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Should I Stay or Should I Go?
Last Updated:
2024-05-30 14:16:36
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After an intense training session, Alexandra sank onto the cold metal bench in the locker room, wiping sweat from her brow. Her muscles ached pleasantly—a reminder of the hard work she’d put in. She reached for her phone, noticing a text from an unknown number. Curiosity piqued, she opened it."Hi Alexandra, this is Jenifer Walter. Hope you don't mind, Jeremy gave me your number after our meeting. I'm in Denver for the next couple of days and would love to meet in person before heading back to Atlanta. Looking forward to hearing from you!"Alexandra blinked in surprise. Jenifer Walter. The name brought a flood of memories and admiration. Jenifer had been the first woman to play in the Wild West Indoor Football League, a formidable linebacker and occasional running back for the Texas Oilers. But why was she reaching out now? And what exactly was Jeremy up to?Taking a deep breath, Alexandra wondered, *Is Jeremy having Jenifer do his dirty work now?* Her relationship with Jeremy was a t
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Jeremy Davis sat hunched over his desk, elbows planted on the polished oak, fingers steepled in front of his lips. The office—his office—inside the Denver Coliseum was a study in contrasts: the world outside was a cacophony of echoing footsteps, distant cheers, and the metallic clatter of preparation, while within these four walls, the air was thick with tension and the scent of old leather and fresh coffee.Melissa perched on the edge of the visitor’s chair, her notepad balanced on her knee, pen poised but unmoving. She watched Jeremy with the kind of concern that only comes from months of shared late nights and early mornings. Across from her, sprawled in the battered armchair, was Luke Elliot, owner of the Omaha Cattlemen and Jeremy’s oldest friend in the league. Luke’s boots were crossed at the ankle, his hat tipped back, a wry smile playing at his lips as he watched Jeremy wrestle with the decision.Jeremy exhaled, the sound heavy in the quiet.“So, here’s where we are,” he said,
Last Updated : 2025-04-16Blindside Beauty The Press Conference
Jeremy Davis stood at the podium, the glare of television lights painting his suit in harsh relief. The press conference room inside the Denver Coliseum was packed—sportswriters, TV crews, bloggers, and a sea of Colorado Cannibals fans pressed against the back wall. The air buzzed with anticipation, the kind that comes before a storm, and Jeremy could feel every eye fixed on him.He gripped the edge of the podium, steadying himself. “Thank you all for coming,” he began, his voice resonant and calm. “I want to thank everyone at the Wild West Indoor Football League, the Colorado sports fans, and the media for your support and dedication to this team. Today marks an exciting new chapter for the Colorado Cannibals.”A ripple of camera clicks and shifting bodies swept through the room.Jeremy continued, “As many of you know, Terrell Hillis has accepted a position as the running backs coach for the Denver Mustangs in the NAFL. I want to wish Terrell the best in this new opportunity. He’s mo
Last Updated : 2025-04-17Blindside Beauty The New Era
Jeremy’s office was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the distant echo of footsteps in the Denver Coliseum’s hallways. He sat at his desk, phone pressed to his ear, heart pounding as he waited for Jenifer Walter’s answer. The world outside might have been spinning with rumors and speculation, but in this moment, everything hinged on a single word.There was a pause—a breath, a heartbeat, a lifetime—then Jenifer’s voice came through, clear and steady. “Jeremy, I’ll take the job. I want to be the Head Coach of the Colorado Cannibals.”Jeremy exhaled, a grin spreading across his face. He kept his composure, but his voice was electric with excitement. “Jenifer, we’re going to do great things together. In addition to being Head Coach, you’ll be Assistant General Manager and have a real say over personnel decisions. I want to say this before anyone in the media or anywhere else gets the wrong idea: I’m hiring you because I believe you’ll lead the Cannibals to great
