HE IS HIM
One minute Brandon was an 18-year-old competing for a job.
The next he was Peyton Manning, General Neyland and Luke Skywalker rolled into one freshman.
The story described more than 200 days of work—film, preparation, physical development, attacking the opportunity.
A REDACTED reporter later put it simply:
Faizon saw an opportunity to win the job and “put the hammer down.”
That sentence should have been accompanied by a post-coital cigarette.
Months of blue balls ended at 9:17.
Every future incompletion was now growth.
Every interception would be freshman upside.
Every 14-yard scramble would prove anybody who preferred George MacIntyre should be prohibited from evaluating quarterbacks until the Resurrection.
The Chosen One had been chosen.
THE G-MACOLYTES
For the G-Mac people, Monday morning felt more like a funeral visitation.
Nobody wanted to discuss the body.
They just wanted everyone to know George was a very good boy.
One poster wrote:
“I wish George nothing but the best as he’s a good kid.”
Oh God.
He’s a good kid.
The five most terrifying words in a quarterback competition.
Nobody says that about the starter.
Nobody ever announced:
Peyton Manning won the job. Brandon Stewart is a good kid.
“He’s a good kid” means the football arguments are exhausted and somebody has started organizing casseroles.
Then came the wounded questions.
Did George work as hard?
Did Faizon watch more film?
Was Faizon simply better?
One poster kept asking what the story would have been had George won.
A fair question.
Also the message-board equivalent of sitting outside your ex-girlfriend’s house at 1:30 a.m. asking if her new boyfriend really listens to her.
The answer was basically:
The story would have been about how George won.
George didn’t.
Faizon put the hammer down.
There really isn’t a softer way to land that aircraft.
THE WORK-ETHIC AUTOPSY
The article included this:
“Brandon was there working because voluntary isn’t in his vocabulary.”
Uh-oh.
Someone immediately wondered whether REDACTED was suggesting a culture clash.
And suddenly we were five minutes from subpoenas.
Was G-Mac home on weekends?
Did Faizon study more film?
Was somebody playing Xbox?
Before lunch somebody was going to demand George’s Screen Time report.
This is why quarterback competitions should never last until August.
Eventually fans begin requesting discovery.
BLUETICKVOL HAS SEEN ENOUGH
Then came BlueTickVol.
After logging into REDACTED, reading the board and commenting on the board, HighRoadVol wondered aloud:
“With this board’s collective cynicism…I wonder why people even come here anymore.”
Magnificent.
A man standing inside Waffle House at 2:13 a.m. demanding to know what kind of degenerates eat at Waffle House at 2:13 a.m.
You.
You are the people.
You logged in.
You read the cynicism.
You became irritated by the cynicism.
Then you contributed to the cynicism by complaining about the cynicism.
And presumably refreshed afterward to see whether anybody liked it.
BlueTickVol isn’t above the aquarium.
BlueTickVol is a fish.
He just thinks the other fish are getting the glass dirty.
EVERYBODY KNEW
Within minutes, another miracle occurred.
People began remembering that they had known Faizon would win all along.
SpringPracticeExpert: “This was over after the spring.”
Another:
“Faizon would have had to regress in August to lose it.”
Another:
“It was never a competition.”
Oh, beautiful.
Tennessee spent months calling it a competition.
The coaches evaluated two quarterbacks.
Both took reps.
Reporters covered it.
Fans argued about it.
But apparently half of REDACTED had known since April.
Would have been nice to mention.
Think of the man-hours we could have saved.
By midmorning, memories had improved to the point that George’s spring processing issues were being described as a “monumental red flag.”
Funny how red flags become much easier to see after somebody announces the winner.
Before the decision:
Interesting competition.
Afterward:
WE HAVE BEEN MONITORING A STRUCTURAL FAILURE IN THE REACTOR SINCE MARCH.
Another poster remembered Faizon had been “several shots ahead.”
Apparently this wasn’t football.
It was Sunday at Augusta.
Faizon had been strolling up 18 with a four-shot lead while G-Mac desperately tried to hole one from the bunker.
Everyone knew.
Especially five minutes after everyone else found out.
THE TRANSFER PORTAL OPENED IN THEIR HEADS
Before anyone had even finished grieving, PortalProphet asked:
“If Faizon gets named the starter, what are the chances G-Mac transfers after the season?”
A perfectly reasonable question about a season that hadn’t started, a competition that had barely ended, and a transfer decision pulled directly out of somebody’s ass.
NashvilleDoomVol answered immediately:
“Why would he stay? He deserves better.”
Nobody had said George was leaving.
Nobody had said George was staying.
But the board had already completed all five stages of grief and started forwarding his mail.
Then somebody mentioned Vanderbilt.
MacIntyre’s grandfather had coached there.
That was enough.
NeylandNightmare could already see how this ends:
“Wait until G-Mac transfers to Vanderbilt and hangs 50 on us.”
Beautiful.
George MacIntyre had gone from Tennessee backup quarterback to Vanderbilt starter, Tennessee assassin and centerpiece of a future national television humiliation package in approximately twelve minutes.
The scoreboard existed entirely inside this man’s head.
Tennessee was already down 30.
The game had not been scheduled.
George had not transferred.
George had not even packed.
The Faizon faction offered condolences.
BrandonOrBust: “If he can’t win the job, that’s on him.”
Nothing heals a divided fan base like showing up at the vigil to announce the deceased had it coming.
THE BACKUP ERA
The transformation was complete by midmorning.
Hours earlier:
Close quarterback competition.
Now:
“G-Mac will be a good backup. Gotta be ready!”
Oh.
That’s cold.
That is the football equivalent of your girlfriend telling you she really hopes you can remain friends while her new boyfriend waits in the driveway.
Good backup.
One of the most celebrated quarterback recruits in America had lost a competition at breakfast and by lunch REDACTED had him holding a clipboard, entering the transfer portal and hanging 50 on Tennessee for Vanderbilt.
Efficient work.
THE BOARD WAS DISENFRANCHISED
The message board, incidentally, did not receive a vote in the quarterback decision.
Which seems unfair.
These people spent eight months conducting their own investigation.
Blurry clips were studied.
Adjectives parsed.
Anonymous sources consulted.
Body language examined.
Weekend whereabouts reconstructed.
Then Tennessee ignored all of it and let the coaches decide.
Behind closed doors.
No absentee ballots.
No public comment period.
No recount.
Not even a nonbinding REDACTED referendum.
Dangerous precedent.
THE RELEASE
Faizon Brandon didn’t win because the board finally agreed he should.
He won because he took the opportunity and won the damn job.
That’s it.
No alternate slate of quarterbacks.
No emergency injunction from the G-Macolytes.
George MacIntyre may eventually become a terrific Tennessee quarterback.
He may start someday.
He may transfer.
He may stay.
He may apparently score 50 for Vanderbilt in a game that currently exists only in the fever dream of a man wearing orange pajama pants.
Nobody knows.
But that has never stopped REDACTED before.
For now, Tennessee is handing its offense to a true freshman twelve days before kickoff.
That is a hell of an accomplishment.
So enjoy it.
The Faizon people have earned their post-coital cigarette.
The G-Macolytes should drink some water, lie quietly on their backs and stare at the ceiling.
And HighRoadVol should absolutely keep logging into REDACTED to ask why everybody keeps logging into REDACTED.
Football season is finally here.
Tennessee hasn’t even played a game yet.
Imagine this place after Faizon throws his first interception.
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