The Draft (8 page)

“He's rebuilding almost from scratch. They've been struggling for a long time—seven straight losing seasons. It was no surprise to anyone when they booted their GM, director of player personnel,
and
their head coach halfway through last season. They have every right to the first pick, but it will only provide them with one player. If they trade it, however, they can get considerably more. I'm guessing this is Skip's plan. He's been given carte blanche to do whatever needs to be done. In fact, if what the media is reporting is true—about other teams bidding for that pick—then that's exactly what Skip is doing. He's trying to parlay the guarantee of acquiring Christian McKinley into a huge payoff. So let's try to determine which of his needs are most urgent, and how we can satisfy them.”

“So we'll definitely be using players in this deal rather than picks?” Tanner asked.

“Yeah, we'll have to use both. I don't see where we have much of a choice. Established players will be more valuable to Skip than picks. I'm not talking about giving up a lot. Just a few will make all the difference. We've got great depth here, so I think we can sacrifice a handful of guys. Of course we'll use draft picks as the bulk of our currency, but I don't see how we can pull off this miracle without throwing in some established talent. To that end, I've asked Cary to sort through the roster to determine, if I may be blunt for a minute here, who can go. And from you, Kevin, I'll need some quick cap assessment.”

“No problem.”

Blanchard handed around his own copies of the roster, organized per Jon's criteria—

Everyone studied it for a few moments. Blanchard poured himself a glass of ice water and took a long sip. Jon leaned back in his chair and twirled his pencil. Tanner's eyes moved through the list with an almost computer-like fervor as he did some quick calculations. Mendel, predictably, showed no reaction.

“Okay,” Jon said finally. “This looks like about what I expected. Alan, would you like to start? Any comments?”

The doctor ran a hand over his carefully combed hair. “Well, I see you've got Montgomery as a possible trade. I don't know if he's going to be particularly attractive with that ACL tear he suffered two years back. The resulting bad knee doesn't allow him to make quick, pivoting movements like he used to. Since the anterior cruciate ligament aids in limiting the joint's mobility, that tear was the equivalent of ten years' movement in a matter of seconds. And he's lost a step from age, too. The combination of that and the tear, I imagine, would hinder his trade value.”

Jon nodded. “I understand. His main value to Skip, I figured, was as a veteran. Almost like having an extra coach around. It's no secret that Scotty wants to go into coaching after his playing days are over. And he's got the basic skills, too. Right, Cary?”

“Yeah, I'd say so. The boys love him, and he knows when to be tough on them. He has many natural leadership qualities. He could do it.”

“Okay,” Mendel said. “Just giving the medical angle.”

“Anyone else?”

“Buckley, the cornerback.” Mendel said the kid's name with the same marked indifference that Jon always found irritating, as if each player was a product rather than a person. But it was more than that—he sounded like he was mildly disgusted by them, by the idea that he had to actually care for them. His lack of a “bedside manner” was well known around the organization.

“The broken collarbone?”

“It healed well enough, but he has pain from time to time. And there's evidence that it affected him psychologically. I've seen him protecting it on the field. Sometimes it seems as though he doesn't want to hurt it again, so he'll hold back. A classic case.”

“His numbers are still decent,” Blanchard countered, almost defensively.

“Yes, true,” Mendel replied without so much as glancing up from the roster. He had it flat and neat on the table but wouldn't touch it, as if doing so might lead to some prolonged illness.

“He's still useful to the right team,” Jon said. “Anyone else?”

Mendel shook his head. “No, I think that's it.”

“Okay, good. Kevin? What do you see here?”

Tanner was still scanning, his eyes darting from name to name.

“Brian Northbrook's situation could be a problem,” he said. “That gigantic signing bonus we gave him. It was $1.25 million, which is quite a bit for a guy who ended up on the bench.”

“He's in his third year with us, right?” Jon asked. “So that means we've already paid out $500,000 of that bonus money, leaving $750,000.”

“Right,” Tanner said. “And with the way the cap works, we'd have to continue paying a quarter of a mil each year until the fifth and final of his contract. And that's guaranteed money. But if we unloaded him now, the payment schedule for the remaining bonus would accelerate, and we'd have to count it all against the cap
this
year.” He sighed and shook his head. “If only this was baseball, where the team that
picks up
a guy is responsible for paying out parts of his contract.… No such luck in our world.”

“And how bad is our cap situation again?” Blanchard asked, even though it was common knowledge that he had little interest in the business side of the team.

“Like an overstuffed garbage bag about to split,” Tanner said. “This would push us right to the edge … unless, of course, we waited until after June first. Then, as you know, the acceleration rule wouldn't apply, and we'd be allowed to spread the rest of that money over the next two cap years.”

Jon nodded. “Okay, if it comes to that, I'll see if Skip's willing to wait. Who else might be trouble?”

