Necessary Roughness: 3rd Quarter

The following week, it looks like more of the same from the Ravens, who always seem to have our number - they go up 10-0 by the end of the first quarter. However, we get it to start the second quarter, and Deon looks like an absolute animal, crushing anyone who gets in his way. Thanks to the O-line, Tannehill has all day to connect with every one of his receivers, and Kenny Stills catches a touchdown pass to bring it to 10-7.

It doesn't stop there - the defense buckles down, force a three-and-out, and Tannehill gets the ball back for more of the same. This time, Stoneburner gets the call on a first-and-goal, and he comes through - and we're ahead at the half. The second half is more of the same, as Deon makes enough pancakes to feed the team breakfast, and Tannehill connects with Jennings and runs one in himself for a 28-10 dismantling of the Ravens and another loss avenged.

The next week, it's the Colts, who beat us three weeks before - not this time. We come out firing, and in addition to a fumble recovery for a touchdown, we get two touchdown passes by Tannehill - one to Deon - and a long field goal to go up 24-6 at the half. We coast in the second half, and the Colts can't get their act together enough to mount a decent comeback, and we end up winning 31-20 with the last Colts touchdown coming in garbage time.

The last game separating us from the Super Bowl is the AFC title game - in Foxboro, Massachusetts, home of the Evil Empire, the New England Patriots. The Pats only have three losses, two of them at the end of the season. That third loss? To us. In a slugfest.

At least the weather's OK this weekend - it's cold but there's no snow. We trade field goals in the first quarter - and touchdowns early in the second. Unfortunately, Tom Brady can hit Gronkowski any time he feels like it - and the Pats march down the field to the the score at 10 after we get a long touchdown drive.

We end the half with a field goal and go up 13-10. I've spent the entire first half studying the Patriots' defense - these guys aren't giving me much to go on. I better get it together quickly, though - Brady takes less than two minutes to take the lead again on a ridiculous touchdown drive. And once again, we're behind by four, just like against the Bills. And once again, we trade three-and-outs for the third quarter and well into the fourth.

The Patriots punt from their own 34 - and Damien Williams makes quick work of the Patriots' punt team. We end up with the ball at the Pats' 21, and two plays later, Tannehill hits Stills for another touchdown. The good news is we're up 20-17. The bad news? Brady has the ball with five minutes left and three timeouts.

Immediately, Brady goes to work, hitting Julian Edelman for a long gain. Danny Woodhead catches another long bomb, and pretty soon the Pats resort to quick short passes until the two-minute warning. We have to keep them out of the end zone or the season's over and we're forced to watch the Patriots in another Super Bowl. I sure as hell don't want to do that.

The Pats line up at our 22. Brady throws over to Gronkowski - incomplete. Second down, and it's complete to Woodhead for seven, and the Pats take a timeout, their second. Third down, and the Pats can always kick a field goal and send this thing to overtime. Brady drops back - Wake gets through the O-line. He's on Brady - and Brady sees him.

Brady has Gronkowski relatively open and almost no time. He lets it go, somewhat off the mark.

Out of nowhere, Reshad Jones darts in front of Gronkowski - and picks it off cleanly. Jones hurdles two blue jerseys, and now he has daylight. He runs this ball back like his life depends on it - it doesn't; we have this thing, but the hell with it - and he doesn't stop until he's in the end zone for a touchdown. We go up 27-17, and that's how it ends.

I don't believe it. We're going to the Super Bowl. The same team that started off 0-3, utterly annihilated by our first three opponents, is in the big one after avenging two of those ugly losses. I just wonder what can stop us now.

(Outside Beacon Hill Elementary School, Miami Gardens, FL, January 28, 7:30 am)

The ride over to school is eerily awkward - Isabelle, normally chatty and bubbly, hasn't said a word, and neither have I. It's understandable - she has a lot on her mind. She has two massive tests tomorrow, and I have a fairly big game to prepare for, one that sees us opening as 11-point underdogs - to the Cowboys.

Finally, we arrive at the school, where Isabelle clearly doesn't want to go in. Hard to blame her.

"Is Mom in town yet?" asks my daughter, nervously.

"Yeah, she's here. She's staying in a hotel, I think. I haven't heard from her." That part's true - Andrea and Eddie are in town. She hasn't contacted me or Isabelle yet, and it's making me sick. What kind of woman chooses some deadbeat over her own daughter?

