Just before Emrick’s turn, a crash echoed through the room as one of the players knocked over a Lowel ViP Pro-light from one of the other video areas. While everyone’s mocking efforts were directed at that hapless player, Emrick quickly directed his video crew to get his shoot over with. They complied, and he slipped away verbally unscathed.

When the headshots were completed, the players were shown to a room where long tables were set up. Emrick found his designated chair. Laid out in front of him were five black Sharpie Ultra Fine Point pens. When each player had taken a seat, souvenir PFL Cup footballs were passed down the tables. A conveyorlike efficiency was soon achieved as each player took the ball that was passed to him, signed it, and then passed it to the guy on his other side.

At the end of the line, each ball was checked over. Oftentimes, instead of signing their names, some of the players would write other messages on the balls-messages that parents wouldn’t want in the hands of their seven-year-old Liberty fans. Once the balls were approved, they were boxed up for later distribution to owners, coaches, staff, players, friends, and family. Emrick had already put in a request for one that he could give to his mom. Many of the autographed footballs ultimately ended up in the hands of dealers and collectors.

After a half hour of autographing balls-just as Emrick’s hand really began cramping-the team packed up and headed back to the hotel. The Liberty were staying at the Four Seasons Los Angeles at Beverly Hills, and the Dragons at the Millennium Biltmore Hotel Los Angeles. Emrick was pretty sure the Liberty had gotten the better end of that deal.

At the hotel, it was time for another buffet feast. For the carb addicts, there were three different kinds of pasta, baskets of freshly baked bread, and a cornucopia of cooked vegetables-some plain, some loaded with butter, and some smothered with cheese. For the protein eaters, there were deli trays, chicken, sausages of various types, and a large warming tray filled with premium quality tenderloins. If anyone walked away from this lunch hungry, he just wasn’t trying.

Emrick fixed himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a plate of fettuccine Alfredo-not a combination his mom would approve of but filling nonetheless. He sat with one of the veteran fullbacks, who had two overflowing plates-one a sampling of many of the food choices, the other piled high with spaghetti Bolognese and meatballs.

The fullback looked at Emrick’s plate, and then his eyes flashed back to his own. “Rook, you gotta eat more than that if you’re gonna keep up your energy.” He used his fingers to pick out two large meatballs covered with red sauce and dropped them in the middle of the rookie’s plate of Alfredo. “I don’t want you leaving this table until you’ve snarfed every last bite of that, ya hear?”

Emrick’s insides churned as he wondered where those fingers had been. But experience had taught him that it was useless to argue with this man, so he quietly cleaned his plate, internally chastising himself for picking this table to sit at.

Emrick had been looking forward to Tuesday ever since the team’s arrival on Sunday because today the team had the afternoon and evening off. For some, that meant hanging out in the players’ massive game room, which had been fully stocked with Xboxes, GameCubes, and pinball machines in addition to the pool tables, foosball tables, poker tables, and dozens of other amusements. Any player who had relatives with him might grab a car and spend the afternoon with his wife and kids, who would be staying at a nearby hotel. Getting hooked up with a vehicle was as easy as calling the team’s concierge and asking for one. Some of the big-name quarterbacks, running backs, and wide receivers might find a Lamborghini Murciélago, a Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano, or a Rolls-Royce Phantom awaiting them. Special teams players and others would be handed the keys to a Cadillac Escalade or maybe a Mustang convertible.

Once free from the confines of the hotel, the players with kids would most likely head toward Disneyland or Universal Studios. Or maybe they’d just go to the beach for some romping in the sand. Many of the players who were accompanied only by their wives or girlfriends would cruise to Rodeo Drive for some serious shopping.

Emrick had already determined that Rodeo Drive was one place he had to avoid. Having come through the play-offs all the way from the wild card round, he, along with every other member of the team, already had $73,000 worth of postseason bonus share coming his way. If they could win the big game, that figure would double-the losers receiving a measly $38,000. But Emrick had heard that on Rodeo Drive, it wouldn’t be hard for someone like him to blow his whole bonus share in one afternoon.

Emrick’s real hesitation at leaving the hotel was the fans. They were everywhere. It was hard enough getting in and out of the hotel due to the throngs camped out in the parking lots and driveways. But once you were out, players who didn’t hire their own personal bodyguards were taking a risk.

During the day it wasn’t so bad. People were still in good moods, and the exchanges were often friendly. However, when the evening rolled around and people got a little alcohol in them, the tone changed. Often harsh words were exchanged. Shoving matches ensued. Players were sometimes called out for fights by drunken fans trying to prove they were just as tough as some “overpaid, punk PFL player who’s never worked a day in his life.” These incidents steadily worsened as the week went on and the tension level of the team members continued to grow. Those who could, let the taunts roll off their backs; they had their eyes on a greater prize. Those who couldn’t, just didn’t leave the hotel.

Emrick decided to stay at the hotel; after all, it was hard to beat luxury like this. He dreaded the possible confrontations if he went out, and he had no family with him. His mom hadn’t been able to get off work to come to the game, and his two younger sisters were both freshmen at Georgetown University, thanks to his signing bonus. So for him, a day off meant relaxing by the pool if the afternoon warmed up enough and taking advantage of the full-service spa. Hopefully an outdoor California cabana massage could ease his frazzled nerves.