#this is how i broke a kids leg and physically injured a teacher twice with 0 repercussions | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

junker-town · 6 years

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Why everyone loves the underdog Eagles, especially the Eagles

Everyone loves an underdog story, especially the underdogs themselves. Retired NFL lineman Geoff Schwartz explains why.

We love an underdog. America embraces the lovable team that’s not expected to win, especially when people can’t find a team to root for. They latch onto them. This week, for the Super Bowl, the Philadelphia Eagles are the underdog.

There are two types of underdogs. The first is the lifelong underdog, the classic — someone or some team that has never had the ability and has no history of winning. Maybe even the classic lovable loser.

Then there’s the other kind, a power who’s had injuries or some outside force that has turned a magical season into something else. The Eagles are that type of underdog.

The Eagles were the No. 1 seed in the NFC, but when Carson Wentz went down with a torn ACL late in the season, they turned to Nick Foles to guide the offense. The Eagles were the first home underdog in the Divisional Round since 1970.

They beat the Falcons, and were still home underdogs to the Vikings in the NFC Championship. They beat the Vikings too. Now, they’re underdogs in the Super Bowl to the Patriots.

We love underdog stories because we can relate. Underdogs have to put in more work, more hustle, so it means more when they win, in sports or in life. I was fortunate to have this body, but my sports story is an underdog story. I know people will get bent out of shape because I ended up going to college on scholarship and played eight years in the NFL. That doesn’t mean someone isn’t an underdog at certain points of the process, especially when compared to their counterparts.

I grew up playing baseball and basketball, and I only started to play football in high school at the request of my math teacher, who was also the JV football coach.

Not all big people are meant to play football. Being big is a plus, but you have to understand how to be physical. I didn’t. I was soft. Luckily, I had coaches who believed in me, or who yelled at me until I figured out what to do. Finally it clicked, but even so, I was told repeatedly that I wouldn’t play college football by high school coaches who thought focusing on three sports was a waste.

(By the way, kids, play every sport possible. Don’t limit yourself to one sport early in life.)

Then I get to college, and my junior season I played with a bad back injury, and played terribly. I asked a coach on the team what he thought about my prospects of playing. He told me not to worry about that because I wouldn’t be playing in the NFL. Well, he was wrong as well.

In the draft process, I had a decent combine, or maybe not. Pro day was good, at least I thought it was. On draft day, I’m got drafted at the end of the seventh round. I was better than that, but that’s where I was taken.

First season, it was the practice squad. By my third season, I played every rep. I thought I was on my way to that big second contract. Nope. Two hip surgeries. I missed the 2011 season. Headed to Minnesota, get injured again. Go to Kansas City and things finally went well. I signed the big contract in New York, then dislocated my toe and broke my leg twice. Ugh. Always injured.

So when you succeed as an underdog, it feels more rewarding to finish on a high note. As a late seventh-round pick who started on the practice squad, I played eight NFL seasons for four teams (five if you include the Lions who cut me in camp my last season), with seven major injuries.

I’m proud of my career because I felt I had to work through adversity maybe more than others. It feels more satisfying to win or succeed as the underdog. Y’all know the feeling.

So the Eagles are once again underdogs in the Super Bowl. As players, as a team, and as a coaching staff, we shouldn’t need extra motivation this time of the year. In fact, I believe you should be self-motivated all season to succeed, but it’s never bad to add fuel to the fire. And the mantra of being an underdog is like adding jet fuel in the locker room. It’s a rallying cry throughout the facility. Every meeting it’s mentioned. At practice, coaches will remind you during drills. At the end of practice, a coach will remind you again. It becomes a mantra.

Underdog status also unites a fan base with their players. Eagles players are wearing dog masks, so Eagles fans rush to purchase them. It’s a rallying cry that the fan base can understand, because we know the feeling of being an underdog at some point in our lifetime.

Winning in the NFL is sweet. It’s the only thing that makes every single person in the facility happy. Winning is the only feeling that I miss about being in the NFL. There’s nothing sweeter. So when you’re the underdog and you win, you feel an extra sense of pride and joy. An extra sense of accomplishment. That’s why we love underdogs.

