True Hollywood Story: De'Cody Fagg

De'Cody was born into this world the same way everyone else is - he kicked, he gasped, and he wondered why the hell it was so cold. Something that De'Cody was, I'm sure, unaware of as he was shivering and gasping was the fact that his last name was Fagg. Pickle juice (being the worst thing I can think of to pour on a paper cut) began to trickle.

Fast Forward 10 years, and young De'Cody is getting his first sense of how ruthless little kids can be when they've found the definition of a word, but don't understand meaning and context. For 5 years, young De'Cody is relentlessly taunted for being...well...a Fagg.

Then De'Cody grows. And he keeps growing. Soon he's running circles around guys 4 years older than he, and the teasing stops. It stops from his friends, because it's juvenile, and it stops from others because Fagg can now whip some ass if he has to. In High School he's named to the Florida Super 75 list, ranked 4 stars by Rivals, and given the #15 wide receiver ranking in his national class of '03. Fagg's gone from having pain delivered to delivering pain. The pickle juice stops momentarily.

With great pride, De'Cody Fagg commits to the most bangin' school Florida has to offer. He dons the Garnet and Gold of Florida State with dreams of Orange Bowls and BCS championships. Sure enough, as a Sophomore, the Seminoles get to that Orange Bowl where they proceed to lose nail biter to Penn State. As was often the case in Fagg's life - pickle juice was rubbed in the now open wound by the fact that the FSU kicker couldn't kick.

That started a tiny snowball at the top of a snow covered mountain. FSU doesn't have a quarterback. All-world recruit Xavier Lee isn't that good. The defense abandons them. All the things that De'Cody can't control are collecting in that small snowball, and they're headed down that hill at a pretty good clip. De'Cody stands in the path. He can't control the snowball anymore than he could control being a Fagg. All he can do is watch the destruction.

In his final and best season for the Seminoles he catches 758 yards and 5 TDs worth of passes from inept Florida State quarterbacks; a paltry number for somebody so physically gifted. That Orange Bowl loss in '05 was as good as it would get for Fagg and his team - his final two years they would play in the Emerald Bowl and the Music City Bowl, both named and created to sell TV viewership and sponsors more than football. The Music City Bowl poured on more pickle juice in the now gaping wound, partly because it's sponsored by "Gaylord Hotels" but mostly because his teammates deserted him by deciding to cheat in an online course.

Finally free of Florida State, Scandals, and Gaylord, Fagg thinks he has it made. He's got the size, speed, and measurables to be an immediate impact receiver in the NFL. He visits the combine confident that his skills will impress enough to be drafted in the first few rounds. After a lifetime of being called a "Fagg" for the wrong reasons, he may finally end up in a situation that would make it right, stop the flow of pickle juice, and halt the snowball. Something to the tune of a paycheck containing lots and lots of zero's.

Then, in a life full of disappointments, disaster strikes again in the form of a knee injury most are calling "career ending"

So now, instead of making at least hundreds of thousands of dollars playing football, De'Cody will make nothing rehabbing. The most acclaim he may ever receive will be when future athletes head to the combine and their buddies say "good luck out there - don't Fagg it up."

And that's sad.

Good luck De'Cody. Get well, and come play some ball on Sundays. If anyone deserves a break - it's you.

True Hollywood Story: Kevin Hart

It started innocently enough. At least, that’s what he thought, as he made his way through the familiar halls of Fernley High School on a cool November day. High School football was just wrapping up, and Kevin Hart did exactly what countless other young men in his position did. He told a white lie. This lie wouldn’t change lives, but it would allow him to puff his chest out, just as so many other young men do around the end of their senior seasons. So, without thinking, he proudly told his buddies that he had received a letter from Cal – and they wanted him to play football.

Every year, across the United States, high school seniors wake up in their bed with one goal in mind: to make a Division 1 college team. It’s what gets them out of bed for 2-a-days. Every year, around November, thousands of young men make claims that they’re being recruited by Division 1 teams. Thousands are lying, but in telling that little lie, they get to live the fantasy – live what they have been dreaming about since stepping onto the field. For most, it ends there. It becomes clear that they aren’t good enough, and the boastful claims fade to memories, and reality takes hold. Not for Kevin Hart.

