HE'D REHEARSED THIS moment in his mind thousands of times.

Pop off the bench like you're sitting on a spring. Tear off your warm-ups, toss them aside and trot to the scorer's table.

Lean against it? Sit on the floor? Kneel?

Pull the strings on your shorts tight and tuck in your jersey. Adjust your headband and make sure your shoes are tied tight. Not that tight.

Listen for your name echoing through the speakers, hoping the announcer says it correctly.

Checking in for the Clippers, JamesOn Curry.

Savor the moment. Look around the arena, and in this one, see the numbers hanging from the rafters. Maybe dream about yours hanging somewhere someday. Take a deep breath, snap back to the present and call out your assignment. Take your spot on the floor, wait for the whistle to blow, and officially begin your NBA career. Three-point-nine seconds are left on the clock.

You made it. You fulfilled a promise to yourself and your family. You are playing in the NBA.

Three seconds.

Get in your defensive stance. The clock is running, your name is in a box score now.

Two seconds.

Stay with your man. Do your job.

One second.

Another second passes and the buzzer sounds. Run back toward the bench and get in the huddle. You don't know it at the time, but you won't step foot on an NBA court in a game again.

"We just don't recognize the most significant moments of our lives while they're happening. Back then I thought, 'Well, there'll be other days.' I didn't realize that that was the only day."

-- Archibald "Moonlight" Graham, "Field of Dreams"

INSIDE BOSTON'S TD GARDEN, the Los Angeles Clippers had just witnessed a one-point halftime lead transform into a five-point third-quarter deficit.

It is Jan. 25, 2010, and, headlined by Baron Davis, Marcus Camby and Chris Kaman, the Clippers are 20-23, four games out of the Western Conference's No. 8 seed. DeAndre Jordan is in his second year. They're one year away from Blake Griffin's debut, two years away from Lob City.

The Celtics are 28-13 and the juggernaut of the Eastern Conference -- led by Rajon Rondo, Ray Allen, Paul Pierce and Kevin Garnett -- that would go on to lose in seven games to Kobe Bryant and the Los Angeles Lakers in the NBA Finals.

Rondo draws a foul with 3.9 seconds remaining in the third quarter when Clippers head coach Mike Dunleavy yells from his perch on the sideline.

Called up three days earlier on a 10-day contract, Curry checks in.

Wearing No. 44, he jogs onto the court. He's guarding Rondo, who maneuvers toward the baseline under the basket. The Celtics inbound, Pierce swings the ball to Allen who takes a couple dribbles into the paint. Rondo drifts a few steps to his left to clear the way for Allen's drive. Curry stays next to him. Allen loses the handle on the ball and can't get his shot up before the buzzer sounds. Curry is still there, right next to his man.

"It was the quickest four seconds ever," Curry said after the game. "I wish it would've lasted longer. Being out there, I just felt like a regular person, felt like a regular basketball player. I felt like I was home, like this is where I belong."

To start the fourth, Jordan subs in for Curry, who sits on the bench for the rest of the 95-89 loss. The Clippers waive him 12 hours later.

He didn't take a shot. He didn't grab a rebound. He didn't touch the ball. According to Basketball Reference, there have been nine players who have appeared in only one career game and played a minute or less. None played less than Curry's 3.9 seconds.

NEARLY 10 YEARS later, Curry has nothing from the night he took the court for the Clippers. He doesn't know what he did with the jersey or the shoes or the headband he used.

He looks the same now as he did as a player, a wiry 6-foot-3 guard with a charming grin and an electric demeanor. His name is one part for his great uncle James, and another for his father Leon.

Curry talks fast and bounces around topics at hyperspeed. He reads everything, and like a living college paper he cites each randomly dropped quote midflow. Something from T. Harv Eker's "Secrets of the Millionaire Mind" here, or Napoleon Hill's "Laws of Success in Sixteen Lessons" there. Curry's mind hums non-stop.

His phone is full of notes, quotes, thoughts, poems, songs he has written only for himself. He has a list of goals for the year, two above the rest: get married and buy a house.

He's 33 years old now and hasn't played professional basketball in five years.

"You know, if you think about it," Curry says now with a smile, "I'm probably the highest-paid player per second in NBA history."

That kind of optimistic perspective wasn't always there. There was once a feeling of shame and embarrassment about where he'd been and what he'd done. His dream had betrayed him, turning a chosen one to a cheap piece of trivia immortalized on YouTube.

He rose, he fell, he would be broke, he would be broken. But basketball would find a way to change JamesOn Curry's life, just not in the way he ever thought it would.

A BASKETBALL PRODIGY at Eastern Alamance High School in Mebane, North Carolina, Curry was the kind of talent that seemed chosen by a higher power, destined for greatness: a pure jumper, a tight handle and a feel for the game that's gifted and never learned.

He was a five-star recruit putting up 40.3 points a game, committed to play at the University of North Carolina since his sophomore year.

A newspaper sent a photographer to chronicle his senior season. A UNC fan site traveled to all his games to relay glowing reports of what Tar Heels fans could expect from their super-recruit.

He stood toe-to-toe with other top players from the state, including Chris Paul, whom Curry outshone at the 2002 Hampton Five Star Camp (The "yo-yo dribble" CP3 does to perfection? Curry claims he taught him that at the camp, though Curry gives original credit to streetball legend and former NBA veteran Rafer Alston, who taught him.)

Curry was becoming a state scoring legend. With Lawrence "Cotton" Clayton in the house, the former state all-time scorer, Curry dropped 65 points against Western Alamance in January, then 54 against High Points Andrews five days later.

On the night of Feb. 3, 2004, in a packed gym against crosstown rival Graham, Curry erupted for 47 points, adding to his then-state-record total of 3,307 career points -- more than Michael Jordan, David Thompson and James Worthy (Curry's record was broken by Chicago Bulls rookie Coby White in 2016). The Eagles were undefeated in conference and were hosting Northwood in a couple days.

The next morning, Curry was in art class when he was called into the principal's office. Sheriff's deputies were waiting inside.

He thought they just wanted autographs. They placed him in handcuffs instead.

While he was lighting up the Red Devils, law enforcement officials were prepping a warrant for Curry's arrest; he was one of 60 students from six different high schools in the Alamance-Burlington district arrested as part of a drug sting. Three of his teammates were also arrested.

"I was hustling, I ain't going to lie." JamesOn Curry

Curry had been caught selling marijuana to an undercover police officer, who was posing as a student and had a hidden camera in the strap of a backpack -- two deals in the fall, one in the bathroom after first period and another in the parking lot three weeks later. His total take was $95.

He was charged with six felony counts of possessing marijuana and selling it on school grounds. He pleaded guilty to all of them.

A judge suspended his sentence, placed him on probation for 36 months and ordered him to perform 200 hours of community service. He was kicked off the basketball team and expelled.

