The Price of Confidence

Summer light lay across UC Irvine's practice field. The Angels cheer squad had no finished choreography yet, only a line formation and enough experience to make the first appearance look deliberate. Their white-and-gold uniforms caught the sun; the crowd noticed before the players did. Then a drill stalled, heads turned, and Holmgren's shout carried across the field.

"You have work to do!"

The linemen returned to their assignments. Reid watched the squad for another moment.

"That might become a distraction," he said.

"Then write the boundaries into camp policy," Nolan replied. "No staff member or player approaches a performer during work. The same rule applies to everyone."

He wanted the squad to be a recognizable part of the Angels, but they were employees, not a perk for the roster. Kelsey had already reported that the first uniform needed better ventilation and a fuller range of sizes. Nolan told her to put the changes in writing and send them to the designer.

On the field, Edgerrin James drove through the obstacle course with the ball tucked tight. He cleared a barrier, changed direction, and finished well ahead of the other running backs. The coaches had known his college tape was special; seeing his acceleration in an Angels jersey made the draft trade feel less theoretical.

Champ Bailey offered the opposite impression. He spent too much of the session standing apart from the corners. Rhodes called him over twice before he moved.

"This team might win two games," Bailey said, loud enough for the nearest players to hear. "Why pretend otherwise?"

Rhodes stepped toward him. "Because the men next to you are trying to build something."

Bailey had expected Washington to take him. His girlfriend worked near Maryland, and Los Angeles meant beginning again with an expansion roster. Several teammates from smaller programs had already beaten long odds to get this far, but he saw unfamiliar college names and decided they were beneath him. A loose ball rolled near him; he kicked it toward the stands in frustration. Rhodes caught the front of his jersey. Bailey shoved the coach away. Holmgren moved between them before it went further.

Nolan heard the last exchange as he crossed the grass. He could not dismiss Bailey's conduct without weakening Rhodes, and he could not ignore the cost of acquiring a seventh overall pick. There was also the unsigned contract. The club and Bailey's representatives had discussed five years and twelve million dollars. Bailey also wanted a five-million-dollar signing bonus; that demand remained unresolved.

"You wanted another team," Nolan said when the group had quieted. "I understand. That doesn't make this room a collection of failures. Rucker came from Nebraska. Coleman played at East Carolina. Ayanbadejo was at UCLA. I came from Alabama. And the players who came through smaller schools still earned their invitations."

Bailey glanced across the line. He knew Nolan's college career well enough not to argue the point.

"You think you're faster than anyone here?" Nolan asked. "Fine. Run against me. Then we go back to work."

Bailey stared. "You're serious?"

"I am. No excuses about who's running practice afterward."

The coaches cleared a lane. Camp spectators lifted cameras; even the cheer squad paused. Nolan had no certainty he could win. Bailey was among the quickest men in the draft, and Nolan was a quarterback who had spent the offseason doing more contract work than sprints. But he knew his start, and he knew Bailey expected the race to be easy.

They broke together. Nolan stayed close through the first steps and caught Bailey near the finish. He crossed first by a margin small enough to leave both men breathing hard. Belinda, returning with a bottle of water, missed the run and found Kristen staring at the lane.

"What happened?"

"He raced the corner," Kristen said. "And won."

Bailey looked from the finish mark to Nolan. Whatever explanation he had prepared no longer helped him.

"Still think everyone else is holding you back?" Nolan asked.

"No."

"Good. Now the part that matters." Nolan called Rhodes over. "A coach cannot grab a player's jersey in anger. A player cannot shove a coach or tear down his teammates in public. Both of you crossed a line. You each answer to the club's disciplinary process, and we put the football work back in your hands."

Rhodes acknowledged his part. Bailey did too, though not happily. Nolan would not invent a fine from a contract the rookie had not signed.

"And the signing bonus?" Bailey asked when the others drifted away.

"Your agent has our offer: a million to sign, with the rest of the five-year deal as negotiated. Five million is too much for a rookie. Take it to him."

