The Carolina sun beat down on the sidewalk as practice waned to a close. It was May 2005, and I had a new driver’s license and a fanatic obsession with the Carolina Panthers. There was only one place to be on this spring afternoon – well, make that two spring afternoons, because I had been there the day before – mini camp.
Mini camp is the first glimpse at what every NFL fan knows will be a promising season. The new draft picks arrive, enthusiasm is in the air, and “Super Bowl” dances in our minds. It’s an unspoken hope, silently pondered by all but voiced by none. Could this be the year?
The black metal gates swung open, and the players poured out. I fought for my place along the sidewalk as middle-aged men shoved and pushed, greedily waving small footballs and Sharpies.
I scanned the players, searching for that one signature that had eluded me. He was the hero, the Comeback Kid, our Ragin’ Cajun. He would be wearing a red jersey, the cautionary sign to all who came near. “This is our player. He’s the one with umpteen come-from-behind wins, who nearly won us a championship, who rescued us from 1-7. Hurt him, you hurt us.”
There was one red jersey in sight, but the balding head belonged to backup Chris Weinke, he of the 1-15 season. The field was empty and the quarterbacks had filed out. I had missed my golden opportunity, the empty space on my shirt glared.
“Is that…”
The thin, shocked voice snapped me back. Dark hair, about 6’2’’, red jersey, leaning down for an autograph. It was!
I scrambled back and swung left, across the grassy hill, to an opening in the crowd, and readied my marker.
“Um, can you please sign my shirt?” I asked meekly. All this preparation, not to mention a semester’s worth of the Speech and Debate, and I started with an um?
“Sure,” he responded in that deep Louisiana drawl. He scribbled across my shoulders, and handed the Sharpie back with a grin.
It was my turn to grin. Jake Delhomme, the back of gray shirt proudly read.