Pigskin Man

Pigskin Man
A story by Ian Benke


         As I get off the plane the heat and humidity hit me instantly. The Nadia airport is full of people as the sun attacks my face and I have to say I am far more excited to meet John Holloway than to be in Figi. Not that there is anything wrong with Figi; I just can’t believe I’m here to interview the John Holloway. Holloway has refused to meet with anyone from the press since his ban from the NFL ten years ago. He went from being a living legend to completely disappearing from the public eye almost instantly. People still talk about him though; how couldn’t they? The guy brought the NFL and all sports betting to it’s knees in just four seasons! All the records he broke and set aren’t even close to being challenged. For the tenth anniversary of his ban Holloway has decided to speak on the whole matter. A big tell-all sort of deal, the type of interview that will make this upcoming issue a classic. So when the senior editor told me he wanted me to cover the Holloway story, man getting that news was better than the day my son was born. Holloway is the sole reason I ever got interested in sports. It was because of him I became a sports journalist. The idea of interviewing him one day got me through school, through shitty internships, and after all that hard work it’s really happening. Man when I was a kid you didn’t need to read superman comics, all you had to do was watch Holloway play. He was like a god.

         The first time I ever saw Holloway play I must’ve been like thirteen or fourteen. My dad was a big pigskin fan but I couldn’t have said the same. I never really enjoyed watching football back then, I found it kind of boring to be honest. But one Sunday I was reading a book while my dad was watching some preseason exhibitions on the TV.
“Holy shit!” My dad had suddenly exclaimed and it was enough to break my attention away from my book. There in a slow motion instant replay I saw this small running back literally pick up and toss a linebacker twice his size. It looked like something from a movie, it just couldn’t have been real.
“This kid is something else, something different.” My dad said to me while cupping his mouth and staring intently on the television. Later on in the game I watched as this scrawny running back was straight arming behemoths to the dirt with no effort. He just kept on running and if anyone came close to him, bam! He’d just throw them to the dirt like they were dolls. After that I was Holloway fan. I watched every game he played religiously and would watch them over and over. The guy just couldn’t be real. It was like he was a superhero or something and it didn’t make any sense. The best way to put it is imagine Superman playing football. It was that crazy.

         After a long car drive, a trip in a boat, and four hours later I’m finally arriving at Holloway’s private island.In one word the place is ridiculous. The main house is the biggest private home I have ever seen. It’s done in stucco and clay roofing. The driveway has a group of high end luxury and sports cars just lined up. Walking to the front of the house I see at least three different pools.
A tennis court.
A basketball court.
A putting green.
When I get to the front door and ring the door bell I hear “Hell’s Bell’s” by AC/DC chiming. It is the most extravagant place I have ever been to. As I wait to be let in I double check that my tape recorder is working. I don’t want to miss a single word John Holloway has to say. A servant answers the door and takes me to a sitting room. The inside of the place is filled with expensive furniture and art but it’s so overdone that it’s tacky. Halloway is sitting on an over sized couch waiting for me. His feet are resting on a rug made out of a tiger, head intact. Why you need a fur rug in balmy Figi weather is beyond me. Across from the couch it’s completely open and Halloway is looking off at the kool-aid blue ocean.

         He’s aged a lot since he was in the NFL. He’s only thirty-two but looks ten years older from all the sun. His skin is dark brown and looks like jerky. He has on big expensive sunglasses and is wearing an Armani track suit. I didn’t even know Armani made track suits. Halloway sees me checking out his track suit and smiles.
“I know what you’re thinking.” He says with a grin, his blonde hair is almost white from all the sun.
“It’s custom made. I’m still in good with some fashion designers.” He gets up and shakes my hand and my heart skips a beat.
The living legend is shaking my hand.
“John Halloway. Nice to met ya.” He introduces himself so I say my name back and John Halloway suggests I take a seat.
“Ready for my big tell all?” Halloway asks as his servant brings him a drink.
“Want anything?” He offers and I decline. It’s not very professional but I confess to Halloway that he’s been my idol since I was thirteen. He just smiles at me. I ask him why now, why give an interview a decade later.
“Well, it’s clear I’ll never play professional sports again and I think people deserve the truth and I’m sick of sitting on it.”
I ask him what the truth is and he leans back on the giant sofa.
“The truth is I have super powers. For real.” John Halloway the living legend smiles and laughs.
“Is it ever good to get that off my chest!”

