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#2 |
I'll be back.
Join Date: Nov 2002
Casino cash: $1000478
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I also saved this JoPo column from that game...great read.
Holmes is the Chiefs' quiet giant By JOE POSNANSKI He never said a word. Priest Holmes doesn't talk in the huddle. All game long, he never once said, "Man, I'm tired," or "Block for me, guys," or "Give me the ball," or "I can't feel my left arm." He never said a word. He never does. "This is you again, Priest," Chiefs quarterback Trent Green said. Priest just nodded. All his life, Priest Holmes has dreamed about being the guy. The main running back. He has thought over and over about what that means. You have to credit your offensive line every chance you can. They are your soul. You have to get stronger as the game goes along. You have to get up no matter how hard the defender hits you. Get up. Never let them see you hurt. Make them believe you are indestructible. More than anything, though, you have to be there when it matters. With 4:14 left, the Chiefs got the ball back. They led Buffalo by one. They needed to run out the clock. It mattered. Priest Holmes ran right, skipped by a defender, pulled away from another and picked up 15 yards. "You again, Priest," Trent Green said. He nodded slightly. Of course he hurt. Nobody will ever know how much Priest Holmes hurts. By the time this game ended, he had carried the ball 31 times and caught three passes -- with most of that action coming in the second half -- against a Buffalo team that sent safeties flying at his ribs and cornerbacks tumbling at his legs while defensive linemen grabbed and twisted his ankles and linebackers gnawed on his face mask. "Man, they sure wanted to stop Priest," Chiefs offensive lineman Brian Waters said in awe. "Man." So, yeah, Priest Holmes hurt. He hurt deep. You couldn't tell from his face, though. Holmes got the ball, waited for his blockers to mash open a hole, slid behind them and picked up 12 yards. "You again, Priest," Trent Green said. He nodded slightly. There was nothing fancy left to do. The Chiefs had tried their fancy running. They shifted and ran guys in motion and tried all sorts of things to confuse the defense. None of that worked all that well. "It was time to hit somebody," Chiefs left tackle John Tait would say. Holmes got the ball, ran left, leaped over a linebacker who lurched toward his legs, sprinted past another, picked up 8 yards. "You again, Priest," Trent Green said. He nodded. There were no rah-rah speeches. Nobody screaming, "We got them just where we want them!" or "Come on, dig a little deeper!" That's movie stuff. What you had were 11 exhausted guys trying to get a few more yards against 11 exhausted guys. Green's ankle throbbed. Tony Richardson's body ached. Every single member of that offensive line would have given up his paycheck for 10 minutes in a whirlpool. But this is the time when good teams win football games. The Chiefs are trying to become a good football team. Priest Holmes took the ball up the middle, through a nice hole, fought his way through, picked up 9 more yards. And that's when the cheering turned up. An announcement was made: Priest Holmes had gone over 1,000 yards for the season. That made him the first Chiefs player ever to run for 1,000 yards two straight seasons. Another record. He already had broken the record for most rushing touchdowns, most consecutive games with a touchdown, fastest Chiefs player to 1,000 yards, on and on. Before it all ends he'll have a dozen more. Teammates patted him on the helmet. Fans stood and applauded. The blank look on Holmes' face never changed. "You again, Priest," Green said. And Priest Holmes nodded once more. He ran the ball again. The Chiefs did run out the clock and win the game, thanks to a nice catch by Johnnie Morton -- nice to see him back -- and a gutsy run by Green and, mostly, because of the immense will of Priest Holmes. He ran and dived and stretched for 104 yards -- 49 of those on the last drive -- and he took at least one shot for every yard. He's had better games. He's never had a gutsier game. "I'm fine," he said when it all ended. His body told a different story. He limped slowly to his locker, though calling it a limp wouldn't be quite right because he sort of hobbled equally on both legs. His shoulders sagged. His arms drooped. He... reached... up... slowly... for... his... toothbrush (A lesson for you kids: Just because your body feels like a giant bruise is no reason to ignore your teeth). He looked as if he had been hit about 478 times by men roughly the size of Chrysler LeBarons. Which, of course, he had. "You have to be a warrior," he said. "Because it's not a matter of if you will get hit. You know you will get hit." After he brushed his teeth, people with tape recorders and cameras asked him to talk about those last few minutes. But there were no words to describe the pain and the exhaustion and the necessary will to run hard again and again. So, Priest Holmes did what he always does. He credited his offensive linemen. He said that records, while nice, don't mean very much. He thanked the fans for cheering. And when he was done, there was a man in white waiting for him. The man waits for him every week. "Time to see the doctor," the man said. And Holmes, his face still as blank as an empty window, nodded
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#3 | |
I'll be back.
Join Date: Nov 2002
Casino cash: $1000478
|
Quote:
![]() Good times.
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