By Angus Reid
THE MOUNTAIN TOP
The clock hit zero but the pandemonium had already begun. My team, the BC Lions had just won the 99th Grey Cup and in doing so had capped off the most remarkable single season turnaround in North American professional football history. We had started the 2011 Canadian Football League season 0-5. Dead last. With an aging team and seemingly over the hill coach and general manager, the fans and media had written us off as a lost cause. Time to clean house the media shouted, purge the organization of all of its now ineffective pieces and start again. Professional football is the only major sports league in North America where player’s salaries are not guaranteed. That’s right, after accounting for signing bonuses, no matter what the term of your contract states, you’re really working week to week. There are no guarantees. When you are 0-5, the reality is, somebody must get blamed. In pro football, getting blamed means losing your job. You could imagine the tension that was building, human nature kicks in and people go into survival mode. The media and fans need answers, scapegoats, someone to point the finger at. What was maybe the most remarkable fact about that memorable season was how that never happened. Nobody turned on each other. It speaks volumes about the characters on that team. With everybody’s careers on the line, we each publicly shouldered the blame. A TRUE team in every sense of the world. I’m not sure if I’ve ever witnessed the strength of a team bond when tested to that extreme before or since. We rallied around each other and fought back. With nothing left to lose we went out and won the next game. Finally, the monkey was off our back. We followed that by getting waxed the next week. 1-6. Maybe we really were done as a team? Nobody gave up hope. We rallied harder around each other. The internal support amongst teammates was mindboggling considering everybody was fighting to save their own careers. That situation may have broken many looker rooms, it united ours.
We won the next game, then the following one as well. Confidence was growing and a bond built on desperation slowly became a bound built on purpose. We can beat these teams was now a very real belief. We won another, then another. The margins of victory started building as well. By the time we had won 6 straight we were handling teams quit easily and becoming a feared opponent. Then the streak continued. We ended the regular season 12-6, having rattled off 11 consecutive wins and most by impressive margins. We entered the playoffs in first place and had earned a bye through the first round. We were to host the Western Finals in our newly renovated BC Place stadium. We beat the Edmonton Eskimos 40-23 in that Western Finals in front of 50000 screaming hometown fans to earn the right to play in the 99th Grey Cup game, which, as our charmed luck would have it, was to be hosted that year in our very own BC PLACE stadium.
As our hometown fans rushed the field following our 27-23 victory over the Winnipeg Blue Bombers in the 99th Grey Cup, we as teammates embraced each other with all the exhilaration and emotion one would expect. Hugs, tears, laughter, and photos marked the next 30 minutes of continued celebration that took place on the field post game waiting for the trophy prestation. We were swarmed by fans and media, everybody wanting to be a part of that magical championship experience. Through the masses I finally spotted my wife and sister, navigating their way through the crowd to get to me. I rushed to embrace them; their tears of joy were also brought with a concerned message – security wasn’t letting my parents on field. I raced with them away from the masses to the edge of the end zone where a large crowd of frantic fans were trying desperately to persuade security that they needed to be on the field as well – everybody wanted to be at the center of the experience. There were my parents, politely standing off to side, waiving and smiling with all the pride I only now can understand as a new parent. My presence apparently was all the field pass they needed, we grabbed them and made our way back to the center of the madness. I needed them to feel how amazing this was, it was the only thing I could do in that moment to thank them for everything they had done for me, for everything I had been through and for everything they had stood beside for. Here we were, at the peak, I had made it, and wanted to make sure the people that I cared about the most were right there to experience it with me.
Following the Cup prestation there was the madness of the locker room celebration. It’s exactly as you would imagine – craziness. More hugging, more tears, more photos. Only now we had the Grey Cup to celebrate with. The Grey Cup is the oldest championship trophy in North American sports. Originally donated to the men’s rugby championships by Lord Grey (of the Earle Grey Tea company fame) in 1909. it also has the distinction of not having any duplicates. Unlike the Super Bowl or the Stanley Cup, where there are multiple trophies and new ones made each year. There is only one Grey Cup. That means the trophy we hosted and drank champagne out of is the exact same cup that someone in say, 1932 would have hoisted and probably drank Champaign out of as well. Pretty crazy when you stop and think about that type of history being physically handed down from one champion to another. Really adds to the privilege I felt earning the right to hold it when I keep it in that perspective.
Memories of that day and season will live on in my heart for probably the rest of my life. It was an achievement by a team that my never again be matched. Add in the fact that we capped it off in our home stadium made it even more perfect. I was so blessed to be a part of this, to be on a team that showed the world what can be done if you’re willing to figure out what’s wrong instead of figuring out who to blame. A team where players looked to support each other first, even at the potential cost of losing their own career. A team that took the challenge in front of them head on and fought day by day to become something memorable. A team that didn’t let the outside world dictate what we were going to do, or even what we were capable of doing. A team that figured it out and achieved the impossible.
