Oh, NON-fiction, okay. I see where you're going with this...

Okay, so that last one wasn't exactly true. Though it could be by the time the Giants play the Bucs this October. But this next one is 100% on-the-ball, tamper-proof, Grade-A quality veracious. Or at least as accurate as I could make it without research (they said none of that). Enjoy:

The Monster Within

The NFL is not an easy workplace environment. Though it’s only a game, professional football requires its players to lay their bodies and in some cases their lives on the line for victory. If you lose focus or show mercy for even a second, it can mean the game, or worse, it can mean an injury, a paycut, or even a loss of livelihood. Players spend their whole professional lives in this kill or be killed environment. They thrive on the aggression, the competitive edge, the lack of regard for the opponent as a human being for months at a time. Eventually, though, the time comes when all the legalized brutality of the field has to come to an end and these players have to become normal people again. They have to go home to their families and be active, functioning members of a society. Even in the offseason, though, there is training and film study to keep the aggressive juices flowing, and soon the player goes back to his world of violence and struggle. The real test comes when the player retires. When there is no game next week to get up for, no opponent ready and waiting to give the player an outlet for his aggression. So what happens then? Where does all the aggression go? How can a player just turn it off and move on with his life?

Take the example of Steve McMichael. Steve played fourteen years in the NFL with the Patriots, Bears and Packers. He earned the nickname “Mongo” as a member of the vaunted Bear defense that won the Super Bowl in 1985. The name was that of a character in the film Blazing Saddles whose immense size, power and hasty temper coupled with his relative lack of intelligence mirrored that of McMichael on the field. He was often characterized as a cruel brute, but in football that never hurt anyone. In Chicago he was known as an enforcer in a town that historically loved such figures. McMichael had a fair share of football success: a fairly long career, a Super Bowl ring, and two trips to the Pro Bowl in 1986 and ’87. Yet no one would ever call him a hall of fame-level talent, nor is he remembered as a particularly popular teammate or public figure, and his aggressive nature likely didn’t help in either case. Perhaps “Mongo’s” accomplishments, though considerable, were not enough to fulfill him. Maybe he wanted to do something more in the realm of sports to make sure he was remembered. For whatever reason, McMichael chose to move on after football to another area where aggression was the name of the game. He chose the realm of professional wrestling.

In April of 1995, only a month after McMichael retired from the NFL, the World Wrestling Federation (WWF), the leading wrestling company in the world, featured hall of fame linebacker Lawrence Taylor in the main event of their biggest annual pay-per-view show, Wrestlemania. They signed several well-known football players, including McMichael, do to guest appearances at the event in order to draw more mainstream media attention. After serving as Taylor’s second along with Chris Spielman, Reggie White, Carl Banks and Ken Norton, Jr. at the April 4 event, McMichael was invited to show up the next night at a WWF telecast to engage in a staged fight with wrestler Charles “Kama” Wright. Between the two nights, McMichael believed he had established himself enough to start a career as a wrestler. Unfortunately, he had committed an absolute taboo in wrestling by not pulling his punches during the fight with Wright. Allegedly, once the fight began Steve got a bit too caught up in the heat of the moment. His well-known aggressive streak came out and Wright was none too pleased. As a result, the WWF did not offer him a deal as a wrestler.

Several months later, however, the WWF’s chief competitor World Championship Wrestling (WCW), continued their strategy of raiding the WWF’s veteran and cast-aside talent by signing McMichael to a long-term contract as a wrestler. While being trained for the business, WCW used McMichael’s relative fame by employing him as a color commentator on their weekly live television program. Unfortunately, McMichael soon established himself as an embarrassment behind the mic whose only appeal came from bringing his pet Chihuahua Pepe on screen with him. Things didn’t improve much once Steve actually began wrestling. Despite his NFL experience, “Mongo” never really grasped the nuances of pro wrestling. It was a whole different type of physicality, based on making every move look as painful as possible without ever really hurting anyone. McMichael’s smashmouth football mentality and quick temper made it hard for him to use the necessary precision. He took liberties with his opponents when angry that only the most respected veterans were ever bold enough to take, and he was singled out by experienced grapplers as sloppy. Furthermore, despite being paired with WCW legend and famed character actor Ric Flair, McMichael seemed to lack the charisma needed to make the fans interested in him.

