#offensive linemen

[real-thick]

SWAT Brute. Recruit #17

Ex-NFL offensive lineman Tony obediently waits in the cooling rain for his Sergeant's strict boot and gear inspection.

[ilikefatboiis]

Linemen on Media Day.

Part 1.

[madlori]

Ok, tight ends.

For the non-USians and USians who don't know jack about football, here's what this is.

Football teams are divided into defensive and offensive teams. Most players don't do both although it occasionally happens. The defensive line is on the field when the other team has the ball, the offensive line is on the field when YOUR team has the ball.

That being said, the offensive line HAS DEFENSIVE PLAYERS. They line up opposite the other team's defensive line and try to keep them from a) sacking the quarterback (that means tackling him before he can either throw or pass the ball, usually pass) and b) protecting the running backs so they can carry the ball down the field.

The tight end is an offensive position, but he's a defender. He lines up on the END of the line of scrimmage (hence the name) next to the offensive linemen (the huge guys who just shove the other team's huge guys around). His job is to block for both the quarterback and the running back and keep them from getting tackled, but it's also often his job to receive and run the ball himself.

This is a pretty appropriate position for Buck to play. Tight ends are typically big guys, but they need to be more nimble than the offensive linemen, whose job is just to be as huge and immovable as possible. The tight ends often function as receivers themselves - it's kind of a hybrid position where you have to be strong so you can block but also athletic and quick so you can receive and run.

[burreauxpop]

“I KNOW WHAT I WANT”

(lsu!Joe Burrow x [F] Reader)

description: joe likes confident girls. and well…you happen to be a confident girl. but he didn’t think you’d tell him what to do.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: smut (MDNI!), handjob (joe receiving), sub!joe x dom!reader, degrading if you squint, praise, joe is a flustered loser (affectionately), cum eating, joe whimpers…yeah.

———————————————————————————

the music is blaring already. god…house parties.

it’s not that you hate them; in fact, you actually get to catch up with other classmates. but it’s all the extra junk that comes with it. trash, red solo cups that reek of beer, that one couple making out in the corner. it’s a lot to handle for most people. but you’ve become a pro and handling them.

so you step inside, and immediately, the music hits your eardrums. it’s a bit loud, but not too loud. you’ll manage. you stand off to the side, just people watching as you run a hand through your hair. typically party stuff really.

what surprises you the most is joe’s presence. he didn’t seem like much of a party guy, he was too calm and collected all the time. but he was here, with his friend ja’marr, who seems to notice you. he nudges joe’s elbow, nodding over to you with a smirk.

instead of a suave response, joe’s eye’s widen a bit, and rosy tint seems to spread over his face. you know that he likes you; hell, ja’marr has hinted to it with you before. but you didn’t think it would be like this. joe burrow, the charismatic quarterback for the university’s football team…is almost…flustered? no. no no, he is flustered. it’s as if he’s a school boy who’s seen an attractive girl at a party or something. wait…

anyways, you saunter over to joe, a confident smile plastered across your plush lips, which is tinted with a bit of lip gloss. “well hello, boys,” you greet ja’marr and joe, tilting your head with a cheeky gleam in your eyes. “didn’t think you guys would be here. no football tonight?”

“nah,” ja’marr shook his head, “they’re working on fixing the field still.”

meanwhile, joe has yet to utter a word. poor thing. he looks like he’s about to black out and hit the floor. his eyes are tracing over every part of your body, especially in your bodycon dress. the flushing in his cheeks has yet to go away. it’s…well, cute.

“say something…!” ja’marr taps joe’s shoulder, to which he opens his mouth to speak.

“um…you look…hot. i mean, not hot…! i mean, you are hot, but-” joe stammered, trying to save his fumble, but it was no use. what is there to even say or do after messing up that bad?

you don’t mind it though. shrugging off his nerves, you laugh, shaking your head. “relax…i’m honored you find me hot,” you smile, “besides…i’d say the same for you.” your hand finds its way to his shoulder as you look up at him. if joe weren’t in a crowded room with nearby bystanders, he’d be done for. something about that confident smize you possessed sent a shiver through his spine. every time you looked in his direction like that, his heart would thump at a million beats per hour, his palms would sweat, and man…would he be absolutely turned on.

for you, however, you’re quite focused on getting him alone. besides, he’s into you, and you’re into him. so, why not? you look around; everyone’s occupied with their own little things. hitting their dance moves, playing games, or passed out. perfect. you look at joe, slyly taking his hand and squeezing it.

“so,” you start off, your voice trailing in a teasing tone, “how about we enjoy some time alone? that is, if your friend doesn’t mind?” you ask, looking at ja’marr. he shrugs and gestures at you two, as if to say, go and have your fun. quite honestly, he’s been waiting for you guys to hook up. in fact, he’s in a bet with a few other offensive linemen on the football team about you and joe.

they’re gonna owe him so much money.

with that, you chuckle, swinging you and joe’s arms as you roam an empty hallway. the person holding the party has a massive house. there has to be a room somewhere. thankfully, after a small look around, you find a room. it’s not large, just a decent sized bed and a small tv on the wall. but it’ll do.

“y/n-”

you shush joe, looking up at him. “let’s cut the bullshit, shall we?” you grin, sitting next to him on the bed. you push some hair back behind your shoulder, a lustful and eager look in your eyes. “you and i both know,” you murmur, your hand gently resting on his chin, “that you like me…is that correct?”

joe once again stammers, “w-well, i mean-”

“yes or no, hun?” you ask once again, your voice a bit sharper, commanding even. goddamn, was it attractive. joe could never admit it, but he liked girls who knew what they wanted. girls who sought after what they wanted. and you were doing that right now, with him. the thought made his cock twitch in his pants.

