People in America: My Uncle Don Quixote

Chapter 293 I am honored (Seeking monthly votes)

Sofi Stadium, the Giants' locker room.

There are 40 minutes left until kickoff.

Compared to the almost deafening noise outside, there was almost no talking or music in the locker room.

The only sounds were the clanging of metal lockers and the tearing of straps by the equipment team assistants.

At this point, every step must be flawless.

The players checked the tightness of their armor, the fit of their helmets, and the screws securing their face masks.

Li Wei sat in front of his locker, already wearing his number 1 jersey, but his helmet was still on the bench next to him.

He closed his eyes, crossed his hands on his knees, and leaned slightly forward.

A photo was pasted above the locker, showing him leaping over a defender to score a touchdown in the league championship game.

This was put up by the equipment assistant for all the players; each player has a picture of their most exciting moment of the season above their locker.

A series of hurried footsteps approached from afar, heading straight for him.

Li Wei slowly opened his eyes.

"Mr. Li Wei," a slightly nervous voice said, "can I wrap the bandage around your wrist?"

""

A young, unfamiliar white boy squatted in front of him, clutching a roll of white sports tape and a pair of specialized medical scissors.

He had a brand-new work ID card hanging around his neck, with a photo that looked a bit stiff, like a recent ID photo.

"Who are you?" Li Wei extended his left wrist.

"My name is Daniel, sir," the young man said quickly as he tore open the duct tape. "I just joined the equipment team last week. Before that, I interned in the training room at UCLA."

"Last week?" Li Wei raised an eyebrow and said casually, "You were really lucky. You got to watch the Super Bowl on your first week of work, saving you thousands of dollars on tickets."

"Yes, sir, I can hardly believe it myself," Daniel said, his hands trembling as he bandaged Levi's wrist. He took a deep breath to calm himself down and began to precisely wrap the first layer of bandage around Levi's wrist. "Mr. Stanley—the head of the equipment team—is so short-handed because they need too many people to prepare for the Super Bowl, so I have to go too. I just happened to be assigned to your team."

He paused, seemingly still somewhat incredulous that he could be so close to Li Wei.

"To be honest, I thought he was joking at the time."

“Mr. Stanley is a very strict man,” Levi smiled. “He never jokes.”

"I know," Daniel said, wrapping the first layer of tape around his wrist and then starting to wrap the second layer of sports tape. This second layer needed to be tighter, securing the wrist joint without affecting the flexibility of the fingers. "But this is the Super Bowl, Mr. Levi, and it's for you."

Li Wei didn't speak, but just watched Daniel's hand movements.

The wrapping is done well, the force is even, and the opening is clean.

"Switch to your right hand." Li Wei switched to his other hand.

Daniel continued his work, and after a few seconds he seemed to have made up his mind.

"Mr. Levi," he said in a low voice, "may I have a few words to say on a different topic?"

"What?"

“My dad is a Giants fan. He’s been watching Giants games since 1986,” Daniel said while bandaging himself. “He’s only ever seen one Super Bowl win in his life, which was the game against the Patriots in the 2007 season.”

Daniel tightened the last loop of tape, cut it cleanly with scissors, and pressed his fingertips along the edge.

"What you're about to do today is far greater than any Super Bowl ever before," he looked up at Levi, "a perfect record—no one in NFL history has ever done that, and probably never will."

"You are destined to be a part of history books," he said. "I just want to say that I am honored to be a small part of witnessing this history."

"Thank you, Daniel. The bandage is wrapped very well," Levi said, flexing his wrist to show Daniel. "Thank you for your father's support of the Giants. Also, please convey to him that his son Daniel made an indelible contribution to Levi's victory."

Daniel smiled. "Thank you, sir."

When he turned to leave, his steps were noticeably lighter.

All the equipment was ready, and head coach Dapol walked in.

He was still wearing a dark blue Giants polo shirt today, with a matching windbreaker over it.

Unlike usual, he wasn't wearing a headset or carrying a tactical board today.

He walked to the center of the locker room and looked around at all the players.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up at him.

"Gentlemen," his voice wasn't loud, but it was enough to echo in the locker room, "I'm not going to give you any speeches."

He paused.