862 is not a big number. It is especially not big when it refers to the enrollment of an entire high school. Fernley High School, yes the entire school, caught wind of Kevin Hart’s recruitment quickly. They had never had a D-1 athlete before. The same dream that motivates young men to get on the field took hold of the entire school. One of their own was going to make it at the D-1 level. The week after telling his buddies about his recruitment, Kevin was walking down those same familiar halls, but this time with an air of distinction. People would clap him on the back, teammates would shout, freshman would cower, and girls who wouldn’t give him the time of day started to take notice. And MAN did it feel good! As the congratulations, adorations, and suggestive conversations piled on, Kevin began to believe in his own lie. He began to believe it with such ferocity that it ceased to become a lie, and simply became the truth. Kevin was walking tall.

Then the questions came – Who else was interested? What are the coaches saying? Kevin had easy answers to those questions – he had been prepped his entire career for them. Oregon, Nevada, Oklahoma State, they’re all interested. Coach says he’s gonna move me to left tackle. Or maybe center. Says I might get some playing time as a freshman. The lying became easier and easier as Kevin became more and more convinced of its veracity. The school was buzzing, and Kevin was still riding high, especially after hooking up with that cheerleader at the party last weekend. It’s funny; she never talked to him before his recruitment.

December 15th was the day that the full weight of his story finally hit Kevin. He was lying in bed before school, and he was tired. His recruitment was all anyone wanted to talk about, all anyone cared about. And, at the end of the day, it was all a lie. The time for reneging was well past – according to his story, he had 4 offers from Nevada, Cal, Oregon, and Oklahoma State. It would be nearly impossible to say that they were all pulled for mysterious reasons. Besides, his parents were so proud. And his new girlfriend, the cheerleader, did pretty much whatever he wanted. Today, he had to meet with the principal to discuss how they would put on a pep rally for him when he chose what college to go to. Things were spinning out of Kevin’s hands now. What had been a firecracker lie had turned into an A-bomb, and the timer was ticking.

Two days before national signing day, Kevin stands in the side hallway next to the gym filled with people. His girlfriend had made a sign for him, and the school’s colors had been draped from the rafters. Today was the day that their native son would choose where he would play his college ball, after which he would undoubtedly move on to the NFL and stardom. This sleepy Nevada town had one of it’s own who was a jump away from the spotlight of national attention. They had no idea it was a farce. After the introductions, Kevin walks slowly to the gallows where two hats have been placed bearing the logo of Bruin and a Duck.

Traditionally, executions are perpetrated by others. The victim does not choose when to die, it’s the cold hand of a black hooded figure that pulls the trigger, tightens the noose, or drops the ax. Often, we do not choose when we die, nor do we die to the cheers of our peers. But on this day, Kevin Hart walked boldly to the table where he was to be executed, and said a few words. It was a public execution, and the only one who knew was the damned. Kevin placed the Cal hat on his head, and in doing so, pulled the trigger. The crowd cheered as Kevin died. He is now forever the kid who faked his recruitment to gain the adoration of his high school.

This, in and of itself, is nothing new. Kids fake their recruitments all the time, but Kevin took it about a bajillion steps too far. And now, after wasting everyone’s time, and making everyone feel foolish, he has finally been exposed as a victim of his own stupidity. We’ve all been caught in a lie before – it’s just that usually we don’t get caught at pep-rally’s in our honor. I wonder, though, how much of the guilt needs to be placed on Kevin, and how much needs to be placed on the misguided adults who saw a glimmer of stardom, and turned a blind eye to everything else. Kevin told a lie, and got caught, but I wonder if the Hiroshima style explosion that resulted could have been mitigated to a M-80 explosion had he not been pushed down that path by adults too excited to see what was really going on. Did Kevin even have time to tell the truth amidst all the pats on the back?