“yes,” joe answered, nodding as he looks at you, his deep blue eyes piercing through yours, “yes, i like you, y/n.”

you let out a laugh, “see, wasn’t too hard to admit, huh?” as you ask this, your hand ever so slowly slides down joe’s chest. he’s well toned for sure, but he is an athlete of course. with your touch, joe could feel goosebumps in his wake, his breath hitching ever so slightly as he watches you lean in.

before you know it, your hand finds itself at the waistband of joe’s pants. you stop, rather focused on leaning in and kissing joe. once your lips connect, it’s over for him. he can’t help but relish the soft feeling of your lips, and your gloss tasted of vanilla, which he found satisfying. his hands find their way to your waist as you kiss him, but his grip isn’t too tight. you let out a faint moan at his touch, very softly letting your tongue dart against his lips.

the action was reciprocated, as joe too let his tongue engage in the kiss. the deeper the kiss got, the more handsy he got. his hands trail all over your body, as if he were trying to commit your body to memory. his hands finally rested upon your ass, squeezing it slightly with a groan. a muffled sound comes from your own lips. if he wants to play that way, then you’ll play that way too.

your hand moves lower, right above his hard-on. he lets out a small gasp as you move your hand the smallest bit,

pulling away for breath. “oh, shit…y/n…” he hissed, his head leaning back slightly. the sensation of your hand gliding over his clothed cock made him shiver. but it wasn’t enough. “fuck, please…”

“please…? so we’re pleading, now, huh?” you tease, your voice airy and filled with arousal as you watched his eyelids flutter shut. “well, what do want, baby?” you ask, murmuring into his ear.

“please…just…” he gasped, trying to find the words as he gripped onto the sheets on the bed. “touch me. p-please, i’ll do anything…”

you laugh, pulling away and placing your hand back on the waistband of his pants. you slowly pull them down, along with his boxers; his cock springs free, the tip being a bright pink shade and essentially throbbing. gently, you wrap your hand around his shaft, eliciting a soft moan from him. he looked delicious like this, his eyes rolling back as his grip on the sheets turned his knuckles white.

“oh…shit, y/n…” he groans, his hips almost immediately bucking at the movement of your hand around his girth. the way your hand slowly stroked him was both pleasing, and an evil tease at the same time. he’s trying to stay as still as possible, but it’s hard when you’re moving so slow.

deciding to be a bit less mean, you increased the pace of your hand, watching as he let out another moan, one that was a bit louder.

“hm? you like that, baby?” you ask, watching his face contort in pleasure. he nods, his breathing a bit erratic as he looks at you. his deep, ocean like eyes almost shifted into a pleading look, a far cry from his normal calm, stoic look. it’s almost pathetic. adorably pathetic. joe, the confident 6’4 quarterback, melting in the palm of your hand.

you run your thumb over his tip, a whine coming from his lips as his hips buck slightly. “ah~…oh my god…” he gasps out, watching the way your thumb swiped off the pre-cum from his shaft. this being paired with you jerking him off made him shiver. he was getting closer and closer to coming.

“god…you sound like heaven,” you continue stroking him quickly, your other hand gripping his thigh. his legs were shaking now, and his guttural moans shifted to whimpers and hushed pleas.

“nngh~. y/n…please…!” joe panted out, his chest intensely rising and falling as he looks at you.

“please, what? use your words, hun.” you coo, grabbing joe’s chin so he’d look at you.

“i-i wanna come…on your chest, please.”

you knew joe had a thing for your body, but it was your breasts in particular he liked. with that, you sink to the floor, pushing the top of your dress down and looking up at him as you quickly jerk him off.

“beg.”

joe looks at you, a bit confused and flustered, but too blinded by pleasure and want to question it. he nods, his pleas falling from his lips as he whimpers. “please, y/n~! pretty please, i wanna come on your chest so badly…f-fuck~! please…!” he begs, his hips jolting with your movements.

you smirk, looking up at him. “yeah? gonna come like the good boy you are?” you ask, tilting your head.

“yes~! please, i-i’ll come like…l-like a good boy!” he affirms, nodding as his eyes gloss over in pleasure. god…he looks wrecked. but in a blissful way.

you nod, and soon enough, a long moan is drawn from joe’s lips as he shoots his load onto your chest. his legs shake from his orgasm, pleasure waving over his body. after coming, he pants, looking down at you on the floor. you chuckle as you look up at him, using your finger and gently wiping the cum off your chest and licking it.

“well, well…who would’ve thought someone like you would enjoy being told what to do,” you laugh, standing up and looking at joe. “perhaps you could do me another favor? and fuck me?”

joe scoffed. “what, are you some sort of power bottom or something?”

“let’s just say that…i know what i want,” you grin, sliding off the rest of your dress before climbing on the bed and beckoning joe over to you.

and who would he be to disobey you?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

this was fun 😮‍💨 !! more sub!joe, me thinks…

this is only my 2nd little blurb, so i hope y’all enjoy! <33

[retropopcult]

Walter Payton of the Chicago Bears would frequently score a touchdown then let one of his offensive linemen spike the ball.

[604to647]

Take It Off (a Strawberry Shortcake Super Bowl drabble)

1K / Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Summary: You host Frankie and the TF boys for The Big Game and are given a choice of which team's jersey to wear.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). Established relationship, nicknames per usual (Shortcake, baby), oral (f!receiving), fingering, wee bit o' dirty talk, one (1) "daddy". Taylor Swift songs.

A/N: I cannot express just how much I do not care about The Big Game 😂, but just like last year, I wrote a Super Bowl drabble while the family watches football 🤗 This is our Strawberry Shortcake couple, but you don't have to read it (all you need to know is that Valentina is Frankie's daughter, Raynor is Reader's son and they're best friends). Apologies for this being barely edited - I'm trying to feign some interest as to what's happening on the field 🤭 Go Sports!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

🎶So take a look what you've done

'Cause baby, now we got bad blood (hey!)🎶

Giggling, hands still soapy, you lean away from the kitchen sink so you can watch the musical performance taking place in your living room. 

Frankie and his friends are watching Superbowl LIX at your house, and Uncles Santi, Will and Benny have been doing an admirable job entertaining two overly excited six-year-olds during the pre-game.  First up: the Puppy Bowl; cute, but the show inspired increasingly desperate, renewed pleas from Valentina for a dog.  When Raynor threw in his own puppy dog eyes to aid his best friend, Frankie, knowing he was in danger, had to hastily switch the channel.  After that came a rousing American football lesson using toys found around your living room – the whole thing almost ended up in a Miller brothers fight when Will’s Lego Elsa quarterback got sacked by Benny’s Beyblade before his Jellycat offensive linemen were set up.

