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by redsox907 » Yesterday, 23:39
Chapter Fifty-Two: The End Of A Legacy
January 23rd, 2031, was supposed to be the day that everything changed. Three days after accomplishing one of the greatest achievements of my short but impactful career—etching my name, with a second-consecutive National Championship, alongside some of the greatest coaches in the storied history of the University of Oklahoma—I decided that another legacy was going to end as well.
I was going to put an end to the 'legacy' of Arturo Leon Orozco, once and for all. No more running from his shadow. No more emulating him with lies. With Jessica by my side, we had made a plan to once and for all free myself from his influence. To proclaim not just to myself, but to the world, that I was not my father's son.
But, to move forward, sometimes you have to take a step backward.
On the morning of the 23rd, I reported to work ready to finally bring the sins of my father to light, hopefully with the blessing of the University of Oklahoma, and finally put that saga of my life behind me. Waiting in my office was Roger Denny, Rick Nagel, and Jim Nagy—the Chair of the Board of Regents and General Manager for Football, respectively. I had fully intended to seek out Roger first thing that morning, ready to lay out the plan that Jessica and I conceived, trying to curry support from Roger, and therefore the Board of Regents.
Rounding the corner and seeing the three of them in my office, waiting for me, brought a new jolt of panic. What if Leslie had bugged my phone, or my house, and already knew what I was planning and had simply beat me to the punch.
I had just won more championships in two years than the Sooners had in the last 45 combined, surely they weren't going to fire me...right? Logic said no, two men who I knew only by name sitting in my office on a Wednesday morning, waiting for me, begged to differ. Before I could reconsider my intentions, Roger happened to look up through the small picture window beside my door, spotting me mid-stride.
"Armando!" He bellowed, slightly startling both Nagel and Nagy who snapped their heads up from their phones at Denny's voice, "Get the hell in here!" Denny continued before pulling me into a bear hug as I closed the distance. It was the first time I'd seen Denny since the National Championship, his enthusiasm still on full display after the National Championship.
Congratulations from Nagel and Nagy followed, with slightly less enthusiasm than Denny himself, before the small talk about the program and the National Championship itself simmered to a slow burn.
Denny cleared his throat after proclaiming Nickey's performance as the best thing since he watched Jamelle Holieway become the first true freshman quarterback to win a National Championship, signaling it was time to switch gears.
"I think I speak for everyone associated with the University when I say this, Armando, but we're all extremely pleased with the on-field results since you've joined the program."
The statement hung in the air as Denny took a moment of silence, pondering how he was going to approach the real reason they were all waiting for my arrival.
"But?" I finally inquired, breaking the awkward silence as Nagel and Nagy exchanged worried glances, suddenly speechless. Denny's expression changed as if he'd just eaten a lemon. His mouth opened, held for a breath, then closed again.
His second attempt was only slightly more successful.
"It's just…well, y'know-"
"This bullshit with Oregon State has put us in a real pickle, Armando," Nagel interjected, suddenly finding his voice. Whether his sudden outburst was fueled by his contempt for the situation, or anger at Denny's waffling, I would never know, but once it was out, Nagel didn't stop.
"We can handle minor recruiting violations. We can handle softening the edges on rules. But outright refusal of an NCAA investigation, with no warning and no explanation? That just tells us you're hiding something else, Armando. And we can't risk that liability."
"So, you're what. Firing me?" I tried to remain calm, but the indignation in my voice shone through loud and clear.
The three men exchanged glances, before Denny broke the silence with a soft chuckle.
"No, Armando. We aren't stupid. We're just hedging our bets."
"We want you here, winning championships. We just want to make sure that should more come out-"
I began to speak up, ready to spill my piece, the entire reason I was going to seek out Denny this morning, but was cut off by a quick waving gesture by Denny.
"Don't tell me, Armando. Plausible deniability. We just want to make sure that we're doing our part, so they can't force us to vacate wins, or championships. So, we're self-imposing some sanctions."
I knew when to keep my mouth shut, so I sat there for the next thirty minutes as Denny explained that while I was working on winning the National Championship, they were working behind the scenes to come up with a sanction that would appease the NCAA, keep the University from having to vacate wins, and allow the football program to keep competing at a high level.
Their ultimate decision? An outright transfer portal ban.
