Chapter 86 85: Team Interview
Lu Ke sat primly on his chair, looking up at the people coming and going in the hallway. His vision was filled with a moving crowd, yet it was silent save for the soft rustle of footsteps on the carpet. As people passed one another, they would murmur a brief greeting in low voices or exchange a glance before quickly brushing past and continuing on their way, all incredibly busy.
It felt as if he had just blinked, and the night was already over, the sun rising once again. Today was the last day of the Rookie Training Camp, the day for team interviews. It was only 8:45 AM, less than an hour after the interviews had begun, and the hallways of the Marriott Hotel were already filled with rookie players, bustling with activity.
A short while ago, Lu Ke had just finished his first interview with the Cleveland Browns. The entire conversation lasted about eight minutes. It was pleasant enough, and the atmosphere was fairly relaxed, but it lacked any real substance. This was Lu Ke's first time speaking face-to-face with a team's general manager and coaches, so he had no way of telling if the conversation had been positive or negative.
Now, Lu Ke was waiting for his second interview. He had been in line for nearly thirty minutes and was still on standby.
Waiting was always tedious. His anxiety grew bit by bit. He tugged at his suit and let out a long breath, his racing heart slowing down slightly. He had experienced huge scenes like the Rose Bowl and major press events during his journalism internship, yet he never imagined that the pressure from a simple interview could be even more nerve-wracking.
"These suits are suffocating, don't you think?" A half-joking voice came from his right, but the tone was strained. In his peripheral vision, Lu Ke could see the man anxiously unbuttoning his suit jacket, only to button it back up again. Nothing felt right; it was as if his limbs were bound by the suit.
Lu Ke shrugged. "Playing ball is a lot simpler than wearing a suit."
"Ha, you can say that again." The other guy let out a sharp, dry laugh. "If I could, I'd rather be doing bench presses right now." His comment earned agreement from the small group of people around them, and the atmosphere relaxed slightly. But soon after, silence fell again as everyone retreated into their own thoughts, careful not to disturb the ongoing interviews.
Time passed so slowly it felt like he could hear the sand falling in an hourglass. Another fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes went by before a door opened and a staff member walked out. "Next."
Lu Ke stood up and nodded politely. "Lu Ke, quarterback, UCLA."
The staff member glanced down at the check-in list in his hand, found the name, and nodded. "Yes. As soon as the player inside comes out, you can go right in." With that, the staff member went back inside and closed the door.
About thirty seconds later, the door opened, and a player walked out, grinning from ear to ear. His eyes met Lu Ke's, and he said amicably, "Good luck, man."
Lu Ke smiled and nodded back. "Good luck."
Pushing the door open, Lu Ke took a deep breath and stepped inside. The scene in the room came into full view. In the center was a set of wraparound sofas. On the long sofa facing the door, with its back to the window, sat two middle-aged men in suits. To their right sat a woman who looked like a secretary, and the seat to their left was empty.
Just as Lu Ke entered, a tall, thin, middle-aged man walked out from an adjacent room and headed for the empty seat on the left. He saw Lu Ke, and his steps faltered, a complex, unreadable expression on his face. "Pete, did John tell you about this?" But no one looked up. A middle-aged man with graying hair, a stern expression, and a hint of scholarly refinement beneath his suit said in a deep voice, "Sit down, George. We're on a tight schedule."
This was the Seattle Seahawks' interview room. The middle-aged man who had spoken was Pete Carroll, the team's head coach. The silent man at the other end was the general manager, John Schneider, and the one who had just entered and taken the seat on the left was the team's quarterback coach, Carl Smith.
"Lu Ke? Please, have a seat." Pete was the first to speak, gesturing to the sofa opposite them, which faced the window with its back to the door.
Lu Ke walked around, offered a polite greeting, and then sat down. He introduced himself again. "Lu Ke, quarterback, UCLA." He figured he'd be repeating those same words countless times today.
Pete frowned slightly, his eyes still fixed on the file in his hands. He gave a small wave of his hand. "We already know that. So, you were a quarterback in high school too? We couldn't find any record of it in the files. What's that about?"
"I attended George Washington High School, which is a public school." Lu Ke's simple explanation brought a look of understanding to their faces. The athletic departments of public high schools are funded entirely by the state government and are rarely well-developed. Unless a team achieves outstanding results, most of their records are incomplete, and they receive very limited attention from scouts. "In high school, I was the team's starting quarterback..."
His introduction was cut short as Pete waved his hand again, interrupting Lu Ke. "High school isn't that important. We'll follow up on it later if we need to. Besides quarterback, have you played any other positions?"