         It seems lunatic to say something like that, but the truth is it would explain a lot. In my mind I’m trying to figure out if he is just an egomaniac, lunatic, or being completely honest. I start the recorder and let the tape start to take everything in. I ask him the usual questions, where has he been, what he thinks of the NFL and Halloway says those are boring questions.
“This is my big tell all.” He says and takes a long sip from his drink, “I think I should cover the big stuff.” I say that’s what the readers will want too. I’m not sure what to ask about super powers but luckily Halloway has this all planned out in his head.
“I had always known I had super powers but didn’t know how I got them until I was sixteen.” I don’t know what to make of this claim but Halloway goes on.
“Before that I was constantly supervised by mom, god bless her soul, but she broke down one day and told me the truth. My dad wasn’t a cop like my bio says. He was a biochemist for the American government during the Cold War. Long story short, he was working on a super solider serum and found it. The feds were scared he was a Ruski spy and ordered a hit on him. Smart man my old man was; he pumped the serum in my mom’s womb when she was pregnant with me. He torched his lab and then they got him.” Halloway is cool as a calm as he tells me this and I’m just stumped. He sounds like a lunatic but then again, he is John Halloway.

         I ask him if that’s true or if he just pulling my chain.
“I’m sick of lying man. It’s the truth. It sounds straight out of a comic book but that was my life. To put it simply I’m a super hero. Cheesy origin story and all. Only difference is I’m the only one like this. The government never got it down quite right and they never even knew I existed. When the Cold War ended that whole program got shut down and no one gave a shit about me. They’ll probably deny everything I say in this interview but then all I got to do is throw a Volkswagon across a football field and people will believe me.” He takes off his shades for a minute and his pale blue eyes look casually around. I say that I can’t quite believe this and Halloway smiles.
“That’s alright, I can prove it.” And Halloway stands up and leaves the room for a minute. He comes back carrying a shot put. 
“You watching?” He winks at me and then throws the shot put. It flys over the ocean and into the clouds. It just disappears out of sight and I can’t believe my eyes.
“As far as I know all I got is super strength, I’ve never tested it to the max though.” Halloway flops back on to the couch and keeps drinking his drink.

         I ask him a couple more questions. I ask him why he choose football of all things to do with such an amazing gift.
“Well, I thought about being a super hero and realized I would have nothing to do. There aren’t any others like me, no super villains or secret government groups out to get me. I just tried to figure out away I could make a living just like anyone else. I thought about robbing banks like a villain and figured it was a dead end. I’d always be a fugitive or have to worry about money laundering. Football just seemed an easier way to make a fortune. I had no knowledge or experience in the game and went to an open draft. My speed and strength testing was off the charts and I was picked up right out of high school.”
Halloway finishes his drink and asks me again if I want anything. Again I refuse.

         “I mean I thought a lot about it. From what I could tell professional sports can only exist because players and teams are only marginally better than each other. The whole principal of sports rides on that fact. But me, man, I’m in an differently league. I should be playing with Spiderman and Superman to have a fair game. So I let the media know and even though I went to try out for one team in particular I didn’t sign with them. The best decision of my entire career was holding a press conference when I was eighteen. I stated very simply that I could guarantee a championship to the franchise who ever paid me the most for a four year contract. I made millions with just one signature.” Halloway is constantly smiling. The whole time he is talking it sounds rehearsed and egotistical. There isn’t a hint of doubt in his voice. He knew he was and would always be the best.
“Then I knew to really make a lot I would need to sign endorsement deals. That wasn’t hard because they came in all the time. Every company that had anything at all to do with advertising tried to get me. I endorsed men’s razors to cereal. Shoes to dew rags. Man the money was coming in dump trucks. By the time I won my first season I had so many deals going on it was insane. I had a lot of free time to because part of my contract was that I didn’t have to go to practice, I just needed to show up to the games. As a running back the quarterback just gave me the ball every play and I’d score a touchdown no matter what. Whoever said professional football was a challenge never lived a day in my shoes.” As Halloway is talking I’m starting to feel uncomfortable. This was not the man I had idolized as a teenager. He used to always talk about a lot of hard work and a proper diet. When I ask him about this he just laughs.
“Fuck a proper diet. I ate fried chicken everyday. Those were my agent’s words back then, not mine.”
“But I guess I couldn’t be a super human and not have some adversaries. Did you know I’ve had over a dozen assassination attempts in my life?” He is still grinning and I can tell he loves all the attention that will be coming his way once this issue hits the stands.

