Player Season: The Pickup Artist Who Hacked Nike Read Online Free Page B

consciousness. Seconds later, a teammate tapped me on the shoulder.
    "Hey man, you better go upstairs, they're about to come out here and do something to you," he said, as though he was worried.
    Only I didn't know this was the beginning stage of a coup, and his monologue laced with concern was simply an act to lure me upstairs; where they were going to do something to me.
    Once my teammate closed the door to the upstairs bedroom; the trap was set. The next thing I remember was waking up to a loud hissing noise next to my ear.
    " Ssssssssssssssssssshhhh... "
    I bolted up like I was shocked with a defibrillator, moving out harms way just in time.
    " CRACK POP CRACK POP CRACK !"
    This noise came from an entire pack of firecrackers tossed directly at my head. Unfortunately, I was too inebriated to strike back and†I awoke the next morning in a different bedroom – my body completely covered in flour.
    Springtime came and my career as a college baseball player was officially under way.
    Our team was ranked top 25 in the nation and I was second string, but the starting catcher began struggling in the middle of the season and I took advantage of my opportunity – until a pregame celebration got in the way.
    Yes, a PREGAME celebration. At the start of each game, our coach met with the umpires at home plate and sprinted towards our awaiting huddle immediately after. Once he arrived, we pushed and shoved him around to get the energy flowing; it was basically a royal rumble.
    I did this numerous times without any complications but for some reason I decided to be 'Tommy Tough-nuts' and was the first to make impact with our coach, which turned out to be a season-ending mistake.
    As he neared, I built up centripetal force and lunged in, but I was shoved from behind just before making my leap. This uncalculated push jammed my hand against his chest, causing it to roll back in a very unorthodox way. I fell to the ground and proceeded to be trampled on from above. My window of opportunity to play, which only recently opened up, was now closed.

    My wrist was severely sprained; I couldn't practice and I couldn't play. Instead of being smart about my recovery, I lost interest and began spending time with a girl I met earlier in the year; we'll call her ECU Brittany.
    She was the first girl I laid eyes on after boldly entering the sorority house alone. Her long dirty blonde hair and big brown eyes complemented a warm welcoming smile. She wore a baby blue silk halter-top with black pants and strapless heels – an outfit failing to hide immaculate curves.
    I quickly advanced in her direction and began engaging the target.
    "So where are you from?" I asked, with marginal game.
    "NOVA," she said, with an unusual accent.
    "What in the hell is NOVA?† Do you mean Northern Virginia?" I teased.
    "Uhh, yeah!" Brittany replied, predictably responding to criticism.
    "Well I'm from Southern Virginia, where we have common sense and don't call it SOVA," I pestered.
    "Sothern Virginia is lame," she claimed, with her indistinct dialect.
    "You know what's lame? Your accent, did you make it up yourself?" I continued badgering.
    "Noooooooooooo," Brittany said, with a lengthy southern draw mixed with valley girl.
    Finding a girl I actually enjoyed being around was rare for me, so I kept her close.
    After the injury, she started replacing baseball as my top priority, but I couldn't see it at the time – I was blinded by infatuation (but mostly her tits).
    Three home games were coming up the following weekend and my task was simple; all I needed to do was show up.
    Brittany invited me to spend the night at her sorority house after Friday's game. We didn't drink; we just sat on the couch watching movies together until we fell asleep. I had to be at the field at 9:30am the following day – so I set the alarm for 9am.
    The sun hit my eyes; I rolled over, looked at the alarm clock and my heart sank.
    I don't know what, why, or how it happened, but I never heard