Knocking on the door
›› Players on the league’s practice squads face uncertainty each week while pursuing the chance to be promoted.
‘You never know what may happen. You can be here one day and be gone the next.’
Joseph Cheek is stuck in traffic on Loop 610. Although the Texans have the day off, Cheek, being a rookie, is tasked with coming in around 6 p.m. to diagram blitzes on a dry erase board for his fellow offensive linemen to study the next day. He looks over the steering wheel of his silver 2003 GMC Yukon, beyond the rush-hour crawl, and sees NRGStadium a few miles away. • The facility there feels more like home than work to the Seguin native and Texas A&M alumnus. No matter that through seven weeks of the NFL season he has not played. • Cheek is not on the 53-man active roster but on the practice squad. Unlike other sports that have developmental leagues, NFL teams employ 10 players used in practices. They prepare the starters and backups for games by mimicking the plays of upcoming opponents. Nineteen men have been part of the Texans’ practice squad this season. Injuries scramble the group unpredictably, requiring new signings almost weekly. Cheek had spent August on the New Orleans Saints’ practice squad before the Texans signed him Sept. 5. • Some players are promoted to the active roster, appear in games and even go on to have careers. Many wash out after shots with multiple practice squads. Others are cut.
A call comes in to Cheek’s phone. It’s a staff member in player personnel, who says general manager Rick Smith wants to meet with him.
Three weeks earlier, Cheek (67, 311 pounds) bounded toward his locker after an energizing lift with sweat beaded across his forehead and a big smile.
“I wake up every morning really happy,” he said then. “I love this game. I keep getting better. I’m so close.”
After the phone call, Cheek wonders if Smith will offer him the opportunity to play and activate him from the practice squad.
“Maybe I’m getting called up,” he thought.
Then he considers his tenuous role on the team and imagines the opposite news. The traffic, previously just an inconvenience, makes him feel trapped for 30 minutes. Dread sinks in.
He stares at the stadium. As his car inches closer, his dream of playing in the NFL seems to get more out of reach.
“God, I hope not.”
By their nature, players on the practice squad pursue the NFL as long shots. They are undrafted rookies, like Cheek, or players with minimal experience, who are slow, undersized, unproven or new to a position compared with the men on Sunday. Still, they train for the same long days as millionaire superstars. They grind away without fans knowing their names, hope to play at some point and accept job insecurity.
“That’s brutal,” Texans coach Bill O’Brien said. “That’s the worst part of the job: having to release a guy that’s put in a lot of time, a lot of hard work.”
Although this existence on the fringe of football is not so cruel as the roster-whittling reality show of training camp, its cutthroat standards make it a tightrope act without guarantees.
“If my name gets called, I’ll need to know everything,” rookie wide receiver Quenton Bundrage said of vigilantly reviewing the playbook and preparing for a call-up. “That may be my only opportunity.”
Bundrage had dealt with doubts. During his junior year at Iowa State, he tore the anterior cruciate ligament in his right knee. He returned the next season, but NFL scouts questioned if his knee was strong enough for a pro career.
He went undrafted and seized his slim chance with the Texans.
“You never know what may happen,” Bundrage said. “You can be here one day and be gone the next.”
Thirty-one days after saying this, he collapsed in practice with an injury. He tore ligaments in his knee, this time the left one. His season was over.
Even for the healthy, emotions vacillate between frustration and gratitude.
“The first thing that comes in your mind: I’m better than this,” defensive end Brandon Dunn said.
Although considered overqualified after three years in the NFL, Dunn has shuffled around because he is less skilled against the rush. Over 14 weeks this season, he spent two stints on the active roster and three on the practice squad.
“I have a wife and child,” he said. “I can’t sit here and say, ‘I’m not going to accept the practice squad.’ It’s a job.”
A lucrative one, at that. It pays $117,300 in salary, which gets prorated for weekly paychecks during the season. That rate nearly quadruples if a player gets promoted to the active roster.
Players live modestly. Some have rented furniture. They rarely buy more than a bed, couch and large television.
They slowly, hesitantly accumulate accessories, like linens, spices and utensils, because there is no telling how long they will stay.
“Right now, every time I go to the grocery store, I’m paying $100,” said cornerback Denzel Rice, whom the Texans signed in Week 7. “I had to buy silverware and cleaning supplies and air fresheners and pots and pans. The little stuff that nobody thinks about.”
