American Adventure: My Uncle is Don Quixote

"My opinion?" Li Wei suddenly chuckled. "Can I cuss?"

"And if I say no?" John Mara’s expression didn’t change in the slightest.

"Then I have nothing to say," Li Wei said.

John Mara didn’t seem surprised by Li Wei’s response. He stood up, walked over to the liquor cabinet, and selected a bottle of high-proof whiskey for himself.

Seeing this, an assistant started to step forward to help John Mara but was curtly dismissed.

"Go get me a whiskey stone," he ordered. "And bring me a glass."

He opened the cabinet door himself, carried the whiskey back, and plopped down across from Li Wei. He stretched out a frail arm and twisted the cap off the bottle.

The assistant returned with the glass and placed it in front of John Mara.

"The Dallas Cowboys, the Philadelphia Eagles... and some people in the NFL Alliance, the Las Vegas betting lines," John Mara said, seemingly talking to himself, yet also addressing Li Wei. "They started expressing their displeasure with me last month, and it’s continued to this day."

Li Wei watched Mara’s trembling arm as he held the bottle. He suddenly reached out to steady it, preventing the quivering liquor from splashing out of the glass.

"Because I blew them out?" he asked, staring at Mara.

"More or less," John Mara said, his eyes fixed on the liquor. "You’ve basically sealed the victory in the first two quarters, causing viewership ratings for the third and fourth quarters to drop. The same goes for the betting lines."

After pouring himself a glass of whiskey, John Mara raised it, downed it in one go, and let out a sigh of satisfaction.

"I just saw from the window that the stadium has cleared out," he said suddenly. "Care to join me for a walk downstairs?"

"I don’t mind," Li Wei said, looking at John Mara, "but your health..."

John Mara was a man over seventy, and he had cancer.

"My body’s holding up," he said with a low, raspy laugh. "At least for now, the whiskey gives me strength."

He grabbed a cane from beside the sofa and used it to push himself to his feet.

In the private elevator heading to the ground floor, Li Wei and Mara stood side by side, listening intently to the mechanical hum.

Li Wei’s mind was racing.

’John Mara’s attitude about this whole incident seems a bit ambiguous.’

’If he had really made up his mind, he could have used any number of rules to legally and justifiably bench me, like a medical report from the team doctor, citing potential risks, and so on.’

’But instead, he came to ask for my opinion and even invited me for a walk on the field. Does this mean he hasn’t decided whether to accept the conditions others are offering?’

The elevator doors opened onto an internal corridor on the first floor, and a blast of late-autumn cold air rushed in.

By now, the fans and players had all left the stadium, which could hold over 80,000 people. The post-game hallway felt vast and desolate.

A few janitors and security guards cleaning the corridor saw John Mara and immediately stopped what they were doing, standing aside with reserved expressions.

But when Mara spotted one of the security guards, a man with graying hair, he suddenly stopped and walked over, patting him on the shoulder.

"Good evening, old Marcus," he asked cheerfully. "How’s your granddaughter been lately? Is her asthma any better?"

The security guard, Marcus, felt a surge of pride at being called out by name by Mara in front of everyone.

He puffed out his chest, subtly glanced at the other guards, and said loudly, "Much better, thank you for asking, Mr. Mara."

"That’s good. If she’s not feeling well, have the team doctor prescribe her something," Mara nodded, then suddenly asked, "How long have you been with the Giants?"

"It’ll be exactly 35 years this year, sir," old Marcus said with emotion. "Thirty-five whole years."

"I hope the Giants haven’t disappointed you," Mara said, looking at old Marcus’s white hair. "We’re having a good season, aren’t we?"

"Incredible, sir," old Marcus said. "If my father were alive, he’d be proud of tonight’s victory."

Mara gave a slight nod and continued walking, leaning on his cane.

Along the way, whether it was an old grounds crew member or an equipment manager, he could accurately call them by name and even casually ask about their families.

He was like a true feudal lord, surveying his domain and checking on the subjects within his castle.

Passing through the players’ tunnel, the two of them stepped onto the artificial turf of MetLife Stadium.

The massive floodlights high above had been extinguished, leaving only a few faint green turf-maintenance lamps that made the immensely expensive, modern stadium feel somewhat desolate. A cold wind blew through the empty stands, creating a sound like a mournful echo.

Mara’s free hand, the one not holding the cane, was tucked into the pocket of his cashmere overcoat. He walked to the center of the massive blue team logo at the fifty-yard line, his leather shoes making a rustling sound as they pressed against the turf.

"Since it was built and opened in 2010," he said, stamping his foot on the turf beneath him, "did you know? This is already the Giants’ fourth home stadium."

"I know," Li Wei said. "The one before this was the old Giants Stadium, and before that was Yankee Stadium."

