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 Betreff des Beitrags: Anekdoten zum Thema Fantasy-Football
BeitragVerfasst: Di 3. Feb 2009, 12:32 
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Original von Co-Commissioner
vom 10.07.2004 21:06


Ich habe letztes jahr einen schönen artikel dazu gefunden, vielleicht kennt ihn ja heir der ein oder andere noch nicht ...

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Fantasy Football - The Game We Love to Hate

The game of fantasy football is a combination of skill and luck. Even if you are an expert player who has deftly outmaneuvered your opponents and won your league three straight years (like, oh, say… ME), you cannot ignore the role luck plays in this great game of ours.

In fantasy football, even a perfect draft, savvy trading, and flawless lineup moves do not guarantee success. Although you exercise complete control over the creation and management of your team, you are powerless when it comes to controlling its fate on Sundays. When the Wheel of FFL Fortune stops on an ACL injury to your best player, there's not much you can do. This capricious element is part of the game's charm. It also happens to be the part of the game that makes grown men cry for their mommies.

There are numerous humbling, and seemingly random, ways of losing a fantasy football game. Here are a few of Lady Luck's whimsical fantasy football tricks.

THE MONDAY NIGHT MELTDOWN

It is early December. Fantasy football crunchtime. You and your arch-nemesis, Bob, are tied in the standings. Bob's team, the Mighty Bombjacks, have scratched their way to a 9-3 mark. Your squad, the Meatball Heroes, has also cruised to the same record. The winner will make the playoffs. The loser is out.

Included in your three previous losses is the indignity of a loss to Bob back in September. And indignity is the right word. You see, Bob doesn't do anything with dignity, least of all winning at fantasy football. Let's just say that if the Mighty Bombjacks were an NFL team, they'd be kicking off from the 15 yard line a whole lot. Picture the most horrid, inappropriate, taunting, flag-worthy touchdown dance you've ever witnessed. Now picture it being performed by a man with a beer gut and no sense of rhythm. Now change the venue from an end zone to your local sports bar. That's Bob.

Anyway, back to your matchup with Bob. After Sunday's games, Bob holds a slim 2 point lead over your team. But Monday Night Football, where slim fantasy leads go to die, awaits. The matchup is Chiefs at Broncos. You are starting Jason Elam. Bob is starting. . . no one. You need one measly field goal from Elam, or perhaps three extra points, to send Bob packing. Lock city. The last time Elam couldn't manage 3 points at home, he was kicking for Hawaii's Mighty Rainbows. You invite the whole league over to witness the carnage. Many leaguemates accept the invite (free beer!). Bob is conspicuously absent.

On the opening drive of the game, the Broncos score a touchdown. Elam knocks the PAT through. Ahhh. You allow a small smile to crease your lips. No, the fat lady hasn't even warmed up yet, but you find yourself imagining the pain Bob is feeling. Your smile gets bigger. Early in the second quarter, a Broncos drive stalls deep in Chiefs territory. You assume the posture of a king at his coronation. You sit back and relax, arms folded, as the Broncos line up for a 32 yard FG. The eyes of all five of your guests are upon you, their new division champion. Then the action is focused on your TV screen. Snap is good. Placement good. Kick is up… he pushed it wide right? What? Did that really just happen? How can you do me like that, Jason-missing a chippie? The Broncos are not heard from for the rest of the first half, but your stomach is. If you listen closely, you can hear it saying "WTF is going on here?"

Fast forward to late in the third quarter. The Broncos still have that single touchdown, and are trailing 12-7. They drive into Chiefs territory again. All the way down to the five yard line. It's third and goal. Plummer back to pass, but a blitzing corner takes him down. And the ball is loose? What? Chiefs have it? Ummm… Your guests all begin to mumble in unison. Losing to Bob has now become a genuine possibility. And your stomach rises above the din, clearer this time: WTF?!

It is now halfway through the fourth quarter. You no longer feel like a king awaiting his coronation. You feel like someone in the waiting room at the proctologist's office. The Broncos have yet again pushed the ball deep into Chiefs territory. Third and goal again. Plummer gives to Portis, who cruises in. Fine. You'll take the tie for now. You receive a couple of pats on the back and a high five or two. You look up at the screen and see . . . Plummer under center? Where is Elam? They're going for two?! There's a collective groan in the room. Your stomach chimes in. The Broncos conversion attempt fails. They're leading 13-12. You don't care that the move makes real-life sense. All you want is a fantasy-life win. You give Shanahan your version of the Mile High Salute: your middle finger.

