Just wanted to keep everyone in the loop. Ballast is currently in the middle of proofreading and editing the manuscript. Once they finish that, it goes to book design, proofs, etc. Still looking like a late spring/early summer release for "American Grunt." In the meantime here's another snippet of the chapter I cut about working stadium security in Jacksonville.

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After the games I was typically moved outside the stadium to assist with crowd control as the visiting players loaded onto their busses. It was a surreal experience as these massive human beings either completely ignored the folks gathered along the metal railings or got high off the adoration. Truthfully, it was awesome to be around kids meeting their idols and random dads getting to have conversations with their favorite backup defensive lineman. Sometimes the players would get starstruck by the EVENT STAFF shirt and engage with me as well. After the Chicago game, a big lineman for the Bears showed me his gnarled pinky and asked, “Layman’s opinion how bad does that look?”

“Gonna be honest, man, I’m glad it’s not mine.”

He stared at his hand. “Third time this year already. Getting hard to remember how it’s supposed to look.” And then he laughed and started signing autographs with his mangled hand, ignoring the obvious pain and enjoying five minutes with the Chicago fans as the busses idled behind him. From a distance and on television, the players always looked like some sort of superhuman robots in their helmets and shoulder pads. It was fascinating to see the human side of guys who made a 6’2” college baseball player feel small and unathletic.

As the lineman with the crooked pinkie joked around with some fans near the busses, Chicago’s star rookie running back Rashaan Salaam exited the locker room wearing sweats and the GDP of Lithuania around his neck. Dude looked like he was about to be suffocated by a golden python. In fact, I believe the term “bling” was invented because a new word was necessary to describe the chain he was wearing.

Seeing him, a nine-year-old kid in a Bears jersey yelled, “Rashaan! Great game!”

Salaam was too cool to smile, but he nodded and started walking over like he was about to give the kid the world’s smoothest fist bump and say something awesome like, “Ah-right little man. I see you.”

It was about to be a moment the kid would remember for the rest of his life - right up until some doofus in an untucked polo and Jorts pushed past him and shoved a handful of cards and a Sharpie over the railing. It was a move as audacious as Salaam’s chain.

I remember Salaam giving me a sideways look like, “Bro, can you do something about this clown?” Truth was, I didn’t know the protocol. The extent of the instructions I was given on my way outside was, “Don’t let anyone past the railings.” Salaam reluctantly signed the cards only to have the guy reach into his magic Jorts and produce seven more.

It wouldn’t have been such a grating interaction to witness if there had just been a simple, humble thank you from the Jortsman. But there wasn’t. There was no sign of appreciation whatsoever - just an entitled obligation to profit off of someone else’s talent. And that bugged the hell out of me.

Detecting that the encounter was quickly going south, I shifted over in front of the Jortsman. “Gotta keep your hands behind the railing, buddy.”

“That wasn’t a rule last week,” he said dismissively.

“It’s a rule this week,” I replied.

The momentary distraction was all Salaam needed. Much like on the field, he spied the opening and bam, he was gone. With the world’s smoothest fist bump he said to the excited kid, “Ah-right little man. I see you,” then flipped on his shades and headed for the bus. As he passed, he gave me a nod that let me know he appreciated the block I threw for him - then promptly forgot about my existence entirely.

The Jortsman was incredulous. He stomped away, then stomped back. “Do you know how much money you just cost me?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Seventeen bucks? I really don’t care.”

The dude paced around in an angry circle for five or ten minutes cursing me under his breath for ruining his afternoon, then decided he’d had enough and left. The lesson here is that if there’s any group of people that you can piss off without much fear of retribution – it’s grown men who ask other grown men to sign their name on things.

Rashaan Salaam was one of a small group of lucky humans to experience the glory of 70,000 people rising in unison to applaud their achievements. It’s something that most of us dream of before our minds turn off for the night. The fantasy is different for each of us but we all think ‘What would it be like in an alternate reality where I made it? What if I was the linebacker, the senator, the comedian? What if the praise and adulation was for me?’

Yet in December of 2016, thirteen years after retiring from the NFL, Salaam committed suicide in a park in Boulder, Colorado - a sad end to what should’ve been a rich and fulfilling life. Maybe it was because of all the brutal hits he endured on the path to glory. Maybe his brain was so damaged that he was no longer able to find his way around life’s everyday obstacles. Or maybe once the crowd goes away existing without the prospect of the roar is a letdown. Maybe you spend your days trying to recreate the noise all while knowing deep down that it’s never coming back. Maybe the silence of normalcy becomes overbearing. Maybe in some ways, it’s better to be one of the mass of worker bees doing the roaring.

At least that’s what I tell myself when morning arrives and my dreams fade into the redundancy of another Tuesday in the life of a mostly invisible man.