SPchief
04-16-2007, 01:46 AM
Opening holes and his heart
Will Shields is saying goodbye, he’s retiring from pro football, and the lasting image for me will be one otherwise forgettable and cold Sunday more than six years ago. That was the day I watched Will Shields on every single down.
The football game was meaningless — a December dud between two teams that would finish with losing records. An icy wind swept through Arrowhead Stadium. The stands were half empty. Nobody could score. Nobody cared either. It was a day for hot chocolate and defensive linemen.
I spent that entire day watching Will Shields, one of the best offensive linemen who ever blocked in an NFL game. Yes, everybody knows about Shields’ general brilliance — his 12 consecutive Pro Bowl appearances, his Outland Trophy at Nebraska, his NFL Man of the Year award, his 223 consecutive starts and all that. And I would imagine that most people have, at some point or other, turned away from the action, focused the binoculars on Shields for a play or two and watched him flatten some overzealous linebacker.
“Yep,” they might say, “Will Shields is still crushing people.”
And feeling secure and reassured, they could turn back to the football game.
Will Shields for all these years played the Chiefs’ quiet and unnoticed protector, sort of like the Jack Nicholson character in “A Few Good Men” (“You want me on that wall. You need me on that wall”). It was different when you watched him play for an entire game. A whole other game opened up. He was playing left tackle that day because of a series of injuries — he had not played left tackle in a game since high school. Most of the time, he was facing off against a big and fast defensive end named Jay Williams. Sometimes, though, a monstrous defensive tackle would come Shields’ way. And every so often, he lined up against Reggie White, one of the best defensive ends ever.
They couldn’t beat him. They tried to go around him. They tried to cut inside him. They spun, and slapped, and tried to slip up and under. They even tried to go through him (a pointless move). They pushed him after the whistle blew, and talked to him between plays. They couldn’t beat him. He allowed one tackle. He gave up no sacks.
It was as inspiring as anything I’ve ever seen on a football field. Will Shields — playing out of position in a pointless game on a freezing day in front of a nothing crowd — would not let himself get beat. This wasn’t about locker-room speeches or big contracts or the roar of the crowd. No, this was about the same challenge every one of us faces every day. This was about doing something as well as you can because, well, what else is there?
That’s how Will Shields played football for 14 seasons. On the field, he was driven to drive every block, pick up every blitz, make every adjustment. He was intense and angry — in the moments after games you could still see the rage in his eyes.
“Football,” he said softly and from a safe distance, “is a violent game. We are violent men.”
Away from the field, though, he had no violence in him at all. When he was selected NFL Man of the Year, I tried to list every wonderful thing he did in the community — a list that would have included donating 10,000 books to Argentine Middle School, providing a computer lab for The Children’s Place, creating a library at St. Monica’s School, raising money for SAFEHOME for battered women and children, raising more than $300,000 for Operation Breakthrough and so on and so on. I had to stop then. I have to stop now. The newspaper simply does not have enough room.
“Don’t forget,” he said in an interview then, “I was the soft, pudgy kid in school that everyone made fun of.”
That background drove him to become both a good football player and a good man. He made it. The last few years, you could see that the football beatings had worn him down. Shields lived in pain, and each offseason he considered retiring. Each time, though, he told himself, “One more year,” and he answered the bell, played with the same precision and power that will get him a bust in Canton someday very soon.
This year, though, he realized that the fight was over. He’s 35. It’s time.
“Today, I’m letting everyone know that I am putting away the pads,” he wrote on his Web site.
His retirement note was short and classy, like the man. The title of the note was “Thank You Kansas City,” and it was typed in Chiefs red and punctuated with three exclamation points.
Isn’t that funny? He was thanking us. But we’re the ones who watched him play and change people’s lives. And Will should know that there aren’t enough exclamation points in the whole Midwest to thank him.
http://www.kansascity.com/180/story/72014.html
Will Shields is saying goodbye, he’s retiring from pro football, and the lasting image for me will be one otherwise forgettable and cold Sunday more than six years ago. That was the day I watched Will Shields on every single down.
The football game was meaningless — a December dud between two teams that would finish with losing records. An icy wind swept through Arrowhead Stadium. The stands were half empty. Nobody could score. Nobody cared either. It was a day for hot chocolate and defensive linemen.
I spent that entire day watching Will Shields, one of the best offensive linemen who ever blocked in an NFL game. Yes, everybody knows about Shields’ general brilliance — his 12 consecutive Pro Bowl appearances, his Outland Trophy at Nebraska, his NFL Man of the Year award, his 223 consecutive starts and all that. And I would imagine that most people have, at some point or other, turned away from the action, focused the binoculars on Shields for a play or two and watched him flatten some overzealous linebacker.
“Yep,” they might say, “Will Shields is still crushing people.”
And feeling secure and reassured, they could turn back to the football game.
Will Shields for all these years played the Chiefs’ quiet and unnoticed protector, sort of like the Jack Nicholson character in “A Few Good Men” (“You want me on that wall. You need me on that wall”). It was different when you watched him play for an entire game. A whole other game opened up. He was playing left tackle that day because of a series of injuries — he had not played left tackle in a game since high school. Most of the time, he was facing off against a big and fast defensive end named Jay Williams. Sometimes, though, a monstrous defensive tackle would come Shields’ way. And every so often, he lined up against Reggie White, one of the best defensive ends ever.
They couldn’t beat him. They tried to go around him. They tried to cut inside him. They spun, and slapped, and tried to slip up and under. They even tried to go through him (a pointless move). They pushed him after the whistle blew, and talked to him between plays. They couldn’t beat him. He allowed one tackle. He gave up no sacks.
It was as inspiring as anything I’ve ever seen on a football field. Will Shields — playing out of position in a pointless game on a freezing day in front of a nothing crowd — would not let himself get beat. This wasn’t about locker-room speeches or big contracts or the roar of the crowd. No, this was about the same challenge every one of us faces every day. This was about doing something as well as you can because, well, what else is there?
That’s how Will Shields played football for 14 seasons. On the field, he was driven to drive every block, pick up every blitz, make every adjustment. He was intense and angry — in the moments after games you could still see the rage in his eyes.
“Football,” he said softly and from a safe distance, “is a violent game. We are violent men.”
Away from the field, though, he had no violence in him at all. When he was selected NFL Man of the Year, I tried to list every wonderful thing he did in the community — a list that would have included donating 10,000 books to Argentine Middle School, providing a computer lab for The Children’s Place, creating a library at St. Monica’s School, raising money for SAFEHOME for battered women and children, raising more than $300,000 for Operation Breakthrough and so on and so on. I had to stop then. I have to stop now. The newspaper simply does not have enough room.
“Don’t forget,” he said in an interview then, “I was the soft, pudgy kid in school that everyone made fun of.”
That background drove him to become both a good football player and a good man. He made it. The last few years, you could see that the football beatings had worn him down. Shields lived in pain, and each offseason he considered retiring. Each time, though, he told himself, “One more year,” and he answered the bell, played with the same precision and power that will get him a bust in Canton someday very soon.
This year, though, he realized that the fight was over. He’s 35. It’s time.
“Today, I’m letting everyone know that I am putting away the pads,” he wrote on his Web site.
His retirement note was short and classy, like the man. The title of the note was “Thank You Kansas City,” and it was typed in Chiefs red and punctuated with three exclamation points.
Isn’t that funny? He was thanking us. But we’re the ones who watched him play and change people’s lives. And Will should know that there aren’t enough exclamation points in the whole Midwest to thank him.
http://www.kansascity.com/180/story/72014.html