The game effectively ends when KC turns it over on downs a few minutes later. The Broncos take over in Chiefs territory, but KC doesn't have enough time-outs left to stop Shanny's crew from kneeling away the game clock. There will be no more Elam. As ABC cuts to commercial, they show the obligatory cold-weather sideline shot. A Broncos lineman's head is steaming. So is yours.

Your friends file out of your apartment. After a two second pause on the other side of the door, you hear them burst out laughing in the hallway. You click the television off and lay on the couch. You feel worse than you did the day you found out that Santa Claus does not exist. The phone rings. You know who it is. You let it ring. The answering machine picks up. Your apartment is filled with the sound of Bob's screaming "Who's ya daddy?!?!" He's out of breath. He's been dancing.

The next day, you trudge into your office. Your head is still steaming like an NFL lineman's. You turn on the computer and check the league website. Bob has posted a picture of Jake Plummer's futile attempt to recover his own fumble. Your head spontaneously combusts.

GETTING "SPIKED"

In redraft leagues, draftable football players generally fall into three categories. First there are studs, who generally post nice games, with occasional clunkers. Then you have the second tier players, who somewhat consistently produce solid numbers. The other category is your typical player. Imagine the typical player's yearly performance as a chart. The X axis has 16 slots, one for each week in the season. The Y axis is the player's point output. The chart for these players is a series of low outputs, with one or two spikes-games where he inexplicably went nuts. These spikes cannot be predicted with any accuracy, but they win fantasy football games.

Imagine the Meatball Heroes are playing a middling team with an unimpressive lineup. Among the unimpressive players in your opponent's unimpressive lineup is Corey Bradford. You've just cracked your first beer and have settled in to watch Sunday's games when Fox cuts to a Game Break. James Brown pops onto your TV screen, closely followed by the image of Corey Bradford streaking down the sideline, finishing off an 82-yard catch-and-run for a touchdown. "But… Corey Bradford hasn't done anything all year," you say to yourself. "Why now?" Because he's playing you now, that's why.

You still haven't finished that first beer when Fox cuts away again. This time Bradford's flying down the other sideline with the ball. No, it's not an inverted version of the same highlight. This one went for 61 yards. Bradford prances in and spikes the ball. How appropriate. You've been spiked too.

LOSING TO LARRY

Every league has a Larry. He shows up for the draft armed only with Cliff Charpentier's magazine. He drafts players just because he's heard of them-they were stars back when he last followed the NFL in 1997. He makes two free agent moves a year-he picks up Fred Lane and Rae Carruth--"just to have them on my roster." In short, this guy is clueless and has no chance. But, as the saying goes, on any given Sunday. . .

And the fantasy gods have given us this particular Sunday, which happens to be the Sunday that the Meatball Heroes play Larry's team. It is also the Sunday on which the stars are properly aligned for Larry's 1-8 team. His collection of garbage miraculously posts a respectable week when Favre, Emmitt Smith and Terrence Mathis have big games, knocking off the Heroes. Of course, Larry has no idea that he's pulled off this upset (he goes shopping with his wife on Sundays), but that just makes it sting even more. You are a laughingstock, at least for one week. Curse you and your given Sundays, fantasy gods.

HEY, THOSE ARE MY POINTS!

Shaun Alexander is the Heroes' workhorse. He reports to work every week and has been clocking in with about 100 yards and at least a touch or two, very reliably. Your main man Shaun. The Seahawks have the 49ers this week and you're expecting typical production from Mr. Lunchpail. The game kicks off and Shaun reports for duty, ripping off a 14 yard run on the first play from scrimmage. At the end of the Seahawks first drive, he's got 27 yards in the bank. Right on schedule, workhorse.

But on the second drive, lined up behind Hasselbeck, your workhorse looks astonishingly small. Shaun? Hello? That's not Shaun, that's Mo Morris. The camera shows your meal ticket sitting on the sidelines, not looking very happy. He's wearing a baseball cap and his hamstring is wrapped in ice. There is no Santa.

