SURELY SOMEBODY LIKES THE PRESEASON

by Tracer Bullet, Staff Writer

I admit it. I'm weird. I like preseason football. I mean, I'm weird for a lot of reasons, but that's the salient reason today.

The usual complaint about the preseason is that it's a bunch of scrubs on the field, many of whom will never make the team and those who do will only play in the event of a catastrophe. That, to me, is the attraction.

For the starters, the preseason is nothing but an irritant; just a burden to be borne and an excellent opportunity to get hurt. For the guys on the margin, these games are crucial. You can smell the desperation and I find desperation fascinating.

Your ol' pal Bullet was a pretty good football player, but at my absolute best, I wasn't going to be an NFL starter. In the extremely unlikely event I'd ever get into an NFL stadium without a ticket, I'd have been a guy on the margins. A grinder surviving on special teams, paranoid that every mistake would bring a visit from the Turk. A guy playing in the second half of preseason games.

It's a brutal way to live. These guys don't necessarily have a job from week to week and they can get cut at any time through no fault of their own. The anxiety alone has to be crushing. To go through that stress on top of the physical punishment they take just to stay in the league is just mind-boggling.

Sure, the money is pretty good, but when the guy in front of you in line at the cafeteria wouldn't scratch his ass for the money you make, well, that takes a bit of shine off the paycheck. It's about more than money; it has to be. These guys actually had to go to class in college so they could probably make decent money doing something that doesn't involve sprinting 55 yards to smash into a 260-pound man at full speed.

If they're lucky, these rookies and journeyman banging into each other in front of about 2,000 people late in meaningless games can aspire to be Jeff Thomason. Thomason retired in 2002, but Philadelphia signed him in 2004 to replace an injured Chad Lewis. He used up all his vacation from his job in construction, but went from average working stiff to near-Super Bowl champion. Even a crusty old jerk like me has to love that story.

No, these cats are living the dream and I have to respect them for that. So show a little love and pour out a little liquor for for the special teamers and the fringe guys. He'll be teaching gym class or training chubby guys on the StairClimber next you a few weeks from, but for today he's got his helmet and he's running out under the lights. He's living on little more than hope and I love watching him do it.