Eat My Schwartz

by Geoff Schwartz

  * * *

  One thing you always hear about pro football is this mantra about the speed of the game, the speed of the game, the speed of the game. To be honest, the speed surprised me more in college than it did in the pros. The difference between college and the pros is really about the uniformly excellent skill level in the NFL. In college you might come across two or three defensive ends that are NFL caliber in your entire four-year career. Once you hit the NFL, all the players perform at an elite level; the speed, strength, and skills just go up a notch. Or three.

  So what is it that offensive linemen are really perfecting during training camp and all the endless practices?

  Blocking.

  You can write entire books on blocking—on the training, on the technique, on the different blocks, on the footwork, on the hand-fighting. It goes on and on. But basically, we work on two types of blocking: run and pass.

  I like run blocking more than pass blocking for a number of reasons. The importance of pass blocking can’t be overstated—you are protecting your team’s number-one asset, the quarterback, and contributing to what are ideally going to be big yardage plays. But for a lineman, pass protection is a little like playing defense on offense. On pass plays our job is to keep our bodies between the rusher and the quarterback. How we do that is an awesome, exhausting battle royal, no question. But with run blocking, the lineman’s job is more aggressive. Run play blocking is more execution oriented. It’s usually more sophisticated than pass blocking in terms of who is moving where when. It’s more of a syncopated multipart battle, where we try to dictate with raw power, speed, and skills.

  There are many elements to blocking. A well-executed block is a perfectly coordinated ballet of biomechanics, with your feet, hips, hands, and head all working together to create or protect gaps off the line of scrimmage. But the key element is what we call the punch.

  An offensive lineman punch is not really the same thing as a boxer’s punch. In the run game, the punch is actually a simultaneous openhanded punch and grab. You’re trying to grab the breastplate of the shoulder pads, which is in the middle of the pads. That’s where you get the most control.

  To gain that control, the punch has to be coordinated with your hip, because the hips are where you are generating your power—translating the force and momentum that starts with your legs. So the goal is to hit guys on your second step as you explode out of your stance. If you land a punch on your first step, you will not be as powerful, because you won’t have the momentum to bring your hips through with your punch. The momentum that builds with a second or third step is going to deliver more force. And you keep driving with your legs to sustain that force.

  There are other factors that get calibrated into run blocking. Leverage is a huge piece of the puzzle for some linemen. If you are able to come at an opponent from a lower angle, you are maximizing your force and minimizing his. Leverage is key in every play. Interestingly, the word leverage comes from the French verb élever, which means “to raise,” but in run blocking it’s about applying force—to the inside, the outside, or the middle of an opponent—in a way that opens up gaps for the runner.

  Offensive linemen have a very wise saying passed on through generations that sums up the secrets of blocking: “Low man wins.”

  That said, I actually don’t play very low because of my size. Even in the world of massive linemen, I’m a big guy. Instead, I rely on having really big, strong hands. I try to tie up the other guy, or move him with, as the saying goes, my hips, hands, and hat. I don’t actually ever hit a guy with my helmet, but that saying is really about alignment: focusing your head, hips, and hands to work together and hit a specific target or endpoint that controls the opposition and helps the play.

  Endpoints—where you want to hit the defender for a certain run play—are the targets to achieve leverage. The targets and how you hit them depend on where the ball is supposed to go in a given play. That dictates a ton of decisions, and we spend our time honing the moves to put those decisions into action. If the play is going to an outside zone then you have to use your footwork and your hands to match that. So that is what we are all practicing, trying to get to that point to where we automatically know outside-zone play means wider footwork, having my hands here, my hips there, my head centered. Then I need to know where to apply pressure and where it is okay for my guy to beat me. For instance, if the play is going inside, I generally don’t care if he beats me outside.

  There are other types of blocks, from trap pull blocking, where the goal is to make contact with your shoulders or forearms, to cutting, where you drop down low and take a man down by “cutting” his legs out from under him.