Making matters much, much worse, this little twirp MoMo is gashing the Rams D every time he touches the ball. Ugh, make it stop! It's tortuous. But it's like a car wreck, you just have to watch. My Little Pony finishes the game with 27 carries, 184 yards and three TDs Those are my points!

PAGING AL ROKER…

This Sunday figures to be a good one for the Meatball Heroes. The Saints are at Pittsburgh and your squad has Brooks, McAllister, Burress, Horn and Kris Brown. Yep, it's going to be raining points at Heinz Field today, and 90% of them will be Meatball points. You flip your TV on, and it's raining all right--Pittsburgh is engulfed by a monsoon. The field is barely visible on TV. Everyone is sloshing around like kids at a water park. Gaining more than two yards is virtually impossible. The goal of each play from scrimmage is not turning the ball over.

Why did nobody tell you about this? How does a monsoon manage to evade the attention of the Weather Channel, ESPN Countdown, all internet outlets, and even Jillian Barberie? Jillian said it was partly freakin' cloudy in Pittsburgh just 45 minutes ago! This must be the handiwork of the same FFL gods who handed Larry a victory. You manage a combined four points in Pittsburgh and lose to Bob. Bob then ridicules you for not checking the forecast.

GETTING SHAKESPEARED

TD or not TD, that is the question. . .

You're entrenched in a very tense, close game, which you are agonizingly following on your league page's live scoring and your television, which is showing the Saints game. You erupt like a fist-pumping Vesuvius when Brooks lobs one to your man Horn in the back of the end zone. Touchdown Heroes! Ahh, the touchdown, sweet nectar of FFL life--six hard earned points.

But as the Saints line up for the PAT, the ref runs onto the TV screen waving his arms. The little red hanky is on the carpet. You know what that means. Replay time. And with it, the possibility that six points will be snatched from your dirty little touchdown-grubbing hands. The replays show that Horn could have been bobbling the rock as he went out of bounds. And Markbright is taking his time in the peepshow contraption. Not good. Now he's sprinting to the middle of the field. He flips the mic on. "After further review, I have determined that the Meatball Heroes and their sorry putz of an owner do not deserve that touchdown. The ball will be placed at the 18 yard line, and the Meatball Heroes will lose by 4 points." Thanks a lot, Markbright. Go back to Foot Locker.

SO CLOSE, YET SO FAR. . .

You're trailing in a close game, but not by much. You could use a touchdown. Preferably a long one. The moment you finish thinking this thought and turn your attention to your TV screen, Brunell hits Jimmy Smith, a Meatball Hero, on a short crossing pattern. Then the opposing safety collides with the cornerback, and Smith has no one between him and the promised land. Divine intervention! Take it to the house Jimmy!

Smith crosses midfield and kicks it into (his version of) overdrive. You jump off your couch and start whooping like a guy at the track whose $50 exacta is about to come in. But as Smith crosses the 30, your jubilation fades as you discover how slow he is. Ugh. Run Jimmy, run! As Smith crosses the 20, there are still no defenders on the screen, but you know they're lurking. When leadfoot gets to the 15, a defensive back appears. Jimmy, realizing a straight line route isn't gonna cut it, turns and heads for the right pylon. The defender does the same. C'mon Jimmy! Doesn't he know that your fantasy football game hangs in the balance?

As they approach the goal line, Jimmy Smith and the defender look like they're in one of those Discovery Channel specials filmed on the African plains. Jimmy Smith is the gazelle. The defender is the lion. And we all know who wins that battle. The defender takes down his prey at the one yard line. No touchdown. Even in a yardage scoring league, we all know how devastating this is. It feels even worse when the Jags stuff it in on first and goal. Hey, those are my points! You lose your weekly matchup by a few points.

FANTASY FOOTBALL LOSERS ANONYMOUS?

In the aftermath of Jimmy Smith's failed end zone dash, you begin to examine your addiction to fantasy football. The game is largely luck, you reason. If the goal line was 3 feet closer, you'd be in a chipper mood right now. But you're not; you're miserable. "If fantasy football results are this fickle, why do I put myself through this torture every week?" you ask. And you can't come up with an answer.

