Necessary Roughness: 3rd Quarter

"I wish it were that easy," I answer. "Your mother didn't lose because she didn't try." She doesn't understand - she's awfully grown up for a 10-year-old, but then again, she's still 10. "Unfortunately your mother signed away her rights as a parent, and the judge accepted it."

The look on her face is absolutely heartbreaking. The transition from stunned to sad - picture a child seeing her beloved dog taken away to be experimented on in a lab. It's not that different.

The tears follow. I lean over to console her - she stiff-arms me. "No!" she shouts through her tears. "Leave me alone!" I do as she demands, backing off. "You'll just abandon me like Mom did! Crystal's parents did!" I hope she doesn't really believe that and she's just speaking out of hurt. But given that her best friend's parents both abandoned their daughter, I'm not really sure.

After a few more minutes, I try to get this meeting over with - yes, she has to come home. I'll try to get her tests postponed. This is a damn good reason for it.

On the way out, Gretchen and I escort a devastated Isabelle to the car - she won't get in. "I'm not going with you," she seethes. "I don't want to see you. I'll go with Aunt Gretchen."

I'm a little shocked but I agree to it - Gretchen can take the car and I agree to Uber to work. "I'll come by later. Aisha will be there, too."

"Right, like I want to see her," she snaps. "You'll just marry her, start being mean to me, and dump me in a foster home."

"That's not true, sweetheart, and you and I both know it." She doesn't seem convinced. "I've always been here for you. And I'll be here of you as long as I live." Still doesn't seem convincing.

"I don't want to see you," she moans. "And I don't want to go see you lose your stupid football game next Sunday. I'll stay here. Maybe Crystal's foster family will take me." At this point, I give up.

I try to hug her - she won't let me. "I love you," I tell her - she just responds with, "Don't lie." I give up at this point and just wait for my ride as Gretchen takes her away.

My Uber driver gets me to the stadium, where practice is already well underway. And it's absolute chaos. Not sure what's going on.

I bump into Dan Campbell, our acting head coach. "Neil, did you hear the news?" What news? "Bill Lazor took the Chargers job." Bill Lazor, as in our offensive coordinator. The Chargers job, as in oh shit. My first thought is when the Seahawks had the same thing happened to them before they played the Patriots - the end result? A blown call that lost the game - on the offensive side. Needless to say, we're already a huge underdog - and from what I hear, the Vegas point spread shot up to 14 with that announcement. What a clusterfuck. As if this day could get any worse.

I walk into the lounge outside Dan's office and see a TV - Fox Sports is on. Go figure. And on the TV? America's favorite blowhard - Colin Cowherd.

"Fourteen points isn't even enough. Bet the Cowboys." Yeah, fuck you, too. "From the beginning of the playoffs, I said the Dolphins are frauds. They got hot against the Ravens and Colts and got lucky against the Pats when Brady made a mistake. The Cowboys have two losses on the year. One in garbage time and the other was a bad break against the Packers, the same Packers they dismantled in the NFC Championship. You can't possibly bet against the Cowboys. Last time they played the Dolphins, it was a shellacking. It was shameful. I wouldn't be surprised if it's another score like that. I'll call it - it'll be over well before the half. The Cowboys pour it on in the second half, and Adrian Peterson gets the MVP. What's the record for biggest blowout in Super Bowl history - the 49ers over the Broncos?" Yeah, 55-10. "It'll be like that. It'll be like the Seahawks beating the Broncos." That was an ass-kicking. "Won't even be close. Stay for the halftime show and then, when the Cowboys get a clincher in the second half, it'll be all over."

Yeah, I know it's a tough sell that we'll beat the Cowboys. But we're sure as hell not going down like a bunch of bitches.

At least practice seems to go OK. We don't leave for San Francisco until Monday, and Isabelle won't talk to me - even Gretchen won't talk to me at this point - so I decide to hit the bar. I'm doing it all on Uber, so I can go where I need to. Aisha's busy all night, so it's all on me.

I get there to this place outside of town, hoping no one recognizes me. That doesn't last long - the bartender greets me with, "What'll you have, Coach?" Shit.

He's cool about keeping my identity a secret - I have sunglasses on, so people leave me the hell alone to ship my whiskey sour. At this point, I'm pretty much teetering on slurring my words and being too drunk to be served.