"We've been talking about tactics for a whole week, watching videos hundreds of times, and practicing everything from training camp until today. Each of you is sitting here not because of luck, not because of opportunities given to you by others, but because you are all talented, hardworking, and blessed by God. You've worked your way up to where you are today through a whole season of hard work."

"I've been a coach for almost 30 years, from assistant coach to coordinator to head coach," he said. "People ask me if I'm nervous."

He smiled.

"Honestly, I'm about to wet my pants."

Several players let out soft laughter.

"But this feeling isn't just about the fear of losing the game, it's more about the unknown," he said. "Players with children might understand what I'm talking about. Right now, I feel like a father waiting outside the delivery room, waiting for my child to be born. This feeling makes me tremble."

Daple's gaze swept across each player's face. "When I'm old, although I'm getting old soon, I don't feel old yet. When my grandson asks me what I'm most proud of in my life, I can tell him that I led the best team and stood on the field with them in the Super Bowl."

"I hope I will say that, even though my grandson hasn't been born yet, I've already rehearsed it in my mind," he emphasized.

"On the condition that you fucking bastards bring the championship trophy back to me," he suddenly changed his tone.

Everyone was stunned for a moment, then bursts of laughter erupted.

"Time to step up, lads! The giants are about to take their stride!" He clapped his hands, instantly igniting an atmosphere in the locker room. "Crush those 49 men like they're ants!"

The locker room door was pushed open, and the players filed out.

The distance from the locker room to the entrance of the players' tunnel is about 50 meters. This section is a wide concrete corridor, and the fluorescent tubes overhead cast long and short shadows on everyone.

Today, this corridor is completely different from usual; both sides of the corridor are filled with people.

He was neither a fan, nor a reporter, nor an NFL official.

They are members of the Giants' own team.

The entire equipment team stood at the front, with Supervisor Stanley standing with his arms crossed, expressionless, his eyes fixed on the team members.

Daniel, who had just bandaged Li Wei, was also in the crowd. When he saw Li Wei pass by, he clapped his hands with all his might and whistled.

Behind the equipment team was the medical team, whose doctors were all wearing matching white polo shirts. The chief team doctor smiled and nodded at everyone, while the physical therapists, sports protectors, and nutritionists behind him clapped and whistled.

"Tear them to pieces!" a young protective worker couldn't help but shout.

Further back are the logistics support team: the auntie in charge of washing jerseys, the uncle cleaning the locker room, the chef team for food delivery and preparation, and the workers moving venue equipment.

These most easily overlooked individuals get up at 4 a.m. to wash the players' filthy training clothes clean before they wake up.

After the players finish training and go home, they will repack dozens of boxes of Gatorade, and no camera will be pointed at them.

But they are all standing here today.

The Mexican woman in charge of the laundry room put on her Giants jersey, which she usually wouldn't wear, and her cheers, with their heavy accents, were sharp and loud, even more penetrating than those of young men.

The head chef raised his hands above his head and clapped loudly. His hands were covered in burn scars from the stove, but his clapping was deep and resounding. "Win for us! Win for all of us!"

At the very end of the corridor stood the data analysis team and the video editing team.

This group of people slept the least throughout the entire season—on the night after each game, they had to dissect the opponent's video frame by frame, marking every running route, every change in formation, and every defensive loophole, and make sure to deliver the report to the coaching staff's desk before 8 a.m. the next morning.

Throughout the entire season of 20 games, they have produced more than 1275 tactical analysis reports.

The chief data analyst, whose hair was already half-gray, stood at the corner of the corridor, holding a huge tactical whiteboard—no one knew where he had taken it from—with battle statistics drawn on it in black marker.

[20 (crossed out) 21 wins and 0 losses!]

The players walked one by one through the tunnel filled with their own teammates.

Some people high-fived the staff, some bumped fists with them, and some simply nodded silently in greeting, but everyone's expression changed after passing through this area.

The tense turned resolute, the silent became spirited, and the already excited were now about to explode.

You are not fighting alone.

Everyone standing on either side of this passage, from the new recruits who bandage you up to the aunties who wash your underwear, from the analysts who edit videos in the early hours to the logistics workers who move ice, has poured their heart and soul into you all throughout the year.

They couldn't play in your place, but they accompanied you here in their own way.

At the end of the tunnel, sunlight streamed in from the stadium, creating a dazzling curtain of light.