NFL players don’t get much of an offseason. They’re training at least 11 months a year (unless they’re Albert Haynesworth or Andre Smith) and organized team activities keep them connected to the game throughout the spring.
But regardless of how intense players’ offseasons are, the transition from borderline vacation to training camp in late July/early August is drastic. In fact, “drastic” doesn’t do it justice.
Training camp is hell. It is really and truly hell on earth. It’s the most excruciatingly painful, tiresome, gruelling period of the year for otherwise pampered millionaires.
I played high school football and I still have nightmares about what we went through to prepare for the season. I remember doing slow, agonizing push-ups on coach’s orders. When he said “up” you went up, when he said “down” you went down. One after another — he’d force you to hold it at the bottom for what felt like hours. And then back up. And back down again. Lactic acid burning every muscle in your body like dozens of miniature branding irons. In the sweltering heat. After a 90-minute practice. If you couldn’t cut it, if you collapsed — as many guys did — you’d run laps.
That was high school football in Canada. So multiply by at least 17.5 when taking into account what pros go through in the piercing sun in Arizona and Texas and Florida and Louisiana.
I promise I have a point, and it’s this: it’s easy for NFL veterans to hold out. Contract squabbles are a god-send to guys who don’t want to go through the rigours of training camp hell without looking like lazy pricks. As opposed to just pricks.
And that’s exactly why so many of these guys end up back before the season starts. The media usually claims the players in question are trying to “send a message” by missing camp before returning to action just in time for Week 1.
No, that’s not what they’re doing. What they’re doing is using their potentially problematic contracts as an excuse to skip camp. Their agents love it because they can only benefit from a possible new contract. They love it because, while there’s a chance they’ll end up with more money, they can chill out like rock stars for a couple more weeks while their teammates share 150-square-foot dorm rooms.
The best example this year is Shawne Merriman. The guy admits he’s not looking for a raise — as opposed to teammates Vincent Jackson and Marcus McNeill — and simply wants assurances that the Chargers won’t trade him … or something like that:
“I’m only coming back to be the guy on defense. I’m not coming back to be a guy. I want to be on a team where someone is building a defense around me.”
“To me, it really comes down to, ‘Am I on the trading block this week?’ The third week of the season, am I on the block? Where is that comfortability for me? … The question is do I have stability enough to play football and not worry about the other things?
“I just hope to get rid of the unnecessary talk. One thing needs to happen — we need to get over the hump. And me not getting there is not going to help us get over the hump.”
What the hell does that even mean? If Merriman were living in the world from The Invention of Lying, he’d say this:
“Fame has gotten to me. I’m soft. My numbers are declining, I’m not the player I used to be, and my focus has been divided. I’ve gone Hollywood. A few weeks ago, I made a cameo appearance on Entourage. I’m getting over a tumultuous relationship with reality TV star Tila Tequila. I just don’t feel like dragging my ass to Chargers Park for two-a-days in 100-degree heat. I’ll be ready to go in September.”
Let’s face it: exercise without incentive sucks. Nobody wants to work hard if they don’t have to. Rich football players don’t necessarily have to, and so they don’t.
Contract isn’t exactly what you want it to be? Not feeling quite enough “love” from management? There’s your cover story.
A few words on holdouts
Posted by Brad Gagnon under Commentary on Aug 03, 2010
NFL players don’t get much of an offseason. They’re training at least 11 months a year (unless they’re Albert Haynesworth or Andre Smith) and organized team activities keep them connected to the game throughout the spring.
But regardless of how intense players’ offseasons are, the transition from borderline vacation to training camp in late July/early August is drastic. In fact, “drastic” doesn’t do it justice.
Training camp is hell. It is really and truly hell on earth. It’s the most excruciatingly painful, tiresome, gruelling period of the year for otherwise pampered millionaires.
I played high school football and I still have nightmares about what we went through to prepare for the season. I remember doing slow, agonizing push-ups on coach’s orders. When he said “up” you went up, when he said “down” you went down. One after another — he’d force you to hold it at the bottom for what felt like hours. And then back up. And back down again. Lactic acid burning every muscle in your body like dozens of miniature branding irons. In the sweltering heat. After a 90-minute practice. If you couldn’t cut it, if you collapsed — as many guys did — you’d run laps.
That was high school football in Canada. So multiply by at least 17.5 when taking into account what pros go through in the piercing sun in Arizona and Texas and Florida and Louisiana.
I promise I have a point, and it’s this: it’s easy for NFL veterans to hold out. Contract squabbles are a god-send to guys who don’t want to go through the rigours of training camp hell without looking like lazy pricks. As opposed to just pricks.
And that’s exactly why so many of these guys end up back before the season starts. The media usually claims the players in question are trying to “send a message” by missing camp before returning to action just in time for Week 1.
No, that’s not what they’re doing. What they’re doing is using their potentially problematic contracts as an excuse to skip camp. Their agents love it because they can only benefit from a possible new contract. They love it because, while there’s a chance they’ll end up with more money, they can chill out like rock stars for a couple more weeks while their teammates share 150-square-foot dorm rooms.
The best example this year is Shawne Merriman. The guy admits he’s not looking for a raise — as opposed to teammates Vincent Jackson and Marcus McNeill — and simply wants assurances that the Chargers won’t trade him … or something like that:
What the hell does that even mean? If Merriman were living in the world from The Invention of Lying, he’d say this:
Let’s face it: exercise without incentive sucks. Nobody wants to work hard if they don’t have to. Rich football players don’t necessarily have to, and so they don’t.
Contract isn’t exactly what you want it to be? Not feeling quite enough “love” from management? There’s your cover story.