Before my senior year at Cal, I decided to study tape of the best tackles in the NFL and implement some of their moves and see if they worked for me or not. Ironically, the first guy I zeroed in on was Joe. I remember being blown away by how graceful and easy he made everything look. Obviously, it’s an illusion, that effortless quality, but it was something I wanted to emulate.
Surprisingly, meeting him at camp wasn’t intimidating at all. He was very low-key and approachable right from day one. It may sound like a cliché, but having an experienced vet to bounce questions and ideas off of has been invaluable. It was also inspiring because I discovered we kind of view the game the same way. We have relatively similar styles of the way we approach the game in terms of preparation. So, having him around is great. Even now, when I’ve been in the league a while, there are still things I’m working on that I’ll ask him about, or how he would handle a situation. He gives insightful advice.
Not only that, but he’s helped me with my confidence. During August of training camp the Cleveland Plain Dealer wrote an article about me. Joe had some very kind words about me exceeding expectations and having all the tools. If there’s one guy you want to hear that from—besides the coaches, of course—it’s Joe Thomas.
I was also psyched to be on a team that clearly believed in the importance of my position. I’m biased, obviously, but there’s an argument to be made that the offensive line is the most crucial group of players on the field. We don’t get the glory that skill position players do, but the fact is the offensive line must control the game for a team to win. And we must protect the quarterback. Michael Lewis’s book The Blind Side, which inspired the Oscar-winning Sandra Bullock movie of the same name, delves into this kind of thinking. Obviously, Lewis focuses on left tackle as being the “most important” position on the field, because the left tackle usually goes up against the opposition’s best defensive rusher and protects the blind side—the side a right-handed quarterback can’t see as he looks downfield to pass. Lewis has a point. And he quotes Ray Perkins, then the Tampa Bay Buccaneers’ coach, explaining his—at the time, shocking—selection of a left tackle with the fourth pick of the draft in 1988. “We would have taken him if we had the first pick of the draft. I’ve changed my mind about the left tackle position. It’s now a skill position because he lines up against more and more teams’ best athlete, their right defensive end or linebacker.”
I’m very glad that The Blind Side drew attention to offensive linemen, and while I understand how incredibly important the left tackle is, there is part of me that feels like it does a slight disservice to the rest of the offensive line. Your team could have the world’s greatest left tackle and quarterback, or the world’s best running back or receiver, but if the center or guards or the right tackle can’t block or handle the pressure, that great talent will never get to shine. The QB will be sacked, the running backs tackled behind the line of scrimmage, and the receivers will barely have time to start a route, never mind catch a pass. So, yeah, the left tackle has a tough job. There’s no arguing that. But the offensive line is a multiheaded organism, and everyone has to be rock solid, or the team will be in a jam. In this age of big data, I’d be interested to know how many quarterbacks have been sacked and knocked out of games from defensive headhunters coming in from the right side. I know in 2014, the NFL sack leader was Justin Houston of the Kansas City Chiefs. He plays left outside linebacker, which means he doesn’t attack the blind side; he attacks my side. And guess who finished second in sacks? Left defensive end J. J. Watt of the Houston Texans. Look, I’m sure historically there’s been more damage to quarterbacks from the blind side—I mean the whole blind side concept was crystalized by Lawrence Taylor playing right outside linebacker and delivering a ferocious, horrifying hit on Washington quarterback Joe Theismann that resulted in a gruesome career-ending compound fracture of the tibia and fibula for Joe. But I have to wonder if there isn’t a huge difference in the pressure being generated from one side of the line and the other. Of course, now that I’ve put that in print, I’m sure some data-crunching statistician will be anxious to prove me wrong.
Arriving in the NFL, I thought the game moved a bit faster. But the big difference, to me, was the competition is more skilled than it was in college. For instance, we spend a lot of time focusing on hand fighting. We use our hands to deliver punches and knock the defense back at various angles to open holes or just protect our quarterback. So we work on delivering those hits in a fast and furious manner and making sure we keep our balance. Why is balance important? Because the defense also practices working their hands. So you might be able to get a really good punch on a guy, but if he’s able to withstand it and grab your wrist, he might be able to pull you off balance. In college, most defensive linemen did not have that ability. So the skill level—the fact that every team has guys who are beasts—was really the biggest difference to me.