Okay, that's it. Starting next week, you vow not to let football games, the outcomes of which you can't control, run your life. You start to feel a little better. You skip the Sunday night game and watch a rented movie. You don't even check the score. You find your head is remarkably clear. You don't consider a single free agent pickup. When the movie ends, you actually think about your Monday workload.

Perhaps you've turned a new leaf? You get into bed, fall asleep . . . and in your dreams. . . begin breaking down next week's matchups. You're hooked. Face it.

Famed gambler and admitted addict Nick "the Greek" Dandalos once said that "the next best thing to playing and winning is playing and losing." Fantasy football addicts know this statement applies to them as well. Why do we subject ourselves to the torture of losing fantasy football games in evil, unfair ways?

Because we love it. Enjoy the season, fellow addicts.


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Verfasst: Di 3. Feb 2009, 12:32 


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 Betreff des Beitrags: Fantasy Training Camp: List of rules
BeitragVerfasst: Di 3. Feb 2009, 12:36 
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Registriert: Di 27. Jan 2009, 13:34
Beiträge: 101
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Origina von Ried Desperados
vom 18.12.2006 14:14


1. Never name your team after your girlfriend or cat.

2. Listen to the experts.

3. Don't listen to the experts.

4. No complaining after a win.

5. Being a fantasy coach does not give you the right to slap people on the butt.

6. It's your duty to talk trash. Period.

7. Making stupid trades to help another team steal the title is lame.

8. Avoid 'friendly' advice.

9. Don't draft a player that's already been drafted.

10. Set your lineup on Tuesday morning. Fine-tune it every day afterward.

11. It's never over until it's Tuesday.

12. Be wary of last minute changes to your lineup ... go with your gut.

13. Doubtful means he's not playing. Game-time decision means #%$@&!

14. Teams who forgot their QB had a bye week should be mocked.

15. Drafting first is overrated.

16. Teams starting an injured player should be scorned.

17. Know how to pronounce your draft pick.

18. Keeping a kicker in a keeper league is open to ridicule.

19. Losing 120-119 is NOT a moral victory.

20. The best trades are often the ones you do not make.

21. Running back-by-committee is a plot to undermine fantasy players.

22. A running back is only as good as his offensive line.

23. Recreating your alma mater's bowl lineup from five years ago doesn't work.

24. Don't trade for a player because your girlfriend thinks he has 'cool hair.'

25. Always play fantasy football at NFL.com.

FIVE MORE RULES NFL.COM VIEWERS SUBMITTED

1. Don't draft your fantasy football team using the fantasy football insert from the TV Guide.

2. Unsigned players always do better before you pick them up.

3. Although your league commissioner is in all likelihood a power-mongering tyrant, not even a sacrificial offering will appease him. Only a gold trophy (digital or real) will.

4. When deciding on your first-round pick, consider the likelihood, or lack thereof, that this is the year the Madden cover curse is broken.

5. Don't add a player because he has the same last name as you.


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BeitragVerfasst: Di 3. Feb 2009, 12:39 
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Original von Longnosehome Packers
vom 22.09.2004 16:16


Living a fantasy (league) - Workers take time from the job to track their teams
Quelle: San Francisco Chronicle

Sure, fantasy football seems innocent at first.

You'll just take a few seconds from work to check on your team. A couple minutes, tops, spent scanning stats on Yahoo or the ESPN Web site. That's all you need. Maybe a few e-mails to guys in your fantasy league, asking if they want to trade linebackers. Maybe a quick note to a dear friend, pointing out that his quarterback just got planted in the turf like a tulip.

It will only take a moment. Your boss will never notice, right?

Perhaps your boss should.

America's addiction to fantasy sports could cost the nation's businesses $36.7 million daily, according to a rough estimate from executive search firm Challenger, Gray & Christmas. Fantasy leagues allow players to put together their own dream teams and track their performance week to week, sometimes for cash prizes, sometimes just for the love of the game.

Although Challenger admits its estimate is, at best, an educated guess, it touches on a very real, recurring issue for office managers. In an age when most employees have access to e-mail, instant messaging and the Internet at their desks, how much freedom to surf, chat and generally slack off online should a company allow?