North Carolina rescinded its scholarship.

On May 5, 2004, three months after his arrest and 20 days before his graduation from an alternative school in the area, he committed to Oklahoma State, picking it over Memphis and Cincinnati. Curry made the most of his second chance.

His freshman year, in 2004-05, he sparked a run in Madison Square Garden in a win against No. 4 Syracuse. Dick Vitale called him a Diaper Dandy. The Cowboys won the Big 12 and reached the Sweet 16. The Tar Heels won the title.

Everywhere he played, Curry heard the heckles and the chants -- "James-On Crack!" was the most popular one. He started all 33 games as a sophomore, averaging 13.5 points and 4.0 assists. As a junior he averaged 17.3 points and 3.7 assists, making third team all-conference and drawing interest from NBA teams.

Against the advice of head coach Eddie Sutton, he declared for the draft.

The Chicago Bulls, who played a part in persuading Curry to leave school with a rumored promise they'd take him, selected him in 51st overall in the 2007 draft and immediately sent him to the D-League.

"I wasn't worried about getting picked," Curry says.

Another call-up, another demotion, another incident. At the D-League Showcase in January 2008 in Boise, Idaho, during his first season of professional basketball, he was caught by a police officer urinating in an alley outside of his hotel at 2:30 a.m. He ran and was arrested and cited for two misdemeanors. He was suspended one game.

A month later, he was called up again. On a road trip in February of his rookie season, Bulls coach Scott Skiles told the team the next practice was an open tryout. Curry was ready. He dominated the scrimmage with this passing and scoring. He thought he'd get his chance. Skiles pulled him aside after practice.

"You'll be the best player in the D-League," Curry remembers Skiles telling him.

Maybe it was supposed to be an insult, maybe it was a compliment, but Curry was crushed. The Bulls waived Curry after the season.

He blames some of it on the incident at the D-League Showcase and some of it on missing a team flight to New York because he got lost in Chicago driving to the airport. His past left him little margin for error. "This isn't the only reason, but that's a big reason I'm not in the NBA," he says. "When I missed that flight, it really messed things up."

After a brief time with pro teams in France and Cyprus, he returned to the D-League, playing for the Springfield Armor in Massachusetts. He was the Armor's first call-up when the Clippers signed him in 2010.

After he was released, he played two more seasons for Springfield, making the D-League All-Star team in 2012. He was maybe the best player in that game, scoring 25 points for the East. He thought for sure another call-up was coming.

"We had three call-ups that season," says then-Armor coach Bob MacKinnon, "and I thought JamesOn would be the next guy. It still bothers me to this day that he didn't."

After another stint in Europe -- Italy, this time -- Curry came back to the Armor in 2013, and then was traded to the Bakersfield Jam in 2014. Before that season, he was arrested in Midwest City, Oklahoma, for marijuana possession. He pleaded guilty and the charge was reduced to a misdemeanor.

He suffered a season-ending ankle injury in March 2014 and was waived for the final time in his pro career.

"The NBA's funny. There are what, 450 jobs?" MacKinnon says. "And in my mind, if you take the top 200 to 250 players and the next 150 to 200, you can interchange those out with the next group of guys and the NBA wouldn't change.

"JamesOn was on that next group of guys and, unfortunately, because he had a reputation, that's what hurt him. If you're going to overcome a bad rep, you've got to be really, really good.

"It's easy to get a rep. It's hard to get rid of one."

IT IS OCTOBER 2014 and Curry is living in Edmond, a suburb 15 miles north of Oklahoma City. His girlfriend, Christy, is from there. They met as freshmen at Oklahoma State and have three children together.

Riding as a passenger in a silver Cadillac with its tail lights out, he is pulled over near the campus of the University of Central Oklahoma at 1 a.m. when an officer finds marijuana and a handgun. He tells the officer his name is James Davis.

He is charged with two felony counts: possession of a controlled dangerous substance with intent to distribute within 2,000 feet of a school and false impersonation. He pleads not guilty.

With that case still open, in February 2015 he is arrested again for possession of another controlled dangerous substance -- this time Alprazolam, better known as Xanax.

"I was hustling," Curry says now. "I ain't going to lie."

After months of the cases bouncing around in court, he accepts a deal and pleads guilty to all charges. More felony convictions. Starting in April 2016, he serves 10 consecutive weekends in Oklahoma county jail, plus 40 hours of community service.

Curry doesn't like to go into much detail about it -- those were the "dark days," as he calls them. He points to his left eye where there's a scar across his upper cheekbone. He got it in a scuffle in Tulsa, where someone hit him and a wristwatch cut him.

"All that thug s---, yes. Hood s---, yes. But I'm not some bad guy," Curry says. "Ain't no stealing, no killing, none of that. Some selling, some hustling, that s--- I did."

With his life legally complicated, his relationship with Christy in flux and a belief of being targeted by police in Oklahoma, Curry moves back to North Carolina to try to reset his post-basketball life in the fall of 2016. He concedes now he was just running from his problems.

"It was a bad eight months," he says.

Curry comes from a large, tight-knit family with siblings and aunts and uncles. Being back home, driving the country roads, smelling the tobacco-drenched air from the nearby fields, might give him something sturdy, he thinks.

Being back around his grandmother, Georgia Parker, whom he describes as his spiritual guiding light, could recenter his life. He's still training and thinking maybe there's one more comeback in him.

It is April 2017. After a late-night workout, he's driving down Highway 49 in his dad's white Nissan pickup. It is around midnight and he is on his way to Johnny Brewer's, the only store open outside of Pleasant Grove. He wants a cigar.

He drops his phone. He reaches down to grab it.

"Looked up. Wheel turned, it flipped," Curry says now. "Of course, they thought I was drinking."

The truck is on its side, propped up in a ditch by scraggly roadside bushes. Every window is smashed, the cab is turned inside out. He had dislocated his ribs, broken his back and had blood pouring from his head. He remembers a man walking up to his truck as Curry crawled out and stood up.

Wiping blood from his eyes and his breaths short and staggered, Curry had asked the man to drive him home.

"You look bad, bud," Curry recalls the man saying. "But if you can make it to me, bud, I'll take you home."

The next thing he remembers is waking up in the emergency room. Two steel rods are implanted in his back, with two eight-inch scars running parallel on each side of his spine. He needs help going to the bathroom and can't walk for a month.

Three months later, still rehabbing from surgery, the hope of a comeback gone, Curry moves back to Oklahoma to be with Christy and the kids.

"I was so depressed when I came back from North Carolina," Curry says now. "That whole year."

With felony convictions haunting him, Curry was lost -- and wandering. "Burger King wouldn't even hire me, man," he says.

He signs on with a temp agency and works various jobs -- at a Purina dog food factory in Edmond, which is next door to the Oklahoma City Thunder's first practice facility. He delivers packages for UPS as a driver's assistant. After playing pickup at a church rec center he decides to apply for a job as a trainer. They run a background check. Denied.