The remedy was an impromptu Taylor Swift concert, with each Delta Force boy headlining his Era of choice - Raynor and Valentina their enthusiastic backup dancers.  Right now, Uncle Santi is in his 1989 era, twirling the kids around your living room with aplomb.

“You’re driving me crazy with that jersey, Shortcake,” growls the dangerous baritone kissing down the back of your neck.

Turning back to the dishes you want to get done before the game, you chuckle. Frankie looks more than adorable, pouting in his team colours, decked out in Chief’s gear – even his usual Standard Oil cap has been replaced by a bright red snapback.  Showing up with a coordinating Santi and Valentina, he brought both you and your son matching jerseys; Raynor donned his happily, eager to match with his best friend.  You on the other hand, are wearing a green Eagles jersey, matching the ones Benny and Will have on; with very little interest in the NFL, and even less loyalty to any particular team – you couldn’t say no to Benny when he held out the Philadelphia gear, pouting about being outnumbered.  The apologetic look you gave Frankie as you slipped into the green top did not prevent him from shooting back a (somewhat) joking look of disgust.

Frankie’s hands grip your hips, tightening over the jersey material as if to change its colours through force; playfully you wiggle back into his hold, “Maybe that’s why I agreed to wear it, Francisco.  So you’d rip it off of me later.”

“You’re trouble, baby.”

As if on cue, Will’s Red Era warble screeches into the kitchen:

🎶I knew you were trouble when you walked in

So, shame on me now🎶

Laughing, Frankie helps you with the dishes, the two of you finish in time to give Will and the kids a well-deserved round of applause as they close out the song, belting 🎶TROUBLE🎶 in canon.

“Going outside to throw the ole pigskin around before the game,” chirps Benny, tossing the football to Santi before scooping up a kid under each arm and heading for your backyard to a chorus of masculine whoops and high pitched first grader squeals and giggles.

“Not you, Trouble,” a hand pulls you back and towards your bedroom.

“Frankie!” you gasp, flushed and squirming when that same hand pushes you onto your bed after locking the door.

“Forget later, you’re gonna take that damn jersey off NOW,” snarls Frankie, dropping unceremoniously to his knees, bear paw hands roughly pulling down your leggings along with your underwear – he helps you kick them off before using those same big mitts to spread you wide.

The last thing you hear before throwing your head back against your mattress in a pleasure-soaked whine is something about how this cunt is the tastiest thing on tonight’s menu.

Frankie slurps and laps at your pussy like a man possessed, as if ravaging your cunt is his own personal contribution to his favourite team’s chances of winning tonight.  You try to muffle your cries of ecstasy as your boyfriend positively feasts, talented tongue dancing and dipping between your folds, face fully buried in his own personal heaven.  When two thick fingers breach your entrance and curl, you’re already closer that you thought possible – panting, you knock the red cap off Frankie’s head and fist his soft brown curls, “Frankie!  Fuck, baby… I’m so close!  Please, I’m so cl-“

The bastard slows down and pulls his mouth away.

Your head snaps up, death glare that could make a pro linebacker quake in his cleats aimed at the man between your legs.

“Say you’ll take off the Eagles jersey…”

“Francisco!!”

“… and wear MY jersey and I’ll let you come, Shortcake.”

Desperate, you nod frantically at the man who’s still sawing his fingers in and out of your cunt at an agonizing slow pace, “Yes, daddy, anything you say.”

“Good girl,” Frankie purrs as he resumes his previous pace, hefty digits thrusting through the glide of your dripping arousal – your body arches as you’re thrown back onto your bed with the force of Frankie’s conquest.  Strong aquiline nose nuzzling your throbbing clit, Frankie chuckles low at your mindless whinnying; he lays a soft, pitying kiss to your crying nub before latching on and sucking. 

You explode.

---

When the kids, Santi, Will and Benny come back in for kick-off, you’re just tipping a Wing Pit bucket of wings onto a plate to add to the spread – now wearing a bright red jersey.

“Awww, no fair,” whines Benny, grabbing a plate to load up, “you changed.”

“Sorry, Ben,” you grin with a happy shrug, “Frankie convinced me.”  Frankie stands right behind you, arm wrapped possessively around your waist, one large hand splayed wide over the bright Chiefs colours you’re now sporting, the other holding a chicken drumette – his BBQ-stained mouth stretched wide with a shit-eating grin.

Will walks by on his way to the pizza boxes, hand coming up to smack Frankie on the head, “Cripes, Fish – you’re such a messy eater.” You nearly drop the bowl of dip you’re holding as you choke at Will’s words and Frankie’s belly shaking laugh of a response, “Can’t help it, menu’s tasty tonight.”

Thank you for reading! If you like stories where Pbois eat out their ladies while professional sports is being played, perhaps you may enjoy Hat Trick Part 2 (The Playoffs) 🏒🤭

[keozrb]

The New Lineman

After a prank transforms a cocky swimmer into an offensive lineman, he must navigate his new size and find a place in his college's football team.

Dave, the team's cocky swimmer, was showing off his athletic build. His arrogance was not well-received by his teammates who decided to pull a prank on him.

Dave was in the shower when his teammates seized the opportunity and took away his clothes. Emerging from the shower, Dave found himself without any clothes to wear.

In his search for something to wear, Dave found a discarded uniform of one of the football offensive linemen. He had no choice but to put on the oversized gear.

As he put on the uniform, his body started to change. His lean muscles turned into a huge belly and thick, powerful limbs. He now had the build of an offensive lineman.

Distressed by his new size, Dave quickly returned to his dorm room. He hoped to reverse the transformation by putting on his now small speedo.

He struggled to pull up the speedo over his new size. Hoping to change back, he was disappointed when the speedo only adjusted to fit his larger body.

Determined, Dave went back to swimming practice, but his new size slowed him down. His bulk made it difficult to swim as swiftly as he used to.

Realizing that he might not be able to swim as well anymore, Dave decided to try his hand at football instead. He joined the team as their new offensive lineman.