"For some companies, that amount of lost productivity is a good expenditure of the company's money, because it makes for better morale and more-productive workers," said John Challenger, the HR firm's chief executive officer. "But it is an issue where companies are struggling to find the boundary there."

Challenger, Gray & Christmas' estimate assumes that some 14 million people play fantasy football and that each of those players spends 10 minutes of every workday managing his team. The number of players comes from a fantasy sports trade association, while the time each player spends is Challenger's own guess. Multiply 14 million by $2.62, the average amount an American worker gets paid in 10 minutes, and you reach the total.

Some of the fantasy-obsessed think Challenger's time estimate, if anything, may be a little low.

Pablito, a product manager for a manufacturing company, spends about a half-hour each work day on his team. Like others interviewed for this story, he preferred not to give his real name, lest he create the wrong impression in the office.

"You check the postings daily to make sure that someone hasn't waived someone you need, trying to catch up on the stories on your players," he said. "Yeah, I'm hooked."

Pablito, 32, says he often stays at work long after closing time, so he doesn't feel his football time cheats his company.

"It's a break most of the time," said Pablito, who lives in the Los Angeles community of Granada Hills. "But sometimes it becomes an obsession, especially if you're doing well."

Human resources consultant Richard Stiller said for many Bay Area companies, taking a little personal time at work isn't a problem. Companies born in Silicon Valley's entrepreneurial culture, for example, tend not to care, as long as employees meet their project deadlines.

"These guys often come in late, work late, work from home," he said. "There's a very high tolerance for that kind of stuff. No one cares as long as the programming gets done."

Companies oriented more toward finance or customer service, however, aren't so relaxed. "If I went into a financial institution like a bank or an investment company, they're not going to have any tolerance for that," Stiller said.

Any companies worried about fantasy leagues in their midst should simply ask themselves if it's affecting the business, Stiller said. "If they're getting the job done, don't worry about it."


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 Betreff des Beitrags: One day on the O-Line
BeitragVerfasst: Di 3. Feb 2009, 12:42 
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Original von Longnosehome Packers
vom 06.05.2004, 14:38


You're an offensive lineman and it's late in the game.

You're mentally tired. Sweat, snot and spit drips off your face as you look down to see your hand still shaking from when you crushed it in the first quarter. There is probably some nerve damage. Your knees ache, your back hurts so bad it's hard to stand up straight. You wince and feel a burning sensation. Your vision is blurred due to a cut on your forehead from your last collision with some alcoholic 6'5" 320lb War-Daddy running a 4.8, benching 500, and cleaning 401 at 17% body fat who has an outstanding warrant for his arrest, beats his girlfriend regularly and just insulted your mom with words you couldn't understand. His only instructions were to "Get to the ball, and be in a bad mood when you get there!!"

Now that just happened two plays ago and when you lined up for the next play you were still dizzy from what could probably be diagnosed as a minor concussion. But this is football and anything with "minor" attached to it just doesn't count. Now in the outside world you would probably miss a week of work and file some insurance claim, but here in your world you've got to suck it up for the next play. You're dizzy, can't get your balance, you barely hear the play, can't see, can't really hear the quarterback because of the 80,000 screaming fans, and then before you know it your man sacks the quarterback, takes off his helmet calls you a bitch while doing a dance.

Now the coach calls a timeout and you run over to the sidelines as your teammates yell "Come on! Get it together man!" The fans boo you relentlessly because they didn't drive 3hrs on a Saturday to see you blow the game because of a little headache. You barely make it over to the sideline because you're still dizzy and here comes your "motivational" speech from some wide-eyed 5'8" 280 lb redneck with a wad of chew in his mouth. "What in the heeelllll was that?! Get your ass down, your hands up and punch his @#$!. Didn't you hear the `River call?! They were in a 50 package with a weak side blitz. You know you've got to slide right you big dumb @#$!*! You made a commitment to this team!! Where is your pride son?!! People are counting on you! On YOU!! How can you call yourself an athlete and take that abuse in front of all these people and millions at home? God-bless son, what do your parents think? Get your head in the game!! If you don't want to play, hell, I got three freshman over there that will play for your fat ass!! I'll suit up someone from the stands before I watch you do that crap again!! I'd rather have my little sister out there giving 100% than watch you half-ass it out there because you're tired and you don't want to give the effort. Now get out there and do your job boy!"

