As the regular season entered the December frenzy, the New York Giants had already begun their planning.
Whether or not Davis Webb was the Giants' future, they knew for certain that Geno Smith was not. They needed a quarterback—one who could not only salvage their PR disaster but also lead the team through a smooth transitional period.
After much deliberation, the Giants locked their sights on Alex Smith. John Mara's plan was indeed well-crafted.
Alex Smith—dedicated, sincere, and reliable. While his ceiling might not be incredibly high, his consistency was invaluable. First, he could help the team stabilize through its transition. Second, his calm temperant ensured he wouldn't stir trouble amidst the chaos that was the New York Giants. Third, he would gracefully accept a new head coach, making the integration process much smoother.
Moreover, in Kansas City, Smith had unselfishly ntored Mahos. Now, in New York, he could do the sa for Webb.
Winning the Super Bowl was the cherry on top, perfectly tid to appease the outraged Giants fans.
The only potential issue was the salary cap.
After deciding Eli Manning was no longer the future, the remaining two years and $33 million of his contract created uncertainty over whether the Giants could offer Smith the big contract he desired—
Unless... Smith genuinely wanted to join, making concessions to create cap space for New York.
And so...
That was where "Lance" ca in, the seed planted for precisely this purpose.
John Mara's calculations were precise and forward-thinking.
Unfortunately, Lance saw right through it.
Of course, Mara might have anticipated this possibility. Even if Lance realized the manipulation, he might still go along with it for his own benefit—after all, a potential move to New York, building a good relationship with Mara, negotiating a bigger contract, and entering the elite circles of the NFL were all tempting prospects.
But would Lance really do it?
Lance looked up at Smith. He could see the excitent and anticipation in Smith's eyes, barely concealed beneath his calm deanor.
Honestly, it wasn't surprising.
This was the first ti Smith felt genuinely valued—like he was seen, wanted, and respected. He was no longer a "draft bust" or a quarterback easily discarded and replaced.
And it was the New York Giants.
Lance understood Smith's feelings. Should he just go along with it and give him the encouragent he wanted? Maybe even help John Mara's plan a little?
"To be honest, I don't think it's a good idea."
In the end, Lance couldn't force himself to lie. Smith had co to him for honest advice, and that was what he intended to give. Not empty words and false promises.
Smith was visibly stunned—he couldn't hide his surprise.
Lance shrugged slightly and continued.
"Captain, you've played in San Francisco. You know what it's like in a big market; but New York is different. The fans in that city are spoiled."
"They have so many sports teams: two baseball teams, two football teams, two basketball teams, and three hockey teams in the four major leagues."
"They love winning; they love champions. If one team starts losing, they can just abandon them and support another. It's not that they aren't loyal, it's just…"
Smith chuckled, nodding in agreent, "They're spoiled."
Lance spread his hands. "So, think about it. You go to New York with a Super Bowl glow. What do they expect?"
A championship.
There was no doubt.
Of course, Smith also wanted to win a Super Bowl; at least their goals were aligned. But was it really that simple?
Lance exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of reality. It wasn't just the state of the Giants; it was the necessity of making Smith aware of it—
Bursting his bubble of optimism.
"They just benched their quarterback of fourteen years. They fired the coach who made that decision and beca the scapegoat for it."
"To be frank, I don't think they're looking for a quarterback to lead them back to the Super Bowl. I think they're looking for a bricklayer to help them rebuild."
The words were harsh, but Lance didn't hold back.
Smith wasn't dumb; in fact, he was incredibly smart.
"Heh." Smith let out a bitter laugh. "You can say it more directly. It's fine. A scapegoat—they're looking for a scapegoat to distract the fans."
"To use as a smokescreen, to cool the fans' anger, to give them so hope. But if it fails—if we don't make it to the Super Bowl, or even the playoffs—they can just push forward to bear the bla."
"Just like McAdoo."
"In that case, I suppose I still have value. After all, they really screwed up with Eli, and I imagine it's not easy to recover from that. Shifting the bla and fixing their image is going to be a challenge."
Smith's self-deprecating remarks brought a wry smile to his face. But he noticed Lance's expression was still tight and tense.
"Is there more?"
Lance hesitated briefly but continued, "This is just my guess, but I think New York is planning to groom Davis Webb."
Smith narrowed his eyes, clearly interested.
Lance pressed on, "You know as well as I do—no team wants to waste a third-round pick. As soon as they benched Eli, it was supposed to be Webb who stepped up, not Geno. If they're bringing you in, it's not just to start gas; it's to ntor Webb."
Smith's eyes showed a flicker of realization. He couldn't deny that Lance's logic made sense.
After all, how many tis had he seen this sa story play out in the NFL?
The idea of a veteran quarterback ntoring a rookie wasn't new.
But it didn't always work out as planned. Just look at Brett Favre and Aaron Rodgers. Rodgers had to endure three grueling years under Favre, who barely gave him the ti of day.
Although that was a particularly harsh case, the competition between veteran and rookie quarterbacks was a real thing.
Smith thought about it deeply. The initial excitent had faded, and he began to see things more clearly. Lance's words had punctured the bubble of idealism, bringing him back to reality.
Smith chuckled to himself and said, "Seems like I'm worth sothing after all—like a milk cow. Eat the grass, produce the milk."
Looking at Smith's expression, Lance felt a twinge of guilt—
Smith had been so excited, and now Lance had poured cold water on that fire. Was it too harsh?
"I'm sorry, Captain," Lance said apologetically.
But Smith, surprisingly, looked relaxed. "Don't be sorry. Why should you be sorry? This is the reality of professional sports. Even if you didn't say it, it wouldn't change the truth. We're just pawns on this board. In fact, I should be thanking you. You woke up."
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