[31st March 2000 – 1:30 PM, Norman, Oklahoma, USA]
The early spring air carried a faint chill across the open field of the Norman Youth Football Complex. The sound of whistles, sneakers on turf, and the chatter of parents in lawn chairs filled the afternoon. The faint smell of cut grass mixed with hot dogs from a concession stand nearby — the usual symphony of a Saturday youth league game.
On the far end of the bleachers, Nathaniel Stewart sat quietly, his hands folded across his knees as he scanned the game below. He wore a simple black windbreaker and a Tigers cap, and a finished issue of that morning's paper rested beside him. A man on the larger side sat beside him, his ash blond hair showing hints of greying.
He was the reason Nathan had made the trip down to recruit the fiery University of Oklahoma's Defensive Coordinator, Rex Ryan. The man had his arms folded, with dark shades covering his eyes, as they watched his son, a slightly chubby kid in a red jersey, helmet too big, charge fearlessly toward a ball carrier twice his size.
"Attaboy, Steven!" Rex hollered, his voice carrying over the crowd. The kid made the tackle, albeit clumsily. Rex grinned, leaning back against the bench. "You see that? Little man's got hustle. Can't teach that."
Nathan chuckled. "You're not wrong. Looks like he inherited the motor."
"Hahah, Sure does, which one is yours?" Rex asked dryly, glancing sideways with a smirk.
"I'm here too, scout," Nathan replied, smiling faintly. "My grandchildren are too old to be playing here."
"Oh yeah? Didn't know they were scouting this early?" Rex responded, raising an eyebrow. "To each is their own, I guess."
"You're mistaken, I'm not here to scout kids." Nathan clarified, pulling out a business card and handing it to the man who was still focused on the field. "Name's Nathaniel Stewart — newly appointed GM for the New York Tigers, can I have a moment of your time, Mr Ryan?"
Rex's hand holding the business card froze as he seemingly remembered where he had seen the old man's face before. "You're the guy everyone's been talkin' about. The new owner's grandfather, who stepped up to clean up his mess, huh?"
Rex turned the card over in his fingers, a crooked grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. "Well, I'll be damned. You really came all the way out here to poach a college coordinator? Guess the Tigers are desperate for some defensive juice."
Nathan smiled mildly, unbothered by the jab. "Desperate? No, but there are only a handful of coordinators who fit the vision of what we want our defence to become, and you are on a short list of people, Mr Ryan."
"Huh, that's high praise, but wouldn't it be risky to take a coach from college and make him a coordinator right away?" Rex asked now more seriously as he eyed the tanned figure of Nathan, his mop of black hair now having turned a silver grey. The man, despite being in his mid-sixties, appeared as energetic as ever, not at all bothered by what the media had been saying all week.
"My grandson wants a defence that will make quarterbacks fear playing us. I've seen your Oklahoma tapes — that hybrid 3-4/4-3 flexibility? That's what we need in New York." Nathan corrected. "That's why we are looking for a fresh face, someone to bring in new ideas to fully form the defence."
"We are prepared to offer you a three-year contract to prove you have the ability to deliver on the next level, or if we are wasting both our time," Nathan stated, eyeing the man with a more serious gaze. "You won't have the same freedom as you have had in Oklahoma, as you will have to adjust your vision to match that of HC Belichick. He will be the undisputed brain painting the Tigers for the next five years."
Rex leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the sunlight glinting off his shades as he processed Nathan's words. The crowd's cheers faded into background noise as he processed the weight of the offer he had been waiting his entire coaching career to receive. "Three years, huh?" He said, finally, voice low. "You're really not beating around the bush, are you?"
Nathan shook his head. "No time to waste. The Tigers need leaders now, not caretakers. My job's to find the right architects, and I believe you're one of them."
Rex gave a dry laugh. "Architect, huh? You sure you want me? I'm sure you're dealing with a lot of criticism already, and my defences talk trash, hit hard, and make a mess out there."
"Good," Nathan replied simply with a wide grin. "That's exactly what we want, a brotherhood out there that is not willing to give quarter to any opponents. Whether that be trash-talking, hitting hard, or attacking fast, we want the Tigers to matter in New York again, and that starts with being feared on the defensive end."
"That's a lot of pressure you're putting on me, Sir," Ryan said as he realised just how much was expected of him. "I'm good at what I do, but even I can't work a miracle. Lord knows my wife wishes I could."
"Don't worry, we are willing to support you whenever possible to bring your vision to life," Nathan said with a wide smile as he extended his hand. "That could start as soon as this draft in April. If you're ready for the next step?"
Rex stared at the hand held out to him for a moment before firmly grasping it tightly, seemingly unwilling to let it go. "You have yourself a deal, Mr Stewart."
~~~
[1st April 2000 – 20:15 PM, Amsterdam, Netherlands]
While his grandfather was working to rebuild the coaching staff, Xavier found himself on the other side of the world in Amsterdam. A light drizzle fell over the canal-lined streets of the city, the lamps casting amber halos on the slick cobblestones. Inside Café de Graaf, the smell of roasted beans and rain-damp wool mingled with quiet conversation.
Xavier sat near the window, nursing a Coffee. He wore a dark wool coat, his hair slightly tousled from travel, eyes half on the street beyond the glass and half on the folder spread before him. Across the table sat Dr Maria van der Me, a petite woman of twenty-eight with pale blond hair tied neatly back, a cute, round face, and green eyes covered by sleek silver-rimmed glasses.
She wore a sleek black turtleneck tucked into high-waisted olive-green wide-leg trousers, cinched with a slim black belt, and paired with pointed black heels. Her small black handbag rested on the chair next to her legs, crossed as she eyed the man across from her. She had seen him at the Ajax training centre over the past week and assumed he was one of the many scouts or agents who still looked for talent at her club.
But to her utter shock, after a week of eyeing players socialising with both managers and agents alike, he had asked her out for a cup of coffee. She had obviously rejected him right away, not needing another suitor, no matter how yummy he looked. He always appeared neat and calm, his shoulder-length curls always neatly groomed in either a bun or messily arranged to frame his face, making him look closer to his real age.
She had heard some of her female colleagues, both younger and older, drool over his sharp facial features. Those dreamy auburn eyes and those arms talking about what they wouldn't do to be wrapped in them on a rainy night. To her, he just appeared as a fuck boy, a wolf in a Labrador's pelt, a true Casanova, with his innocent-looking smile that would disarm an innocent damsel into dropping their panties.
Yet despite all her misgivings, he found herself seated across that very smile waiting to hear what he wanted. "Thank you for meeting me, Dr Maria van der Me. Can I call you Maria?" He began gently setting down his cup on the place setting.
"Yes," she nodded, trying her best to hold his gaze that seemed ready to devour her whole.
"Ok, Maria, I asked you for this meeting because I want you to come back to America with me." He said with a wide smile, immediately causing her danger senses to tingle.
"If you're just another suitor, we could have saved us both some time. I already told you I have no interest in dating." She quickly responded, her hand reaching for her bag and coat next to her, seemingly ready to leave.
"Hahahaha," light laughter was all that met her, causing her to freeze. "Maria, don't get me wrong, you're a beautiful woman, but what I'm interested in is your mind and ability. I want to offer you a job, J-O-B, as in work."
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To Be Continued...