He is a convicted felon, low on money and thin on options. Looking for somewhere cheaper to live, he moves from Edmond to Enid, some 80 miles farther north. He gets a job working 12-hour days, 60-hour weeks loading and driving trucks. He admits the only reason he got the job was because his supervisor is a big Oklahoma State fan.

After a couple months, his supervisor, Justin, asks if Curry could fill in as a weekend coach for his kid's team at the YMCA. He knows the game, but doesn't have any coaching experience.

"It was the hardest thing ever," he says. "But I enjoyed it."

Justin also asks if Curry could do extra one-on-one training with his kid. For 20 bucks, sure, Curry says. He works 7 a.m. to 7 p.m., then at 7:15 he's at the Y, ready to train. He sheds the interim tag and takes over as coach of the youth team. And they are terrible.

"Walking in there and guys knowing me, 'That's JamesOn Curry!' And then guys walking out saying, 'Man, JamesOn Curry's team sucked!'" he says with a laugh.

He conducts workouts for a couple more kids; an extra few bucks a week in the pocket. Parents start noticing how much better the kids doing private workouts are getting. With nothing but word of mouth and positive reviews for his coaching and teaching, Curry adds more workouts. He starts coaching an additional team.

Three months later, he quits his job driving trucks and working in oil fields.

He starts a new dream.

IT'S A 60-SECOND drive through Drummond, Oklahoma -- a straight shot on Highway 132 -- with no stoplights or even a stop sign to slow you down.

If you're coming from the north, a big metal white cross in a cracked concrete parking lot of a Baptist church greets you. Windmills spin in the distance against a painted pastel blue sky, tinted a slight shade of orange because of the red dirt kicked up by tractors tilling the earth. Black oil derricks tower in yellowed, sun-baked fields. The flat landscape clears the way for classic Oklahoma gusts that feel like someone has a blow-dryer pointed in your face.

Directly across the street from the fire department sits Drummond High School, with a domed gym sitting behind the main building. It's the practice gym, but it's also the school's safe room, built to withstand an F5 tornado.

"Would playing in the NBA bring peace of mind? No. Would I be rich as hell? Yeah. Maybe I could outshoot 80 percent of the guards in the NBA right this second. But would I personally be happy, every single day? This is where I want to be." JamesOn Curry, on working with kids in Drummond, Oklahoma

Inside, bouncing balls echo off gray cinder-block walls and joyous screams of children pierce the air. Curry blows a whistle and 60 or so kids drop their basketballs and hustle to form a semicircle around him.

It's the first annual D.R.I.P. camp -- Dedication, Respect, Integrity, Preparation. Curry's spirit is boomeranging as he talks, his hands popping with energy. He throws himself down on the floor, pantomiming what happens if a teammate doesn't call out a screen for you. Everyone laughs, including the parents who stayed to watch.

According to the 2017 American Community Survey, of the 432 residents of Drummond, 86.6 percent are white, with small percentages of Hispanic and Latino, and American Indian. There were zero African-Americans on the survey. And that's pretty clearly reflected in the demographics of the camp.

"I'm a six- or seven-time felon, a black guy with tattoos all over my body," Curry says, "And I'm also a respected mentor and trusted coach to a Trump supporter's kid."

He's inside the dome in Drummond all day, every day. Principal Jarrod Johnson -- who was a student at Oklahoma State the same years as Curry -- gave him a key a few months ago.

"I talked to him and told him, 'I know you've had some stuff happen, but the past is the past,'" Johnson says. "'But if anything happens again, I can't have you around.'

"But I believe people need second chances, too," Johnson says. "When I got to sit in front of him, man-to-man, and talk, you just get this feeling where you say, 'I know this guy is for real.' This is what he wants and his priorities were right in line and that's what matters.

"There was no hesitation. It seems like he's a changed man."

Johnson is a member of the First Presbyterian Church in Enid, and one Saturday a month he's part of a group that cooks and serves meals to about 100 people in need. Curry volunteered himself and his basketball players to help.

"He has been nothing but awesome," Johnson says.

Curry says he has three players whose parents are in law enforcement. He knows they've surely looked up his record. He once feared the police, but he gets along great with the parents.

Coaching and training is his full-time job now. Nothing excites him like watching incremental development. He has a unique patience, praising the smallest of steps for struggling kids. He lays out two hula hoops on the left block of the lane.

"Two lines!" he yells, calling for a layup drill. "One foot for each. Right! Left!" He steps to the side. "Watch," he says with a confident grin, "They'll be able to do 'em tomorrow."

They come from Woodward, from Tonkawa, from Oklahoma City. Parents bring their kids from an hour or more away just for Curry to coach them.

"It's because he cares, and the kids can tell," says Jackie Wilkinson, grandmother of Ethan, a shy 12-year-old attending one of Curry's camps.

"I tried to get [Ethan] into basketball, but he had so much anxiety that he didn't want to," Wilkinson says. "And then here, we got him into the Y and JamesOn was the coach.

"He's come out of his shell. He doesn't want to work with anybody but JamesOn."

Jackie didn't know anything about Curry before he started coaching. Ethan told his grandmother that he was an NBA player. She Googled him.

But like every other parent that knows Curry, what she found didn't bother her.

"No," she says. "Because people make mistakes."

DRUMMOND FEELS LIKE home. Curry loves his jacked-up black Ford F-250 with broken air conditioning, the dashboard stained from driving dirt roads with the windows down.

"I want it to feel like I'm driving the tobacco fields," he says. "I want it to feel like I'm back home in the country. We're going to grow this out. We're going to work."

There was a time when every setback, every issue, every screw-up, every piece of baggage were things that weighed him down. "Every obstacle is an opportunity," he says now.

The two rods in his back? They've actually just improved his shooting mechanics because his posture is straighter on his jumper.

There was a time not long ago when Curry took offense to his 3.9 NBA seconds -- he has seen the YouTube videos -- but now he sees it as part of his story and nothing to hold shame in. He was an NBA player. He made it. And he's proud of that.

"He played. He played in an NBA game," MacKinnon says. "How many people in the world can say that? He should take a lot of pride in that. And he overcame a lot to get there."

It took foundational events for Curry to find himself. He cites two things that started a transformation: (1) his near-death experience with his car accident that forced him to reconcile a life without basketball and (2) the death of his grandmother in 2018.

"I don't want to talk about it much," he says of his grandmother. "But that changed me. It made me refocus and see what's important."

His life changed in that principal's office at Eastern Alamance, but Curry doesn't think too much about what-ifs, either.

He and Christy got married a few weeks ago in North Carolina on a beach in front of his entire family. He thinks he could still probably play in the NBA. "The way the game's changed now, man. I really could play. I know I can," he says.

