Kap, Carr, Panda in a bar
Colin Kaepernick, Derek Carr and Pablo Sandoval walk into a bar. Hey, it could happen. It
should happen. Those three have a lot to talk about. Fame, for instance. Fame and glory and athletic gifts.
Where does it come from, and where in the hell does it all go?
They’re just three guys in a bar, kicking around the mysteries of life.
“Man,” Sandoval says to Kaepernick, “I remember when you ran for 181 yards against the Packers in your first playoff game. You scared the spit out of the entire league, brother.”
Kaepernick smiles and says, “Yeah, but maybe my legs were a gimmick. Derek, was the one with the golden future. Who knows what the Raiders woulda done last season if he doesn’t get injured?”
Carr shrugs, turns to Sandoval and asks, “What does it feel like to hit three homers in one stinkin’ World Series game? That’s just doggone ridiculous, dude.”
“Do you ever swear?” Sandoval asks Carr.
“Heck, yes,” Carr says, knocking back a shooter of milk.
The three grow quiet. It’s easy talking about the glory times. More awkward is getting into what they’ve got in common — the unexplained, waytoo-early fall from grace, into the void.
They’re way too young to be washed up, and yet ...
Carr will get a mulligan under quarterback guru Jon Gruden. But, who knows, maybe he was a one-season wonder. Kaepernick might get another job, and he is OK with knowing that his politics are to blame for his exile, but whatever became of the wild young superstar who almost won a Super Bowl?
Sandoval, baseball folks will tell you, ate and partied himself out of a job. But what happened to that Hall of Fame swing? Babe Ruth and Tony Gwynn could swing fat. Who loses that kind of magic in his mid-20s?
“Anyone got a quarter?” Sandoval asks. Kaepernick flips him one. Panda walks to the jukebox, punches a number, stares into the lights of the box.
Then he turns and winks at his two pals, as Bruce Springsteen hits the chorus.
“Glory days, well, they’ll pass you by ...”