"Only for two seasons," corrected Nagy, "Then just a limit from there. With the strides you made in recruiting this year, only two years without a transfer portal shouldn't set us back too far. We do, after all, have one of the best coaches in the country at our disposal."
Nagel and Nagy remained for a few more minutes, pointing out the intricacies of the sanctions and what we’ll need to address going forward before ultimately saying their goodbyes.
“We love what you’re doing on the field, Armando,” Nagel reiterated as he rose to leave, “But this better be the last conversation like this we have with you.”
The message was clear. Even winning had its boundaries. With that, both men left leaving just myself and Denny alone in my office.
“Rog,” I insisted, “I do need to talk to you.”
Roger’s eyes drew together in frustration as he turned to me, then, instead of arguing, he sighed, bringing his hand up to his temple to rub the corner.
“I can see you aren’t going to drop this,” he said through a sigh, “Just make sure you aren’t telling me anything that could get us in trouble in the near future.”
“Here soon, Rog, everyone will know anyways.”
I gave Roger the abbreviated version describing the chain of events since Leslie’s first letter in College Park, along with the brief backstory of my own father’s past, before finishing with the meeting at the St. Regis after the SEC Championship Game.
“That’s why I couldn’t turn my phone over, Rog. It wasn’t because of the NCAA or recruiting violations. It was because I didn’t know how to handle being blackmailed with my father’s past.”
“And you’re set on this plan you and Jessica came up with? You think this is the best course of action?”
I simply nodded. I wanted Roger, and the University’s, backing, but even without it, this was something I felt necessary. Roger didn’t protest, simply nodded as if that was the answer he expected.
“For the record. If you would have brought this forward to us sooner, we could have avoided the sanctions. At this point, we’re locked into an agreement with the NCAA. There’s no going back.”
The truth sat in the air, unavoidable. Another price of following in my father’s footsteps, instead of making my own decisions.
“That being said, we’re behind you. This isn’t the worst thing that a coach has ever revealed about their past,” then with a slight chuckle he added, “Not by far.”
“Again, the board is probably going to be more than a little upset about the timing of this, Armando. But, I’ll make sure they understand the honesty you’re showing by revealing this of your own volition. I’ll make sure they stand behind you, regardless of the reaction from the national media.”
“Thank you, Roger,” I acknowledged, reaching across my desk to shake his hand, a handshake that meant more than words could ever express. For the first time since Leslie’s original letter arrived, I didn’t feel alone in this battle. I had Jessica, and now, the university’s support.
I thought the conversation with Roger would be the hardest part. I was wrong.
When I made the call to Harvey, I made one thing perfectly clear: “I want to control the narrative. I don’t want to do this, then have someone else twist the story to fit an agenda.”
“I know just the person,” confirmed Harvey after filling him in on the details.
On January 24th, one day after the announcement of the university’s self-imposed sanctions, Jessica and I found ourselves in our living room, although it looked nothing like the space that we usually used to unwind as a family.
Lights and cameras were scattered around the space, turning our living room into a makeshift production set. Jessica was beside me, a quiet show of solidarity that she insisted on: “Leslie can’t twist this into anything sordid if I’m there beside you at your most vulnerable moment,” she said reassuringly.
Maria Taylor sat across from us, handpicked by Harvey to handle the delicate conversation. An unsettling silence fell across the room as the production crew silently found their places. Suddenly, everything felt too real. The lights felt too hot. The lapel microphone pinned to my suit felt like an annoying fly buzzing around my face.
Then suddenly, Maria began and the distractions washed away in the moment.
Maria began by thanking both of us for being there, introducing Jessica individually, a detail I insisted on. “I think it’s important that you’re more than ‘Armando Leon’s wife.’”
Maria spent the first few questions talking about the last two seasons at Oklahoma, the National Championships, the NCAA investigation—exactly as we planned. Then, the pivot came.
“Armando, we’ve talked about your meteoric rise from Montana to a two-time National Champion with Oklahoma. But, there’s a story you’ve been waiting to tell.”
This was it, the scripted runway for me to begin my story. I took the cue from Maria, nodding slightly, and taking a deep breath. Before I could start, I felt Jessica slip her right hand into my left hand. She gave it a soft squeeze, fingertips gently pressing against the scar on my hand. I exhaled the breath, looked at Jessica, exchanging a soft smile. She was here, and despite whatever may come next, that was enough.
"My father's name was Arturo Leon Orozco. I spent most of my life running from that name. I'm done running.”