Parents at his camp watch him drain 30-footers and will text him that he needs to play for the Thunder. He doesn't hold on to the past, but he does use it. He tells his players he played in the NBA -- "It's good for credibility," he laughs.

If the phone rang tomorrow and there was an offer, a tryout, a chance, would he consider leaving Drummond behind?

"No-pe," he says, turning it into a two-syllable word to make it sound more convincing. "I like this. I like building. I like planting these seeds. I know what you're thinking, but it's the truth. This is something real. This has stability. I can do this for a long time.

"Would playing in the NBA bring peace of mind? No. Would I be rich as hell? Yeah. Maybe I could outshoot 80 percent of the guards in the NBA right this second. But would I personally be happy, every single day? This is where I want to be."

A career lived in the blink of an eye, a dream brushing past like a stranger in a crowd, a purpose found in an unlikely place.

"NEVER SEEN IT," Curry says of "Field of Dreams." "But I know about Moonlight Graham."

Graham is from Fayetteville, North Carolina, some 80 miles north of Pleasant Grove. He was a real person -- not a Hollywood creation -- whose entire career spanned a single inning for the New York Giants in 1905 and he never got to bat. He became a physician and practiced medicine in Chisholm, Minnesota, for 50 years, mainly as a school doctor.

"It's pretty cool, I think," Curry says. "Both working with kids, planting seeds, seeing something bigger in this world."

One played an inning, the other 3.9 seconds. Both found a calling away from the game, trading one dream for another.

Someday, Curry sees himself owning a gym and having his own youth program. He wants players to come from all over the state to his gym and train with him.

Day 2 of his camp is over and he stands in the dome, cleaning up loose gum wrappers. A scream from midcourt turns his attention sharply back to the floor. His 6-year-old daughter Parker is trying to launch half-court shots while his 13-year-old son Braylen and 11-year old daughter Peyton cackle with laughter.

"I could be chasing a ball somewhere still," Curry says, "but I'd be missing out on this."

The final game of the 2019 regular season is barely a month away. The World Series starts three weeks later. It ends early enough that players will be able to file for free agency in October. And thus will begin another baseball winter -- one primed to drag on deep into the spring, just like the last two.

Major League Baseball's offseason shows no signs of changing, at least not according to more than a dozen executives and agents with whom ESPN spoke to forecast the offseason ahead. Get used to the hot stove spitting out BTUs like it's out of gas and the pace of free-agent action mimicking a Yankees-Red Sox game, they said.

This is the new normal, the consequence of a collective bargaining agreement finally past its halfway point and indisputably tilted toward the teams. The imbalance colors the game's entire economic landscape. Little incentivizes clubs to act early in free agency. The degradation of the market for older players is practically codified. It is a perfect storm of meh.

Maybe all the pent-up action left over from the winter meetings in Las Vegas last year will spill into this year's incarnation in San Diego and do something to enliven what should be one of MLB's most exciting times of year. Likelier, the executives and agents believe, is more of the same.

So what, exactly, does that look like? We decided to play a little game of 20 Questions, baseball-style, that covers the most important free agents, potential trades, contract extension possibilities and other potentially conflagrant issues.

Who is the best free agent this winter?

Houston Astros right-hander Gerrit Cole. He is everything teams want in a front-line starter. Young (29 next month). Durable but not overused (on pace for his third consecutive 200-inning season but with just 1,146⅓ career innings thus far). Injury-free (no Tommy John scar on his elbow). Front-line stuff (especially the 97 mph fastball and wicked 89 mph slider). Ace performance (an AL-best 2.75 ERA with 238 strikeouts against 40 walks in 163⅔ innings).

Teams that want Cole understand that he's getting more than $200 million this offseason. How much more is the question. The record deal for a starter is David Price's $217 million. The record per year for a pitcher is Zack Greinke's $34.4 million (or, for the pedants who factor in the price of deferred money in Greinke's deal, Justin Verlander's $33 million). Cole seeking Price's seven years at Greinke's average annual value is not out of the realm of possibility, not with the Astros, New York Yankees, Philadelphia Phillies, Los Angeles Angels, Chicago White Sox, St. Louis Cardinals, Chicago Cubs, San Francisco Giants and Atlanta Braves all positioned and motivated to explore adding Cole.

OK: Who's the best position-playing free agent this winter?

Washington Nationals third baseman Anthony Rendon. He's in the midst of his best season, which is saying something because for the two years prior he was one of the two or three finest third basemen in the league. This season he has gone into overdrive: a .329/.407/.617 line, his typically excellent (and underappreciated) glove, his always-stellar baserunning. The best way to describe Rendon is: He's just really, really, really good at baseball.

And as someone who is that and hits free agency at 29, he's really, really, really going to get paid. As with Cole, the floor is $200 million. The goal is presumably higher -- something in the range of the eight-year, $260 million extension fellow third baseman Nolan Arenado signed with the Colorado Rockies this spring.

Guess who represents Cole and Rendon?

And Hyun-Jin Ryu. And Stephen Strasburg. And J.D. Martinez. And Nicholas Castellanos. And Dallas Keuchel. And Mike Moustakas.

Get used to hearing Scott Boras' name again. His ubiquity will be particularly acute this winter due to his agency negotiating on behalf of the two best players in the class and a litany of others expected to get paid.

Boras also has the clearest predilection among agents to let free agents stay jobless deep into the winter. He did it last year with Bryce Harper. He has done it plenty of times before -- both successes and failures. There's no compelling reason to believe he won't do it again, not after staying strategically steadfast even as the market clearly shifted.

What are some other big stories we'll be hearing about?

Chicago Cubs manager Joe Maddon entered this season a lame duck, and the team has done little to convince those around the sport that the organization will bring him back next season. Unless, of course, the Cubs win the World Series, which at this point feels like a long shot. Mickey Callaway's long-term status as New York Mets manager remains an open question. The San Francisco Giants will be looking for a new manager too, after Bruce Bochy's retirement. The expected sale of the Kansas City Royals could prompt changes. The Pittsburgh Pirates could undergo a refresh. Abject underachievement with a club-record payroll, as is the Colorado Rockies' truth this season, doesn't bode well for long-term security.

Oh, and a number of executives are expecting monster names to be in trade talks.

Wait. Did you say monster names?

Are Mookie Betts, Francisco Lindor and Kris Bryant monster enough?

Really?

Yup. Now, this does not mean all three -- or even any of the three -- will be traded. But in preparing for this winter, rival executives believe the Boston Red Sox, Cleveland Indians and Chicago Cubs are willing to at very least listen on their stars.

This is nothing new for any of the three organizations. All are successful in part because they have no sacred cows, because they explore all avenues to winning, because to dismiss an idea outright is antithetical to teams that pride themselves on curiosity and creativity.