He recently spent a day off shopping for two fabric bath mats.
“That’s one of my biggest pet peeves: coming out of the shower and feeling the cold floor on your feet,” Rice said.
For thoroughness, he removed his right shoe and walked over a mat four times. He rattled a vanilla frappuccino in his hand and squinted at the mat like an epidemiologist examining a petri dish. He purchased the mats after 35 minutes of deliberating their quality and cream color scheme. A store employee recommended a matching cotton toilet seat cover. “Is that sanitary?” Rice said. At checkout, he inquired about signing up for a 20 percent discount.
“I hate spending money,” said defensive end Dan Pettinato,
who is on his second season on the practice squad.
He bought a worn couch off a second-hand seller app for $175. “And I was still having a hard time.”
This kind of lifestyle feels more natural to the youngest members of the practice squad. Many rookies, including some on the active roster, live in the same apartment complex a mile from the stadium, south of 610. They hang out at nights like it is an upscale dorm hall.
“It’s like college,” rookie linebacker Shakeel Rashad said. “I love it. I miss college.”
Rashad and fellow rookie linebacker Eric Lee became quick chums, who sometimes act like freshmen trying to fit in with the seniors. They bring toiletries to the showers for veterans, hoping to earn the title of best rookie. Once, Lee spotted Rashad “trying to get some shine” by preparing a stack of towels. So Lee took the pile and delivered it to the veterans, stealing the credit. Rashad, consistently the most jovial guy in the clubhouse, ran off and returned to the washroom with cotton swabs.
“Who wants to clean their ears?” he said.
Camaraderie, aside from the salary, is the most redeeming part of being on an NFL team for the relegated players. Pettinato, a California native, has spent Thanksgiving and Christmas in Texas with defensive end Christian Covington.
When the Texans signed rookie receiver Wendall Williams halfway through the season, he crashed on Rashad’s couch until he got his own place.
“A lot of us don’t know any other people than the team,” Pettinato said. “The team is our family. ”
The comradeship extends to an upper-level box at NRG, where the practice squad sits together for home games. The antics there — offensive lineman Chad Slade has been known to throw popcorn from the back row at Lee and Rashad napping against each other in front — finish by kickoff.
These players might be left off the roster, but they act like coordinators barking commands into headsets. Their week of film scrutiny and niche discipline intensifies their focus. They share one pair of binoculars, which is borrowed from a security guard, to check out signals on the sidelines. They recognize formations and shout out plays before the snap. They anticipate the best and worst moments several seconds before the fans react.
After a loss, when the locker room stinks and the mood sours, practice squad players sometimes filter in.
“We’re all going through it together,” Pettinato said. “I’m just not playing on Sundays.”
The atmosphere is only a bit less tense for road games, which practice squad players do not get to attend. They usually watch the telecasts together in smaller groups. As stragglers, they offer company for injured players.
Linebacker Brian Peters hosted a practice squad crew when he missed time with a quadriceps injury. He grilled three-quarterpound burgers and sliced watermelon (“I only shop at Whole Foods”), while his guests spread out across his two sofas to watch the Texans lose a Monday night game to Denver 27-9.
Peters identifies with them. He played in the Arena Football League, United Football League (which folded in 2012) and Canadian Football League before making the Minnesota Vikings’ practice squad. The Texans signed him last season, and he has remained active.
“It’s been a blessing here, to start establishing some roots because I haven’t done that in a while,” Peters said. “Once you gain enough leverage on an organization that wants to keep you around, that’s one of the coolest things in the game. You have a home.”
That stability has eluded tight end RaShaun Allen. After being on four practice squads in three years, he is used to his itinerant plight. He has moved too quickly to sustain friendships and too often to make new ones.
Since signing with the Texans in Week 9, he has lived in a hotel. For a week he would not unpack the clothes from his suitcase.
“It’s the thought of not kicking my feet up, and working, keeping my mind on the grind,” he said.
Using the dresser would be his reward. “I’ve got to earn that,” he said.” Allen missed out on months of bonding, but he is not bothered by keeping to himself. He returns from practice pleased to find a room where the bed is always made for him.
“The way things go, it forces you to be like that.”
‘I know how good it feels to be under those bright lights’
Vaulting the practice squad to establish a career is not uncommon. Recent stalwarts like Denver linebacker Brandon Marshall, New England wide receiver Danny Amendola and Pittsburgh linebacker James Harrison started on it. O’Brien mentioned former Patriots right guard Stephen Neal and offensive lineman Dan Connolly as Super Bowl contributors.
