"Because Grandfather, there is a monster, a monster in this draft... and for some reason no one is talking about him," Xavier said, visibly shaking in his seat, whether it was excitement or fear, only he knew. "I wanted to see if anyone else would think so, but so far they have just put him in the mix as good enough for the league, but nothing special."
"Snap out of it and tell me, Xav, who is it?" Nathan demanded, rubbing his head in irritation from the headache of watching thousands of films and interviews of QBs. "This better be good since you had me wasting so much time I could have been using to strategise our draft strategy."
"Here," Xavier said, handing him a file with a picture of a skinny, with slight belly fat, college kid with dirty blond hair. "Thomas Brady, and before you judge me, read the scouting report on his strength and compare it to the feasibility when considering our plan."
Thomas Brady – QB, Michigan
Height: 6'4⅜
Weight: 211 lbs
Hand Size: 9⅜"
College: Michigan (Big Ten)
Born: August 3, 1977
Combine: 2000 – Indianapolis, IN
The report from their scouts criticised Brady's arm strength during the pre-draft process, describing him as lacking the power to throw the ball deep and not throwing a tight spiral. He wasn't fast, his mobility was awful, and many other points that made a modern quarterback did not apply to him. Xavier could tell his grandpa was beginning to doubt his words the longer he read, so he reached out, flipping the paper to the pros.
Smart, poised, competitive quarterback who lacks the arm strength and athletic ability to start in the NFL right now. Operates well within structure, protects the football, and shows command of the offence. Doesn't drive the ball through tight windows or escape pressure.
Lacks standout physical traits but has a winner's mentality. Should make a roster as a dependable backup. However, his most outstanding quality was that he was 6'4", had that American pretty-boy face, and the Leadership qualities to match.
"Xavier son, I don't know, this guy doesn't seem that impressive." Nathan sighed after he finished reading the scouting report. "I admit the guy is smart and has good qualities, but his sceeling is unknown."
"Grandpa, this is a guy who has limited college tape, few explosive plays, and average athletic testing," Xavier said as he handed him another report. "Yet this same guy worked hard, staying two years in Michigan, throwing less than 15 passes until he finally won the starting job over Drew Henson in his junior year."
"He wants to win more than any other QB in this draft class. Just look at the fact that he took a stacked Alabama into overtime and won the Orange Bowl." He watched his grandfather glance at the new report. "Plus, how can someone drafted out of high school with the potential to become a Major League catcher have a low ceiling?"
He watched his grandfather's eyes visibly widen as he read the new report. "This is a Baseball report. Where did you get it from? Never mind, you really think his template ceiling is close to Joe Montana with shades of Peyton Manning."
"I think he could be, if trained systematically for a year, he could become a field general like Montan and best of all, he could be drafted below the fourth round coming into the league with little pressure and hunger to prove himself." He analysed, going into detail on the similarity Thomas had with the two legendary QBs.
"Plus, his marketability is exactly what the Tigers need long term. I'm not saying pick him; just decide between the three of them," Xavier said, handing the files of the other QB identified by the staff that matched his abilities assessment. "And whoever you decide to pick, don't let anyone know until you make the pick on Saturday. A lot of people wouldn't mind messing with our plans."
~~~
[14th April 2000 – 021:20 AM, Scarsdale, New York – 22:40 AM,]
The Upper East Side of Manhattan can genuinely be called the most luxurious city in New York and, arguably, the country. The wealth of the nation is gathered in just one borough, 23 square miles. Wall Street elite go hunting during the day and expand their cultural horizons at night.
Hotels, bars, Michelin-star restaurants, and museums are all at their fingertips, accessible by the swipe of a black card. Some even require a pin, a cufflink or a membership card to gain entry to spend thousands of dollars on a duck dish that was available at your local Chinatown. For men who would sell their best friends if it meant earning another cent in the stock market, these expenses may seem stupid.
However, if you asked a junior trader at Lehman Brothers, they would tell you that they would go into debt just to breathe the air in one such function. Next to money, connection is the single most valuable currency in America, and these exclusive locations in the towers of Manhattan provided exactly that.
The Union Club, founded in 1836, located on Park Avenue, is one of the oldest private social clubs in New York City. The air inside the Union Club felt dense with age and money — cigar smoke, mahogany polish, and the low hum of laughter from men who could move millions with a single phone call. In a corner booth of the main dining room, beneath a chandelier that had probably witnessed more backroom deals than most boardrooms, four NFL general managers gathered for dinner.
Lance Lacewell of the Cowboys leaned back in his chair, his silver hair gleaming in the amber light. Across from him sat Bernie Accorsi of the Giants, his glasses reflecting the flame of the table's candle. Beside them, Buffalo's John Butler carved through his filet mignon with surgical precision, while the youngest of the group, Scott Pioli of New England, nursed a scotch, listening more than he spoke.
They weren't there for friendship — not really. Their team owners had passed down a message to warmly welcome the ne stallian to the stables that is the NFL. They honestly found it troublesome, but at the same time, they looked forward to putting the kid who thought money was all he needed to succeed in their league.
"So," Lacewell said, slicing into his steak, "the kid from Queens is causing trouble again; I heard he plans to give the Tigers their own stadium, must be tough for the giants."
Bernie stabbed into his Kobe stake in frustration at Lance's shadenfrued expression. "He needs a wake-up call; loads of people want their own stadium, but at some point, they have to accept reality."
"he'll be looking to sell after two bad years, mark my words." John Butler exclaimed, clearly irritated by the topic. "He's just bought a new toy and is looking to spend money to buy all the attachments, but if they don't perform, the fans will be calling for his head."
"Hahaha, you guys are too funny," Lance burst out laughing upon seeing their sour faces as if they had bitten into sour lemons. "You guys better watch out, the Tigers will become the kings of the city if they become the first NY franchise with their own stadium. What do you think, son? Do they have a chance if the Tigers get a stadium?"
Scott Pioli, almost two decades younger than the youngest of the three men, wisely stayed silent, but his lack of confidence in them was clearly readable. The three New York franchises were quite pitiful if one thought about it. They were in the most sought-after sports market in the world, yet neither of them owned their stadium.
This meant that the bulk of the money stadium owners made from hosting concerts for musicians, events went to someone else. They couldn't build their brand beyond football, and the value of their franchise, despite being high, was discounted. The giants, for the most part, enjoyed a privileged position as the primary tenants of the space, allowing them to set their preferred schedule.
Over the years, this has allowed them to pick the best time slot where most football fans can attend matches. The result of this was that they carved up the bulk of the New York fan base, but if the Tigers got their own stadium, things would change. Their younger brother suddenly became their most deadly opponent, whom they had to compete with or risk losing market share.
Accorsi dabbed his mouth with his napkin a little too hard before responding. "Let's get to business, how are we gonna check them tomorrow night?"
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To be Continued...