Listening on all three makes total sense. For the Red Sox it's the clearest no-brainer. Betts is a free agent after the 2020 season. He has shown no desire to give the Red Sox a hometown discount, as is well within his rights. The conversation for the right fielder is likely to start at $300 million. The Red Sox are in a tight spot financially with nearly $80 million a year committed to Chris Sale, David Price and Nathan Eovaldi. Their minor league system is bad. Betts single-handedly could reload the farm. Of course, Boston also would be dealing a homegrown star -- something no team wants to do.

It's what makes Lindor moving less likely. He is not a free agent until after the 2021 season, meaning the Indians control his rights for two more years. The benefit of dealing him over the winter would be the price of two full seasons -- even heftier than a year of Betts. Cleveland also has a history of dangling some of its best players, including starters Corey Kluber, Trevor Bauer, Carlos Carrasco and Shane Bieber, to gauge their worth. Bauer was dealt at the trade deadline this year, with a year and a half to go before his free agency. The Indians may listen, but it's difficult to imagine them dealing Lindor before seeing how they perform in 2020 -- even if they know they won't re-sign him.

Bryant is the wild card. A not-uncommon feeling inside the Cubs organization is the need for a big shake-up. Perhaps Maddon leaving would provide that. The sentiment among some extends to the players too. And with Javier Baez a reasonable bet to stick around -- more on that later -- and Bryant a Boras client more prone to testing free agency, the Cubs may see him as a combination of Betts and Lindor: a star with two years of control primed to hold out for free agency but capable beforehand of enriching a farm system in desperate need of help after years of dealing away its most valuable pieces.

In baseball, trade talks are quite often nothing more than idle chatter. When they get reported -- Team X has talked with Team Y about Player Z -- they are often blown up by those who know no better. So let this be your forewarning: There are going to be talks about big-name players this year, because smart teams consider their options. That doesn't mean any of them are going anywhere. But talks can lead to offers and when the offer stage of discussions arrives, that's when you know to take them more seriously.

Back to free agency: What will the market for Madison Bumgarner look like?

It should look really good. The closest comparable to Bumgarner in a number of ways is Jon Lester. Both are left-handed. Both had fastballs top out in the mid-90s but live at the lower end. Both have been incredibly durable, incredibly clutch in the postseason and incredibly consistent in everything from their release points to their performance. Lester's career ERA+ (a metric that measures him against the league with ballparks factored in and every number above 100 his percentage better than average) is 121. Bumgarner's ERA+: 121.

Bumgarner, who just turned 30, is even a year and change younger than Lester was when the Cubs gave him a six-year, $155 million contract. It's worth noting Lester was coming off a career year, whereas Bumgarner's resurgence with the Giants -- on pace for 200-plus innings with strikeout and walk rates better than his career level -- has been much more under the radar.

Because Bumgarner has been pitching in the major leagues since age 19, the fear of wear and tear among teams considering investing in him is real. There are other free-agent pitchers: the front-line guys, right-handers Zack Wheeler and Jake Odorizzi, lefties Cole Hamels, Dallas Keuchel and Wade Miley. Bumgarner is Bumgarner, though, and the bet will be more on just how well he can replicate a past that is so very good.

Will Strasburg opt out of the remaining four years and $100 million left on his contract?

Ooooh. This is a good one.

Why to opt out: His stuff remains electric. Analytically inclined teams believe there's even more there -- that they can draw the true greatness out of Strasburg similar to what Houston did with Cole and Verlander. In a five-and-fly era, he is almost always good for six innings and quite often more.

Why not to opt out: He's 31. He threw more than 183 innings once in his first nine major league seasons. He's entering the ninth year of a reconstructed elbow, which doctors believe have finite shelf lives.

Instinct says he opts out -- or, perhaps even likelier, the Nationals, sensing that and not wanting to lose Strasburg, tack on a few more years to his current deal and invalidate the opt-out he holds following the 2020 season.

How about J.D. Martinez?

He's got $62.5 million left over three years if he does not opt out. He also can opt out following the 2020 season if he stays this winter. Considering Martinez's age (32) and position (designated hitter), the instinct leans toward not opting out. On the other hand, Martinez's sizzling August has his season line at .313/.387/.571. Only six players in baseball have a better OPS. And a guy with that sort of productivity can't get more than $62.5 million guaranteed?

And Aroldis Chapman?

The belief around baseball is that, as Ken Rosenthal reported a month ago, Chapman is as good as a free agent. Which makes complete sense. Even with slightly diminished velocity, Chapman, 32 in February, is owed just $30 million over the final two years of his deal. And if Craig Kimbrel can misread the market, sit out for a couple months and still guarantee himself $43 million, then Chapman, coming off another dominant season closing for the Yankees, can beat $30 million easy.

Who has done best for himself in 2019?

Braves third baseman Josh Donaldson. He and agent Dan Lozano took a decided risk in agreeing to a one-year, $23 million deal and going the make-good route. And they've come out the other side looking brilliant for it. Yes, Donaldson turns 34 in December. But the way he has played -- hitting .260/.374/.529 with 32 home runs -- he's well within his rights to pursue a multiyear deal at a higher cost than he's making this season. The bat, the glove, the work ethic -- Donaldson is rather similar to the last player whose make-good deal went so well: Adrian Beltre.

Who's going to get the qualifying offer?

Locks to get it -- and reject it: Cole, Rendon, Bumgarner, Strasburg, Martinez, Chapman, Donaldson, Marcell Ozuna. Outside of Cole and Rendon, it will be brought up during negotiations too.

Likely to get it: Wheeler, Hamels, Odorizzi, Giants reliever Will Smith and Yankees shortstop Didi Gregorius. If Wheeler is healthy, he gets it and rejects it. Hamels may accept it from the Cubs. Odorizzi, 29, almost certainly will hit free agency. Smith, who has made less than $12 million in his career, could get $18 million or so if he accepts. And the Yankees may be wary of Gregorius accepting and, considering the luxury-tax implications of him doing so, not offer.

Ineligible to get it: Ryu, Moustakas, Keuchel and Yasmani Grandal, who received it already, and Castellanos and Yasiel Puig, who were traded.

Who may have trouble getting paid?

Even without the qualifying offer saddling him, Puig is in many ways a walking red flag to the modern executive. They try to avoid poor on-base percentages. Baserunning and defense matter, and Puig is considered substandard at both. His age saves him -- he'll be 29 in December -- from another ding but the notion that Puig is going to cash in big this winter simply is not true as of now. Perhaps a great September or postseason changes that, but Puig feels more like a one-year deal.

What does the sport-wide reliever implosion mean?