As the locker room party carried on, I quietly snuck out and made my way back onto the now quiet, mostly empty field. The stadium lights had been turned off and the grounds crew was already frantically at work putting away the field and preparing for whatever concert or event was scheduled to roll into town next. Life was already moving on. I knew this all too well. Great moments like this were still just moments. Here today gone tomorrow. Win or lose we were still going to get up tomorrow and get back to moving forward again. I just wanted a few more moments to really let this moment sink in, to quietly, selfishly absorb it for myself. As great as out team achievement had been, I, for the first time on that quiet, dark field, contemplated my entire career. How in the world did I make it this far? How did I get here?
AN IMPROBABLE CAREER
Football, as you can imagine is a sport generally reserved for the biggest strongest athletes in the world. Particularly when you’re talking about offensive lineman, the position I played. We’re the 5 big guys up front who’s’ job it is to basically push people out of the way for a living. I’m serious, my day to day activities at work revolved around two basic premises. On a running play, find a way to drive another 300lb man out of the way so he can’t tackle the guy carrying the ball. On a passing play, stop that same 300lb man from get by you (or running over you) so your quarterback doesn’t get blasted and is able to through the ball. Simple really, just not easy. Kind of like life.
With thousands upon thousands of applications each year pro football has no shortage of willing players wanting an opportunity to play the sport they love at the highest level. With that type of willing workforce Pro Football has the luxury of being very specific on what they are looking for from would be players. There are so many traits that make up a good offensive lineman physically, mentally and emotionally that it would be impossible to have a simple resume criterion for teams to make their hiring decisions. Players need to be evaluated, interviewed and tested on an individual basis before final picks get made. Even then, the process is far from an exact science. But with so many willing applicants each year they need to start the vetting process somewhere. That somewhere usually begins physically. Given the basic job description there are four specific body characteristics that will give a potential lineman a physical advantage over others not possessing these traits. These are 4 traits that are heavily coveted by scouts, coaches and teams as they are characteristics that cannot be created or improved on. You either have them or you don’t, and they want them.
They are:
1) Height
2) Wingspan or arm length
3) Hand size
4) Foot size
Height: Basic concept. Big people move smaller people easier than smaller people can move big people. Because of that reality, offensive lineman generally speaking are the largest athletes in the world. Routinely weighing in at over 300lbs. You now find some that are over 350lbs. Please bear in mind. Many of these men can dunk a basketball and can probably move faster over short distances than most human’s half their size. True athletes. To carry that much weight in a manner that allows such athleticism requires a large surface area. The longer the body, the easier it is to carry more weight and still be productive. Today professional football offensive lineman average somewhere between 6’4 and 6’6. With the outliers being 6’7 – 6’8 on the tall end and 6’3 MAYBE 6’2 on the short end. Too tall – difficult to get low enough to gain any leverage on the person you are trying to move, too short – not enough body surface to carry enough weight required to move another large human.
I’m 5’13. Seriously. I’m so barely 6’1 that I was known my entire career as the “little one”. Sounds crazy when you weigh in at 300lbs, but that is how big these men are. You learn quick that everything in life is relative. Where 6’1 300lbs is huge in 99% of circumstances I’d find myself in the world, when viewed through the eyes of a professional football team choosing their lineman – it’s too short.
Wingspan or arm length: Basic concept. When blocking another man attempting to either drive him out of the way or shielding him from getting around you – he who makes contact with the other man first usually wins. Simple really. If I can get my hands on you before you can get your hands on me, I have a distinct advantage. Quickness helps for sure, but if I can physically reach you from a distance that you cannot physically reach me, I have a mechanical advantage that if coached well cannot not be defeated no matter how much the other man bench presses. What good is strength if you can’t even reach the other person to use it? The longer the arms, the more the advantage. Simple. With long bodies usually comes long arms. A proportioned athlete will typically have a very similar wing span length to that of his overall body length. If your 72inchs tall, your wingspan will probably be somewhere close to 72 inches. Once again, longer bodies help in this criterion again. There are always outliers here as well. This is where some shorter lineman can make up the difference.
Sometimes you are lucky to find athletes with exceptionally long arms in proportion to their height. A true prize for sure. I’d bet that if you were to look at offensive lineman in professional football that are under say 6’3 that you would find more than not that most of them will have longer wingspan than body length. That slight tweek in body proportions help make up the difference lacking in height.
It is not uncommon now to see some athletes with wingspans that are 6,7 even 8 inches longer than their height!
My wingspan – 5. Oh. That means 5 inches shorter than my height. Not only was I too short, but my arms were disproportionately even shorter. Bottom line, I’m built like a turtle. Turtles don’t play offensive line professionally – giants do.