After a few hours of this, I hear a female voice. "Well, look what we have here," I hear - it's a youngish female. Out of the corner of my eye, she's blonde, about 5'4", dressed in a midriff-baring top and cutoffs - and trashy as fuck. "How would you feel about coming home with me tonight, handsome?" She's got her hand on my shoulder, so I know she means me.

And I tell her right away how I feel about that idea: "Not interested."

"I can show you a good time," she answers.

"Walk away," I order. I don't need this shit, and Aisha's a hell of a lot better looking. Do people in Ferraris go asking the dealer for a Ford Focus with four flat tires?

"Don't be like that, stud," she counters. "You know you want a ride. I'm sure you've had a tough day. Why not make it better?"

"Why not fuck off and leave me alone? I mean, fuck," I almost shout. "Besides, I have a girlfriend and-"

"So what?" she flips. "She doesn't have to know. I'm young, blonde, and sexy. You want me."

"No," I seethe. "I don't. Get lost."

"What are you, a fag?" Yeah, whatever, bitch. "I know you're not. Now prove it." I do so - by getting out my phone and pulling up a picture of Aisha.

"This right here is my girlfriend." She doesn't seem daunted. "She's better looking than you. She's classier than you. She has a Master's degree from Stanford. And I guarantee she's a better fuck on her worst day than you are on your best day. Now for the last time, fuck off."

I see her facial expression change. "Fine!" she shouts. "Fucking fag. You haven't seen the last of me." What a prize she is. First Eddie, now this dumb bitch - this must be bigot day. I half expect Vickers to come through the door to kick my ass - or I would, except he got arrested two weeks ago for beating the shit out of some old black guy who's on life support now. Supposedly the old guy called him a 'waste of God-given talent' and Vickers pulled, well, a Vickers.

I close out my tab and get a nearby motel room, sleeping off my frustrations - poorly - and grabbing Uber to the office. And look at what I see on the way in - the last people I need right now. Even worse than Andrea and Eddie.

Two uniformed police officers.

"Neil Garrett?" one asks - I confirm. "We need to meet with you about last night." Umm, OK? We head to a conference room and lock the door.

The tall one speaks first. "Last night, did you meet the acquaintance of a young woman named Lana Frazee?" Doesn't ring a bell. "Average height, blonde, hangs out at a bar across town-"

"Do you mean the trashy blonde who wouldn't leave me alone last night?" They show me a picture - it's her. "She tried to sleep with me. I told her no. She called me a fag and stormed off." And given that I'm sure we have at least one gay football player - and I know there are some gay family members - I hope these walls are as soundproof as people say they are.

"That's not what she told us," the officer answers. "She says you took her in the bathroom and raped her." Are you fucking kidding me? My jaw almost hits the floor. "We tested her last night - we know something happened. We need to know if the sperm sample we got from the rape kit matches yours."

"I have a better idea," I reply. "I saw cameras at the bar last night. I also spoke with two of the bartenders. Before we got that far, let's make sure they caught what this...ahem, woman was doing last night. If it comes to it, I'll provide a sample." I pause and sigh. "I'm innocent; I know that. But I just don't need a distraction."

"I get it. Super Bowl next week." He doesn't know the half of it.

"Yeah, plus my ex-wife just forfeited her rights as a parent yesterday. My daughter won't talk to me, and when my girlfriend gets wind of this, she'll dump me and have me fired." He's not sure how my girlfriend could have me fired until I point out she's in the front office. She's not my boss but she's both well-connected and a genius - like a Mensa-level genius.

"Look, Coach," interjects the shorter cop, "we're not going to have you arrested. We're pretty sure you're telling the truth. But we still have to do an investigation. We'll call the bar. But there's one thing we can't stop from happening." What's that? "If Ms. Frazee goes to the media, we can't stop her."

The officers go to open the door - evidently I'm free to go but the cops have my phone number. I don't get far, though - the cops leave, but take a guess at who's standing there, arms folded, a hard look.

None other than Aisha Claiborne, looking none too pleased. Shit.

She sits me down - fortunately the door is locked - and I'm sweating bullets. "I want to know exactly what you did yesterday after you left work," she demands. I explain it all - the bar, the sleazy woman, the four whiskey sours, the motel room - and I also tell her about the rape allegation. "Why do you think I'm asking you?" she scolds. "It's all over SportsCenter." Fuck. Just...fuck.

"I didn't rape anybody," I seethe. "I didn't even have consensual sex with anybody yesterday. I barely even looked at her."

Her facial expression doesn't change. I'm fucked.