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Morning sunlight slanted through the office window, splashing across the polished wood of Jeremy Davis’s desk. The Denver Coliseum was waking up, full of purposeful footsteps and distant shouts, but Jeremy still felt like he was living in a half-dream. The last week had been a whirlwind: press conferences, Jennifer Walter’s hiring, and an endless stream of speculation from every corner of the sports world.He sat back in his chair, still savoring the small, quiet moments before his schedule took over. His phone buzzed, vibrating insistently across the desk. Without looking at the caller ID, he picked up—old habits from his coaching days when any call could be a crisis.“Jeremy Davis,” he answered.A familiar, grating laugh oozed through the receiver. “Well, well, Jeremy! Didn’t know you were taking tips from the Pelaratti playbook these days.”Jeremy’s free hand curled into a fist. “Tommy Pelaratti,” he said, his voice flat.“The one and only!” Tommy’s voice dripped with sleazy confid
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The whir of the electric razor buzzed lightly as Jeremy Davis finished trimming his beard in the mirror, his thoughts swirling with anticipation and anxiety. The Denver morning was brisk, sunlight spilling over the snow-capped Rockies and into the window of his high-rise apartment. He straightened his navy tie, tugged the knot just right, and pulled on a tailored charcoal suit—sharp, modern, understated but strong. Today was the day ESPN came to town. Today was another day to set the record straight.His phone chimed—a message from Melissa, reassuring and efficient as always.“Camera crew’s setting up. You’re on at 10. They brought extra lights. Usual interview room.”Jeremy smiled. He could count on Melissa. He could count on Jenifer Walter, too—his new head coach had already spent the morning in the film room breaking down last year’s tape with the Cannibals’ scouting staff. For the first time in a long while, Jeremy felt like the organization was exactly where it should be: at the
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Downtown Denver pulsed with twilight energy as neon signs flickered alive and laughter spilled out of bustling bistros. Inside The Gold Cleat—part high-end steakhouse, part sports shrine—Jenifer Walter and Alexandra Jordan sat tucked in a corner booth. Polished cutlery and stemless glasses sparkled under golden light. Football memorabilia—framed jerseys, signed balls, old newspaper clippings—climbed the walls. But tonight, the famous faces and heroic headlines faded into the background, leaving just two women, a table of food, and the unfinished business of dreams and wounds.For a while, they just enjoyed the simple pleasure of a hot meal and the company of someone who understood the grind. Jenifer was in her signature sharp black blazer and jeans; Alexandra wore her hair in a simple ponytail, crisp white shirt rolled at the sleeves. They swapped stories—two warriors swapping battle tales.“So there was this one game back in the WFL,” Jenifer grinned, forking into her steak, “third-a
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Alexandra Jordan’s downtown apartment, perched high above a city lit in electric gold, was a familiar after-practice haven for her best friends—and fellow Denver Outlaws teammates—Heather and Alicia. The coffee table was cluttered with takeout boxes, cans of sparkling water, and the scarred deck of cards they used when deep talks called for a distraction. The TV muttered game highlights into the background, unheeded.Tonight, the air was different. After nearly an hour of mindless TV and the usual banter, Alexandra finally spilled what had been on her mind since her dinner with Jenifer Walter at The Gold Cleat.“So that’s what happened,” she finished, tracing the rim of her glass as she watched Heather and Alicia’s reactions. “Jenifer was…straight with me. And for the first time, it felt like someone really saw what was going on inside my head, not just what everyone expects from me on the field.”Heather, lounged out on the couch in sweats, flashed her a reassuring smile. “It sounds