There are other big differences about being in the pros. Preseason games were a new experience and were invaluable in terms of getting me ready for the pros. During the college preseason, I just practiced against my teammates for an entire month. It can get a bit monotonous. I knew the defense’s moves and tendencies. And, man, I ended up practicing against some of these guys for four or five years in a row. So preseason games were a nice twist.
Now that I’m a quasi-veteran, though, there is one aspect of the preseason games I don’t relish, which is that there are guys on the other team who are fighting to make the roster, and the way they do that is by trying to kick my butt. I’m trying to beat them, too, but at this point, a preseason game is not life or death to me. I don’t need to make a statement, but the other guys might.
Being a low-key, fairly shy guy, I was a little worried about rookie razzing coming into camp. Fortunately for me our head coach Pat Shurmur didn’t like hazing of any kind. I know that with some coaches you can make rookies sing or carry a teddy bear or do what you want with their hair, but Coach Shurmur banned the whole thing, so I got off in terms of that. I still had rookie duties, though. I had to make sure the meeting room was ready at all times with coffee, cups, and individual items. If a guy liked a certain snack, I had to make sure they were taken care of. On road games I dropped a bundle paying for late-night pizzas.
With head coach, Mike Pettine, we had a bit more fun with the rookies. I’ve never been an instigator, but sometimes at the start of a team meeting one of the veterans will have a rookie stand up and sing. If you’re in the cafeteria during lunch during training camp someone might demand a performance. It’s not mean hazing or anything. There are times when people start cheering or even join in. And it sure breaks up the mood.
When preseason was over, I was named the starting right tackle. Our first game was against the Philadelphia Eagles and my assignment was to go up against Jason Babin, a Pro Bowl left defensive end coming off an 18-sack season. I was pretty nervous. It was a trial by fire for me. When you face a player for the first time, you’ve got to get a feel for how they play things, their speed, and their strength. These elements are there to see on film, but you never know how you are going to react until you have to deal with it on the field.
With Babin, it was a battle, and I’m sorry to say I didn’t acquit myself particularly well. I knew from studying tape that he was a high-effort guy who was going to give everything he’s got on every single play. Some defensive linemen vary their intensity; they turn it on and turn it off, and you are not sure what you are getting on every play. With a guy like Babin, you know he is coming as hard as he can on every down. That means you’ve got to bring it just as hard.
The first play of the game was a run to my side and I completely whiffed on hitting Babin, so that wasn’t the most auspicious start. After that, I sort of held my own. He got by me for one sack and a couple of hits on our rookie quarterback, Brandon Weeden. When those things happen, I get pretty teed off at myself, but I strive to control my anger and I try to analyze how and why he got through. I
try to remember the move and think about countering it the next time, or not even letting him make the move. On the positive side, I didn’t draw a single penalty. I didn’t want to get flagged and have TV announcers tag me with the standard “new guy gets the jitters and goes early to avoid getting beat at the line of scrimmage.” So I stayed locked into moving at exactly the right time.
As uninspired as my play was, it had nothing on poor Brandon. He endured what may be one of the worst debuts in history, with 4 interceptions and 2 fumbles. I joke that at least I didn’t have the worst day on the field. Even with both our rough debuts, we almost won the game. With about two minutes left on the clock, we were up 16 to 10. But Michael Vick led a drive that ended with a short TD pass to tie it up. And the extra point killed us.
* * *
It was a rough season. The Browns started 0–5 and ended up finishing at 5–11, which was one game better than the previous year. So I guess you could say we were moving in the right direction. On a personal level, I felt pretty good about my performance and contributions. I started every game and played every single offensive down—that’s 982 snaps. The Pro Football Writers of America named me to their All-Rookie Team, which was nice. I was also part of an offensive line that helped Trent Richardson break a number of club rushing records for rookies, beating Cleveland legend Jim Brown’s marks for rushing yardage and touchdowns.
