“Sir, you can go now.”
Grady Wolcott walked out of Dunmoor Coliseum through four thousand people and it took him about forty seconds and nobody said anything to him.
I didn’t watch. I was still down on one knee.
Here’s the rest of it.
He was not entirely wrong about there being money involved, and I want to include this because it’s the part that makes it real instead of a story.
Amari signs with a Division I program in the fall. There’s an NIL package attached to it that is not life-changing but is more money than I made in the first six years of raising him.
Grady’s messages in January had started to include the words “manage” and “family office” and “before you sign anything.”
On the fourth of February, Grady Wolcott’s assistant contacted a collective and represented Grady as Amari’s father. Not adoptive parent. Father.
That’s a real thing that happened and it’s why Amari finally answered him. He answered on the eighth of February with one line: Come to the state final on March 14th.