Maybe not. "I know you didn't do anything," she flips - what? "Am I thrilled about the four drinks? No. But I'm not your mother. You got Uber and didn't do anything dangerous, and I know you had a hard day." That's an understatement on the level of saying Aisha's attractive. "But I know you didn't do anything with her."

"Well, that's a relief," I sigh, still not convinced she's telling the truth - figures that I'm the one accused here, and I'm concerned about if my girlfriend's telling the truth. I need a drink - except that got me in this mess. Fuck.

"Neil, please. If you're out looking for someone like her when you can have me any time you want, something's wrong with you." This is true - I never understood why Tiger Woods went behind his wife's back with a pancake waitress and whoever else. For me, if you have the best, you don't trade down.

"I just don't need the distraction with all this-"

"Like we don't have enough of those already with Lazor leaving," she interrupts - that and the whole Isabelle situation and Cowherd shooting off his idiot mouth on Fox Sports. Seriously, fuck that guy. "Now if we patch things up with Gretchen and Isabelle, can you learn the offense on enough of a level to back up Lazor?" Wait, is she asking me a football question when I'm concerned about staying out of jail?

I agree to it right away - it's just figuring out the receivers and running backs, not that different from tight ends in my experience. Hell, I run the majority of the offensive players anyway, with the O-line and the tight ends. I'll just work with Zac on the quarterback situation and we'll be good to go.

Aisha dismisses me to go have lunch with Gretchen - apparently she's agreed to do so, though she's still pissed at me - so it's no surprise I see her with arms folded and a cold glare when I arrive.

"Yeah, I get it," I fume. "Isabelle hates me, you probably think I'm a deadbeat, and now the world thinks I'm a rapist. Just kill me now." Trying to take the wind out of her sails.

"Sit down and shut up," she orders, and I fall right in line - no point in not doing so, especially since there's a small chance she's trying to help me. "I'm not mad at you for what happened in court yesterday or for going to that bar and letting that woman get the best of you." She's in Aisha's camp, apparently, or as I call it, the right camp - the 'I didn't do shit' camp. "I'm mad at you for this crazy fantasy you have of Andrea ever being a halfway decent mom." Umm, huh? "She's worthless. I've tried to tell you that for a long time. I mean, really? She picks Eddie over you or Isabelle at every opportunity. She signed away her right just because Eddie told her to!" She's dumb and gives into that asshole; I'll grant that. "You and I both know she wasn't going to be a mom, and signing away her rights was the best thing to do."

I sigh. "I know that. I know that now," I mutter. "I just have...it's everything. It's that bitch from the bar. It's Eddie calling Isabelle a dyke. I fucking hate it."

"Are you really going to let those assholes bring you down?" she snaps. "Because if you are, just go quit now. Go get a job pushing pencils or something, because you don't deserve to coach. Those people are nothing."

"You're right," I snap. "You're totally right."

"Besides," Gretchen continues, "Eddie may be a dumb redneck, but he's right about Isabelle." What? "I've known since she was seven. She doesn't know it yet, but I can tell already. She's gay."

I pause. I think. I don't know how to answer.

Than I fire it back to her. "So what?"

"Exactly," she counters. "See, you get it. Eddie never will."

"She's my daughter," I exasperate. "I love her no matter what. I'll love her just the same. Besides, now I don't have to worry about creepy boys."

"You can do that with Crystal," she continues - evidently gaydar is a thing, and Gretchen - who says Aunt Deb knew about her at a young age - gets that signal from Isabelle but no such signal from Crystal. Fine. It's all good with me.

"I get it," I continue, trying not to go too far down that road since I'll get lost. "I have all this pressure on me. I should marry Aisha, have the perfect family...hell, I could even adopt Crystal. It's not that simple."

"What do you mean it's not that simple?" she squeals. "There's no mom in Isabelle's life. Crystal doesn't have parents at all! You have a home and a secure job! Yes it is that simple!" I dispute the security of my job, what with the recent allegation. "You're so wrapped up in this football team that you're letting your family slip away! I hate seeing that happen! Isabelle told me she was afraid you would abandon her. I know that isn't true, but if you don't start spending more time with her instead of dumping her off on me, that's how she'll feel." I have my head in my hands at this point. "And to be honest, I love spending time with my niece, and I adore Crystal, but I have a life, too. You know the last time I went on a date, Neil?" No I don't - I know it's when I was coaching the Hurricanes. "I'd like to have a life, Neil - hold on. They're on TV talking about your case."

