Sitting upright on a chair, Lu Ke looked up at the people coming and going in the hallway. His line of sight was filled with a moving crowd, yet it was silent. There were only the shuffling sounds of footsteps on the carpet. When people passed each other, they would lower their voices to exchange a few simple greetings or a look, then hurry past and continue on, all of them incredibly busy.
It felt like in the blink of an eye, the night had passed and the sun had risen again. Today was the last day of the rookie training camp, a day for team interviews. It was only 8:45 a.m., and the interviews had been underway for less than an hour, yet the hallway of the Marriott Hotel was bustling with rookie players.
Just a while ago, Lu Ke had finished his first interview with the Cleveland Browns. The conversation lasted for about eight minutes. It was pleasant and the atmosphere was relaxed, but there was not much substantial content. This was Lu Ke's first time talking face-to-face with a team manager and coach, so he had no way of knowing whether the conversation was positive or negative.
Now, Lu Ke was waiting for his second interview. He had been in line for nearly thirty minutes and was still waiting.
Waiting was always boring, and his nervousness grew little by little. He tugged on his suit, let out a long breath, and his racing heart calmed down a little. After experiencing big events like the Rose Bowl and large-scale interviews during his internship as a reporter, he didn't expect a simple interview to be so nerve-wracking.
"Suits are really suffocating. Do you feel that way too?" a half-joking voice came from his right. The voice was a little tight, and from the corner of his eye, he could see the person nervously unbuttoning and then rebuttoning his suit jacket. No matter what he did, it didn't feel right, as if his limbs were being restrained by the suit.
Lu Ke shrugged. "Compared to a suit, playing football is a lot simpler."
"Ha, that's spot on," the other person chuckled dryly. "If I could, I'd rather go down and start doing bench presses right now." That one sentence was met with agreement from the small group of people around him, and the atmosphere eased a little. But then it fell silent again, and everyone returned to their own thoughts, avoiding disturbing the ongoing interviews.
The wait was so slow. It felt like he could hear the sound of a falling grain of sand from an hourglass. Fifteen minutes, or maybe twenty, passed. A room door opened, and a staff member walked out. "Next."
Lu Ke stood up and nodded politely. "Lu Ke, quarterback, UCLA."
The staff member looked down at the sign-in sheet in his hand, searched for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes, once that player comes out, you can go straight in." With that, the staff member went back inside and closed the door.
About thirty seconds later, the room door opened, and a player walked out with a smile. His eyes met Lu Ke's, and he said in a friendly manner, "Good luck, man."
Lu Ke also smiled and nodded. "Good luck."
Pushing the room door open, Lu Ke took a deep breath and then stepped inside. The scene of the room came into full view. In the center was a set of couches arranged in a circle. On the long couch facing the door and with his back to the window sat two middle-aged men in suits. To the right sat a woman who looked like a secretary, and to the left was an empty seat.
When Lu Ke came in, a tall, thin middle-aged man walked out from an adjacent room and headed toward the empty seat on the left. He saw Lu Ke and paused, a complex, unreadable expression on his face. "Pete, did John tell you about this?" But no one looked up. A middle-aged man with gray hair, a stern face, and a touch of refinement beneath his suit said in a low voice, "Sit down, Carl. Our time is very limited."
This was the Seattle Seahawks' interview room. The middle-aged man who spoke was Pete Carroll, the head coach. The silent one was the team manager, John Schneider, and the last one to come in and sit on the left was the team's quarterback coach, Carl Smith.
"Lu Ke? Have a seat." Pete was the first to speak, pointing to the couch opposite them, with its back to the door and facing the window.
Lu Ke walked over, greeted them politely, and then sat down, introducing himself again. "Lu Ke, quarterback, UCLA." He would probably have to say the same thing countless times today.
Pete frowned, still looking down at the papers in his hand, and waved his hand slightly. "We know all of that. So, you were a quarterback in high school too? But we couldn't find any records. What's the deal with that?"
"I attended George Washington High School, which is a public school." Lu Ke's simple explanation made everyone understand immediately. Public high schools' sports departments get all their funding from the state government and are rarely able to develop much, unless they achieve excellent results. Most of their records are incomplete, and scout attention is very limited. "In high school, I was the starting quarterback for the team..."
He didn't get to finish his introduction. Pete waved his hand again, interrupting Lu Ke. "High school isn't that important. If we need to, we'll follow up. Besides quarterback, did you play any other positions?"