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The echoes of the game still lingered in the Denver Coliseum’s corridors, but Jeremy Davis felt like he was walking into a new world. Clean-shaven, hair still damp from the shower, he straightened the cuffs of his tailored suit-a tradition he’d kept since his earliest days as a player. On GameDay, he dressed for the part, and tonight, he wanted everything to be perfect. This wasn’t just any post-game dinner. This was Alexandra.He waited outside the women’s locker room, hands fidgeting with his phone, nerves fluttering in his stomach. Every detail had to go right. He replayed the game in his mind, every throw, every call, but it was Alexandra’s smile after her game-winning touchdown that kept flashing in his memory. He wanted that smile to last forever.The locker room door swung open, and Alexandra emerged, hair still a little damp, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. She wore a simple black dress and a leather jacket, her Cannibals duffel slung over her shoulder. She caught sight of Jeremy
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Saturday dawned over Denver with a sky so blue it looked painted, the kind of day that begged for something big, something unforgettable. The city buzzed with anticipation, every sports bar and living room tuned to the same story: Jeremy Davis, once the heart of the Denver Mustangs, now owner and GM of the Colorado Cannibals, was making his improbable comeback as quarterback. The Cannibals’ season, their locker room, and maybe even Jeremy’s own future, all hung in the balance.Inside the Denver Coliseum, the energy was electric. Fans poured in, faces painted, jerseys new and old, the stands a sea of black, crimson, and silver. Reporters from ESPN, Fox Sports, and every local station milled around the field, their cameras trained on the tunnel where the Cannibals would soon emerge. The air vibrated with the thump of bass-heavy music and the distant scent of popcorn and hope.But beneath the surface, nerves ran high.Pre-Game TensionIn the Cannibals’ locker room, Jeremy sat at his cubb
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Monday night settled over the Front Range, the Denver skyline twinkling in the distance as Jeremy Davis sat alone in his office at the Coliseum. The echo of practice still lingered in his bones, his arm throbbing with a dull ache that felt both familiar and foreign. Somehow, word had gotten out-maybe a trainer, maybe a player with a loose tongue, maybe just the way news always seemed to find its way to the surface when you least wanted it to.Jeremy Davis was unretiring. The Cannibals’ owner and general manager was going to suit up and play quarterback.Now, ESPN, Fox Sports, local news, and every other sports outlet in the region wanted a piece of him. His phone had been buzzing all evening, interview requests stacking up like blitzing linebackers. He didn’t want to be a distraction, didn’t want the circus to swallow the team whole, so he’d scheduled every interview for after Saturday’s game. He made sure the networks knew: this wasn’t just about him. They’d get to talk to the whole
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The Monday morning sun glinted off the glass facade of the Denver Coliseum, but Jeremy Davis barely noticed as he strode through the side entrance, phone pressed tight to his ear. He’d barely slept, his mind a storm of doubt, hope, and fear. The league’s decision would come today. Would he be allowed to play? Or would his last shot at redemption slip away before it even began?He checked his phone for the hundredth time. No call yet from Commissioner Helton. He tried to focus on the Cannibals-on the team, on Trisha, on the promise he’d made to her-but his thoughts kept drifting to Alexandra.He hadn’t seen her since the hospital, but her words from their last real conversation echoed in his mind: If you want to get back to the NAFL, you have to fight for it. For yourself. For us.He wondered if “us” meant what it used to.A League DecisionIn his office, Jeremy paced, waiting for the call. When his phone finally rang, he answered on the first ring. “Jeremy Davis.”“Jeremy, it’s Larry
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Sunday night settled over the Wild West Indoor Football League with a tension that was almost physical. In homes and offices across the Midwest, team owners and executives logged into a hastily arranged video conference, their faces flickering into view in a checkerboard of anticipation, rivalry, and curiosity. At the center of it all, in a quiet home office lined with league memorabilia, Commissioner Larry Helton adjusted his tie and prepared to referee what promised to be a stormy debate.Jeremy Davis was not on the call. He’d made his request official that afternoon, citing the Cannibals’ extenuating circumstances after Trisha Steinmetz’s devastating injury. The league’s bylaws were clear: an owner could only play for their team if two-thirds of the league’s owners approved, and only in “extraordinary situations.” It was up to the rest of the league to decide if this was one of those moments.Larry’s screen filled with familiar names and faces: Chad Ross of the Wyoming Cavaliers, F