Of the six players activated to the Texans’ roster this season, cornerback Robert Nelson has made the biggest impact. He was active for seven games with the Cleveland Browns in 2014 and battled a severe hamstring tear that lingered with the Arizona Cardinals in 2015. He finished last year on the Texans’ practice squad, but this is the first season in which he began on one.
Nelson treated the situation with urgency. He instructed his agent to call at least twice a week to discuss any other teams interested in signing him away. Rather than socializing with the players left behind on road games, he watched the Texans alone and spent the rest of the time staring at his iPad. As a cornerback, he pulled up footage of the next opponent’s offense to memorize receiver routes, quarterback habits and third-down tendencies.
There were no indications he would play, only his compulsion to stay ready.
“I know how good it feels to be under those bright lights, man,” Nelson said.
His girlfriend made the drudgery easier. He came home to her cooking and cajoling.
“Damn, I wanted to play,” he told her.
“Calm down,” she said. “Your time will come.”
On Oct. 13, leading into a crucial division matchup against Indianapolis, the Texans activated Nelson to bolster the coverage against Pro Bowl quarterback Andrew Luck.
Nelson exited the tunnel at NRG rupturing with nervous excitement for his first game in nearly two years. He made sure no one saw his tears.
“You ever watch ‘Dragon Ball Z’?” he said, referring to a Japanese animation series about a hero who vanquishes aliens, androids and demons. “They go into super Zen mode when they transport into the next level and they transform into something bigger, like a Pokémon. It’s in my body, and I just let it out.”
The nerves got to Nelson on his first play. He desperately clawed at T.Y. Hilton, the best Colts receiver, who beat him to the outside.
He mistakenly had looked into Hilton’s eyes — the Medusa trick that deceives corners. On the next play, Nelson focused on Hilton’s hips to follow his change in direction. With free safety Andre Hal backing up to prevent a deep pass, Nelson trailed Hilton on the inside. He saw Hilton look up for the ball. Then Nelson lunged to intercept it.
Nelson’s pick near the end of the first half kept the Texans within striking distance for an eventual 26-23 victory in overtime. But he did not celebrate. Not after the play or the game or the next week when an equipment manager handed him the ball wrapped in plastic and emblazoned with a message commemorating his first career interception.
He tossed the game ball into his locker without looking. He was past the moment, days into his investigation of the Broncos, his next opponent.
When Dunn was active, he had a similarly staid approach. Although he did not expect to be put back on the practice squad for a second and then third time, he never felt settled.
“I never let myself get out of the grind,” he said. “Until I can’t play no more football.”
For all of their preparation, these guys do not plan for that.
“You don’t want to think about life after football,” Allen said with a chuckle.
‘I want to find a home … I just want to make it, man’
Finally freed from the traffic, Cheek walks into the general manager’s office wearing a backpack. Smith says a roster spot has opened up because of an injury and he plans to fill it with a tackle.
But it will not be Cheek. Cheek is too inexperienced. Smith intends to replace him with a veteran signed from another practice squad. Cheek finishes with Smith and heads to meet with O’Brien, who says much of the same.
When Cheek exits the office, the player personnel staffer who had called him is waiting outside with a form. Cheek signs it and reaches into his backpack to hand over an iPad and electronic sleep band issued by the team. The staffer takes Cheek to the locker room, gives him a black garbage bag and watches Cheek clear out his locker. The staffer then escorts him out of the stadium to his truck.
Cheek had once relied on the staffer for a favor so he would not be late for the first day of practice. Now, holding on to the garbage bag, Cheek reaches out with his free hand to shake the staffer’s hand.
“See ya,” Cheek says, and drives back to his apartment in silence.
He spends the weekend deer hunting with his younger brother and dad. During that respite, he gets another phone call. The Kansas City Chiefs want him. For the practice squad.
Cheek has been there since, grinding and grateful for another shot.
“I want to find a home. And find a team,” he said, making them sound like different things he wishes could be the same. “I just want to make it, man.”
Unlike the practice squad in Houston that sequesters to a distant suite, Cheek gets to stand on the sideline in Kansas City. He prefers that. He sees the play signals and hears the calls. He feels the reverberation from the stands. He slaps teammates on their helmets. He is a bit closer to the game.