Tanner scratched his beard. “Well, we know Lawrence Dixon's heading for renegotiation. Remember all the incentives we stuck into his rookie deal? They're coming back to haunt us now. Hell, I'm not complaining that he turned into such an amazing player. But, if you recall, most of those incentives were categorized as NLTBEs—Not Likely to Be Earned. That being the case, we figured they'd never count against the cap since only LTBEs would have cap impact. Then TJ goes down in Game Six of that year and Lawrence comes in. Next thing we all know, he's piling up historic numbers, taking over the starting position, and—worst of all, from my little world—he's passing each of his cash incentives like a racehorse. And the more he does this, the more hits our cap takes.”

“But he cannot go,” Blanchard said, “if that's what you're suggesting. He's absolutely essential.”

“Oh, I know that, Cary,” Tanner told him. “I know we couldn't win another championship without him. I'm simply saying his incentives are troublesome enough from a cap perspective. But his contract also ends this year, and he and his agent have been very tolerant of the last one. Now that he's proven himself, he's going to want more guaranteed money next time around. The problem for us is fitting him into the whole scheme with McKinley here, too.”

Jon massaged his temples. “Well, this was all part of the plan,” he said. “Hold everything together with Silly Putty and bubble gum until we get that third championship. I don't think any of these problems come as a surprise.”

“After this year,” Tanner added, “our cap situation will explode. We'll be lucky to hold onto anybody. And they know it, too. Easton's in the prime of his career, so he'll be shopping himself around. We'd have to cut him anyway, because, with the way we back-loaded his contract, we'll owe him more then six mil next season. Same with Jennings. He took the league minimum in the first year he signed with us, so next year his base salary will count three million against the cap.” Tanner leaned forward and tapped the table with his pudgy finger. “At this exact moment, we are more than eight million over the cap for next season. Of course, we can relieve that burden simply by cutting a lot of guys after the June first deadline. But we still have to pay all those amortized signing bonuses. Those alone will count more than twelve million against the cap next year, even with the cap's annual increase per the Collective Bargaining Agreement.” He shook his head. “Like Peter said, it really is now or never. Next year, we'll be lucky to even
have
a full team.”

“With that in mind,” Mendel said, surprising everyone by jumping into a conversation that had nothing to do with the medical angle, “how are you going to afford McKinley even if you get him?”

Tanner, who had turned to Mendel and was nodding to indicate he was thinking the exact same thing, said, “We'll be forced into a rebuilding phase. Which, while that might be good for us financially, would be a nightmare, I would think, for McKinley. Cary, am I wrong about that?”

Blanchard cleared his throat. “No, that's correct. You see this happen all the time—a team that's strapped for cash loses all their good guys because they're forced to cut them. Then, when the purse strings loosen up, they start rebuilding slowly. The players who are there at the beginning of this phase go through hell, especially the good ones. They never reach their potential because they're surrounded by subpar talent. And quarterbacks, I hate to point out, suffer the most. If you can't afford to protect them with a good front line, they take a beating. A lot of potentially good kids have been ruined this way.” He looked at Jon in earnest. “And McKinley might be one of them. He's fantastic, Jon, but there's no way he'll be able to perform to his peak without some of our guys. Without Israel and Erickson at guard, without James and Little at tackle, he's going to be either on the run or on the ground. If we
do
need to rebuild—and it looks very much like we will after this year—then we should try to first keep our offense together.”

“Which is a shame, because most of the biggest cap problems we have lie with offensive guys anyway,” Tanner added. Blanchard shrugged as if to say,
What do you want me to do about it?
Tanner replied with a shrug of his own.

“Okay,” Jon said, “I'll have to figure all that out when the time comes. But at least we're starting to see some shape of things to come. First things first, though. We need to get Christian McKinley here and on this team so we can have a realistic shot at that third championship. That's the objective for this season. And to do that, we have to acquire that first pick from Skip Henderson. That's our focus at this precise moment.” He held up the resorted roster Blanchard provided. “Cary, are you sure you're comfortable with the segmentation you provided here?”

“As sure as I can be, under the circumstances. As long as you don't get rid of any of the starters, we should be able to make it.”

“And Kevin, aside from Northbrook, no one else will give us cap pains in the immediate future if we let them go?”

“No, not from the trade part of this list. And like I said earlier, cutting Bell would help. It's not a nice thing to do, but … it'll help.”

“So noted. Alan?”

“I don't have anything to add beyond what I've already stated.”

“Okay, good. What we have to do next is figure out Skip's greatest needs, and put together an offer he can't refuse.” He returned to his folder and extracted another small pile of photocopies—San Diego's current roster. Handing them around, he said, “This will be the key to getting the deal done, and the decisions we make now will have a tremendous effect the future of this team.” He shook his head, almost dizzied by the enormity of it.

“Let's get started.”

*   *   *

A few hours later, during a strangely quite moment that felt like the eye of a hurricane, he stood by his office window, sipping coffee and thinking about the previous season. If he concentrated hard enough, he could envision the teams on the field. He could hear the roar of the crowd, the tinny echo of the stadium speakers. The excitement was almost tangible. The mood, the frenzy … all of it. All part of the addictive experience that was the NFL.