I always imagined the season would be over by now and I could focus on this custody hearing. I guess that's the curse of making it this far. Still, it couldn't be after the season? I guess, though, the legal system being what it is, there's nothing I can do. I actually asked for a continuance based on the game - no dice.

"I just hope we can be a family again," she moans somewhat nervously - that isn't really going to happen, certainly not as a two-parent household with myself and Andrea. But maybe she's spent all this time fixing herself, though as far as I'm concerned the first improvement she needs to make is to dump her unemployed husband.

"I'll do what I can, honey," I answer, unable to ease her anxiety. "Now try to have a good day. I love you." She kisses me on the cheek and heads in as I adjust my tie - I don't like wearing suits unless it's for a good reason. At least to me, this is a shitty reason, even if I have to deal with it. But then again, Isabelle's worth it.

The drive to the courthouse seems to take forever. I'm prepared, of course - I've compiled a multitude of reasons why I should maintain custody, and I have a compromise offer that involves joint custody under certain conditions. Number one, of course, is that she moves back to Miami. None of this summers-and-holidays bullshit - she can either be a mom for real or she can go back in her hole and I'll be Isabelle's only reliable parent.

I'm pleased to meet my attorney at the door - he's well-dressed and seems confident. He's a partner at one of these firms around here that caters to divorced fathers - he's always been there for me when I've needed him.

However, he splinters off from me to go talk with what appears to be his opponent, a young, fresh-faced man in an ill-fitting suit. I'm guessing he's less than a year out of law school - you can always tell fresh meat. This is going to be a piece of cake.

I get another pleasant surprise - some additional support, in the form of my girlfriend.

"I'm surprised you're here!" I shout, trying to control myself - she kisses me with a big smile on her face.

"I wouldn't miss this; you know that." Of course. "Especially since Isabelle's seen a lot more of me than her so-called mother since we started dating."

"Yeah, let's just hope there's no surprises here." The last thing I need is to find out Eddie's pulled a rabbit out of his hat. In theory, this should be a slam-dunk - I have a sympathetic judge, and I can prove ten different ways that Andrea's home is unfit.

We have about 40 minutes before we have to be in court - and no time to rest. Andrea and Eddie walk up, looking as impressive as I would expect. Seriously, the fuck is this shit? Eddie's wearing a flannel shirt with stains on it. But I guess I have to put on a good face - and keep Aisha close.

"Good to see you both," I state. "Andrea, you're looking well." I offer my hand to Eddie to shake as I greet him - he gives me a cold look.

"Stick it, Garrett," he snaps, leaving me hanging. Real class act, this one. "Where's my daughter? We're taking her home this afternoon."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Eddie," I retort. "Unless you have something I don't know about, I think Isabelle's staying right here at least until summer." And probably beyond, but I might as well be nice.

Andrea's turn now. "Don't you know the judge always gives custody to the mom?" Yeah, that's why I have custody now, idiot. "We're taking what's ours."

"Yeah, and when we're done here," interjects Eddie, "she'll be calling me Daddy and you'll never see her again."

"That's enough," Aisha interjects. "Let's be civil here."

"Shut your fat mouth, Barbie doll," snaps Eddie.

"You shut your mouth, or I'll shut it for you, Thacker," I snap - I'd go with a fuller name than Eddie, but that's actually his full name, so I have to go with the last name just like he did. Hey, I didn't name him Eddie Ray Thacker; his idiot parents did. "Talk to my girlfriend like that again and we have a big issue."

"That's your girlfriend?" interjects Andrea, confused. "Then we got this. You don't take her to church, you're on the road all the time, and now you're bringing her around some cheap dolled-up ghetto bitch?"

"Is that your strategy? To piss us off?" Because it's working.

"Neil, don't let her get to you," Aisha scolds, getting between us. "I've been called worse. It's whatever; she's a high school dropout with no job."

"I'm a housewife!" she snaps. "It's what God made me for!" And this God of yours made your husband to work - oh wait, kind of dropped the ball there. "Not that you'd know anything about that. I checked up on you, LaQueesha - you don't even believe in God!"

"First of all, her name's Aisha. Get it right." Again, she's practically restraining me. It might be an amusing sight, seeing a woman with proportions about halfway between model and hip-hop dancer holding back her boyfriend, a man who looks as if he could snap the building in half with his bare hands.