Dave proved to be a great addition to the team, using his new size to his advantage. His teammates welcomed him, appreciating his skill and dedication.

With time, Dave grew to love his new sport. He enjoyed the camaraderie of his teammates and the thrill of the games.

He also learned to embrace his new body. It was different, but it was still his. And it was perfect for his new role on the team.

In the end, what started as a prank led to a transformative journey for Dave. He found a new sport, a new team, and a new appreciation for himself.

[battleangel]

A History of Violence

I wonder if Kris Jenkins who was recently drafted in the second round by the Bengals, same name & same position as his father who was a Pro Bowler who played 10 seasons for the Panthers, Patriots & Jets, ever bothered to read what his father told the New York Times in 2011 about what it was like playing in the trenches in the NFL?

Kris Jenkins - View of Life in the NFL Trenches

Article Excerpt

"N.F.L. fans, people outside, they have no clue what goes on. This isn’t like playing Madden. This isn’t like being the popular kid in high school. When you do those things in the real world, and it don’t work out, you still have your health. The thing about football is you’re directly playing with your life, the quality of it and the longevity of it. The stakes are up there.

You ever been in a car crash? Done bumper cars? You know when that hit catches you off guard and jolts you, and you’re like, what the hell? Football is like that. But 10 times worse. It’s hell."

Nothing is questioned, nothing is learned.

Cycle and history of violence from father to son continues.

The son will just repeat everything his father went through.

Life in the trenches, on the line.

His fathers New York Times article was only written 13 years ago — did his son even bother to read it?

Article:

"The debate about concussions wasn’t there yet. I’ve had more than 10, including college and the pros. Nobody cared. And that’s the thing. We play football."

Are we as an audience, as fans, as a nation of football loving fanatics so blasé about the same violence that was visited upon the father being visited upon his son?

Does that not even get us to collectively pause before checking pre-season match ups in preparation for Week 1 next month?

America's collective Christmas in September — footballs back!!!!!!!

Do actual thoughts ever creep in amongst the unbridled ebullience, enthusiasm and unchecked joy of, "Football!!!!!!!!!!!!".

Or is the unthinking emotion inherent in football fanaticism across all levels, players and non-players alike, the point?

The pure emotion and the short circuiting of logic.

Its probably not a great idea for me to go bash my head against that dudes head 70 to 80 times a game, every game, every season.

But, its football!!!!!!!!!

So, nothing else matters?

Unlike rules now protecting quarterbacks and other positions from helmet to helmet hits, absolutely nothing has changed for offensive & defensive linemen and running backs — you're still smashing yourself head first into a concrete wall — as a running back, 20 to 30 times a game and as a lineman, 70 to 80 times a game.

No matter how much the NFL lies about this and tries to pretend the issue is concussions, its not — the existential issue threatening the sport of football itself is the repetitive SUBconcussive head impacts involved in every blocking and tackling play in football.

They are absolutely unavoidable and occur literally over a thousand times every single season.

It is these repetitive subconcussive head impacts — average 1500 hits to the head per season in high school, football & the pros — that 10 to 15 years after their playing careers are over, can cause neurological disorders and conditions like CTE, Parkinsons disease, Alzheimers disease, ALS and dementia in former players.

We have seen the movie before.

Im pretty sure Will Smith was in it.

And even that movie was nothing but masterful subterfuge from the NFL as they named it as their eternal smokescreen — Concussion — instead of what actually turned Mike Websters brain into CTE mush — Repetitive Subconcussive Head Impacts.

Doesn't have the same Hollywood ring to it, does it?

But it doesn't make it any less true or the NFL any less deceptive.

The NFL's own disability paperwork for former players says players can be compensated as early as 36 for early-onset dementia.

Is a game really worth someone losing their literal mind at 36?

When do we question the every day violence inherent in every tackling and blocking play in football?

Article:

"I remember one game, at Carolina, my second year. We played Arizona, and the double team weighed 780 pounds combined. They just kept double-teaming me, hoping I would fold and cave in. I didn’t. But that was probably the most painful day I had.

From the double teams, over the years, I wore the left side of my body down. I was past hurt.

I was at the point of numb. Like my body was shutting down nervous systems, so I didn’t have to deal with pain.

The numbness started at the very beginning. I couldn’t feel part of both arms. I couldn’t feel part of both legs. It was worse on the left.

I’m just starting to get feeling back in my left side. Look, football is no joke.

But I’m going to say this much: somebody has to be the grunt. That’s why there’s no better position on the field than interior defensive line. Forget quarterbacks or specialists. They’ve got it easy. If we don’t come to play, nobody else on defense can do their job. We’ve got the toughest job on the field. We don’t care about our facial hair. We play a grimy position.

Piles, oh, my God, they’re brutal. I’ve had my ankles twisted. I’ve been bit. I’ve done stuff. I’ve tried to break guys’ elbows, pinching people, twisting ankles, trying to bend up their arms, pop an elbow out. Why? I had to fight back."

Tackle football is cognitive dissonance & constant dissociation.

The inherent violence of football is never seriously questioned nor is it held up under a critical lens.

The most violent, punishing plays are casually dismissed post-game by players waving their hands and saying, "It was just a football play."

Yeah — thats actually the exact problem.

Ah, pile ups. Just a good old fashioned rugby scrum.

Nothing dehumanizing, nothing to worry about.

As long as its not my dick being grabbed at the bottom of a pile as I dig my way through my second bag of Fritos Scoops, safe and secure on my couch, while those dumb fucks kill themselves for an oblong shaped ball for my entertainment.

Exploitative, much?

The spectacle of the pile up.

The brainwashing so clearly evident when grown adult men who would be ashamed to act this way publicly over anything else suddenly leap in unison into the air like feral animals as Troy Aikman shouts with unfettered glee, "The ball is loose!!!!!!".

So is our collective humanity in watching a several ton mass of flesh undulate, eye gouge, scrotum twist, bite, spit and hurt each other for...what?

Us? Them? Football?

Article:

"Mentally, we’re conditioned to be tough. We’re conditioned to feel no pain. The only injury I ever felt while playing was when one of my knees tore. That’s the only time I felt pain and was like, O.K., that hurt.