"The very first was the Polo Grounds, but that was too long ago. I never even went there," Mara chuckled. "I just remember when we moved our home field to Yankee Stadium in 1956. We won the championship that year. I was just a kid then, but I still remember my father taking me to watch the games every day."

"Before you know it, the New York Giants will have a hundred-year history," he mused. "We’re the team with the most championship game appearances in all of NFL history. In 2007, we beat the New England Patriots, who were on an 18-game winning streak, to take the Super Bowl. Then, four years later, we beat them again to win another Super Bowl."

As he spoke, he broke into a hearty laugh.

"Telling me all this," Li Wei said suddenly, looking at Mara’s profile, "you’re actually very conflicted, aren’t you?"

"Haha," John Mara laughed. "Yes, Li Wei. Yes, I’m very conflicted."

"At my age," he said, pulling off his gloves and studying the age spots on the back of his hand, "does money even have meaning to me anymore?"

Silence.

In the vast stadium, even the wind seemed to stop for a moment.

Suddenly, a wracking cough erupted from his frail chest.

He bent over in pain, pressing a white handkerchief tightly to his mouth as his body trembled violently.

After coughing for a good thirty seconds, he straightened up, folded the handkerchief, and tucked it into his coat pocket as if nothing had happened. He then bent down himself to pick up the cane that had just fallen onto the turf.

"So you don’t actually care about their threats," Li Wei said suddenly. "Because the things they’re threatening you with are meaningless to you."

"No, I care," Mara said calmly. "I’m fucking furious."

It was the first time Li Wei had ever heard Mara swear.

He could certainly understand Mara’s anger. During John Mara’s middle-aged years, the New York Giants were an absolute powerhouse, a titan of the league. They won the Super Bowl four times—in 1986, 1990, 2007, and 2011—basking in glory. In the NFL Alliance, their word was law.

But perhaps teams, like people, grow old. For the better part of the last decade, they had only managed a winning season once; the rest of the time, they were getting steamrolled by other teams.

You could say John Mara had spent half his life looking down on the other team owners, only to spend nearly the last ten years of his old age with them looking down on him.

"So, should we go for something big?" Li Wei asked. "An undefeated streak for the Giants through the regular season and playoffs, culminating in another Super Bowl after all these years. What do you think?"

Mara suddenly smiled.

He turned his head to look at Li Wei. "Have you thought this through?" he asked. "You should know, some of them are using the rules to pressure me. If you don’t rotate, I’ll have to rotate other players. It’s going to be tough for you on the field."

"But what if I win?"

"If you can maintain your previous dominance, even if you just win one more time against Tampa Bay," John Mara said, "then we can piss all over their faces. No matter what demands we make, they’ll have no choice but to hold their noses and accept it."

"After all," he said with a faint smile, "those shareholders, advertisers, and big casinos won’t let them have an easy time of it."

"Sounds like you’re really fired up today," Li Wei chuckled. "I’ve been thinking about starting a little side business recently."

"The sports drink, right? I’ll fight to get you the compensation you deserve," John Mara said, tapping the turf with his cane. "But everything hinges on you winning. Be careful. Even the referees might be on their side."

"Doesn’t matter," Li Wei said. "I’ll win."

After saying goodbye to John Mara, Li Wei drove home to enjoy his evening.

「Meanwhile」

Just having left the office after working overtime, Jin Heon was now standing on a street in the Upper East Side, silently studying a small French-style villa before her.

The New York streets in late autumn carried a bone-chilling cold, but she seemed completely unaware of it, her gaze fixed only on the villa.

In front of the wrought-iron gate, though it was a far cry from the magnificent spring scene she remembered, with flowers overflowing from the yard, the meticulously trimmed ivy and the floor-to-ceiling windows glowing with warm, orange light were still perfect in her eyes.

"It’s so beautiful," she murmured to herself.

She had first seen it when she had just started college, on her way to a Korean tutoring job she happened to find in the Upper East Side.

She clearly remembered it was a spring morning. She was eighteen, and on her first visit to the neighborhood, she had been captivated by the flowers in the villa’s front yard.

Back then, vast swaths of flowers had filled the entire yard, even spilling over the wrought-iron gate.

It was, quite simply, the most beautiful house she had ever seen in her life.

Later, she looked it up. Although this particular house wasn’t listed on any real estate websites, the prices of the neighboring houses served as a reference.

In New York, she probably couldn’t save up enough money for it even in a hundred years.

But that didn’t stop her from saving the location, coming over to look at it whenever she had free time, and fantasizing about when she might be able to move in.

Now, almost four years later, it was still the one thing she wanted most in her life.

She wanted it so much that just looking at the villa and briefly imagining the days after owning it was enough to make her feel content.

After she had been studying it for a while, her phone suddenly rang.