Hand size: All offensive lineman grab. No, its not holding, it blocking. It’s controlling the defender and then using your body to drive that controlled defender wherever you need to move him too. Basic concept. The bigger the hand, the stronger it either is or can be made to be. Do this right now, open your hands and spread your fingers apart as wide as possible. Measure the distance from the outside edge of your pinkly to the outside edge of you thumb. What number did you get? If it’s less than 9 inches across you have small hands by Pro football offensive lineman standards. I’ve played with guys that have hands that are 10 inches across! You know what guys with size 10 hands can do to you? – anything they want to! Big hands = strong grip. String grip = more control over the person you are trying to control or move. You can’t make your hands bigger, they either are big enough or they aren’t.
Mine – not quite an 8. STRIKE THREE.
Foot size: Basic concept. The greater the surface area contacting the ground
1) the more force you can generate to extended outwardly on the defender
2) the greater stability you will have once contact is made
Almost all the offensive lineman I played with over my 13-year-career all had shoe sizes of 14 and up. 15 was probably the overall average. I played with a guy who wore a size 19 shoe! Good luck pushing him over. Forget how big he was, he had snow shoes for feet! That’s stability, that’s also power. Your feet are what connect everything else about you to the almighty ground. The better or greater that connection is the more functional everything else your will do can be.
My shoe size – 11 ½.
0 for 4. I not only didn’t meet any of the basic physical requirements to even be considered for that career, I didn’t even come close!
That was the cold reality I had always known I was up against. I knew I didn’t have what football wanted. Yet somehow, I had beaten the odds. That championship night finished off my 11th year as a pro. It was my finest season ever. I was a conference all-star and at the age of 35 was voted the top center in the league for the very first time in my entire career. Only a season earlier I was demoted to a back-up and told my career would be over following that season due to a shattered foot suffered late the season before. That injury was supposed to leave me not being able to run effectively ever again. Giving my age and the fact, I never fit the parameters of what you want in a lineman in the first place was the perfect opportunity to move me aside. Yet here I was a season later, winning not only my job back, and a championship, but performing at the highest level in my entire career.
Then I thought further back. I had been a first round pick of the Toronto Argonauts in 2001 (4th pick overall in the entire draft) only to have them cut me during my very training camp! Think about that for a second. I was a number one draft pick that couldn’t even make the team. I was able to sneak my way on to the Montreal Alouettes practice roster and was later that season traded to the BC Lions. Three teams in one season and never playing a single down of football in a game. Not a very promising start to a career.
Even going back further. I had missed 3 of my 5 years of college football eligibility with a severe stomach illness, and to cap it all off, I never even started playing football in the first place until the 11th grade in high school.
For the first time maybe in my entire life I let those facts sink in. A smile came over my face. I really had done something pretty amazing. I had no real business accomplishing this much in a sport reserved for the physically superior athlete. Especially considering how late I started and how many obstacles and setbacks met me nearly every step of the way. It was completely improbable, yet it was completely real. I had done it.
I tried to hold that moment for as long as possible. That feeling of selfish pride where you let yourself indulge in your accomplishments knowing that tomorrow would be another day and another chance to get back to work at improving yourself and moving forward. So, for tonight, I had to enjoy this. I made my way back to the locker room, back to the party, back to the type of emotional energy from grown men that is unique to the immediate time following a championship victory. As much as I needed my moment of personal reflection, a Championship post game locker room celebration is something nobody that has that opportunity should ever miss out on.
We celebrated as a team with our families and friends for the remainder of the night at a private ballroom back at our hotel. As tight of a team as we had become the reality of pro football is that many of us would be gone next year. Retired, cut, traded. The one constant in football is constant player change. We knew this would be the last night we would ever be together as THIS team again. Hugs, laughs and photos filled the night. In the same way I tried to hold onto my personal moment post game back on that empty field, all of us tried to hold on to this evening. Tomorrow would be the beginning of something different for each of us. My life up to this point had taught me not to be sure of anything tomorrow, but to be ready to go face whatever it may bring. I wasn’t sure that night if I was done with football or maybe football was finally done with me?
I ended up playing two more seasons after that magical Grey Cup championship. Racking up an all-star selection again the following year and being on a team that was one game away from being able defend our title. My 13th and final pro season was cut short by back surgery needed to remove a large portion of three badly herniated discs in my lower back. All in I played 13 years of pro ball, was an all-star three times and was fortunate enough to be a part of two amazing Grey Cup Championship teams (2006, 2011). Those accomplishments pail greatly though compared to the friends and memories that were made during that time both on the field and everywhere else the sport gave me the opportunity to be.
It’s truly shocking when I look back at what I was able to accomplish. I say that sincerely given the reality of the physical tools I had to work with, how late I started the sport and the relative short amount of time I played it at all before breaking in at the professional level. I say this to make it very clear to you that I am not exceptional in any way that any one of you cannot be. To reinforce that I am just an ordinary person that found a way to excel in arena usually reserved for the extraordinary.
Great things happen when people find an outlet that excites them to the point that they are willing to do the things that it takes to meet the challenges of that interest. I’ve also found looking back that it is in that action of doing the things required to pursue your chosen outlet where I have always been at my happiest.
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