  At the end of the day, the offensive line can be totally dominant, but that doesn’t guarantee success. We are also dependent on running backs doing the right thing and hitting the hole we’ve created. Sometimes we’ll execute our blocks perfectly, but the back just does something else and gets stuffed at the line. That is frustrating for linemen. We think, “Did he have his eyes closed or what?” But then we shake it off, because backs are human, too, and everything is happening at lightning speed, and decisions get made in split seconds.

  The reality is that even though we practice and drill and are elite athletes, rarely does a football play—run plays especially—work exactly as planned.

  Pass blocking also relies on punching, but the punch isn’t usually as forceful because you use less of your hips. In general, you are upright and backing up as soon as the play starts. The punch is used to disrupt the pass rusher, tie him up, latch on to him, or ward him off. You want to be between your man and the quarterback at all times, so the rules of leverage apply as you angle your feet, hips, hands, and head to keep your blocking assignment away from his target.

  Linemen deploy all kinds of styles. Some guys punch two-handed, some guys punch one hand at a time. Some are grabbers—they have very strong upper bodies and they either hold on to a lineman’s arm or they grab that breastplate and keep the rusher close. On short-yardage pass plays designed for the quarterback to release the ball quickly, a lineman—smaller, quicker guys, not me—might cut the rusher. The problem with cutting—and you’ve probably seen this happen in games—is that once you cut, you are no longer between your man and the quarterback. So, if that rusher recovers quickly, the quarterback is vulnerable if he holds on to the ball too long.

  In-the-trenches pass blocking often evolves into hand fighting, where the punches and grabs are launched and deflected as both players engage in a series of super-fast punches and blocks. It’s often an elbow-to-elbow face-off, with the offensive lineman trying to grab on to the defender and hold him in place, and the defender moving forward while parrying our grabs. It is a part martial art, part counter-punching drill, part ultimate fighting skirmish that lasts two to four seconds.

  And then repeats.

  * * *

  The best move I made my rookie year didn’t happen on the football field. A few weeks into off-season training, I went to a bar near the hotel called the Buckhead Saloon with some of the guys on the team. Utilizing my superior scouting skills, I noticed a gorgeous blonde who was out with a group of friends. I’m not the wiliest Casanova, as you might imagine—stuttering can really put a damper on chatting up gals, trust me—but I can be outgoing, and as a new guy in town, I knew I was going to have to make my own luck. Fortunately, even though this girl was a knockout, she seemed approachable.

  I decided on the straightforward, just-the-facts approach.

  “My name is Geoff. I play for the Panthers.”

  I guess there are better pickup lines. But, hey, at least this one was respectful and honest. The Panthers connection didn’t really impress her. She said, “Yeah, whatever. If you really like me you’ll take me on a date.”

  We started talking and the conversation flowed easily. Her name was Meridith. She had a warm southern accent and dazzling smile. She was a medical assistant who was also going to school to finish he
r associate degree. Her plan was to become a nurse. My plan was to get to know her a lot better.

  I asked her for her number, and after a lot of talking on the phone, we went on an official date to a Japanese restaurant called Ru San’s. It was a great evening, one of those nights when you really connect and have fun and you think, wow, this is the start of something amazing and special. It was one meal that I did not focus on the food.

  I like to joke that Meridith and I were a perfect match. I was young, broke, played football, and didn’t have a car. She was a total babe, didn’t know a lineman from a cornerback, and had wheels. I guess you could call me a romantic.

  But joking aside, I did use her car as an excuse to see her more. I’d call and say, “I need to go to the grocery store, what are you doing?” Since then I’ve found out that Meridith wondered about my motives. She’d tell her friends, “This guy, he’s really nice and cute and makes me laugh, but he makes me drive him everywhere!”

  The more I got to know her, the more I wanted to spend time with her. By April, we got a small condo together. Charlotte started to feel a lot more like home. It was Meridith’s town and I could see myself settling down there.

