If I were a wide-eyed player working at the combine, waiting for pro day, and looking forward to the draft, I would be scared shitless if the Broncos took a liking to me.
With all respect to Darrent Williams’ and Damien Nash’s families, the fatality rate for a Broncos’ player is so freaking high, given the choice, it makes being Osama Bin Laden’s food taster a most desirable career move.
Adam Carriker, the DE from Nebraska had a great Senior Bowl. His stock has risen so high, he is now on the radar to be taken by the Broncos with the 21st overall pick. If nothing changes between now and draft day, I think I’ll pay a pre-emptive shiva call to Adam’s family. I’ll bring a nice bundt cake.
Lately, along with the bad decisions made by current starters (Pacman Jones and Tank Johnson come to mind), death has been an increasing factor in the NFL and the people it touches—Tony Dungy’s son, LaDanian Tomlinson’s father, Brett Favre’s brother-in-law, Art Shell’s coaching career—all these things add up to a league that’s had more tragedy than elation.
Death is the one thing that’s out of our hands as human beings. When the time comes, there is no way to say to the guy behind you, “You can go ahead of me; I’m waiting for my wife to come out of the bathroom.”
Be it watching their son run with a ball, watching their dad coach a division leader, or knocking down passes from future hall-of-famers, it is my contention that living your life doing what you love to do, no matter the risk, is much more fulfilling than vocational complacency.
Just don’t do it in Denver.
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