Tough to say. On one hand, relief pitching is so dreadful in 2019 that the good ones are like gifts from heaven. So the opportunity to get, say, a Chapman or Smith or Will Harris -- all of whom have been excellent this season -- sounds glorious. But then, of course, is the truth bomb that relievers are notoriously volatile. So volatile, in fact, that the possibility of Chapman or Smith or Harris blowing up in 2020 is not at all unreasonable. Which brings about the conundrum -- and a potential impasse in the relief market. The players who performed well will want to get paid for performing well. The teams, cognizant of just how capricious relievers are, don't want to double down on giving them multiyear deals. This chasm is nothing new. This winter just may be the one where it's unbridgeable.

What's the best argument in favor of teams spending this winter?

Next winter. The class of 2020-21 looks pretty brutal. The good: Betts, Philadelphia catcher J.T. Realmuto, Oakland shortstop Marcus Semien, Houston outfielder George Springer, Yankees infielder DJ LeMahieu and Angels shortstop Andrelton Simmons. The pitching class is led by Cincinnati right-hander Trevor Bauer, Yankees lefty James Paxton and righty Masahiro Tanaka, Mets right-hander Marcus Stroman and a trio of lefties: Mike Minor, Robbie Ray and Jose Quintana. The relief options are like a secondhand store.

There's also the reality that a number of the dozen listed above will sign contract extensions before reaching free agency, neutering the class even more.

So about those extensions: Are there going to be a boatload like last winter, too?

Probably not multiple billions of dollars' worth like last year. But as the end of the collective bargaining agreement approaches and players young and old try to stomach the idea of a potential work stoppage, their calculus may change. Union sources have acknowledged that the threat of a strike or lockout likely pushed a number of players into extensions last offseason and acknowledge the same may happen again this winter.

Are you gonna name names, Passan, or just tap dance around the good stuff?

For a disembodied inquisitor, you're awfully demanding.

Let's start with Cubs shortstop Javier Baez. There has been momentum in the past to keep Baez, 26, in a Cubs uniform well into his 30s. With Baez two years from free agency, it's the sort of deal that makes a lot of sense.

With around $110 million committed to payroll next season, no massive arbitration raises and some likely non-tenders, the Phillies have every reason to pursue a long-term deal with Realmuto. He is 28. He is a leader. He is a well-above-average hitter and even better defensive catcher. He deserves a nine-figure extension.

It may be time for the Yankees to do what has seemed inevitable for years: lock up outfielder Aaron Judge. He is arbitration eligible for the first time this season and in line for a massive raise. Working in the team's favor: Judge is not due to hit free agency until after the 2022 season, when he'd be 30.

The Yankees also could pursue an extension with Gleyber Torres, who, if Gregorius leaves, is their shortstop heir. Torres, 22, won't hit free agency for another five seasons, so an extension could be pre-emptive -- or could approach $100 million for him while saving tens of millions for the team. Also in that camp: Red Sox third baseman Rafael Devers, who is Torres' age but due to reach free agency just after his 27th birthday.

Other names to keep an eye on: Trea Turner, Yoan Moncada, Willson Contreras, Lucas Giolito, Shane Bieber, Mike Soroka, Luis Castillo, Matthew Boyd, Jack Flaherty, Dakota Hudson and Brandon Woodruff, among many others.

Well, who isn't getting extended?

It's always smart to start with Boras. The six-year, $120 million extension this March for Xander Bogaerts with Boston was the exception, not the rule. Among Boras' young and talented clients: Dodgers outfielder Cody Bellinger, Nationals outfielder Juan Soto, Rangers outfielder Joey Gallo, Phillies first baseman Rhys Hoskins, Mets outfielder Michael Conforto, Pirates first baseman Josh Bell, Dodgers shortstop Corey Seager and Padres pitcher Chris Paddack.

Others: It's probably too early for Fernando Tatis Jr. and Vladimir Guerrero Jr. The Mets could try to lock up Pete Alonso but may want to see another year. (Though Jeff McNeil is an interesting possibility.) It's tough to see Walker Buehler agreeing to the sort of below-market deals that are the norm for pitchers -- especially with what Cole is about to get. And as for anyone from the class of 2021-22 ...

Yeah, what about the class of 2021-22?

If you see a big smile on a general manager at any point over the next two years, it's fair to wonder if he's thinking about the free-agent class of 2021-22. While it's something of a fool's errand to try to project out a free-agent class more than two years in advance, the names are titillating enough to at least say them out loud while they're still a possibility.

The Cubs alone have Baez, Bryant and Anthony Rizzo on expiring deals that winter. Freddie Freeman's contract with Atlanta is up. So are Conforto's and Tommy Pham's. The pitchers are a who's who -- more wizened than one might like but still name after big name: Verlander, Kluber, Max Scherzer, Clayton Kershaw, Zack Greinke and the young buck, Noah Syndergaard.

It's the shortstops, though, that make 2021-22 special: Baez, Lindor, Seager, Carlos Correa and Trevor Story, all due to hit free agency in the same year. It's an unprecedented group of talent for one position. And if three or four or somehow all five of them reach free agency together, it's the sort of winter that could cause tectonic shifts in the sport.

Why are we talking two years in the future when there are players who may get traded this offseason?

Because we know disembodied inquisitor will take us back exactly where we need to be. Beyond Betts, Lindor and Bryant, there are a number of stragglers from the 2019 trade deadline who could find themselves moved in the winter:

-- Starters: Ray (plenty of reason to do it as Arizona rebuilds on the fly) and Minor (less likely but still reasonably so)

-- Relievers: Edwin Diaz (the Mets want to salvage something), Kirby Yates (Padres may sell high), Ian Kennedy (as the Royals shift into prospect-hoarding mode), Alex Colome, Mychal Givens

-- Infielders: Whit Merrifield (ibid. Royals), Luis Urias (as the Padres try to land a top starter), Dee Gordon (as the Mariners whittle their payroll)

A few individual names worth noting:

-- Kluber: The Indians have a $17.5 million option with a $1 million buyout. It's an interesting conundrum. The least likely scenario is they buy out Kluber. Even after a down year, what amounts to a one-year deal with another club option for 2021 is near-impossible to turn down. Once he's under contract, though, Kluber could become a very interesting trade chip. Not as interesting as he would be coming off a strong year, but enough for the Indians to strongly consider dealing him.

-- Syndergaard: If he keeps pitching like he has in the second half -- 54⅓ innings, one home run, 12 walks, 55 strikeouts, 1.82 ERA -- he will command an immense amount on the trade market. This is the Thor the Mets have been waiting for -- one so good he might have pitched himself off the trade block.

-- Felipe Vazquez: The Pirates need talent, and whether it's a rebuild on the fly, a partial teardown or a full, to-the-studs reimagination, dealing Vazquez is a good first step when the division may be an unrealistic goal for the first few years of his contract, when he's at his most valuable. Nobody stepped up at the trade deadline this year with an offer to the Pirates' satisfaction. Perhaps this winter will be different -- in at least one way.