But Mondays, you wake up, and it’s hard to get out of bed. It hurts wherever you got hit. I remember one time getting hit by Edgerrin James. He put his head in my chest. I woke up, and I couldn’t even move, because it felt like my chest was going to collapse. It was sore for days. All you want to do is get the blood circulating.

Hot tub. Cold tub. Hot tub. Cold tub."

Hot tub. Cold tub. Hot tub. Cold tub.

That's brainwashing.

A dissociative brainwashing ritual to dissociate the self from the pain & violence of the game.

It's like Junior Seau when he referred to himself in third person when he was mic'd up for NFL Films before every single hit for the duration of an entire game.

Very creepy if you can find it on youtube.

It literally sounded like he was programming himself to hit, then he would hit the hole, collect himself on the ground and do it.

Hard. Goddamned hard.

Again. And again. And again. And again.

If thats not brainwashing, what is?

Article:

"The brain fog? It still hasn’t stopped. It feels like you’re punch-drunk, like someone hit you over the head. It’s like you knock yourself stupid. When you have to concentrate on things, then it becomes an issue. My head gets foggy to the point where I really can’t function."

And yet you put a helmet on your son's head and you sent him out to play the same position.

Like father, like son.

Just like fathers in the military who have sons who "follow in their footsteps".

Often, articles will speak of a newly drafted player's heritage and lineage in the sport and if his father had a storied career, the hyperbole of the newly drafted son "being born to play" is routinely trotted out.

Smacks of eugenicism, genetic determinism, militarism, rigid heirarchies, dynasties.

Capitalist masculine toxicity.

Article:

"We know it’s going to hurt. We know because pain in football is consistent over time. You’re still hurting in the off-season. You’re hurting when the next season starts.

I mean, guys play hurt, but it’s a choice. They do a pretty good job now, with all the scrutiny around concussions.

On the line, it’s still painful. By the end of the year, half an offensive line might be getting shots, draining fluid from their knees. Most stay away from cortisone now, because it’s degenerative.

Everything gets off center. Bulging disk. Herniated disk. For linemen, it starts in the lower back. Throws everything off."

What did Jason Kelce recently say on his podcast with his wife?

His back is so fucked up from playing football that he cant bend down to pick up his 1 year old daughter nor can he hold her while standing.

Kelce also played on the line as the center for the Eagles.

Is it worth it?

Should children be playing this game?

Should anyone in its current incarnation?

Has science shown that the risk of repetitive subconcussive head impacts causing neurological conditions & disorders is too high for any child to assume?

What about teenagers in high school who are legally minors and not adults?

Should they be able to assume risks as teenagers that can mentally incapacitate them later in life as soon as their 30s?

Potential suicide due to CTE in their 20s?

1500 hits per season every season starting in high school.

So, that's 6k hits to the head in four years of high school football.

Another 6k more hits to the head in four years of college football.

12k hits to the head before the pros not counting youth football prior to high school which is ages 5 to 14 aka Pop Warner.

Even 5 year olds endure on average 336 hits to the head every season in Pop Warner.

5 year olds!

Kindergartners!

Ask yourself where else you could hit a 5 year old child 336 times in the head over the course of a few months without being arrested and jailed?

Is it really okay just because it's football?

Does that truly justify that amount of head impacts to a 5 year old child?

Wouldn't we call that abuse if it was happening in the Boy Scouts or any organization other than Pop Warner?

Should it be happening at all?

In service of whom and for what?

Football? Glory? Masculinity? Manhood? America? Pride? Militarism?

All of the above?

Article:

"I can’t blame anybody for my death. I made the choice to play football. I made the choice to walk through the concussions. I could have stopped. I could have said, my head hurts. It was my choice, as a man."

But who told you that playing through permanent brain injuries is what makes you a man?

Can't we blame that person?

Your father and your coaches from youth, high school, college all the way to the pros?

Militaristic views of masculinity kills boys and young men for the game of football.

It's a militaristic war game that simulates combat yet kills people in slow motion for real.

The violence suffered by players in football is as celebrated as militaristic ideals of what soldiers suffer through in war: valor, courage under fire, physical courage, endurance, stoically fighting through unimaginable injuries & pain, the quarterback heroically leading his squad as their captain marching his troops down the field to victory just like any military commander complete with a chevron like system that awards stars for each year or season of service very similar to how stripes function in the military.

This militaristic ideal of masculinity is endlessly promoted, encouraged, rewarded and valorized in football just as it is in the military.

Football is Americas killing fields.

High school players — teenaged boys, not adult men — die every year playing football.

Over a million boys play high school football each year and only a handful die or suffer permanent, disabling and/or catastrophic injury.

Would you be so glib about the numbers though if it was your son or your brother or your boyfriend or your best friend who died playing high school football?

What if they were permanently paralyzed from the neck down playing college football?

It's easy to treat the above numbers as a statistic or rounding error when you can close out of the Facebook support page for the now dead or disabled high school or college player and get ready for Chiefs/Ravens next month.

What if you couldn't just X out of the Facebook page because you had to quit your job to take care of your disabled son for the rest of your life?

Or what if your brother killed himself from having CTE from playing college football?

The reality is, we can drop a "sad crying" emoji on a Facebook status and move on — the families of the young boys and men sacrificed to this sport definitely can't.

Go ask Tyler Sash's mom if she's "moved on".

Hasn't science proven at this point that tackle football just doesnt work the way it is currently played?

Why are we okay risking future Junior Seaus, Mike Websters, Justin Strelczyks, Phillip Adams, Tyler Hillinskis with every boy and young man that straps on the pads and helmet and charges on to the field?

Is it 10% of players that get CTE? Is it 20%?

Is it more? Is it half?

More than half?

The truth is we wont know until a CTE test is developed for living players.

Pop Warners Chief Medical Director is working with the FDA to develop the test as I type this.

Why do you think that is?

The NFL's own study funded through a university admits that NFL players are 19 times more likely than non-NFL players to develop neurological conditions and disorders.

19 times!!!!!

As long as its not your brain getting scrambled right?

