Laurent Duvernay-Tardif - Red Zone: From the Offensive Line to the Front Line of the Pandemic

Y ouve always been unsure about how long you want to play football, my friend Mitch said through a mouthful of food. If you win, are you done?

Point-blank. True to form. The question called for a yesor a no.

It was late January 2020. Kansas City. That damp cold you get when the temperature hovers around freezing. Mitch and I were in my apartment, eating our way through the heaping chipotle bowls hed brought over for old times sake. I liked that apartment. It was the second place Id rented in KC since Id been drafted by the Chiefs, the local NFL franchise, in 2014: two bedrooms, comfortable, nothing extravagant. It was right downtown, 10 minutes from work, everything close by. I loved the place for its central location. You cant help but feel part of a community when youre right there, eating and sleeping at the heart of it. But I was also a sucker for the sunset view from my balcony. That peaceful moment you could snag after a gruelling day of pushing yourself to the absolute limits of your physical and mental abilitiesthats the irresistible challenge, and privilege, of playing pro footballyou couldnt overstate the value of that.

Especially when Flo, my girlfriend, was in town from Montreal and we could hang out there together. Decompress. Reconnect. In a city where people live and die for football, enjoying tranquil time in my apartment quickly became my way of disconnecting from football.

That day, though, I wasnt exactly relaxing. Under the brilliant coaching of Andy Reid, and with me (of all people!) on the line blocking for the otherworldly quarterback Patrick Mahomes, the Chiefs had just won their first AFC Championship since, no joke, 1970. Half a century ago. In a few days wed be heading to Miami to play in the National Football Leagues annual championship game, the Super Bowl.

I was actually going to play in Super Bowl LIV. It was surreal, to say the least. Unlikely doesnt come close.

For most of my life, Id never expected to play in the NFL. I never dreamed of signing a big contract, let alone finding myself recognized as one of the best right guards in the league. Mitch knew that better than anyone. Six years earlier, in my first game as a starter in the NFL, hed played at my left side. Itd been his first game as a starter too. We saw the game the same way, adopted the same tricks for handling the pressure. Were both in this game, were both nervous, but were not talking about it. Were focused: throw your hands, make sure you know the game plan, play fast and see where the cards fall. Lets do this together. Lets have fun doing it.

We lived in the same neighbourhood, and would get together in our downtime. On Thursday nights wed meet the rest of the offensive linemen for feasts at Bo Lings, a nearby Chinese restaurant. With a teacher father and a lawyer mother, Mitch had made it to the big time via Mizzou, the University of Missouri, one of those American colleges where they take their football really seriously. But the sport wasnt his be-all and end-all. He was outward-looking, naturally curious. Unfazed by my Qubcois accent, hed ask me what it was like growing up in Quebec; about the lengthy sailing trips my family used to take; and about our all-hands-on-deck family business ventures, from a vineyard, to an orchard, to a bakery.

All these aspects of my background made me unusual in NFL circles. But that wasnt the half of it. Id come to football late, and learned the game CFL-stylethats the Canadian Football League, which follows different rules that significantly differ the nature of play. Id never, as a kidnot even as a teenwatched pro sports on TV. When the game became a serious pursuit for me, and aiming for the NFL a remote possibility, I couldnt name a single superstar player except for Tom Brady. For the longest time I didnt even know what the Super Bowl was. I kept mixing it up with the Grey Cup (the CFL championship) and the NHLs Stanley Cup.

Too many cups.

On top of all that, while playing football, I was working my way through medical school. Since Mitch and I first ran out on the field together, that hadnt changed. I was a pro footballer, a starter, a full-fledged member of the Kansas City Chiefs. I was also a doctor-in-training. During our years as teammates, sometimes Id be studying medicine in a coffee shop and Mitch would show up and quiz me on stuff in my textbook, joking that it read like another language.

Mitch now played for the Buffalo Bills. It was two years since wed been teammates, but we were still friends. And the question he put to me that day over our chipotle was both fair and all too familiar. For years, Id hit it at every step along the way, from family, teachers, mentors, coaches, fellow students, fellow players, old friends. Way back when I first started studying medicine, I was asked, would I give up football and focus on my studies (as most people around me expected)? Then, after Id had the chance to become a starter in the NFL, would I think, great, Ive had the chance to play pro, now I can go back to medicine full time? With each passing year, the question took on more urgency. You can only stretch out your medical training so far. Eight years in, I was pushing the limit. I was going to have to choose. And of course, when you win the AFC Championship and get a chance to play in the Super Bowl, thats a pretty nice way to hang up your cleats. As Mitch put it, At that point, youve signed a huge contract, youve won a Super Bowl, youve kicked ass, youve done everything. Now go be a freaking doctor.

He was right. I knew this was something Id need to think about, and that Id need to discuss it with Flo, and with my parents. I told Mitch the truth: I didnt know what I was going to do.