It’s not always about the big stars wearing the jerseys.
Sometimes it’s a story about a man from a city in the Rust Belt about to turn 40. A man, who at one point, wondered if he’d make it to 26.
My twin brother.
We grew up in Saginaw, Michigan with humble parents who, above all else, wanted us to be happy. But at age 25, my twin discovered he had cancer ravaging inside of him.
He had to fight.
And fight, he did.
After that victory, that’s where he started to grow from the rubble. He dreamed of working in the NFL in sales but knew he’d have to start at the bottom and in a city he didn’t know.
So, he ventured to Charlotte, North Carolina to live in a cement square of a shack and grind it out for the Bobcats. When I visited him, he wouldn’t even show me his place.
But his grit continued to bloom.
Finally, he moved to sunny Tampa, Florida. The Buccaneers embraced him and he worked 12 hard seasons for them, eventually becoming the Vice President of Sales.
Last night, that Super Bowl victory was for him, too. For all the unsung heroes.
Finally, my brother got to inhale the smell of his hard work.
And how sweet it was.
Even without a jersey on.