"Yes, I tried out the wide receiver position in high school, and in college, I was a practice player for the Defense Team. I've tried both the defensive end and middle linebacker positions." Lu Ke answered honestly, openly admitting he had been a practice player.
"You've got to be kidding me." Carl finally couldn't hold back, the words tumbling out in astonishment. "With your build and talent, you could play defensive end? And wide receiver? Is this a joke?"
Pete and John both looked up at Lu Ke, seemingly curious about his response.
Faced with such aggressive words, Lu Ke lifted his chin slightly and replied, calm and composed, "That's why I'm a quarterback, not a defensive end or a wide receiver. I believe this is the position that suits me best."
"You forgot the prefix: 'practice player'." Carl refused to let it go, pressing on aggressively. Lu Ke opened his mouth, ready to retort, but Carl's overbearing presence gave him no chance to speak—he was the interviewer, Lu Ke the applicant; he held the inherent advantage. "Honestly, are you even sure you can play football? You're six-foot-four but only 187 pounds. That's too light. It's really, really too light. And look at your combine scores. Have you ever thought that maybe you're not cut out for football? That maybe you should just give up? You know, after all, the Alliance has never seen anyone like you."
As a former journalist, snatching the lead in a conversation wasn't his only skill. His anger rose bit by bit until it reached its peak, and then, paradoxically, he became calm. Lu Ke let Carl say his piece, while Pete and John, sitting diagonally from him, made no move to stop it. The atmosphere in the room felt less like an interview and more like an interrogation.
"'Anyone like me?' What do you mean by that, Mr. Smith? Could you please be more specific?" Lu Ke lifted his chin slightly. He could hear the contempt and disdain in Carl's voice; the whole tone was wrong. "A player who's underweight? A player with mediocre combine scores? Or a player who came to an interview only to be met with personal attacks?"
This string of retorts made Carl's cheeks flush slightly, as if he were drunk, and his anger flared. "A Chinese person. I'm talking about a Chinese person."
Lu Ke's hands clenched into fists. He ignored Carl and turned to face John—not Pete, but John. "Mr. John Schneider, is Mr. Smith questioning my personal abilities, or is he questioning my skin color and race? Is this racial discrimination?"
This wasn't just a personal issue; it was a team issue. Lu Ke was directly filing a complaint and protest with the general manager, emphasizing the seriousness of the problem.
Lu Ke knew his physical talents were lacking, and any team had the right to question that. But the way Carl asked his questions, his tone, was filled with innuendo, alluding to Lu Ke's race rather than his physical attributes.
"All I know is that what should determine whether a player gets on the field is his ability, not his race. Half a century ago, white people believed football was a highly intelligent sport unsuited for Black people and refused to let them into the Professional Alliance. But now, Black players are one of the most important parts of the Alliance. So, are you questioning me now because of my ability, or because of my race? I need an answer."
He was dignified yet sharp-edged. At this moment, Lu Ke wasn't a rookie player at an interview, but a young man of Chinese descent living in the United States, fighting for his rights and interests.
John was slightly taken aback. In recent years, Black communities had gradually united to fight for their racial rights, and women had united as well. But Chinese communities had never managed to rise up in the same way. Among Asian immigrants, those from India, Japan, and South Korea had all found their place and established a foothold, but Chinese immigrants were not among them.
Suddenly, the perplexing thought, 'Does discriminating against Chinese people also count as racial discrimination?' caught them completely off guard.
"I'm just stating a fact." Carl, feeling ignored by Lu Ke, let the anger that had been building for the past few days erupt. "Have you never considered that Asians aren't suited for football?"
"Just like how Black people aren't suited for math, art, or academics, is that it?" Lu Ke shot back without any hesitation. Carl was momentarily speechless. Lu Ke whipped his head around to face the persistently silent John and Pete and abruptly stood up. "I will be reporting this to the Alliance!"
"...It's not like that. It's just a misunderstanding." John finally snapped out of it and tried to do some damage control. "We were just... uh, just concerned about your combine scores. The relevant test data isn't very convincing..." John turned his head toward Pete, seeking help.
But Lu Ke had no intention of sitting back down. He looked down at John and Pete. "Well, your method of expression was extremely unpleasant. I'm quite certain that if a Black man or a woman were sitting here, you wouldn't have chosen such a method. This makes me even more certain that I am not the person the Seattle Seahawks are looking for."
After speaking, Lu Ke gave a slight dip of his chin, then straightened his back, turned, and walked out of the room without a backward glance.
'Fuck!' Deep inside, Lu Ke's anger was a raging inferno, his hands clenched into tight fists. 'They will regret this.'