I am the first person to tell you that I LOVE college football. These players love the game, have pure angry competition running through their veins, and play with a vengeance later unfortunately squashed by the NFL. While a D-I athlete at the second largest school in the country at the time, I saw these naturally gifted football players work their butts off to be better beyond their God-given abilities, to make their team better, to win championships, to get an NFL contract. They knew they were good, but there was still much to be done, and they knew they had the goods to get it done. If they later turned into the whiney bitches in the NFL, then so be it.
I am also the first person to tell you that I abhor the NFL (with the exception of Peyton Manning). No where else can spoiled 10 year olds pretend to give a crap beyond feeling the wad growing in their pocket each week. You can take this to mean their ego-heavy dicks or their wallets-either would be correct. So what if they make 20x and more than any teacher, doctor, scientist, etc-for playing a game-and let's face it they don't really better the world or cure cancer, do they? They ALL run charities, but I think this is to allow them to sleep at night in their custom made 1000 square foot beds in their 10 acre houses in their own state. Yes, folks, that is sarcasm. Sure I got paid to play, but no where near a million in my account to PLAY A GAME. Ok, off my soapbox and moving on...
So I am diligently ellipticalling my bulbous bulges off, and there is not a damn thing on TV to keep me occupied. So I see Hard Knocks is on HBO. This is a show chronicling the preseason of the NFL team, the NY Jets, a superbowl favorite this year. I see on the info for this episode that they are finalizing their active roster down to the 53 that will dress for each game. So I think-SCHADENFREUDE!!! I get to see some little (big) overpaid pussies get FIRED. And burn calories at the same time. Could the world get any better???
This is where my lesson arrives. Now I know they are all on camera, and very well aware of this. HOWEVER, I am astonished at the poise and calmness with which these guys take the news. No matter their age, color, length of time in the league, they all treat their fire-er with respect. I realize this is probably for several reasons...
1. If they pitch a hissy ala little Farnsworth III in the middle of the mall, this bad news will travel fast
2. They could potentially be picked up by these same superbowl faves in the future
3. They have the confidence in themselves, to know they will find their place and time to succeed, because there is just no other option-and they think they will probably be picked up by another team
Number 3 is my favorite because I realized-when did I stop believing in myself?
I was a super athlete, even after that I had confidence knowing I was smart and had good common sense. Sure I became the pretty fat girl, but I was still pretty. But when did I start letting people's opinions gnaw at my confidence, set me off my goals, whisper on a loop in my head?
When did I stop believing in my gifts, in my impossible dreams-I know it was long after the discovery of Santa-Dad. I was an adult. A fat adult. I went from being the super hot smart athlete, to the smart hot athlete, to the pretty chunky smart ex-athlete, to the pretty chunky smart girl, the chunky smart girl, to the current chunky girl. This is no one's fault but my own.
But the NY Jet rejects taught me something...I may not be that super hot smart athlete ever again, but no one is going to make me feel like I am anything lesser for not being that person again. I may not make that team right now, but I'm still in the league and planning my comeback. At least I need to believe I am on that upward swing, otherwise I will never have the gusto to straighten my spine, lose this weight, and look people square in the eye again with the knowledge that I deserve to share this planet and am worth a good Goddamn.
So go get your piece of success, and don't let anyone tell you that you are not in their league.
(sorry for the cussing Mom to the 4th)