         I change tapes and Halloway leaves for a minute to make a phone call. Looking around the sitting room I realize that there are pictures of him everywhere. Magazine covers, magazine ads, him holding the Lombardi trophy. Over the fireplace (again, a fireplace in Figi?) is a big oil portrait of Halloway battling a bear. It’s the tackiest thing I’ve ever seen. Halloway returns to the room and apologizes before jumping right back into it.
“They were hell bent I was doing some type of super steroid. I agreed to whatever drug testing the NFL demanded. I came back clean every time but they kept on pushing it. Eventually they hired some type of detective to stalk me to find proof I was using. They tried to spy on me to find some sort of grounds for removal. I was making a lot of people upset by my third season. Vegas apparently took a huge blow thanks to me. NFL betting hit an all time low and the casinos weren’t happy about that. I robbed the NFL of chance and they weren’t happy. I was careful too, I made sure to never overdo it and seriously hurt anyone. If I did that would’ve been their excuse to boot me. But it never happened. But people were getting sick of me just walking into the end zone every play and then came all the attempted killings. Crazy fans saying I was ruining football or whatever and pulling a gun. I wasn’t scared, I just had to flick them and that was that.” Halloway gets up and yells for his servant to bring him the Sports Illustrated he left out.
“Twelve years ago Sports Illustrated ran this cover story on me. Apparently I have the most yards of any player in NFL history.” He hands me the magazine and I’ve read it before. I don’t understand why he is showing it to me but I fake interest.
Then I ask him what all happened when he got banned.

         “Well, one day the NFL sent one of their lawyers with some documents. To put it simply it said I wasn’t allowed to play for any franchise or step foot near any NFL game. So when my first contract ran up the NFL constructed a legal argument preventing me from ever playing again. Problem was they had zero reason to get rid of me. Zero. I was just too good for them and I ruined the excitement of Sunday football and they were losing money every day because of me. No one cared about the NFL anymore. Well I called their bluff and sued the fuck out of every franchise. I won the case and was rewarded seven hundred million dollars at the end of the day. I financially crippled the league and they are still recovering from it. Me? Now I’m a billionaire and I can’t think of any bank I could’ve robbed that would have gotten me this much cash.”

         I sit in disbelief for a few minutes. I grew up watching this guy thinking that he was a living example of what human determination and conditioning could achieve. If his story is true, well, Halloway really just took advantage of everyone. I ask him if he feels bad about abusing the league. How he unfairly negated all the hard work other players put in. Halloway just laughs loudly.
“Kid, I like you. But you got a lot to learn. The whole professional sports industry is just ripping people off. People getting paid millions upon millions of dollars just to hit a ball with a bat? Come on man, the whole industry is just massively over paid. Did you know the NFL is worth 1.5 billion dollars? All that money just to watch grown men run around with a ball? And if your talking about hard work, I guarantee any kid in a sweatshop works harder than any NFL player and gets paid way less. Everyone is just fucking over everyone else, I just hit it big with my dad being a government biochemist.”
I feel offended. My whole career has been about professional sports and to hear my hero just put the whole thing down cut deep. I ask him if he has this amazing gift why he never did anything better than cash in on the NFL. Halloway is leaning deeper into the couch and looks past me towards the ocean.
“Everyone thinks that if you got super powers you owe something great to society. Every comic book is like that. Truth is kid, I never felt like I owed anything to anyone. I just used my talents to make a living just like everyone else does.”
I ask Halloway how much his oil portrait over the fire place is worth.
“More than you’ll make in your entire life.” And in this moment I’m glad he is the only superhero out there.