Yeah, it's on ESPN. It's outside the bar I was at - and the police are there.

The owner is speaking. "Last night, a woman named Lana Frazee made an allegation against Dolphins coach Neil Garrett that he sexually assaulted her." Well, duh. "I, along with the Broward County Police, have reviewed the security tapes. Ms. Frazee was here briefly, ordered nothing, and left after a verbal altercation with Coach Garrett. She called Coach Garrett some unsavory names, and she left." Let's just leave it at 'unsavory names,' especially after Vickers used a few at our practice - the last thing we need is for our team and community to be thought of as a bigot magnet. Again. "At no point did the two of them make any physical contact whatsoever." That's not quite accurate - she touched my shoulder - but it'll do for now. "Coach Garrett did not assault Ms. Frazee, sexually or otherwise, and the security cameras as well as eyewitness testimony reflect this. Coach Garrett is one hundred percent innocent and did nothing wrong. We wish Coach Garrett the best in the upcoming Super Bowl and hope that he and his family and team can put this unfortunate incident behind them."

I breathe a sigh of relief. Apparently there are others there who recognize me - I receive a round of applause from much of the dining room. I'm sure there are a few holdouts - people who don't think I'm innocent - but it's a nice reception.

After lunch, Gretchen and I get in her car to go back to the office. "Look," I begin, "I know you've done a lot for me. Especially this year. So I want to do something for you." I'm just getting an idea at this point. "I know you and the girls don't fly out until Friday. So I want you to make a vacation out of it while I'm gone. I'll set you up at the Hard Rock. You and the girls." That means Isabelle and Crystal both - Hard Rock has a casino, so Gretchen can have some fun after the girls go to sleep, but the rest of the time is all about them. It turns out Gretchen has to do at least some work, but most of it is just ordering supplies and flour and what-not, all stuff she can do remotely. Piece of cake, pardon the easy pun.

I read through my text messages - nothing but support from the team. Seems like everyone's coming back around - except so far, the one person I need.

(Four Seasons, Palo Alto, CA, hotel suite, Saturday, 8:00 pm)

The team looks great. These distractions seem like nothing - Bill's got the offense handled, I think, and the O-line looks impressive. Granted, we're 16-point underdogs, up from 14 earlier thanks to that ludicrous allegation, and I still can't get what Cowherd said out of my head, but we have a shot. That's all I can ask.

I have two suites for this weekend - Aisha and I have been in one since Monday, and the girls - all three of them - are in the neighboring suite. Isabelle's still upset - she's barely speaking to any of us and says she doesn't want to be here - but Crystal's having a great time, and Gretchen's walking on air. Turns out she met someone at the Hard Rock - her name's Rose, she's in marketing, and she's pretty much the lesbian aunt of the family, same as Gretchen. The girls met her - and it went as well as meeting Aisha did.

It's the last night before the Super Bowl - and I don't need this as a distraction. I need my daughter back. So we order room service to my suite - pizza and chicken wings, not that I'm buttering up Isabelle or anything.

Crystal speaks first. "I hope the food's as good at the parade!" What parade? "The one after we win tomorrow!" I love her optimism.

"We won't win," seethes Isabelle. "Nothing good ever happens."

Aisha's next to Isabelle. "That's not true. Good things always happen."

"Like you know anything about it," she mutters. "Your life is perfect. You get my dad and I get nothing. I'm second best again."

"I know more than you think." Her arm on Isabelle's shoulder - Isabelle at least doesn't push her away. "My mom was a lot like Eddie. She had a serious drinking problem and she never spent any time with me. The only interaction I had with her was her criticizing everything about me." I know a lot of this - Isabelle doesn't. "She expected me to grow up, get married and be a perfect little housewife, but she couldn't even take care of herself, let alone me. She finally died when I was ten - alcohol poisoning. My dad never got over it."

"He took religion so seriously, he stopped talking to me when I told him I didn't believe in God anymore." This, of course, at TCU, where she had to beg to go in the first place. "So I looked for scholarships and worked hard to pay off my student loans after I went off to Stanford. I didn't want to be tossed aside again."

"Then I was - last year. By the Cowboys. That's why I'm here." And why she wants a win over the Cowboys so bad tomorrow. "I'm sorry your mom won't be there for you. But I know all too well about it. And I don't want it to happen to you again any more than I want it to happen to me."