Page 69 of It's Always Sonny
Chapter Nineteen
Sonny
During pickleball, I hobble away from my family to take a call from my agent. My knee is acting up after rushing to help Parker, but I have an ice pack wrapped around it.
“Michael, what’s up?” I say.
“How’s rehab?”
Alarm bells go off in my head at the urgency of his question. We both know I’m nothing more than a meal ticket for him, but he normally hides it better than this. What do I say? Do I lie and tell him my knee is rock solid? Or do I lie and tell him I’m worried?
Because here’s the truth: my knee hurts, but I’m not worried. I’ve always recovered from injuries faster than other people. My family is all like that. We’re genetic weirdos who don’t get sick often and who may break something, but we don’t stay broken for long. Yeah, I re-tweaked my knee sprinting after Parker, but it’s nothing. I’ll be fit as a fiddle by training camp. With my luck, I’ll retire from the NFL at forty after smashing half the records in the league.
“It’s fine.”
“Fine’s not good enough. Are you healthy?” Michael presses. He sounds more New York than ever.
I sigh and prop my leg up. Being a commodity gets old, but I know how blessed I am. “No one will know I even took a hit by training camp. What’s going on?”
“I have teams knocking down my door, and I need to know what I’m selling.”
Normally I would smile because I know he can hear it and I know he loves my confidence. But … “What do you mean by other teams? I want to stay with the Waves.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s just for leverage. Any teams you don’t want to play for?”
The alarm bells have gone full siren. I thought the Waves were happy with me. I know I’m a risk, but I only have this injury because I caught the pass that gave us a Super Bowl ring. I sacrificed my body for that win! I’m missing out on activities with my family so I can play a game for people who want to keep me in a glass case until it’s time to take me out and smash me against the other pieces for their amusement.
I grit my teeth. “I’m happy where I am.”
“Oh, sure. Sure. But options never hurt,” Michael says.
“Mikey, no games. I want to stay with the Waves,” I repeat.
“You got it,” he says. “Now I’m gonna go and make you a very rich man.”
“I already am.”
“Then let’s make you richer.”
We hang up, and I lean back on the bench, more drained from this two-minute conversation than hours of training could ever do. I love football, and I love the fans. I love interacting with people and signing autographs, not because it makes me feel good, but because it makes them feel good. I love throwing kids game balls and signing jerseys for people. The football world is one big community of people joining together for the love of a game. What could be purer than that?
If only there were no agents, no managers, no contracts, no trades. If I could stay in one place and play, I would, even if it made me less money. Michael can’t understand that, no matter how many times I tell him.
I watch my family playing pickeball a few dozen yards away. Because I’m not allowed to play, I’ve been hanging out with my nieces and nephews and my cousins’ kids. They’re running around in the chill afternoon air with pink cheeks and noses. Gray clouds have crept across the sky all day, and they’ve finally overtaken the sun. But that doesn’t stop anyone from having a good time.
Nothing does.
Being with family is the only thing I’ve ever wanted. And even when I’ve been away, just knowing that they’re out there has been enough.
I’m worried it’s not enough anymore.
An instinct comes over me, and I listen to it. I’m calling my friend before I can question why. He answers on the third ring.
“Sonny, my man. How you doing?” Buster “Bulldog” Jackson says.
“Hey, Buster. You just popped into my head so I thought I’d give you a call.”
“I’m glad you did. We still on for tomorrow morning? Nothing came up with your schedule, did it?”