"Same thing. Something ghetto." I've known Andrea to be somewhat prejudiced but not this outwardly. "God put you in the ghetto for a reason. Get out of the way and let me raise my daughter."

"I work with a lot of Christians," I seethe. "They're not a bunch of judgmental assholes like you. You people make God sound like an insane dictator."

"You don't talk about God like that!" Andrea shouts. "Now just give up and hand over my little girl. No judge ever gives custody to an atheist."

"Right, because it's not like we have freedom of religion or anything - oh wait, we do." I'm well into pissed-off territory now. "Try again."

Eddie's chomping at the bit. "Just because we don't throw that bitch in jail like we should doesn't mean you win." Is he sounding intelligent? That won't last. "Not if you're with that Godless nig-"

"Finish that word, Thacker," I shout, "and I'll kick your ass right now."

This draws a stern reaction - from Aisha, of all people, who stands in front of me, between me and Eddie. "Don't," she scolds. "We'll get him in court. He's not provoking you." Evidently you and I have a far different definition of 'provoking.' "If you hit him, you lose custody." She's firm, this Aisha. I better listen - I'm not sure she's on the same page as the legal system, but I do anyway, seeing as how her name literally means 'she who must be obeyed' and she rarely lets anyone forget it.

Eddie, of course, takes this as a license to act like a shithead. He shouts in my face - and my blood boils.

He drops an N-bomb. And another. And another, almost in singsong fashion, daring me to deck him. But I know better. He'll get his comeuppance - I see witnesses staring him down as he taunts both of us with the most reviled word in civilized society. I want to slug him. But I don't dare - he's digging a hole. His punishment will come.

Sooner rather than later, it turns out - as a fist connects with Eddie's mouth, and he goes down on his ass like a ton of foul-smelling bricks. I look over - turns out that mystery fist belongs to none other than Aisha Claiborne, who stands over Eddie with a shit-eating grin.

"You're going to jail, bitch!" shouts Andrea, who's still stunned. "Nobody hits my husband!"

"The hell I am," she taunts back. "Your dumbass husband may not have been provoking Neil, but he was sure as hell provoking me. And everyone standing here will agree. Legally speaking, the law won't do shit to me." Aisha's typical usage of curse words is limited to the odd 'hell' or 'damn' unless something crazy just happened, or, y'know, we're fucking. If you hear her dropping one of Carlin's seven words outside the bedroom, someone probably fucked up big time. "And go ahead and sue me; you won't get a damn thing. All I did was knock out some teeth, and the way those things went out, they weren't going to last long anyway. So yes, I just punched your husband. And the worst that will happen to me is that I smudged my manicure."

I look down at Eddie - pure rage from him. Same from Andrea. Then to Aisha's hands - actually her manicure's holding up just fine. A slight scrape on the knuckles, but a small price to pay.

"You can't hurt us," I taunt. "Go in there, lose more rights, and fuck off to Alabama. Because you can't do shit to either of us." I'm stifling a laugh. "Really, you two just piss me off. I went to Auburn with more Southerners than I can count right now. And none of them were anywhere near as worthless as you fuckers." I turn to walk away.

The silence off the two of them is deafening. I'm actually a little nervous - maybe he tries for a sucker punch. Instead he grabs Andrea and storms off.

Aisha and I meet with my attorney right before the trial, and we're surprised to see Andrea and Eddie actually show up. It turns out that the judge - an older African-American woman - is aware of the incident in the hall, and I'm guessing she's none too pleased. Neither is my attorney, who has to do some damage control.

I look over at the trio of idiots on the other side of the courtroom - seems there's a lot of muttering and goings-on. That's put to a stop when the judge goes on with, "Mrs. Thacker, as the plaintiff in this case, you will go first. Mr. Harper, you have the floor."

Surprisingly, the young attorney, this Mr. Harper, doesn't take the floor - Andrea does. The judge shares my confusion - and my curiosity about the papers in her hand.

"Your Honor, after the incident in the hall, it's clear that I'll never regain custody of my daughter as I should." Blah blah blah. "A mother should be with her child. But that will never happen. And I can't do this one-foot-out-the-door relationship, where my ex teaches my daughter one thing and I have to spend the summer undoing it and teaching her to be a lady."

"Furthermore, the disrespect she has shown to my husband, Eddie Ray Thacker, a man who deserves to be her father more than my ex-husband, cannot stand. So I can't continue this. As such, I have made a decision."