Nantes launches spectacular season with more than 600 matches live on air
By SEAN REUTHE – Squash Mad Correspondent

More than 600 live squash matches will be broadcast through the Professional Squash Association’s digital platforms. The PSA today announced its mouthwatering broadcast schedule for the 2019-20 PSA World Tour season.

From September 2019 to June 2020, squash fans will be able to watch action from the sport’s biggest tournaments live on SQUASHTV(rest of world), Eurosport Player (Europe only), the official Facebook page of the PSA World Tour (excluding Europe and Japan), DAZN (Japan only), and a selection of mainstream broadcast channels across the globe.

The first tournament of the season to be broadcast will be the Open de France – Nantes 2019 presented by Tailor Capital between September 10-14, while a further eight tournaments will be shown before the end of 2019.

This includes the CIB PSA Women’s World Championships, which will be staged in front of Cairo’s famous Great Pyramid of Giza and broadcast live between October 26 – November 1, and the PSA Men’s World Championship in Doha, Qatar between November 8-15.

Away from the PSA Tour, the SQUASHTV cameras will also be on location in Washington D.C. to showcase live coverage from the WSF Men’s World Team Squash Championship between December 15-21.

New York’s iconic Grand Central Terminal hosts the J.P. Morgan Tournament of Champions in January, while the Dunlop British Junior Championships, the British Open, the inaugural Mauritius Open and the season-ending PSA World Tour Finals are all set to be broadcast live before the season draws to a close.

“The PSA Tour calendar continues to go from strength to strength and we’re looking forward to showcasing all of the drama and storylines from the tour as the world’s greatest squash players compete at some of the most iconic locations in world sport,” said PSA Chief Operating Officer Lee Beachill.

“Spectacular venues such as the Great Pyramid of Giza, Grand Central Terminal and East Wintergarden transcend the sport, and we are pleased to be able to bring all of the action from those incredible locations to squash fans around the world.”

SQUASHTV, Eurosport Player, Facebook and DAZN Schedule, September 2019 – June 2020.

Open de France – Nantes 2019 presented by Tailor Capital: September 10-14, 2019
Oracle NetSuite Open: September 27-30, 2019
FS Investments U.S. Open Squash Championships: October 5-12, 2019
CIB PSA Women’s World Championship: October 26 – November 1, 2019
CIB Egyptian Squash Open: October 26 – November 1, 2019
PSA Men’s World Championship: November 8-15, 2019
Channel VAS Championships at St. George’s Hill: November 19-24, 2019
Everbright Sun Hung Kai Hong Kong Squash Open: December 2-8, 2019
WSF Men’s World Team Squash Championship: December 15-21, 2019*
Dunlop British Junior Open – January 2-6, 2020*
J.P. Morgan Tournament of Champions: January 9-17, 2020
The Walter Family Windy City Open: February 27 – March 4, 2020
Canary Wharf Classic: March 8-13, 2020
Black Ball Squash Open: March 8-14, 2020
Grasshopper Cup: March 18-22, 2020
El Gouna International: April 10-17, 2020
Manchester Open: April 21-26, 2020**
British Open: May 25-31, 2020**
Necker Gestion Privee Mauritius Open: June 3-7, 2020
PSA World Tour Finals: June 19-26, 2020

*Tournament broadcast on SQUASHTV and Facebook only
**Dates subject to change

About SQUASHTV
Launched by the PSA in 2010, SQUASHTV is the official home of live and on-demand squash, providing fans with unrivalled access to the world’s best squash action. As of January 1st, 2016, SQUASHTV has also partnered with Eurosport Player to expand coverage of the sport in Europe. On February 19th, 2019, an agreement was signed with Facebook to bring live squash to their Facebook Watch platform to territories outside of Europe and Japan. With hundreds of matches shown live every year, SQUASHTV is the number one place to watch the drama unfold on the PSA Tour. 

Fans based outside of Europe can subscribe to SQUASHTV here.

For fans living in Europe, subscriptions must be made to Eurosport Player.

DAZN is the home of live and on-demand squash in Japan. Subscriptions can be made here.

Report by SEAN REUTHE (PSA). Edited by ALAN THATCHER.

Pictures courtesy of PSA

Former Ireland full-back Felix Jones has been appointed as a "defence consultant" by South Africa for the Rugby World Cup in Japan.

The move will see Jones reunited with Springboks head coach Rassie Erasmus, with whom he worked at Munster.

Jones, 32, won 13 caps for Ireland and was part of the 2015 Six Nations title-winning squad.

He also played for Leinster and Munster before being forced to retire at the age of 28 because of a neck injury.

Jones then went straight into the coaching staff at Munster where he worked under Erasmus for the 2016-17 season.

He helped Munster to three consecutive European Champions Cup semi-finals before leaving the province in June.

His arrival comes after attack coach Swys de Bruin quit earlier this month, citing personal and health reasons.

"I spoke to the players after Swys decided to step down and the consensus was that we didn't want a new attack coach," said Erasmus in a South African Rugby media release on Wednesday.

"The feeling was that bringing in someone in that role now with new ideas now would be destabilising at this last stage of the preparations.

"But they were interested in having more analysis of defensive patterns and structures to assist in breaking down the opposition."

"Felix will bring a fresh eye to our analysis and planning, and I am looking forward to his input," said Erasmus. "He is a real student of the game and I believe the players will benefit from his contribution."

The Springboks open their World Cup campaign against New Zealand in Yokohama on 21 September. They have also been pooled with Italy, Namibia and Canada.

England winger Jack Nowell's chances of playing at the Rugby World Cup hang in the balance, according to Exeter director of rugby Rob Baxter.

Nowell, 26, has not played since injuring his ankle in their Premiership final loss to Saracens in June, but was included in England's 31-man squad.

"I think he's going to be touch and go for involvement in the World Cup," Baxter told BBC Radio Devon.

"But let's cross our fingers and hope that he can come through."

Nowell has not featured in any of England's three warm-up Tests against Wales (two) or Ireland, with a final preparation game against Italy to come in Newcastle next Friday, 6 September.

Eddie Jones' side open their World Cup campaign against Tonga in a little over three weeks on Sunday, 22 September.

Nowell, who toured New Zealand with the British and Irish Lions in 2017, has scored 13 tries in 35 Tests for England and was part of the squad at the last World Cup in 2015.

He scored a hat-trick in his only tournament appearance against Uruguay, England's final pool match after they had already been eliminated.

They met on Halloween in 2012 at a bar in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Jacob Trouba was dressed up as Superman; Kelly Tyson was Superwoman. They obviously found each other.

"She was a senior, I was a freshman," Trouba says. "Make sure you put that in there, she'll love that."

Even as the couple began dating, their future was cloudy. Tyson, a neuroscience major at the University of Michigan, was going to Sydney, Australia, after graduation for her masters degree. Trouba, a defenseman for the Wolverines' hockey team, was already a first-round draft pick of the Winnipeg Jets.

