Oh. Shit.
I find Mr. Mahler in the crowd and even from beneath the harsh pink tint of his skin, I can still see the heat rising in his face. He looks pissed.
“And I’m using this platform for the men who, like my dad, retired before 1993 and have been completely left by the wayside. These men who made the League what it is by playing their hearts out without any knowledge of the dangers we know about now. Without access to the insurance we players have now, without the pensions we have, they are suffering in silence. They have been dealing with the neurological issues we’re now taking steps to avoid, but without means to provide for themselves or their families. These men are dying and it is our job as players to fight for them. It’s imperative that I use my platform for a cause that means something to me. And that is to fight for the people who cannot fight for themselves.”
Whispers begin to roll through the crowd as they start to feed off the energy Quinton is bringing into the room.
“‘Put your money where your mouth is.’ That’s something else I’ve heard. And I’ve been thinking about that a lot, which is part of why the Quinton Howard Junior Foundation was created. I’m making a stance on the field, but tonight I want to tell you about my actions off the field. I brought all of you here hoping that you would open up your hearts and checkbooks to help me fight this fight. But I realized I have to lead by example, which is why I’m here to tell you that I will be donating my salary for this season to different charities whose causes support the mission of the Quinton Howard Junior Foundation.”
The whispers completely dissipate and I could hear a pin drop with how quiet the room is. Quinton was slated to make twenty-one million dollars this year and I’m not sure anyone thinks they heard him right . . . myself included. Out of all the things we discussed, this was not one of them.
“That’s my fuckin’ boy!” Donny—of course it’s Donny—jumps to his feet and breaks the silence.
It’s not even a second before everyone in the crowd has joined him on their feet, the applause and cheers causing the distressed wood beneath my feet to rattle with hope and energy and faith that this man, that Quinton, can not only lead the Mustangs, but everyone around him, to being better humans.
“Thank you.” His voice is barely audible over the cheers still going strong. “But I want to tell you who the first check will be going to. Earlier today, I sent a check to Pro Players for Equal Treatment, an organization run by a former player’s wife that is committed to working with the League to find a solution that allows these retired players and their loved ones to live with dignity. I’m honored to bring attention not only to them, but to the important cause they’re fighting for. Thank you everyone for coming out tonight. This is the beginning of something wonderful and I truly appreciate all of your support.”
And just like that, the room explodes with excitement and applause once again. The reporters who were here for a fun evening all have their cell phones plastered to their faces, no doubt calling their stations to send a camera crew over, as the rest of the crowd rushes across the room trying to get to Quinton. Thankfully, I already had an interview with ESPN set up after this event. Good thing I’m good at my job. But hopefully some of these reporters are now changing their questions from “Why?” to “How can we help?” I do know that, without a doubt, they’re all seeing him through a completely new lens. One that no longer sees him as a spoiled, entitled brat, but as a selfless, caring individual who is going to change the world.
And how the hell am I supposed to keep my guard up around that?
Sixteen
To say the event was a success is a massive understatement.
Quinton was trending before the crowds cleared. The news of his outrageous pledge damn near broke the Internet . . . or at least his website, which crashed approximately fifteen minutes after his announcement.
The other thing trending? Pro Players for Equal Treatment, the first organization receiving a donation from Quinton.
When I told him about all of the traffic to his site, he was annoyingly blasé about it. But when I pulled him to the side thirty minutes later to tell him that? He excused himself and locked himself in Jen’s office. When he came out a few minutes later, his smile was the biggest I’ve ever seen. Before that moment, I actually thought maybe the muscles around his mouth weren’t quite working (which did not lead my mind down a rabbit hole about Quinton’s mouth that I’d rather not recount. No. Absolutely not.) and all pictures of him smiling with this many teeth showing were actually photoshopped. But when he stepped back into the hallway with red-tinted eyes, his full lips were pulled wide and framing his perfect smile.
And it was the best