So now you get in the huddle and here comes the quarterback with the call: "Larry Left, 90 XY out on Two, on Two. Ready ....BREAK!!

So here's what goes through your head: "90...90....What is 90? That's a 7 step drop. He needs lots of time. Damn my hand hurts! Larry Left. OK, I've got the tight-end on my side so the 7 technique will be wide. The Mike is right and I'm uncovered, so I've got the Sam to the end to the Corner. Easy. Oh crap, they eagled down and War-Daddy is lined up with me, and I don't have help because the other guard has a two technique and the center is uncovered and he has to slide. Better go from a two point stance, this guy is quick."

"Ready set, Black 280.....Black 280....Hut!! Hut!!.

He engages. You get a good punch. He counters with an inside rip. You open your hip, lock out your right hand and smash his @#$!* into the ground and kick him for emphasis. You look up and the Mike came on a delayed blitz and the center got tangled up with the two technique so it's between you and the Mike, between you and the quarterback getting the ball to the open receiver, between you and victory. You lunge, get a piece of his knee with your already smashed hand. You probably just broke it. It's not pretty, but you get enough of him. The ball is released and . . . Touchdown!!

After the win you sit in a pool of blood, dirt, sweat, snot, and someone else's blood. You smell like you slept in a garbage can. You sit there with 2 icepacks on each shoulder and an icepack on your neck and one on your hand which is still throbbing. You have to get a trainer to cut the inches of tape and equipment and special padding you use to get your body ready for the game because you are simply too tired to move. As he works the tape off you vaguely hear him talking about how great the game was and how you're the man. He asks what you're doing after the game. You mumble, "I'm not sure, thanks man", and hobble off the table. The shower feels good but it stings like hell because of all the open cuts. You use shampoo instead of soap because it's easier to lather up. After a game it is so hard to do even the most minute things. You've just given 100%. People usually never push their body that far.

You get dressed, hug your teammates, and push through all the girls, flashing cameras, parents and painted drunk students, hearing people whispering about how big you are and pointing you out in the media guide. You wish your family could be there but they're all the way back in Texas. You can't wait to call them. You don't want to be around anyone really but other linemen because linemen are the only people who know what you go through. A kid runs up and asks for an autograph. You take time out for the kid because you were once a kid and remember how much you looked up to other athletes. You smile after you see his excitement, wink at his parents who say "Thank you", and hope that you could have some positive influence on his young life.

Getting back to the dorm you call your brothers and sister. They tell you how awesome you are and how all their friends saw you and you're still the man. Your mom brags about you and sounds excited. Your dad tells you he loves you and you tell him the same and talk about how you miss him and how you wish everyone could be here like it was back in High School. He tells you how proud he is to have you as a son, you get teary eyed and you talk about seeing everyone in December and hang up.

Next thing you know you're out all night and now you're with your family away from home. The other linemen. Eating as only linemen can eat at some 24 hr hole in the wall, laughing about things only linemen could laugh about. As you sit there, everything seems like it's in slow motion and you think about how great these guys are and how you literally love them and how you'll never forget moments like these. You go back to the dorm and pass out from exhaustion. Satisfied with the day.

You're satisfied because you know that you play a sport that only a few can play. It takes a unique person to strap it up and go out and hit people. It's even more unique to have the mental and physical makeup of an offensive lineman, a gentle giant. To be bigger and stronger than anyone you know. To be humble enough not to need all the attention. To be crazy enough to go through practice, mean enough to physically dominate some one else, and smart enough to pick up on the playbook and never, ever be allowed to make a mistake. Linemen don't play for the attention, the money, or the women. They play for the love of the game. Every lineman hates practice because their practice is the hardest. But the game is a drug. It keeps you coming back no matter what. Linemen play with the knowledge that everyone else depends on them to win. They only want respect from teammates, opponents, and family. They play for the pure satisfaction of giving it everything they have and coming through when everyone is counting on them. They play to win. They play for the pure essence of the game.

Ryan Jordan
Former Offensive Lineman and Football Purist.


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