  At that stage I didn’t realize how rootless life in the NFL could be.

  * * *

  I also put down roots of a different sort in the off-season with another old flame: baseball. I was talking to my dad about staying fit and sane while I trained on my own.

  “What do you want to do?” said my dad, who as a business consultant is something of a professional listener and problem solver.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m so focused on training right now. It’s hard to get out of the mindset.”

  “Why don’t you do some coaching?” he said.

  “Coaching?”

  “Baseball coaching. Help out at a high school. You could be a pitching coach.”

  It was a great idea. I was living out by South Carolina, and I Googled the nearest high school and came up with Fort Mill, which is about twenty-five miles from Charlotte. I called up the head coach, Brad Mercer, and explained who I was and my background and asked if I could work with the team. He said sure.

  That year I spent almost every day of the off-season handling the varsity pitching staff. It was great to be out on the diamond and work with the kids. They were a good team and the whole vibe was great. I’ve been a volunteer coach for seven years now. My fourth year with them we won the upper state and lost in the state championship. We’ve put a bunch of guys on college teams, and I’m proud to say that two pitchers landed on Division 1 teams, and one just got drafted.

  * * *

  I played a lot better in my second-year preseason training camp. I was just more comfortable. I’d had a whole off-season working with our strength coaches. My sternum injury was completely healed. And with the older guys helping me out with my stance and my punches, the moves started to feel more automatic and natural. Practicing against the defensive starters, I was holding my own. In fact, sometimes, I was more than holding my own. I was opening up holes with the running attack and keeping those defensive ends away from the quarterback. And the coaches noticed.

  There are thirty-two teams in the NFL. Each team has fifty-three players on the roster, which means there are 1696 active players during the season. And by the end of camp, I was one them. Not bad for a guy who didn’t play a down in high school until his junior year and was a seventh-round pick.

  * * *

  In week fourteen, we were playing New England and at the end of the game our right tackle Jeff Otah came out with a knee injury. You never want to see a teammate injured. Ever. We all work so damn hard on conditioning and strengthening our bodies, and injuries just negate everything players work for as an individual and as a team. I came in for a couple of plays to finish the game, but didn’t think much of it. But the next day, the offensive line coach tells me, “Jeff is out for the season, so you are starting.”

  Two years prior to this, Jeff had been the Panthers’ number-one pick. I was their seventh-round pick along with Mackenzy Bernadeau. Now due to injuries, both Mackenzy and I were starting—against the Minnesota Vikings, who had the sixth-ranked defense in the league and a mighty 10–3 record to our struggling 5–8.

  The game was on Sunday Night Football, which meant I’d be playing in prime time on national TV. The Panthers’ coaching staff was understandably a little concerned about throwing a rookie up against these guys. They made some changes to give me some help—mostly some double-team support from the tight end—which was really nice. I wanted to stand and deliver on my own out there, but I wasn’t about to say no to that. Hey, sometimes it takes a village to raise an offensive lineman.

  Now that I was starting my first game, I became a “media story.” And for the first time in my career, reporters came looking for me. I was a little nervous during my first interviews, but I made it through without embarrassing myself. My teammates did their best to keep things very loose with some comical abuse as photographers’ flashes went off. Among the mocking commentary: a few “Nice haircut!” quips, and then one guy called out, “He’s the next Anthony Muñoz!” He was being a bit sarcastic; Muñoz was an all-pro tackle for eleven years in a row, and is still considered one of the best in the history of the NFL.

  I was completely amped at the start of the game, a cocktail of adrenaline and the nerves surging through my system. Nobody plays this game just to practice. We work pretty much all year-round to play on Sundays, and I hadn’t played a game—a real, actual, regular-season game—in almost two years. And even though I was nervous and butterflies were fluttering at supersonic speeds in my gut, it also felt awesome. Nowhere else do you get that rush, that anxiety, the drama that comes with being on the field and facing off, man-versus-man, skill against skill, brute force against brute force, over and over again for about sixty battles. There is nothing like it.