And you can just sit there and watch the leagues reigning back to back MVP and reigning Super Bowl Champ slowly deteriorate their minds while accumulating permanent brain damage for your entertainment.

Pass the chips.

Article:

"We consider football a gladiator sport because we understand you’re going to get hurt. You’re putting your life on the line.

You might not die now, like in an old Roman arena, but 5, 10 years down the road, you could. You know that.

I wouldn’t change anything.

During my career, I kept my mouth shut. This now, speaking out, it’s about telling you my life. There’s no agenda, no vendetta. This is what football’s really like.

The first warning is the first meeting you have with an agent, when you realize this is real. My choices count at this point. I’m going to be prostituting myself for the next 18 years of my life.

That’s the first warning.

The next one is that good old combine.

That’s when you realize, when you march in that room half naked, I’m a number now."

No, thats when you realize that the NFL is MODERN DAY SLAVERY.

It's a modern day meat market.

6% of the US population is Black male. 75% of the NFL is Black.

0% of the owners are Black. Only 2 out of 32 coaches are Black.

Almost all of the NFL owners are white with very few exceptions and exactly none of them are Black.

The NFL is a modern day plantation.

Article:

"I loved New York. I loved playing there. I loved the spotlight. I was fine in New York, but I also played for Eric Mangini. We started 8-3, Brett Favre, all of that. Everybody told Mangini, stop with the long practices, you’re killing us. You practice too hard. We’re on turf."

36% of all injuries that occur in the NFL are due to turf & 1/4 of all concussions are a result of players heads slamming against turf.

So...

Why won't the NFL replace turf with grass in their stadiums as the NFLPA has been asking for for years?

Because they're cheap as hell and would rather injure their own investments then pay for grass.

The owners & the league have the same exact disregard and disdain for their own players.

The NFL has agreed to switch out turf for grass for the World Cup because the soccer players refused to do what NFL players are forced to — fuck their bodies up on turf.

It proves the NFL and owners could do it and, in fact, they did do it so they could host the World Cup in their football stadium — unless it's actually for the players in their own league.

In that case, you're shit out of luck.

Should have played soccer.

Article:

"What you hear from guys like Ray Lewis, James Harrison, what they’re saying is we’re well aware what we’re signing up for. The violence, we love it. The madness, we love it. We love measuring ourselves in it.

Those guys express themselves with their pads. You soften the game, you’re taking away their freedom of expression. Nobody wants to see flag football, and now, you might as well give guys flags, tell them to hug afterward, all that."

Did he even read the beginning of his own article???

Constant cognitive dissonance is the distillation & essence of tackle football — by the players, the audience, coaches, trainers, medical personnel, announce team, play by play, color, pre-game & post-game hosts, team & network journalists.

I see no repetitive head impacts causing CTE.

I hear no repetitive head impacts causing CTE.

I speak no repetitive head impacts causing CTE.

Article:

"The violence is what I remember. Like against Buffalo in 2009, when I had the game of my career. Or the time I slapped a lineman out of the way in Houston with one arm. Winning, the physical part, the mayhem, finding the line between insanity and sanity, that’s the exact reason why you play. That’s the reason fans like football in the first place.

A guy like James Harrison, he’s possessed, and that’s the guy you love to play with, love to watch. He doesn’t need to be babied."

Protection from permanent brain damage & trauma, fans bloodlust, coaches unreasonable demands, neurological disorders & conditions, neurological symptoms including suicidality, depression, memory loss, confusion, irritability, volatility, aggression, amnesia, mental incapicitation, deteroriation & decline is being "babied"??????????

Article:

"The N.F.L. is too big to fail. If that happened, it would be a slow death. It’s still the ultimate game. For us, it’s like legal prison rules. You have to protect your manhood, your well-being. You’re going to be challenged. You’re going to be tested."

"You have to protect your manhood."

Protect The Shield.

Brainwashed into the cult of American masculinity.

Just like all the other 2.6 million young boys & adolescents playing youth football.

Another million playing in high school.

100k playing in NCAA college football.

1600 play in the NFL.

All brainwashed into the cult of masculinity.

Millions of young boys and teenagers sacrificed on the altar of tackle football, Americas true religion.

Article:

"There aren’t too many places a 400-pound guy with an attitude can go and beat the crap out of somebody and not get locked up for it. I have a violent streak. I have to fight it out of my system. We signed up for it. All of it. We’re not trying to be sane or rational."

What does an 8 year old playing tackle football for Pop Warner sign up for?

Tradition, rigid authoritarianism, toxic masculinity, ideals of manhood worth sacrificing your body, mind, memories, personality, self and literal life for.

A 13 year old football player committed suicide after an egregious hit and post concussion symptoms that lasted for over a year in 2018.

He played through the hit and practiced in pads the very next day — think that might have made his concussion worse?

Prior to the hit, he was a straight A student, a voracious reader, erudite, sociable & well-liked.

After the hit, he became withdrawn.

He lost vision in one eye. He lost his balance frequently.

He was unable to read for more than a few minutes at a time.

He started tackle football at 9.

He played two ways as a linebacker and running back and was known as a ferocious hitter who never complained of pain.

He attempted suicide, was hospitalized, seemed to be improving, then the second suicide attempt was tragically successful.

Dead at 13 for the sport of football.

When is enough enough?

Football is a game, it's a magical talisman, it's a sport, it's a crucible, it's a maker of men, it's the distillation of manhood and masculinity, it's what being a man is.

It's worth bashing and battering your brains repeatedly.

It's worth your mind.

It's worth not knowing who you are at 50.

It's worth you committing suicide.

Just remember to shoot yourself in the chest so your brain can be donated and studied.