She hands the papers to the judge, who allows her to approach. The judge inquisitively reviews them.

"Mrs. Thacker, are you aware that this means that you forfeit all rights to your daughter for life?" she asks - what the hell's going on?

"Yes, Your Honor." She hangs her head as if defeated. "I give up. My ex has broken me. If he wants to do it all himself, I'll just have another baby and raise her right."

The judge looks at her and waits for her to take her seat. "Mr. Garrett, with the move by the plaintiff, you will be granted full and unrestricted custody and will be your daughter's sole legal guardian. Mr. and Mrs. Thacker, you are dismissed from my courtroom. I will meet with Mr. Garrett and...I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't catch your name."

"Aisha Claiborne," she replies - turns out that's her full legal name, no middle name. She's kind of always wanted one, but at least it beats the shit out of having Lurleen as a middle name. At least from my point of view - and Isabelle's - it does.

Of course, on the way out, Eddie can't resist one last shot at me. "Maybe I can't hurt you or your bitch, Garrett," he snipes. "But I can hurt your worthless daughter. I knew full well we couldn't win, and it was just a matter of time before I got my woman to give up her rights. I never liked that little shit anyway, and I hope she blows her brains out."

The judge doesn't catch it. So I answer. "You're a real piece of work, Thacker," I whisper. "You get in Andrea's head. She used to have some hope; you ruined her."

"The only thing I ruined," he answers, "is that little dyke you call a daughter. Do the world a favor. After you lose that silly football game, shoot her and your Barbie doll in the head and then kill yourself. One less of all of you, especially that stupid-"

"Mr. Thacker, exit my courtroom and stop speaking to Mr. Garrett now or I'll hold you in contempt," demands the judge.

"Let me finish," he demands, finishing his sentence with his favorite word as both Aisha and I put our heads in our hands. Needless to say, the judge doesn't take kindly to being called the N-word and has the offender taken into custody for contempt. Well, she did warn him, I think as he's taken away, shouting something about this being a 'free country' and how the fascists and Democrats and foreigners and the, shall we say, black gentleman in the White House are turning this country into a Communist hellhole. Go on digging your own grave, dipshit.

Figures. He's the asshole behind Andrea being a shitty parent, and now he's the asshole behind this colossal dick move. It as if he can be a genius when he wants to be a dick, but when it comes to applying himself, he can't do shit.

But then again, Andrea chose everything over her daughter at every turn. She could have kept the family together - she chose to move away because she hated where I got a job. She cheated on me with Eddie. She married him despite his problems with alcohol and keeping a job. And now this. The fact that I don't have to deal with her anymore...it's a small benefit.

Isabelle needs her mom. And now she doesn't have her. Forever. And there's nothing I can do about it. At this point, next week's Super Bowl is a minor issue - yes, it's a huge event. Yes, it could make or break my career. But I'd rather stay home and let someone else coach my guys. I don't even give a shit. I'll get an office job. I'd rather sell oranges on the side of the road than be under the level of scrutiny I'm about to face at this point.

Sure, the meeting with the judge goes smoothly, or as smoothly as it can - but it's not even two minutes after we get out that my phone rings. I answer it blindly.

"Mr. Garrett?" Fuck, not this again - Isabelle's school. "I need you to come get Isabelle. She can't focus, and all she keeps talking about is when she can see her mother. You're the only contact I have, so I'm calling you."

"Well, it's about to get a hell of a lot worse," I snap. "Her mother's a fucking deadbeat who can't be bothered to do shit for her." Clearly she's stunned. So am I. "She just signed over her rights this morning and she's on the road back to Alabama now."

"I'm...I'm sorry to hear that." Not as sorry as I am to say it. "I'll be there, and I'll call my sister to be there, too."

Now I have to break the news to Gretchen AND Isabelle. And I have to go in this afternoon for a team meeting. Shit and more shit.

Gretchen's reaction is about what I expect - "Good riddance." She never liked Andrea. To be honest, Isabelle is the only good thing I ever got out of that mistake with Andrea. Everything else has been complete and utter grief.

I pull Isabelle and Gretchen into the same conference room where I ended up having to write that essay. This won't end as well - Isabelle's a wreck. I usually see 40-year-olds looking like this after all-nighters. Hell, I've looked like that a few times. But not for this good of a reason.

"Where's Mom?" leads Isabelle. "She couldn't come? I'm sure she lost."