This is being reported as a real thing that actually happened. I have my doubts of course, but this is Jameis Winston we're talking about - the guy's working with less than a full palette.
“You bring unspeakable honor to that horsey on your helmet. Majestic. Divine.”
Bo blinked, unsure how to process their interaction so far, but Jameis didn’t leave room for awkward silence.
“Listen, young stallion,” Jameis began, leaning closer. “You’ve got greatness written all over you, but if you want to take it to the next level, you’ve gotta let me bestow some knowledge. I’m talking sacred lore.”
“Oh God, that would be amazing.” Bo said, cautiously intrigued.
Jameis took a deep breath, "First off, stop blinking. I learned this early in my career. Used to squint… big mistake. Now? Wide eyes, unbroken stare. Look into your receiver’s soul. Make him feel seen. Make him feel loved. Make him feel God. When your eyes are so dry that all you see is darkness? That’s God telling you it’s working.”
“Right... keep my eyes on the prize. Got it,” Bo said, trying to nod along.
“Second, you looked scared throwing the ball tonight. That’s mental shackles, my guy. You gotta embrace the chaos. You think Picasso painted masterpieces without splashing some paint on the floor? Be the Picasso of turnovers, Bo. Tonight I was the Michelangelo of turnovers, and that’s why y’all lost the style battle.” He jabbed a finger into Bo’s chest pad for emphasis.
“...In God’s eyes. He don’t care about turnovers. He could be anywhere on earth watching aurora borealises, but he’s here watching you throw. Make sure it’s a completion, a catch is a catch and a score is a score in HIS eyes. Even if it’s to a guy showering in a different locker room.”
Bo, thoroughly confused, opened his mouth to reply, but Jameis steamrolled onward. “Pineapple juice,” he said abruptly.
“On you at all times. Keep it in your socks, your pockets, wherever. Hydration through osmosis. Science hasn’t caught up yet, but when it does, remember where you heard it. From me. From God.”
“I’m learning a lot,” Bo said, nervously glancing around for an escape.
“That’s just the appetizer, my battle angel.” Jameis clapped a hand on Bo’s shoulder with unsettling force.
“Now, about the sidelines… you’re too quiet. Your team doesn’t want to hear the coaches. They want to hear you. You gotta squawk, my guy. Pick a bird call. Mine’s the osprey.” He tilted his head back and unleashed a piercing screech that echoed across the field, drawing startled looks from nearby security guards.
As the last note of the screech faded, Jameis’s expression turned grave. He leaned in, his voice a low whisper. “One last thing, Bo. Don’t trust the mascot. They know too much. Real horseys keep your secrets. But that guy?” He gestured toward the Broncos mascot.
“He’s just a man pretending to be a horse. Don’t tell him about the thing you did at FSU. I learned the hard way with a pirate down by the Bay.”
Without another word, Jameis spun on his heel and strode into the night, leaving Bo standing in stunned silence, unsure if he’d just been blessed, cursed, or recruited into a cult.
Stop blinking?
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