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crowsent · 4 years

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Would you be willing to elaborate on the vase story?

sure why the fuck not

i was young. way young. and had a temper shorter than my height. and back then, i was even shorter than i am now. i was this waifish 4 feet thing that wore a pleated skirt and stockings with floral-print boots and had my hair up in pigtails. dainty as a prairie flower that wore an absurd pink bedazzled slap bracelet on both wrists. walked around like i was dorothy skippin down the brick road. in short. i was the furthest fucking thing from intimidating as you could get.

and back then, i was the Weird kid. we had a bitch who spoke to trees and a bastard son of a bicol politican sentenced to live in the backwoods bronies who gleefully licked stripes up down and sideways on the classroom wall. but i was the Weird Kid. because apparently being neurodivergent in my country is a death knell for children bc i got bodied. and i got bodied hard.

as in got slammed into walls “on accident” all the time, had someone write on the blackboard “i wish salt would just permanently leave” in block letters and had kids very blatantly exclude me from their games/activities/hangout-sessions. for some fucking reason, i still stayed a decent human bc while i had the full capacity to yank this bitch pricea’s dumb head into the ground and knock her frail ass unconscious i didnt.

was nice like that

anyway. because i was the Weird Kid and never fought back, resident Asshole Extrodinaire Shitface Mcgee decided to bully me hardfucking core. lets call this bastard DU.

so i was having a good fucking time by myself, running around and bothering no one bc i still liked to do physical things way back when, when DU fucking bodyslams me once or twice while i was frolicking around n bein one with nature and all that bullshit. when i decided “yeah, i need the exercise during lunch break but not when this fucker is out on the field” so i very casually jogged back.

then DU breaks a vase on me.

specifically my right knee.

huge-ass scar runnin horizontal. if you run a finger over it you can feel texture where the flesh dun heal proper. couldnt walk straight for like. two days

but i was a nice girl so i told the principal that we were horsin round and he accidentally pushed too hard and i fell on the ceramic vase and it just so happened to shatter unfortunately on my knee. was a liar back then too, but way way too nice. teachers bought it, students didnt because people saw what happened n didnt give no fucks bout me since it was the most amusin thing to happen in a while. you know. just teenager things. casually observe someone get bullied and injured and bleeding all over the ground cus its fun.

so the news of the vase thing spread around the school because the school is a private one and rumours fly like tp off shelves and i guess the constant talk about me bein a coward pushover who dont know how to fight back kinda made me snap????? like. i can put up with bullyin and physical abuse by people taller and heavier than me no problem but the moment you call me an idiot who cant swing a fist, i mcfucking lose it.

so.

injured right leg, limpin like a newborn fawn caught its leg in a trap and the DU motherfucker accosts me again in the middle of a dark hallway on the first floor between the canteen and the dining room. says “sorry you tripped onto the vase” like an ASSHOLE bc we both know i sure as fuck didnt trip and then the bitch had the nerve to say “you should look where youre goin” like it was my fault theres a tear in my fucking knee.

then he took my glasses and told me to walk back to class but be careful goin up the stairs cus i might trip and injure my other knee. then the motherfucker laughed.

and then i broke his nose and dislocated his wrist.

real nice story. feral salt fucking surfaced that day. im still nice i guess but my first response can and will be physical violence bc thats the only goddamn language that seems to work around people

gives me a real kick when people who see the scar ask me about it and then i get to watch their faces go from pity to this perfect mix of fear and concern and threatened at the same time when i tell them that i broke the motherfuckers nose, dislocated his wrist, and enjoyed doing it. i get such a good kick from the looks on their faces. aint nothin better

injury’s all healed up too.

bastard couldnt even break the vase over my knee properly. dont feel nothin on my right leg now. all he did was push “nice good christian girl” salt down and bring “feral, unhinged, will murder your family for the price of one corn chip” salt to the surface.

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