During the 2009 season, Purple Jesus Diaries thought it would be interesting to go inside the minds of the rookies on the squad to get their unique take on what the welcome party to the NFL is like. Sometimes rookies find it difficult to adjust to the game, while sometimes others find it surprisingly easy. In the Rookie Symposium, we’ll encourage the rookies to cover a variety of issues, including their impression of teammates, their change in work and living ethics, and their personal insight and reaction to team activities. Today, we continue with the Vikings second round pick, Phil Loadholt, and his impressions of the NFL’s recent Rookie Symposium …
“Phil Loadholt is no fool.
Phil Loadholt arrives in Florida for the NFL’s Rookie Symposium, where NFL players and executives try to tell Phil Loadholt that the NFL is going to be different from college. Phil Loadholt get off plane and feels the warm air in Phil Loadholt’s face. It is nice to be back in the southern states, where the breezes are warm, the water is rank … and the time for blood is now.
Phil Loadholt acts casual as he begins the daily events of the Symposium. Going from conference to conference, Phil Loadholt takes stock of the other rookies around Phil Loadholt. Some are puny and weak, with quaking knees and sniveling noses. Others are bombastic, showing Phil Loadholt a strong persona … yet the reek of fear and self hate. Phil Loadholt smiles to Phil Loadholt’s self, because Phil Loadholt enjoys picking the bones from the largest of predators, the one’s with the most to lose, the one’s with enough pride to allow for a long trip down their hubristic mountain. Phil Loadholt begins his hunt.
Phil Loadholt sits in the back corner of a conference room, hidden in shadow and intrigue. Phil Loadholt does not say much. When every rookie is asked to introduce themselves and they get to Phil Loadholt’s turn, Phil Loadholt stands and says “Phil Loadholt, tackle for Vikings, destroyer of Empires, lover of kittens” and sits back down. No one else says a word or applauds. They stare simply at Phil Loadholt, twitching nervously and shuffling their feet. The director continues nonchalantly around the room but always shifts a wary eye back to Phil Loadholt’s corner. Phil Loadholt smiles. His plan is in motion, starting with the weak fearing Phil Loadholt.
Another rookie, Mark Sanchez, stands and introduces his self. He is loud, pompous and self assured. Phil Loadholt squints his eyes and recognizes Phil Loadholt’s next target. Mr. Sanchez has curly hair and a pock marked face great enough to make a puberty ridden male jealous. But these things to not matter to the millionaire that has yet to play a down for the team that drafted him, the New York Jets. He is already thinking of himself as a celebrity and Purple Jesus’ gift to the world. This high sense of self grates Phil Loadholt’s soul. This … boy … does not deserve this recognition. Not yet, perhaps not ever. Phil Loadholt looks around the room and witnesses ever other rookie transfixed by this child’s words and actions, witnesses every other man in this room mentally fellating this infantile rookie for no good reason. Phil Loadholt knows who will fear him next.
As the day winds down and the rookie events dwindle, many rookies have already retired to their quarters for the evening. Mr. Sanchez says good night to a pair of fellow teammates and starts walking back to his abode for the evening. He should have retired sooner, Phil Loadholt thinks, as Mr. Sanchez mistakenly walks into a dark alley to short cut back to his room. Surprisingly quiet for a fearsome giant, Phil Loadholt follows him.
With a terrible sense of foreboding overwhelming him, Mr. Sanchez immediately regrets his chosen path and turns to take the long way home when he comes face to face with the tower Phil Loadholt. Silence erupts into the night. The moon is full in the south Florida sky but any light it may cast is blocked by the hulking frame of Cthulu-man Phil Loadholt. Mr. Sanchez fidgets, looking for a way around him to no avail. Phil Loadholt sneers a smile and advances.
With barely a whimper out of Mr. Sanchez, Phil Loadholt begins his midnight feast on his conceited rookie brethren. His massive whale like jaws clamp onto the quarterbacks shoulders, shattering bone and busting through muscle and sinew, essentially crippling him for the season. Fresh blood splatters on the hulking figures face, much to Phil Loadholt’s delight. As Phil Loadholt looks for another target, perhaps a muscley thigh to appease his midnight hunger, Mr. Sanchez has already fainted from shock.
But before further action can be taken, another figure comes strolling into the alley way all too carelessly. As Phil Loadholt rages around to show this figure fear like none other, Phil Loadholt stops suddenly. Frozen in his tracks is fellow rookie teammate Percy Harvin. Although stunted and pestering, Mr. Harvin already appropriately fears Phil Loadholt. Harvin seems unsure of what to do. His eyes glance from Phil Loadholt’s blood soaked mouth to the girlish form of Mr. Sanchez, who is now laying in a puddle of his own human blood and feces. Shocked, Harvin’s stomach abruptly turns and he starts vomiting in the alley way. Holding himself against the wall for support, Harvin stares in awe and fear as Phil Loadholt leaves the alley for his own bed rest. Phil Loadholt smiles to Phil Loadholt’s self. Phil Loadholt’s actions will be safe inside Harvin’s shattered mind forever.
The next day, Phil Loadholt wakes to find that fellow rookie teammate Mr. Harvin has been excused from the Symposium due to an undescribed “illness” of the stomach. Mr. Sanchez appears at all of the meetings for the day with his arm in a wrap. Allegedly, he “fell down some stairs” on his way back home. Everyone believes the story and Mr. Sanchez keeps his distance from Phil Loadholt. For good reason. Phil Loadholt will teach the NFL to fear him, because fear is the ultimate tool to win by, and Phil Loadholt has plenty of it.
Because Phil Loadholt is no fool.”