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The Bare Facts of Locker Rooms
Pro athletes' bodies reveal histories of struggle
There's construction work in my not-so-distant past. Hardest work ever. The contractor who gave me this break was a short, thickly muscled man. He was built to carry heavy objects in thoroughly utilitarian fashion.
"Those machines they got at the gym are worthless," Tony snarled, quite frequently, actually. "They aren't worth a damn unless yer gonna go in there and lift 'em!"
There's a lot of wisdom in his take. The truly awe-inspiring bodies I've seen in a couple hundred visits to organized-sports locker rooms have shown me that the toughest, most battle-ready bodies aren't perfect. They're made to do whatever's necessary for survival.
The most remarkable physique I've ever seen belonged to Bruce Matthews. I met him in front of his Tennessee Titans locker at the start of his 17th season in the NFL. Bruce was listed at 6-5, 289, but he seemed just a few inches taller than me and if he was an ounce under three bills, I'm the president. But dang, he was awesome.
Matthews's big, beefy shoulders and less-than-tapering torso were scarred and dented in a fashion that shouted True Warrior. I remember seeing a divot in his chest and thinking, How, exactly, does one get that? His muscles were on the soft side — after all, it was still only training camp — but they seemed like smart muscles. They knew what to do.
Though pushing 40, Matthews made it to the Pro Bowl that season. This was no surprise. Matthews always got voted to the exhibition game that pitted football's best against each other. My sense is that his success was about a lot more than his pure physical strength. To stare at Bruce Matthews, wearing just a towel in Nashville, was to look at history in the flesh. You could practically see the piles of players that he had pushed forward through. You could all but visualize the younger, fresher linemen that he would, during these more recent days, manipulate by using their own momentum against them.
"Those machines they got at the gym are worthless," Tony snarled, quite frequently, actually. "They aren't worth a damn unless yer gonna go in there and lift 'em!"
There's a lot of wisdom in his take. The truly awe-inspiring bodies I've seen in a couple hundred visits to organized-sports locker rooms have shown me that the toughest, most battle-ready bodies aren't perfect. They're made to do whatever's necessary for survival.
The most remarkable physique I've ever seen belonged to Bruce Matthews. I met him in front of his Tennessee Titans locker at the start of his 17th season in the NFL. Bruce was listed at 6-5, 289, but he seemed just a few inches taller than me and if he was an ounce under three bills, I'm the president. But dang, he was awesome.
Matthews's big, beefy shoulders and less-than-tapering torso were scarred and dented in a fashion that shouted True Warrior. I remember seeing a divot in his chest and thinking, How, exactly, does one get that? His muscles were on the soft side — after all, it was still only training camp — but they seemed like smart muscles. They knew what to do.
Though pushing 40, Matthews made it to the Pro Bowl that season. This was no surprise. Matthews always got voted to the exhibition game that pitted football's best against each other. My sense is that his success was about a lot more than his pure physical strength. To stare at Bruce Matthews, wearing just a towel in Nashville, was to look at history in the flesh. You could practically see the piles of players that he had pushed forward through. You could all but visualize the younger, fresher linemen that he would, during these more recent days, manipulate by using their own momentum against them.
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21:50 EDT, 05.Sep.07