That said, losing stinks. Like everyone else in the league, I hate it.
7
ROOKIES AND RELIGION
Mitch
Neither of us realized it at the time, but my arrival in the league was an historic event for ethnographically inclined students of the game. I don’t know who researched the matter, but before I had even played my first game, someone decided to find out how many Jewish brothers had played together in the NFL. It turns out Geoff and I were the first fraternal “members of the tribe” to roam the fields of the NFL since Ralph and Arnold Horween played in 1923.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that someone would research this. Growing up, as huge sports fans and as Jews, we were definitely aware of the few professional athletes who were Jewish. It was just common knowledge. Something you discover about a player because … well, there just aren’t that many of us in the world of professional sports. According to the U.S. Census, Jews make up about 2.2 percent of the U.S. population. Assuming that metric is accurate, Jews as a demographic group are underrepresented in pro sports. That fact leads to a joke every Jewish kid knows: What’s the shortest book ever written? Jewish Sports Legends.
I think it’s good to be able to laugh at myself. Of course there have been some truly great Jewish athletes: Hank Greenberg and Al Rosen were former MVPs in baseball and Sandy Koufax may have been the most dominant pitcher in the history of the game. In swimming, Mark Spitz, Jason Lezak, and Dara Torres brought home plenty of Olympic gold medals. In boxing we were represented by two well-known sweet scientists: Max Baer, the former heavyweight world champ, and Barney Ross, who held three belts in lighter divisions. In basketball, Dolph Schayes was a major force in the ’50s, along with Red Holzman, who went on to be a legendary coach of the New York Knicks.
Growing up in L.A., I knew about Sandy Koufax, and everyone in town knew Shawn Green of the L.A. Dodgers was a member of the tribe. But I had no idea about the history of Jews and football.
It turns out that Ralph and Arnold Horween were major football stars. They were All-Americans at Harvard, where they starred in the backfield. They joined the Racine Cardinals of the fledgling Canton, Ohio-based American Professional Football Association and moved with the team when it became the Chicago Cardinals. Interestingly, they played using an Irish last name, McMahon. It is not clear to me exactly why they used an alias. I’ve read one theory that they wanted to protect the family name. But since the family name had been changed from Horowitz when they first arrived in the United States, you have to wonder what was going on there. Was football looked down upon? Was their family ashamed? Or were they concerned about anti-Semitism? I’m not sure what the motive was. The name game gets even stranger when you read the obituary notice for Ralph that ran in the Chicago Tribune—it mentions that Ralph was the first NFL player to live to be over one hundred years old—and discover that Ralph’s two sons have the last name Stow. Were they his stepsons? That’s another mystery.
As a guy who majored in American Studies, I had fun looking the Horweens up. They sound like great guys. They both withdrew from Harvard during World War I and enlisted in the Navy. Then they came back, finished school, won the Rose Bowl, and turned pro. Eventually Ralph went to Harvard Law School and became a patent lawyer, while Arnold ran the family business, the Horween Leather Company. And guess what? Their leather was used to make footballs for the fledgling league.
It was also cool to discover that Jews were no strangers to the NFL in the early days of the league. Many Jews were stars during the 1930s and ’40s, and none was bigger than Chicago Bears legendary quarterback and Hall of Famer Sid Luckman. In the modern era, I think Lyle Alzado might rank as the most famous football player with a Jewish heritage. When Geoff came into the league, there were ten or eleven Jewish guys playing, but that number has dropped. Off the top of my head, I can think of Gabe Carimi, an offensive lineman for the Atlanta Falcons, Nate Ebner, a safety/defensive back for the New England Patriots, and Taylor Mays, a special teams guy for the Oakland Raiders. Five guys out of 1,600 active players in the league? That’s about 0.3 percent. Numbers like that make me realize that Geoff and I are a rarity.
