Offseason Adventures: Reggie Bush





I was in a cab on a late New York City night. I had talked about it all season, but tonight, I would finally do it. I worked up the courage to finally do it over the weekend as I looked through all my old medals and accolades. I pulled over my bag and looked inside. A grappling hook, a bag containing rocks, picklock kit, a knife, and of course, the bat man suit and equipment that I bought from Ochocinco. I put the bag back on the floor. I didn't want to make it seem too obvious what my plan was.

The cabbie brought me to the place after what felt like the longest drive. There we were, outside of the building that changed my life.

"We're here, that'll be $75.50."

I paid the cabbie. Worth every penny. I stepped out of the cab and just stared at the building, the air became thicker and it became harder for me to swallow. But my objective was clear...

I was going to get my Heisman back.

How could you blame me? I earned that trophy. I gave it back, but it was still mine. Regardless of what others think. I would either leave this building in a body bag, or with the trophy. It is who I am.

I walked over to the door, it was locked...obviously. I opened the bag and found the picklock gear. I was able to get the door open, but what about the alarm? I cracked the door, and saw across the room the panel with the alarm light twinkling that it was on. I opened the bag again, I got the grappling hook out and put it just inside the door. I shot it and it hit the alarm box. I walked in and surveyed the area, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

I began trying to figure out where the trophy would be, which proved to be a daunting task. The room was big, and it led to various other sections. The auditorium, the offices, the janitor's closet, stairs. Which door should I take? Where would I go from there?

Suddenly, I heard a voice coming from the auditorium. It called for me, and I grew more terrified with every call. Why was someone calling me? How would they know it was me who broke in?

I opened the door to the auditorium, expecting to have to turn myself in. When I see a shadowy old man.

"Who are you?"

"My name is John Heisman, and I'm going to help you find the Heisman."

"Why would you do that?"

"What else would people remember you by, your NFL career? BAHAHAHAHA."

"Then where do I go?"

"Through that door back there, the Heisman lies behind 3 tasks. First, you must make your way down a long tunnel. Second, you must get past the guardians of the trophy. Finally, the trophy lies on a pedestal. However, unless you remove it correctly, you will surely die."

"Ok, I will do it. Wish me luck."

I walked through the auditorium, to the back door. Then when I opened it, I saw the ghost of Heisman standing at the end of the tunnel.

"You must make it past this tunnel to find the guardians."

"That doesn't seem tough."

"You must make it here in 4.5 seconds or the tunnel will collapse."

"4.5 seconds? But how will I be able to run east-west in a narrow tunnel with time constraints?"

"Heh, good luck."

I didn't know what to do. Run north-south? There's no way I can do that. There must be another way.

Suddenly, I started hearing a voice in my head.

"Use your legs Reg."

"Who is that?"

"Use your legs Reg."

"Is that you Heisman?"

"No, it's me! Payton!"

"Coach? How are you talking to me?"

"Dunno. I'm currently on a juicy fruit-vicodin high. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. But you should just use your legs to run straight to make it through this tunnel."

"Thanks for believing in me coach."

"No problem Reg. Hey can I ask you a question?"

"Uh, sure coach."

"Did you ever notice that my angry looking?"

"Bye coach"

I stretch my legs a bit, get in a tracker's stance, and take off. I run as fast as I can, I feel like time itself is slowing. I run past Heisman into the next room. I did it! I can't believe it. But before I had time to congratulate myself I realized I had to deal with the guardians.

"Who dares to try and go past us?"

"Cam Newton? Mark Ingram? Sam Bradford? Tim Tebow? Troy Smith? You guys are the guardians?"

"Yes, we are."

"Cool, then you guys can let me past right?"

They each pull out a blade.

"You cannot pass, under any circumstance."

I back up and open the bag and grab the blade from the bat man kit. And I begin to battle them one by one.

Newton was easy, you just had to bribe him to get him to stop.

Ingram was personal, because if the Saints drafted him, I was as good as gone.

Tebow was the easiest of them all. Before the battle, I started saying a few prayers and he forgot about the battle and went and formed a prayer circle.

Then, came Troy Smith. As far as I could tell, Smith had no weaknesses. I had to duel him, for the Heisman, my pride, but  mostly the Heisman. We are about to fight and then I scream...


He drops his blade and begins to cry. I walk past him and into the next room. Victory was mine. I just had to get the trophy.

When I walk in, I can see it right in front of me. It looks the same as it always did. But I begin looking for traps. What could possibly kill me? Then, I remember the bag of rocks in my bag. I go up to the pedestal, planning to pull a quick switch-a-roo before the system kicks on. I just needed to do it slowly. Then I stopped. This seemed...familiar. Then I realized, why don't I just hide in the corner after I knock down the trophy with the rocks? I would be safer. So I did just that. Then, when the giant boulder came and the poison arrows started flying, I was safely tucked away in a nook.

When the traps stopped, I picked up the trophy and jumped out the nearest window. I used my grappling hook to get down to the ground. It was now morning, and it was a new day. A better day, and a brighter future. I, Reggie Bush, had my Heisman back. I was no longer "Reggie Bust" I was now "Reggie Bust-Heisman winner*".


(All people referred to in this post are fantasy creations of my mind and are not real.)

This FanPost was written by a reader and member of Canal Street Chronicles. It does not necessarily reflect the views of CSC and its staff or editors.

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