Jet Jamison sat staring at his locker in the Houston field house as his teammates buzzed around him, playing music and cutting jokes after a long day at practice. As they prepared for the biggest game of their lives, several clouds hovered over his career, including the latest one manufactured courtesy of The Vin Report.
"What's up, Thirteen?" his best friend Gio asked him for the thousandth time, along with the rest of his teammates who needed to stick to their day jobs instead of trying to be comedians.
"Man, y'all need to quit. It's played out, already. For the love of everything good and holy, let it go!" Jet sucked his tongue and grimaced.
He'd reached the end of his ropes with the continuous wisecracks. Not that he was without a sense of humor. Had the article been written about anyone else in the locker room, he'd probably be giving the victim a hard time. But this time, he was the target and he didn't like it one bit.
On his exterior, Jet played it off, remained cool. But on the inside, he was pissed. He'd gotten so angry that his ears began to singe. The Vin Report had managed to wreck what was supposed to be his prime opportunity to shift the media’s conversation circling his contract re-negotiations from his mistakes and partying faux pas to how much the team needed a talented wide receiver like Jet if it wanted to make the playoffs next year. Instead, every media organization east and west of the Mississippi were focused on his balls, the ones he dropped during the fourth quarter of the division championship they'd played two weeks before. That idiot Mel Vin had a knack for writing catchy lines in his articles that haunted Jet for a week or two after the mélange of viral circulation.
Even still, none of the wisecracks could detract from the surrealism of making it to the big show, especially after all the turmoil he'd endured over the past two seasons.
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