[kaiasky]

when my dad and gmom were introducing me to watching football (was not allowed to play) they explained yknow, ok it's not just a game about shoving people, it's strategy, it's like a scale model of a war, except you don't want to hurt people.

and i was like okay, interesting it's a strategy game, I am at this time playing a lot of flash strategy games and risk and maybe by this point the Total War games

and i come back the next day with like. ok i think its stupid that the offensive line starts there. they should start 30 yards downfield and get a running start and just smash through the defenders in a wedge formation like a cavalry charge. and the center snaps the ball right before they collide.

now it turns out that this is, for about 30 different reasons, extremely illegal. but as I recall it was explained to me that you had to have the linemen stay still and im like aw ok.

so i go back to the drawing board and I'm like alright why don't they just have all the backs line up behind the center and just shove. it's 5v1 the defender doesn't stand a chance. and i think the reply i got was that's very sweet but i think people would just wrap around and tackle the quarterback.

and now the real answer is that pushing the runner wasn't allowed until recently, and the eagles were the first ones to realize and they very nearly won a superbowl off of it

and then i go back to the drawing board and i go alright look why are we going around the line. we should go over them. just... have some teammates boost you and jump over the offensive line and tackle their stupid QB. "idk kaia i think that's one of those things that seems good but once the opponent knows about it, it won't work"

and now while that doesn't work. having your teammates push the long-snapper's head down and leaping over them to block a field goal is absolutely allowed and happens semi-regularly now

anyways. other ideas i remember having that haven't yet panned out, but give it 10 years:

2 people running the same football. that way if only one safety catches up to them they only get to tackle one person

the onside kick is so imba like i understand that it's not but ??? "hello i just scored a touchdown. i would like to have the ball again please at my 45 yard line. and if i fail the only downside is that the other team starts 30 yards closer." how are you not taking that deal at least 20% of the time?? (i am aware abt the new kickoff changes)

literally just throw laterals. when i first saw a lateral i was like THATS ILLEGAL but nope apparently they just haven't figured out it's good yet

[wildlife4life]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @fortheloveofbuddie @cal-daisies-and-briars @exhuastedpigeon @monsterrae1 @disasterbuckdiaz @tizniz @theotherbuckley and @diazsdimples You are all super awesome! Thank you so much!

Happy trailer drop day! Hope ya'll are having some fun clowning, theorizing, and freaking out in general. I am. Hope I can add to that fun with another NFL Buck snippet, though I'm not too sure. This is a kind of sad snippet, featuring Red. Enjoy? (All things NFL Buck)

Eddie is midway through a somewhat calm 24 hour shift when his phone vibrates with a call. Caller i.d. shows a picture of his previous captain Tommy Vega with her twin daughters smiling bright at the last Texan's game Eddie brought them too. He is slightly confused as to why she would be calling in the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday, but Tommy is a good friend and Eddie is always happy to talk to her. "Hey Tom's this is a pleasant surprise." Eddie answers abandoning his UNO cards, and leaning back in his chair. Across the table, a slightly irritated Chim scowls, mouthing 'Tom's' towards Hen sitting at the head of the table, who just shrugs and sets her own cards down, officially putting the game on pause. "Oh thank god." Ravi groans under his breath, slumping down in his chair next to Eddie's. Poor probie has had to draw way too many cards and Chimney was an evil bastard who kept making him draw one too many cards. "Eddie." Tommy states, her voice apologetic and layered with grief. Immediately, Eddie gets to his feet, and stalks over to kitchen, ignoring his crew mates startled and concerned looks. The last time Tommy said his name in such a way, his friend and previous paramedic partner Tim had been killed by a freaking lava rock. So yea, Eddie knew this tone of voice from Tommy meant only bad news and he needed the space to hear it. "Tommy, what is it?" He asks glumly, bracing himself for the worst. The paramedic captain lets out a wet sigh, "Its Red, Eddie. The cancer's back and they're saying he has less than six months." His stomach drops to his feet. Not Red. Not the man that not only Buck looked up to, but Eddie as well. The man who gave him and Buck a safe haven to be a couple. The man who is practically a pseudo-godfather to Christopher. His red door and sign, one of the most prominent points of Eddie's and Buck's relationship is because of Red. His motto, 'Just walk in' has gotten them through the toughest times since meeting. And now they are going to lose him to something he thought he had beaten. Fuck the universe. Fuck cancer.

*Hides behind offensive linemen (big ass football players that protect the quarterback)* I'm sorry?

Tagging (no pressure): @daffi-990 @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @aroeddiediaz @giddyupbuck @rainbow-nerdss @loserdiaz @thewolvesof1998 @bekkachaos @eddiescowboy @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @athenagranted @evanbegins @elvensorceress @malewifediaz @911onabc @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @ladydorian05 @bigfootsmom @watchyourbuck @thekristen999 @spagheddiediaz @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @bitchfacediaz @buck-coded @housewifebuck @glorious-spoon @buddierights @prosperdemeter2 @lemonzestywrites @gayedmundodiaz @transboybuckley

[growingstories]

Body positivity

Jake Evans was not your average high school football player. With his chiseled jawline, piercing eyes, and athletic physique, he was the epitome of the golden boy. Blessed with riches and good looks, Jake had never faced the challenges that many of his had teammates to endure. Especially because of the sponsorships his father gave to the school.

As the handsome quarterback of Westfield High School's football team, Jake was treated like royalty. Girls swooned over him, and his popularity seemed to grow with each victory. But deep down, Jake knew he hadn't earned his success. He had become complacent, relying on his natural gifts rather than hard work.

Coach Thompson, an old-school hardliner, had always been jealous of Jake's privileged life. He had seen countless talented players go unnoticed while Jake basked in the glory. Determined to bring Jake down a notch, Coach Thompson devised a plan to ruin his handsome looks by making him gain weight. He believed that by adding a few pounds, Jake's popularity would dwindle, and he would finally be forced to put in some effort.

Coach Thompson knew that correcting Jake's outward appearance would require a forceful approach. He hatched a scheme to force-feed Jake, compelling him to consume copious amounts of calorie-laden junk food. Under the guise of promoting team bonding, Thompson organized frequent eating sessions, encouraging Jake to indulge in pizzas, burgers, and milkshakes.

Initially, Jake saw these gatherings as a way to fit in and show his commitment to the team. Little did he know that Coach Thompson had ulterior motives. As the days turned into weeks, the weight gradually began to pile on. Jake's once-toned physique was now concealed beneath a layer of flab.

