Life, or Something Like It

The linked article is about Lorenzo Neal, a fullback in the NFL. I was struck by the simplicity of this man. He understands what it takes to do his job, strives to be the best there is at that position, and seems to understand that he is blessed to do what he does.

I am often struck by people who just seem to "fit" into their lives. So many of us are struggling against something-- our work, our personal time, the clock, those significant in our lives. Whenever I see someone who just sort of "gets it," I take a moment. Most often, these characters are fictional (for example, Doc "Moonlight" Graham, from Field of Dreams-- "If I hadn't been a doctor. Ah, that would be the tragedy."). But occasionally I stumble on an article that shows that there are some people who can "fit" in the real world.

It strikes me that those who seek out the limelight, need to make the statement, are the ones who have something missing in their lives. A Terrell Owens may be one of the best receivers in the league, for example, but that hole he has where something is missing makes him seek out the attention and leads him to miss games, alienate those around him, and, ultimately, spend time at home rather than adding to his gaudy stats. Neal, on the other hand, has played nearly 200 straight games, goes about his business, and gets the job done. End of story.

I would rather know a hundred Neal-esque people than one Owens.


Even if you don't like American football, you might learn a little from reading about this man.

EDIT:

Found the article.

Last of a Dying Breed
Dan Pompei
Posted: November 22, 2005

Someday, after your hair has turned white, your spine has curved and your hearing has faded, the little child on your lap will ask, "Grandpa, what was a fullback?" 

And you'll have to think back and remember. "Well, Billy," you'll say slowly, "a fullback was a football player who blocked. He took pleasure in clearing a path for others to make big plays. He wasn't in it for the dancing. Or the money. Or the media. A lot of fans barely noticed him. Only the real students of the game even knew what the fullback really did. 

"They began dying off around the turn of the century, fullbacks did, replaced by hybrid backs, tight ends, H-backs and wide receivers. It became so hard to find a good one, NFL teams just said, 'To heck with fullbacks.' " 

Your memory isn't what it used to be, but you fish out a name. 

Lorenzo Neal. 

He was the fullback's fullback, the best blocker you ever saw. "He would rather knock a linebacker on his keister than take a handoff," you'll say. "He was the last of his kind." 

This is a day in his life.

_______________________

Four hours before the Bills kick off to the Chargers, Lorenzo Neal trots onto the field at an empty Qualcomm Stadium. Outside in the parking lots, the sights of bare chests and sandals and the smells of sunscreen and ground beef testify to the beauty of the day. Neal runs around the perimeter of the field eight times. He listens to gospel music by Kirk Franklin on his iPod. Later, as the game approaches, he will switch to some 50 Cent. 

If he is not ready to play by now, he never will be. He has been preparing for this game, for every game, since he first started playing fullback 20 years ago as a high school freshman in Lemoore, Calif. He went to Fresno State, just up the road from Lemoore, and was drafted in the fourth round by the Saints in 1993. He also played for the Jets, Buccaneers, Titans and Bengals before moving to San Diego in 2003. 

Neal takes pride in being more prepared than the next guy. It is what has enabled him to survive all these years while others like him have died off. His offseasons, he says, are 10 times more physically grueling than his seasons. 

There is conditioning and lifting with a personal trainer, everything from pulling cars to running hills. There is wrestling with college kids at Fresno State, where he was an All-American junior heavyweight. There is boxing with former middleweight champion Paul Vaden. There is even ultimate fighting with mixed martial artist Chuck "Iceman" Liddell. Neal is typically in the gym by 5 a.m., and he works out up to three times daily. 

"I know it makes the season easier," Neal says. "You might be a better athlete than me. You might be faster than me, stronger than me, but you're not going to outwork me. When guys are tired in the third and fourth quarter, I know what I've done to prepare for this."

________________________________

On the first play after the kickoff, Neal is assigned to clear out the Bills' middle linebacker on a power play. He finds London Fletcher and drives him backward, and LaDainian Tomlinson runs for 12 yards. 

Neal likes this play, but his favorite is the lead draw because of its isolation qualities. "Just me and the linebacker in the middle of the hole," he says. 

Many "modern" fullbacks prefer to dive at the knees of defenders. That isn't Neal's style, although he will throw a cut block when it makes sense. "If it's me and a linebacker, it's like, 'Dude, why should I cut you when I know I can take you down?' " he says. "I like to hit them in the mouth and say, 'Let's go.'" 

At 5-10, 255, he has the perfect size to get beneath the shoulder pads of most linebackers. Leverage is his game. Neal is known for leading with his forehead. "He has a great head for the position," Tomlinson says. "His head is huge." 

Neal's big melon, in fact, is the source of much levity in the Chargers' locker room. "That's my moneymaker," Neal says. Of all the running backs, quarterbacks, receivers, tight ends and defensive backs on the team, only Neal wears an extra-large helmet shell, according to equipment manager Bob Wick. The only linebacker who wears an extra-large shell is Shawne Merriman, who has 6 inches and nearly 20 pounds on Neal. 

Finding the linebacker on a lead draw reminds Neal of one of his hobbies -- "frogging," or frog hunting. Neal and friends, armed with a flashlight and a long three-pronged gig, will take out a boat well after dark.When they spot a bullfrog, they shine the light in its eyes, which freezes the amphibian. Next thing you know it's 3 a.m. back at Neal's house, and everyone is eating frog legs, potatoes and eggs.

___________________________

Neal kicks out into the flat on the first drive and catches a pass. Bills safety Troy Vincent comes up to make the tackle, and the collision is violent. Vincent's helmet flies one way, Vincent flies another, and his forehead is gashed open. "Got him good on that one," Neal says. 

Neal has forged a career and, indeed, an identity out of such collisions. The man becomes the player, then the position, then the task. Neal is a block. Though he never has officially been diagnosed with a concussion, he has experienced some of the symptoms. Last season, a Raiders player -- Neal still is not sure who -- hit him so hard he had to lie down on the field for a minute. 

"There are plays when you're hit, and it's like you get the flutters," he says. "You see stars. You've got that buzzzzzzzz. OK, that was a good one. You just try to breathe. It's happened thousands of times." 

Fullbacks such as Neal probably incur more big-impact hits than players at any position. Virtually every play for Neal is a battle of bighorns vying for the highest ground. 

He sees himself as a lineman with a lower number. "The only difference is I'm 5 yards deeper," he says. "And the linebacker is 5 yards deeper. So you have 10 yards of speed, compared with linemen who are 2 feet apart. The collisions are way harder. It's who's got the hardest head, who's going to quit first, who's going to fall apart first." 

Perhaps Neal's most impressive accomplishment is not falling apart. Despite tens of thousands of body crashes, he hasn't missed a game because of injury since 1993, his rookie season. He has played in 186 straight games, an accomplishment of Favre-ian proportions. He credits staying healthy to playing fast and the grace of God. 

It's not like he ever tries to save himself. "Lorenzo doesn't care about his body, about his own well-being," Dallas defensive tackle La'Roi Glover says. "He just goes out there and throws his body around." 

Remarkably, Neal has no major physical ailments. He has had one surgery, to repair a torn ankle ligament during his first pro year. What hurts 10 games into the season? "The bottom of my feet, from the cleats digging into my soles," he says.