Worse yet, WCW had suggested Steve bringing his wife Debra in to play his manager full time after a successful pay-per-view appearance. Steve accepted, hoping bringing her on the road with him would help keep their marriage alive. On the contrary, Steve only distanced himself further from Debra as he continued to have problems keeping his aggressions from work separate from his personal life. She ended up having an affair with Steve’s on-screen rival Jeff Jarrett, then making the affair real. The couple divorced, and Steve was further humiliated when Debra stayed with Jarrett and both were signed contracts with the WWF. She became a much bigger star than Steve ever was after the company required her to get breast implants and she formed a huge following with their target demographic of young adult males. Despite the issues the McMichaels had with Steve’s wrestling career, Debra must have seen something in it because she remarried the WWF’s megastar, “Stone Cold” Steve Austin. Steve, meanwhile, got a worse and worse reputation in WCW, and was fired in 1998 soon after being upstaged by his former opponent from the Atlanta Falcons, Bill Goldberg.

Steve remained a celebrity in Chicago sports despite his inability to get back into wrestling. Then in 2004, he was asked to sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” at a Chicago Cubs game. Steve finally got into the spotlight again, but for all the wrong reasons. Before the song, Steve threatened the game’s umpires over a disputed call, leading to his ejection from a game in which he had no official involvement. The incident, reported by many in the press as McMichael thinking he was back on the football field or in the wrestling ring, showed that his aggression still had not subsided after all this time. It also gave him a black eye in the one place he had maintained a modicum of respect. Recently, when Wrestlemania came to Chicago, McMichael reportedly tried to crash a party involving the wrestlers and other talent from the company. His wrestling credentials didn’t even get him past the door. Even in the oft-ridiculous world of pro wrestling, no one wants to have anything to do with “Mongo.” McMichael’s story is a grim, but important reminder of the toll that professional football takes on the life of its players. The game never truly leaves you, whether it leaves you in pain or crippled from physical injuries scars your psyche forever. Steve McMichael isn’t crazy; he just never learned the one lesson the NFL doesn’t teach you: how to leave behind the monster that you have to be in order to survive. Here’s hoping he can finally lay the game to rest some day.

~Jakeman

If you were NFL Films, what would you do?

Hey.

I haven't posted in forever, I know, but I finally have something that I think really needs to go in this blog. The following is a writing sample I was asked to produce by NFL Films to see if they want to hire me as a production assistant. They specified that it had to be about football and non-fiction, which I kinda ignored for the sake of their other requirement, that it be interesting. They didn't appreciate my original thinking, so they made me write another one. I think I like them both alright, but read for yourself and ask only this: would you hire me? Here's the first one, with the next to come in another post:

Duality

The link between NFL players is an indelible one. Men who spend their entire professional lives virtually in the trenches, struggling, pushing and brutalizing each other over one hundred yards of turf tend to become very intimately aware of one another. They know what makes their allies on the sidelines tick, and they also try to know every nuance of their opponents’ games. But some connections are especially personal. The sage veteran will use these connections to his advantage if he can, but in the right context, even an unpolished newcomer can be their beneficiary. Imagine the following scenario:

Sinorice Moss picked himself up off the ground again and staggered back to the huddle. He was getting killed. Not literally, but he may as well have been. His new team, the Giants, was up against it in a tough game with Tampa Bay. Plaxico Burress and Amani Toomer were both down with injuries, and after a good week of practice the coaching staff had given him his first chance to start as an NFL wide receiver. Sinorice was only a rookie, but he knew that a chance like this doesn’t come around every week; he had learned that lesson well enough in college ball. With only sixteen games a year, you have to make every play count if you want to impress enough to stick around. Moss, however, was so busy thinking about his big chance, remembering his routes, not messing up his blocking assignments and trying to forget about all the cameras and lights and people that he was barely able to keep his feet. He was so turned around he couldn’t even remember the name of the corner lining up against him from the team strategy session. All he knew for sure was that number 20 was getting in his face and either crushing him at the line or sticking to him like white on rice every down. And his coaches were not pleased.

Sinorice shuffled to a lonely spot on the sideline after another three-and-out. He did his best just to avoid head coach Tom Coughlin’s eyes. Just then Tiki Barber, the Giants’ star running back walked over to him.

“Tough day, huh, rook? Old number 20’s really got you in lockdown.”