  I played well, but by the middle of the second quarter—after about four drives—I was totally exhausted. All the adrenaline had surged and gone. Of course, you just dig deeper in those moments, even though you feel like hooking up an IV of Gatorade might be a good idea. I sucked it up. In the end, our offensive really clicked and we erupted for three TDs in the final quarter. As debuts go, it was close to perfect: we won the game, announcer Cris Collinsworth gave me a shout-out by noting he hadn’t had to mention my name once, and I had realized a dream: holding my own against a very good defensive team on national TV. Pretty cool for a twenty-three-year-old practice squad refugee.

  I think confidence is a crucial part of success. But any athlete with half a brain has moments of uncertainty about their skill level in relation to their opponents. Well, maybe guys like LeBron James or Michael Jordan or Tom Brady don’t. But I sure did, because the fact is, you never really know until you actually do it. And I had done it. That night I thought, “Yes! I can play in this league.”

  And it wasn’t just a thought, it was a reality. I finished out the season as a starter.

  The next year, 2010, was my second season on the active roster. I spent most of the off-season in Charlotte training at the facility and bracing myself to win the starting spot at right guard, a pretty big challenge, since I had played tackle from high school through college. But when training camp began, Jeff Otah, the right tackle who was injured, hadn’t returned to camp, so I just stayed at right tackle.

  Starting was great, but it was a rough season. Our starting quarterback Matt Moore was injured early on, and a rookie out of Notre Dame named Jimmy Clausen was handed the starting job. He ended up throwing 3 touchdown passes and 9 interceptions over 13 games. As those numbers indicate, our offense was pretty bad. Going into the bye week we were 0–5, and the head coach said, “Schwartz, you’re playing right guard.” So for the rest of the season I played that position. The switch was fairly easy. The last six or seven weeks, I felt like I could handle either position.

  I have to hand it to my teammates on the line for kee
ping everything loose and as fun as possible. It’s pretty harsh winding up on the losing side week after week.

  Playing well on an individual level was important to me, not just because I’m competitive and driven to excel, but because I had plans and was starting to dream a bit. I bought a house outside of Charlotte. I saw it as an investment. It was affordable and in a good area. Things were going fabulously with Meridith. I figured we’d live there forever. I sold her on that life. I said, “We’re never going to leave Charlotte. I’m going to sign a long-term deal with the Panthers and this is where we’re going to settle down.” I had started every game and played really well. Just one more year of solid play and I’d be able to command some serious money and a long-term contract. This little dream of mine seemed totally within my grasp.

  I didn’t realize that sometimes your body—and the mysterious ways of the NFL—can conspire against you.

  Mitch

  The Browns held a rookie minicamp in May of 2012 and, even though I’m a levelheaded guy, it was a tremendously exciting time for me. Playing in the NFL had been a dream since I was in high school—as I’ve said, that was part of my reason for going to Cal, they had a great record of getting guys ready for the NFL—and now I was finally here. I had two goals when I arrived at camp: prove to myself I had the skills to play in the league, and prove to my coaches I could do the job and become a starter. I really wanted to earn the trust of the coaching staff and show them that they made the right choice by drafting me. Coaches and GMs want their draft picks to do well. But, in general, no coach in the world is going to start you until they are sure you are the best guy for the job.

  To develop that trust I focused on improving my technique and fundamentals over the five practices we had. I worked hard on my hand skills, my footwork, my stance. And judging from interviews head coach Pat Shurmur gave at the time, I seemed to make a good impression.

  After rookie camp, we all got integrated into the off-season program with the veterans. But, just like freshmen in college, rookies have a learning curve. So we had more classes and more meetings than the veterans. They gave us a class in financial literacy, which was a nice surprise, as if the team or the league is in your corner and wants to help you. Most of the other meetings involved teaching us the offensive schemes. All told, we had about four to five hours of meetings and workouts every day.