"Yes, I tried receiver in high school, and in college, I was a practice player on the defensive side, trying both defensive end and middle linebacker." Lu Ke answered truthfully, candidly stating the fact that he was once a practice player.
"You must be joking." Carl finally couldn't hold back, and an exclamation escaped his mouth. "With your body and talent, you were a defensive end? And a receiver? That's a joke."
Pete and John both looked up at Lu Ke, seemingly curious about his answer.
In the face of such an aggressive comment, Lu Ke raised his chin slightly and said without being servile or arrogant, "That's why I'm a quarterback, not a defensive end or a receiver. I believe this is the position that suits me best."
"You left out the prefix: practice player." Carl was still unwilling to let it go and continued to be aggressive. Lu Ke opened his mouth, ready to retaliate, but Carl was so dominant that he didn't give Lu Ke a chance to speak. He was the interviewer, and Lu Ke was the applicant, so he had the advantage. "Honestly, are you sure you can play football? You're 6.33 feet tall but only 187 pounds. That's too light, really too light. And look at your combine scores. Have you ever thought that maybe you're not suited for football and should just give up? You know, after all, there has never been a person like you in the league."
As a reporter, grabbing a topic and taking the lead wasn't his only skill. His anger rose little by little, and when it reached its peak, he calmed down instead. Lu Ke let Carl speak his mind, and Pete and John, who were sitting on the side, didn't try to stop him. The atmosphere in the room didn't feel like an interview; it felt like an interrogation.
"A person like me, what do you mean? Mr. Smith, could you please clarify?" Lu Ke raised his chin slightly. He could hear the contempt and disdain in Carl's tone. The whole tone was wrong. "A player who is too light? A player with average combine scores? Or a player who came to an interview but was personally attacked?"
The series of retorts made Carl's cheeks flush slightly, as if he were drunk. His anger flared up. "A Chinese person, I mean a Chinese person."
Lu Ke clenched his fists but ignored Carl. Instead, he turned to John, not Pete, and said, "Mr. John Schneider, is Mr. Smith questioning my personal ability or my skin color and race? Is this racial discrimination?"
This wasn't just a personal issue; it was a team issue. Lu Ke directly appealed and protested to the team manager, emphasizing the seriousness of the problem.
Lu Ke knew that his physical talent was lacking, and any team had the right to question that. But the way and tone of Carl's questions were always full of insinuation, hinting at Lu Ke's race rather than his physical abilities.
"All I know is that what determines whether a player can play should be the player's ability, not their race. Half a century ago, white people thought football was an intellectual sport and not suitable for black people, so they refused to let black people into the professional league. But now, black people are the most important part of the league. So, are you questioning me because of my ability or because of my race? I need an answer."
He was not servile, but he was also sharp. At this moment, Lu Ke was not a rookie player here for an interview, but a young Chinese man living in America, fighting for his rights and interests.
John was slightly stunned. In recent years, black communities have been slowly uniting to fight for their racial rights, and women have also united. But the Chinese community has never been able to rise up. Among Asian immigrants, Indian, Japanese, and Korean immigrants have found their place and are slowly gaining a foothold, but Chinese immigrants are not included.
Suddenly, the confusion of "Is discriminating against Chinese people also considered racial discrimination?" caught them off guard.
"I'm just stating a fact." Carl felt Lu Ke's disregard, and the anger that had been building up in the past few days erupted at this moment. "Have you ever considered that Asians are not suitable for football?"
"Just like black people aren't suitable for math, art, or reading, is that it?" Lu Ke didn't pause for a second, and he struck back forcefully. Carl was left speechless for a moment. Lu Ke turned abruptly and looked at John and Pete, who had remained silent all along. He stood up abruptly. "I will report this to the league!"
"...That's not what's happening. It's just a misunderstanding." John finally came to his senses and tried to fix the situation. "We're just... uh, we're just worried about your combine scores. The test data isn't very convincing..." John turned to Pete for help.
Lu Ke didn't intend to sit down. He looked down at John and Pete. "Then your way of expressing yourselves is very unpleasant. I'm quite sure that if a black person or a woman were sitting here, you wouldn't have chosen this approach. This makes me even more certain that I'm probably not the person the Seattle Seahawks are looking for."
With that, Lu Ke slightly tilted his head, motioned to them, then straightened his back, turned around, and left the room without looking back.
Shit! In the depths of Lu Ke's heart, anger was raging, and his hands were clenched into fists! He would make them regret this.
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