The once-popular Jake had become a shadow of his former self. Every pound he gained was matched by a decreasing number of cheers from the crowd. His female admirers moved on to other, more desirable figures, leaving Jake feeling like a forgotten relic.

Inside, Jake felt an intense mix of emotions. Anger and dismay battled with his desire to prove himself. It was during those moments of isolation that the seeds of determination took root. He realized that if he were to regain his position and show Coach Thompson his worth, he needed to transform his weight gain into an asset on the field.

As rumors of Jake's struggles began to circulate, his wealthy father learned about Coach Thompson's wicked plan. Distraught by his son's humiliation, he hatched a secret plan of his own. Mr. Evans, decided to sponsor the football team some extra, ensuring that Jake would have the resources and opportunities necessary to triumph even in his altered state.

Jake's new training regimen focused on using his increased weight to his advantage. He worked with coaches and trainers who specialized in building strong linemen. Under their guidance, Jake aimed to become an exceptional offensive lineman—an iron wall that would protect the quarterback from the ferocious opposition.

Initial struggles humbled Jake; however, his unyielding spirit pushed him to persevere. Determined to prove his worth on the field, he put in hours of relentless work and switched his focus from the limelight to the foundation of a great player.

On the day of the first crucial game of the season, Jake stepped onto the field as an offensive lineman. He was unrecognizable, having transformed his once sought-after face into a determined warrior's visage. As the ball was snapped, Jake burst forward, his newfound strength and agility surprising everyone, including himself.

Jake's performance was nothing short of stellar. The crowd, once disinterested, now marveled at the lineman who had risen from the ashes. His strength and dedication were contagious, inspiring his team to play at a level they had never reached before.

The final whistle blew, and Westfield High School emerged victorious. The audience roared with approval, cheering for Jake and his teammates. Coach Thompson, begrudgingly, had to admit that he had underestimated Jake's resilience.

Jake's journey from a privileged golden boy to a forceful lineman became legendary in the annals of Westfield High School's football history. His once hated weight gain became a testament his to determination and commitment. As he strutted through the halls, no longer ridiculed but admired, Jake had proven to himself and the world that true strength is not just a matter of physique but of spirit.

[current-news-2024]

Joe Burrow wins QB gift game with collection of authentic Japanese katanas for offensive linemen

[inkandguns]

Are offensive linemen no longer allowed to touch the football? I get not roughing the passer but it seems like they’re not allowed to try and hit the ball. I think they’re trying to gay this shit up just like the NBA.

[fem-boy-toy]

You're gonna give me a football team. They are gonna have to be close in age to play together. Spending the next four years nearly bedridden with my sextuplets. They'll have to be absolute bruisers before you have them. Carrying future offensive and defensive linemen for four years inside your overtaxed womb. The bigger you get the more of my dick I'll give you. Won't you do your best to give me big babies, won't you become absolutely massive for me.

Oooh thats better~

Four years of back to back pregnancies, all with a MINIMUM of 4 babies, and they're all nice and big and heavy babies too!

I'll stay barefoot & pregnant at all times. Staying at home and growing bigger and bigger. My belly growing obscenely massive and turgid and stretch marked. Having trouble doing the most basic everyday tasks cuz I'm so huge and heavdlily pregnant~

You'll really have to pamper and care for me 😘

[crii-sis]

jamarr + joe - pretty in the pocket

context: when i say pocket i mean the football pocket lol...a reference to when uno told the media he needs joe to just stand there, look pretty, and throw the football (it was funny)

Their eyes connected beyond the offensive line, it was familiar, Joe knew it meant Ja’marr was open, he could tell by the receivers body language, by his arms in the air; Ja’marr wanted the football, and he was never shy about what he wanted.

And usually Joe would pass the ball on pure instinct, not a thought required. He was safe behind his linemen, and the moment they made eye contact, tens of yards between them, Joe for some reason was blushing like he was sneaking love notes into a locker, not a throwing a football in a NFL game.

He made the pass, and Ja’marr made the play. During the next defensive position Ja’marr brought it up casually, their knees knocking together on the bench.

“You paused before you passed, why?” it was curious and direct, Joe felt his cheeks heat up again at the reminder of it.

“I made the play, didn’t I?”

“Not saying you didn’t.”

Joe bit his lip, looking away from the inquisitive eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere.

“You told everyone that all I need to do is stand there and look pretty.” Joe mumbled, fiddling with the mouthguard on his helmet. “And now I can’t help but wonder if you think I look pretty out there.”

It felt like a stupid question, like he was looking for reassurance on something that Ja’marr had said as a joke. But Joe needed to know if it was really a joke or something more.

“You looked real pretty in that pocket, Joey B.” Ja’marr said smoothly, eyes raking over Joe appreciatively.

Joe’s heart skipped a beat, as he realized something he’d already known; Ja’marr was never shy about what he wanted.

Ask is HERE

[praetoravila]

Choosing to spread some love in the community since that anon wants to be a little bitch again, so: please share ten facts about Noah!! Whatever you wanna share about him, I wanna hear it!! <3

ah yes!! hehe

he's a football player, and specifically a Offensive Linemen! he started playing football in middle school. his high school team wins three statewide games while he's on the team

him and mercedes are more like siblings than cousins. griffin wasn't around a lot when mercedes was a kid, so she spent a lot of time at noah's house. his childhood nickname for her is bug (short for ladybug bc she was obsessed with them as a kid)

his fave movie is you've got mail! he watched it as a kid with his mom, and now it's his yearly tradition to rewatch it in early fall.

he learns how to drive in gustavo's porsche. it does not go well for anyone lol.

he spends a lot of time at rocque records. him, kelly and gustavo are kind of their own found family.

he grew up in calabasas, so he's very unfazed by fame. he thinks its kind of funny how surprised by it all that the btr boys are

he's horribly clumsy, and he breaks everything. seriously. he's gone through 3 phones.it’s a good thing his family is rich.

he’s the tallest person in his family at 6’1. his mom is 5’7 and his dad is 5’10.

his favourite colour is canary yellow! his backpack is canary yellow, and most of the stuff in his bedroom is that colour.

him and carlos' anniversary is april 16th, which is also the day that noah started working as gustavo's music producer.