I don’t think I quite understood how important it is to some people that there are Jews who are professional athletes. I’m starting to realize how big a thing it is in general. It makes sense; all ethnic groups are proud of their members’ achievements. Geoff and I are members of an elite profession.
The first time it really hit me was when I drove to Canton, Ohio, to visit the Pro Football Hall of Fame one Friday. I had been in Cleveland a couple of weeks and I thought it would be cool to go check it out. Canton is only about a ninety-minute drive south of Cleveland. It was a great place to take in the history of what has become the most popular sport in America. When I came outside, there was a busload of Orthodox teenagers visiting from New York. Just like there are many denominations of Christians, there are all kinds of Jews. Orthodox Jews—and believe me, there are many different Orthodox sects—are extremely observant. The men keep their heads covered with yarmulkes or hats, and they pray numerous times a day. They believe that the Torah, or Old Testament, is God’s law along with the Talmud. I was surprised to see the group there at the Hall of Fame.
And they were surprised that there was such a thing as a Jewish football player. When someone pointed me out to them, they flocked over and peppered me with questions, asking if I played quarterback, if I would pose for pictures, and if I would sign autographs. It was really strange for me, because I don’t usually think of myself as a big name or a celebrity. But suddenly, at least to these kids, I was.
“I’m going to root for you every game,” one kid told me. “Except when you play the Giants.”
Geoff
When Mitch arrived in the league, we instantly accounted for at least 20 percent of all Jewish players in the NFL, or probably more. As my brother said, there seems to be between five to ten players in the league at any time. I suppose there are more Jews than there are Hindus and Buddhists, but I guess our numbers in the league and across America are low enough that it turns out a lot of players don’t know much about the Jewish faith.
I enjoy sharing aspects of the culture I grew up with. Coming from a Conservative Jewish family, I loved the traditions, the rituals, the lessons, and of course, the meals. They are totally part of me. I have been asked a lot of questions over the years. When I showed up in Oregon, one guy asked if my family celebrated Thanksgiving. I told him I was an American and that, yes, my family loves Thanksgiving, we celebrate it every year. I should have added that giving thanks i
s one of the things Jews do all the time in our prayers. Many Jews thank God for food and wine before meals, not unlike saying grace.
The other really common question people ask me is: “Do you get a present every night during Hanukah?” My answer is: “Yeah, I did when I was seven.” But the fact is, Hanukah isn’t the huge gift-giving event that Christmas is. Some families may treat it that way, but my family didn’t.
Questions like that don’t surprise me. If you’ve never come in contact with or studied a culture or religion, then how can you be expected to know much about it?
Still, ignorance and insensitivity can be shocking. During my second year at Oregon, a freshman performed a song during a rookie show that referenced “Jews burning in ovens.” I think that some people don’t really realize that the Holocaust is not something to joke about. Back then I was just disappointed that people can be so unaware and unfeeling.
Of course that is nothing compared to the story a Jewish friend of mine once told me. He was living in upstate New York when a casual acquaintance asked if it was true “about the checks.”
“What are you talking about?” my friend asked.
“Do you really bury the dead with blank checks so they can buy their way into heaven?”
What do you say to something as ridiculous and nasty as that?
That kind of racist mythology and stereotyping is horrible and offensive. So I actively share the Jewish traditions I can with my teammates. During Hanukah I’ve traveled with a menorah and lit candles in the hotel room, once with a coach who was Jewish. As you know, Mitch and I are latke addicts. But latkes, as I’ve said, are work-intensive food because of all the peeling and grating. Recently I found a great recipe that takes the work out of latkes, so I can make huge batches for my teammates. The secret is using pre-sliced frozen hash browns. I can hear latke fans out there groaning in protest. Hey, I was skeptical, too. But this is a low-intensity latke workout. You defrost the hash browns, squeeze out the liquid, grate the onion, squeeze out that liquid too, mix it all together with the other ingredients, and fry it up. It’s delicious. Mitch and I have both made them for holiday parties. And our teammates—many of whom have never seen or heard of a potato pancake—have scarfed them down.
Eat My Schwartz Page 9