The Seahawks

2008: "23 Reasons a Profile of Pete Carroll Does Not Appear in this Space" by J.R. Moehringer

19. TO WRITE A PROFILE THAT'S ACCURATE, I'D BE OBLIGATED TO DESCRIBE A BIZARRE AND HUMILIATING CONTEST OF WILLS BETWEEN THE COACH AND ME

Carroll is part camel. It's the only explanation. After a morning of meetings, followed by a speech to a booster group, we return to campus. It's unseasonably warm. I fantasize about a dozen glasses of cool water lined up before me. Looking at my watch, I calculate 18 hours since he's ingested any type of liquid. I couldn't be more parched if I were trailing around after T.E. Lawrence. I mention my ravenous, desperate thirst to Carroll. He sighs, guides me to a minifridge in the assistant coaches' locker room, grabs me a cold Gatorade. My mouth waters as start to unscrew the cap.

Aren't you going to have one? I ask.

Nah.

Really?

I hesitate.

Well, I say, I'm not having one until you do. I set down the Gatorade.

He warns me not to make it a competition. If I make it a competition, he'll die before he takes another drink. (Later he explains it this way: "What I am is a competitor. That's what I am. My whole life, everything I can ever remember, I've been competitive-competitive for friendships, competitive for love, competitive for sports, competitive for heroship, competitive for everything and battling for everything. When I throw my gum away, I'm trying to land it on the line.") Clearly I don't want to get into a thirst-off with this man. Nothing good can come of that. I take a sip of Gatorade. The cool orange flavor runs down the back of my throat, and I almost weep with pleasure.

That night I get a text message. I don't recognize the number. But it doesn't take long to figure out who it's from.

still haven't had anything to drink.

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