Bailey gave a reluctant smile. His representatives finished the agreement after reviewing the terms. The rest of the draft class had signed before camp, many of their contracts carrying performance provisions. James and Bailey were the only rookies above two million dollars a year; Armstrong's calculations put the drafted players near ten million in annual salary. The remaining roster added roughly another ten million. That made about twenty million dollars against a $57.3 million salary cap, with Nolan's own contract still to settle. His operational role gave him no current ownership vote or dividend claim.

Ovitz visited for the camp press conference that afternoon and let Nolan handle most of the questions. Bonnie Bernstein asked about the cheer squad.

"Are you trying to make them the West Coast's answer to the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders?"

"We're building an Angels identity," Nolan said. "Kelsey has done this work at the highest level, and she deserves room to lead it here."

"Is Kelsey here because of a personal relationship?"

"Her employment terms and work are club business. Our private lives aren't."

A Fox reporter asked for a season prediction. Nolan looked toward the field, where the offense was still learning to line up at full speed.

"We're new. Every unit has to learn the others. A playoff berth would be a strong first season, but I'm not asking anyone to believe it because I said it at a microphone."

The first camp turnout was respectable, not close to the crowds Dallas drew. Southern California had established sports loyalties; the Angels would have to earn attention. Nolan invited fans to visit the open sessions and see the work themselves.

Afterward, he sat with Ovitz over the immediate bills. Housing, meals, and a month of facility time at Irvine came to about $1.5 million. It was not an indulgence. Camp required a place where a hundred people could train and live. Ovitz signed off after Katherine showed him the itemized estimate.

The negotiation over Nolan's own compensation was less comfortable. Dallas had paid him nine million dollars a year. Now he wanted twenty-five million. Added to the other players' projected twenty million, that would bring the roster's salary to about forty-five million, still below the $57.3 million cap. Ovitz still had to fund the club's daily operations. Nolan, meanwhile, saw how much of the available player payroll his own contract would claim.

"You want to be the league's highest-paid player before this team has won a game," Ovitz said.

"You're paying for the player you signed and the risk I'm taking on this line. Judge it against the cap and the rest of the roster, not against what Dallas used to pay me."

"And if we miss the playoffs?"

"Then we sit across this table again with the record in front of us."

Ovitz accepted the player salary, but warned that a league-leading price came with a performance test. If the Angels missed the playoffs, he would reconsider their arrangement. Nolan understood that retirement might bring the future stake they had discussed; it did not guarantee him a place on the field or an unlimited salary now.

That evening Grace arrived with a laundry bill. Nolan proposed that a local service company bid for camp work and, if league rules permitted, receive a clearly defined camp-service credit in exchange. Lisa could help find other lawful local partners. Neither arrangement would replace cash the club actually owed.

Kelsey brought the uniform notes next. She and Nolan reviewed them, then he sent her back to the squad's residence. He was staying in a camp room himself and expected to follow the rule against overnight guests.

His phone rang again after she left. Gisele had called from London.

"How long are you going to keep saying you'll visit?"

"I can leave after the first camp sessions. The coaches have the preseason plan."

"That's an actual date?"

"As close as I can give you."

After three more days at Irvine, he handed the daily club decisions to Katherine and flew to London. It was a short visit, partly to see Gisele and partly to review the modeling agency's contracts. On August 14, while he was away, the Angels played Tampa Bay at the Rose Bowl.

Reid and Holmgren installed a West Coast passing plan; Rhodes leaned on tight coverage. The defensive front managed stretches of decent work. The offense had neither the timing nor the experience to match a veteran Buccaneers unit. Short routes arrived late, protection broke, and James found little space. Cunningham's field goal supplied the Angels' only points. Tampa Bay won 30-3.

Reid called London as soon as the game ended. Nolan had expected a loss; thirty points to three still landed hard.

"They need you back," Reid said.

Gisele saw his face when he hung up. "You're leaving already?"

"Not tonight. I promised you two days, and I meant it. Then I have to be there."

She was angry for a moment, then let it go. He had kept her waiting too long; the team had been waiting too. They would have their two days. After that, camp would get its quarterback back.