“Yeah,” was all Sinorice could muster as a response.

Tiki flashed a smile that had sold a million Power Bars. “Well, you know what you gotta do with him is, next time we throw you make a double move. You make your plant step like you’re gonna run an out, and turn your shoulders just slightly, then you jab back to the left like you’re gonna do a post, hold on that foot for a fraction of a second, then push off it and fly right past toward the end zone. He always goes for that; and with your speed he won’t be able to keep up.”

“Alright, but--what if we don’t call that in the huddle? I mean, Coach said I’d get released if I ran the wrong route one more time.”

Tiki just laughed. “Trust me, rook, we need a big play. You just do what I told you, and everything else will take care of itself.”

Sinorice contemplated what Tiki had said as the defense forced a punt, and the Giants got the ball back. How could he know that move would work on Tampa’s corner? he thought as he struggled just to get in number 20’s way on a minimal first down gain. I mean, what’s so special about that route? was all he could think as a screen got the Giants another couple. He just seemed so sure…

Eli Manning’s annoyed clap in Sinorice’s face brought him back to reality. “Hey, man, you awake? Let’s go, it’s third and short, but we need to catch ‘em sleeping here, guys.” The young quarterback ran through the play as Sinorice tried desperately to decipher its code. Then out of nowhere, Tiki spoke up.

“Hey, Eli. Keep an eye on the kid on this one. He’s got an edge.” Sinorice could only stare blankly in Tiki’s direction as Eli smiled knowingly and broke the huddle. As he jogged up to the line, Sinorice began to consider Tiki’s plan. He had tried every route the coaches could come up with, and number 20 had not been fooled for a second, but somehow Tiki’s trump card was supposed to get him open. Plus it wasn’t at all like the pattern he was supposed to be running. This was a really bad idea. Then at the last moment he realized it really couldn’t get any worse than the spanking he had been getting already. Why not?

Eli took the snap, and Sinorice trotted forward to set up the out move. He turned slightly to his right, then sharply zagged left and lingered for a hair’s breadth of a second before launching himself toward the goal line. Moments later, sprinting with his head down, he realized he was running alone for the first time all game. He looked up, and there was the ball, floating in a tight spiral toward his head. He stretched out his arms, and the flying orb settled neatly into his open hands. He continued sprinting right into the end zone, and the Giants Stadium faithful erupted. New York was right back in the game, and Sinorice was so dumbfounded at what had happened that he just stood there staring at the ball until his teammates mobbed him.

The young wideout returned to the sideline, still confused as to what had actually occurred, and a young man rushed up and snatched the ball from him, saying he had to preserve it as a memento of Sinorice’s first touchdown. Coach Coughlin and his coordinators were so caught up in being back in the game they didn’t even chew him out for running the wrong route. It was all like the veteran back had told him. Sinorice took off his helmet, sat down and grabbed a cup of water. There was Tiki, standing over him.

“Nice catch, man.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for that. But I don’t get it. How’d you know that move would work so well?”

“You still haven’t figured that out? Damn, you really are a rookie. It’s a twin thing, man.” Sinorice looked at him quizzically. Tiki chuckled and said, “Just take a good look into 20’s grill the next time you line up.”

Still baffled, Sinorice lined up for the first play of the Giants’ next series and did as he was told once more. He stared into number 20’s face…and was shocked to see a spitting image of Tiki looking back at him. He looked away and thought, Oh, now I…

Suddenly number 20, Ronde Barber, chucked him right under his shoulder pads, lifted him up in the air and drove him back five yards before dumping him hard on his back and going to make the tackle. Sinorice just laid there, his wind knocked out. Ronde returned and stood over him.

“Tell Tiki to kiss my ass,” he said. Sinorice finally took a second to remember that number 20 was Tiki Barber’s identical twin brother. He looked over at Tiki in the huddle, flashing that same smile that Ronde had as he laughed with his fellow defenders. Sinorice scraped himself up off the turf again and headed back to the sideline to get his scolding from the coaches. He wasn’t angry or dejected (though his ribs were a bit sore); he was actually pretty satisfied. The Barber brothers had taught him a valuable lesson about the intimate connections inherent to playing in the NFL, and how they can make a huge difference between success and falling flat. He just hoped he got a chance to return the favor someday.

~Jakeman