"We really couldn't think long-term," Tyson says. "We already knew we were going in different directions."

They broke up. Trouba visited Tyson in Australia. They got back together. But for the next six years, their relationship would be strained by their careers. Trouba became a regular for the Jets by 2013 and was bound to Manitoba for at least eight months of the year. Tyson took a job in Washington, D.C., but dreamed of medical school. It didn't make sense for her to apply to programs, or eventually take her boards, in Canada. After all, with the precarious nature of an NHL career, she didn't know how long her boyfriend would even be in Winnipeg.

This summer, Trouba was traded to the New York Rangers, and subsequently signed a seven-year, $56 million deal. For the first time in their relationship, the couple, who were engaged in 2018, could begin planning a future together -- in the same place. As Trouba told the Winnipeg Sun in June, "it's a great opportunity for myself and my fiancée," because "her career is as important as my career."

The comments reverberated across the internet and Trouba was celebrated as a feminist. The 25-year-old was taken aback by the reaction; this is the way he has always felt. He wasn't ungrateful for his time in Winnipeg, but the truth is, it was a lot easier on his personal life to play for an American team.

"Fans think of things in a different aspect -- that's just the nature of sports," Trouba said. "It's about winning a championship, it's not about caring about people's lives, really."

Trouba says he didn't publicly mention his and Tyson's situation earlier because "I never wanted to throw her in the fire where everybody goes after her; I can take the brunt of it, especially being confident in the choices that I'm making."

Their story, as the couple explains it, is simply a modern NHL romance that has endured extended time apart, long flights, frustrated phone calls and eventually, sacrifice.

"I think I work hard, but she works pretty dang hard too," Trouba says. "She's up early and staying up late studying and she deserves to see her dreams come true just as much as I do, and I want to help her just as much as she's helped me."

Adds Tyson: "I think he's part of a generation where the social construct of a woman's aspirations -- career, life, et cetera -- isn't so set and rigid. I never had to ask him to make sacrifices for me. It was just expected because we were making them for each other and together."

Trouba played a big part in Winnipeg's transformation from bottom-feeder in the Central Division to near-wagon status. The Jets reached the Western Conference finals in 2018, and Trouba's game-tying goal to erase a 3-0 deficit against the Nashville Predators during that playoff run was a career highlight. As was the opportunity to play in the NHL with childhood buddy Andrew Copp; the two had been teammates since they were 12 years old.

But Trouba's time in Winnipeg wasn't always smooth. After his third season, the defenseman requested a trade -- he didn't want to play on the left side, and on the right side, he sat behind Dustin Byfuglien and Tyler Myers on the depth chart. Trouba missed the first 15 games of the season, then signed a bridge deal to stay. He says he has no regrets.

"I can't think of anything I would really want to change," Trouba says. "The contract stuff didn't bother me all that much -- it was something that I believed in, I thought I was doing the right thing, and that's all I can fall back on. I thought I was making the best decision for me and my career, and I was happy with the result."

"Everything he does, he does with a purpose, but he's put up with a lot," Tyson says. "There's a notion out there that he's a selfish person. He's really good at blocking outside noise, but when I hear it, I get so frustrated. He's the most selfless person I know. Any time he could tell I was struggling a bit or stressed with school, I would wake up to a text from him: 'I'm so proud of you, you're working so hard, it will all be worth it.'"

Through it all, Trouba relied on Tyson as a confidant. Tyson had quit her job in Washington to join Trouba in Winnipeg. The move wasn't easy. "She was pretty stir crazy up there," Trouba says. "She didn't have a lot to do."

"I wasn't going to be happy sitting in Winnipeg without a career," Tyson says. "And he wasn't going to be happy seeing me do that. So it wasn't productive for either of us."

Tyson spent her year and a half in Winnipeg applying to medical schools, and narrowed her search to schools in Florida. Trouba had already made Fort Lauderdale his offseason base; he had a trainer and now has a home there. If Tyson went to school nearby, it could maximize the couple's time together with limited disruption.

Tyson began at Nova Southeastern University in 2017. The first year, she tried to visit Trouba as much as her schedule would allow. "There are plenty of couples in the NHL that do long distance," Tyson says. "But being in med school was an extra layer."

Plus, traveling from South Florida to Winnipeg can be thorny, and lasts about 14 hours door-to-door, including connections in Chicago or Minneapolis. She tried to study on the plane, but was often exhausted. "The only flight that would get her back in time for her classes in Florida left at 6 a.m. on Sunday," Trouba says. "I'm sure it wasn't great for her at times, traveling more than 20 hours in a weekend just to see me."

Last season, Tyson made the trip only three times. "It was a learning curve for both of us, and good for both of our growth because you have to completely change the way you communicate," Tyson says. "And you have to be completely cognizant of each other's schedules way more."

Tyson illustrates a common scenario: Trouba would call Tyson when he woke up; she was sitting on her own studying. Trouba would go to a pregame skate, nap, and call Tyson again. She was still in the same place studying. He went to his game, and called her when he returned. She was still in the same place studying.

"It was an incredibly challenging time being apart from each other, but I think there's a really awesome and fulfilling thing about seeing the person you love succeed at what they love to do, and that kept us each going," Tyson says. "It's been exhausting, but when we started to complain, we always remind each other how fortunate we are to even be in our positions, and there are far more important or challenging things going on in the world today than what we were going through ... and sometimes I would tell him to shut up and let me complain for a few minutes."

Trouba and Tyson got engaged in 2018, but decided to put off the wedding until next year. They knew this summer would be difficult, with Tyson in the heat of medical school and Trouba being a restricted free agent; the contract situation was bound to come to a head in Winnipeg.

When Trouba got a call this summer from Jets GM Kevin Chevaldayoff explaining he was going to be traded, he walked into Tyson's room -- she was studying -- and simply gave her a thumbs up. She screamed.

"We didn't really know how to react," Trouba says, "We always envisioned it happening, but never in our wildest dreams ever figured we could be in this situation."

Trouba is excited to be part of a Rangers team trending up; with his arrival, plus No. 2 draft Kaapo Kakko and splashy free agent Artemi Panarin, New York's rebuild appears to be over soon.

"Culture was a big thing in Winnipeg. That got changed around, and the attitude, the work ethic of the team is a big reason why we started winning," Trouba says. "It was awesome to be part of that transformation, when everyone is a little happier to be at the rink. I haven't met everyone in New York yet, but it feels like that team might be getting on the same level too."

Tyson is excited that she can hop on a plane whenever she wants, with much less of a hassle to visit her fiancé. She'll stay in Fort Lauderdale during the season doing her rotations, and the following year will "hopefully" do her residency in New York.

"There's so much opportunity in New York, especially in the medical field," Tyson says. "It also poses its own challenges because it's a very desirable and competitive place to be."

But after the past six years, Superman and Superwoman seem poised to take on Metropolis.