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Sunday afternoon sunlight spilled in golden patches through the hospital’s windows as Jeremy Davis made his way down the corridor, the familiar, antiseptic scent a jarring reminder of the night before. His phone buzzed in his pocket-another message from Jenifer, another update from the Cannibals’ staff-but he ignored it for now. There was only one thing on his mind: Trisha Steinmetz.Her text had come early that morning, brief but direct:“Jeremy, if you have time, I’d like to see you today. Room 427.”He’d barely slept, replaying every snap, every decision, every what-if from the previous game on top of when he does sleep, he has a nightmare of his own injuries. The Cannibals’ opener had been a triumph and a tragedy-an electric blowout soured by Trisha’s collapse and the news that followed. Now, as he reached her door, Jeremy steeled himself for the conversation he both dreaded and needed.He knocked gently and pushed open the door. Trisha was propped up in bed, her leg in a brace, h
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The Saturday afternoon sun slanted through the windows of Jenifer Walter’s office, painting long golden stripes across the floor. The air in the Denver Coliseum was thick with the aftershock of bad news, but Jenifer had no time to wallow. She needed her leaders, and she needed a plan. She fired off a quick group text to the Cannibals’ captains and to Sterling “Lockjaw” Blaze: Jenifer: “Meet in my office at 4. Update on Trisha. Need your help. -JW” The hours crawled by. Jenifer paced, reviewing quarterback lists and scribbled play diagrams, but nothing felt right. She kept replaying her conversation with Jeremy that morning, his stubborn refusal, the haunted look in his eyes. She needed her team’s buy-in. She needed to rally the people who could move mountains-or at least, move Jeremy Davis. At exactly four o’clock, there was a knock at her door. Alexandra Jordan, Heather Wammack, Morty Sample, and Lockjaw Blaze filed in, each looking tense and expectant. Jenifer gestured for them
Blindside Beauty Whiskey and Reckoning
The morning after the Cannibals’ thunderous victory over the Wyoming Cavaliers, Denver was still buzzing. Headlines blared about the 113-0 blowout, the record crowd, and the Cannibals’ “unstoppable experiment.” But inside the city’s heart, in the quiet corridors of the Denver Coliseum, the mood was somber.Jeremy Davis had spent the night at the hospital. He’d watched the sun crawl up over the Rockies through a window in the waiting room, the taste of stale coffee and worry thick on his tongue. When the diagnosis came, it was worse than anyone had feared.He thumbed out a text to Jenifer Walter as he left the hospital, his hands shaking with exhaustion and anger.Jeremy: “Meet me in my office. It’s bad news about Trisha. I’ll tell you more when I get back.”He drove through the waking city, the streets still empty, his mind racing. The Cannibals had built something beautiful, something bold. Now, in a single, brutal play, it all threatened to unravel.A Bitter MorningJeremy’s office
Blindside Beauty Opening the Gates
The Denver Coliseum was alive like never before. It was the 2004 Wild West Indoor Football (WWIF) season opener, and the Colorado Cannibals were hosting the Wyoming Cavaliers after winning last year’s OK Corral Championship against the Omaha Cattlemen. Every seat in the Coliseum was filled, fans packed shoulder-to-shoulder, their voices rising in a thunderous, electric roar that rattled the rafters and sent a charge through the city. The Cannibals, defending champions, were back-and Denver was ready to see if their bold experiment could deliver a second crown.Banners from last season’s triumph hung from the upper deck, and the field gleamed under the lights, painted with the Cannibals’ fierce logo at midfield. The air was thick with anticipation and the scent of popcorn, sweat, and hope.In the tunnel, the Cannibals players bounced on their toes, helmets in hand, eyes blazing. Alexandra Jordan stood with Heather Wammack and Alicia Gresham, their faces set with determination. Trisha S
