A player’s poor performance doesn’t disrupt the NFL’s economic model.

Nowhere is that more evident than in the offensive line room, where the performance gap between a starter and a backup is significant, and widening.

The league isn’t built on elite play in the trenches. It’s built on functional continuity.

The NFL generates over $23 billion annually, with media rights deals projected to drive more than $110 billion over the next decade.

The machine works and it works extremely well.

Which creates this hard truth for players to accept, the business model is designed to function with or without their success. The leagues success isn’t codependent on individual development.

In many cases, player’s struggles don’t hurt the system, they actually feed it.

Their struggles become content.

Their struggles become conversation.

Their struggles drive viewership.

And ultimately all of this drives more revenue.

When a player doesn’t understand this dynamic, they miss the truth. The model isn’t designed to develop them, it’s designed to win with or without their growth. Which leads to a broader question, “wouldn’t the NFL make more money if the players were better?”

The answer is no.

This isn’t the NBA where even a sixth man can become a global brand.

For example, Manu Ginóbili was a career sixth man, but a Hall of Famer, Olympian, and basketball international superstar. He was valuable to the NBA’s economic engine.

Now compare that to Trent Williams, arguably the greatest left tackle to ever play, but his jersey sells aren’t driving international markets. In the NFL, his value to winning football games is enormous, while at the same time his commercial visibility relative to his football value is microscopic compared to NBA stars. He’s not driving the NFL’s economy. This distinction isn't by accident and it highlights the structural difference between the business models and the actual sports.

Football disperses visibility because the helmet hides identity, while basketball allows for a deeper fan connection to the players. The roster sizes in football spreads recognition thin, while the same can’t be said for basketball. And ultimately the physicality of football creates constant turnover.

My 16yr old son has never lived a day on earth when Lebron James wasn’t a global superstar. That’s an incredible reality when you truly think about it. An entire generation has grown up with one player remaining culturally relevant, commercially visible, and central to the sport for over two decades.

Now compare that to the NFL. My son has already watched multiple eras of NFL stars come and go.

This is why the NFL doesn’t rely on individual player stardom to fuel its economy. It relies on the shield, on the game itself.

The game is the product. The experience is the economy.

Consider this, nobody goes to the circus for the clowns. Yes, the clowns matter, and they help create the show, but you’re truly there for the experience.

Which is why this reality exists, most fans couldn’t name an entire starting offensive line, let alone a backup, and the league doesn’t need them to. Because the circus is more valuable than the clowns.

It’s not a slight against offensive linemen, or NFL players in general, it’s simply structural economics. The machine works whether the audience fully understands the value of the work or not.

Once players understand this, their mindset changes, because many athletes subconsciously believe, “if I become valuable enough, the system will automatically value me.”

But football doesn’t work that way.

The league will celebrate production, monetize performance, and will reward usefulness. But the machine is always preparing for replacement. Because it has to.

That’s why development ultimately has to become personal. It’s not up to the coach, club, league, or agent.

It’s on them.

And that realization, while uncomfortable, is often the exact moment a player begins operating like a true professional.

A player’s social media presence can speak louder than their game film.

My time in an advisory role with the New Orleans Saints exposed me to how clubs actually evaluate players.

I wasn’t surprised that social media is one of the first entry points in the scouting process. But what did surprise me was how many players were undermining their value before the evaluation even began.

A part of the issue stems from the new economic landscape in college football. These young players now have access to money. And far too many are chasing low-value “branding” deals that do nothing to increase their actual football value.

It’s the perfect storm of youth, money, and the desire to be seen.

This mix is having a disproportionately negative impact on offensive linemen.

A good offensive lineman is often popular because he’s not visible. You don’t hear his name called on game day. He stays out of trouble. And when he is recognized, it’s usually because he’s done something exceptional.

Players like this have mastered the trait that defines long-term success, they make the game, and the distractions around it, small.

They subtract to add.

This is the exact opposite approach of many young players. They are proactively seeking “more” without a full understanding of what exactly more brings.

The reality is everyone operates with limited emotional, mental, and physical bandwidth. The brain wasn’t designed to manage the level of constant stimulation we’re all exposed to.

And offensive line play combined with the demands of college football is already maximally taxing on all of the core competencies, emotional, mental, and physical.

It’s hard.

What these players are doing is stretching an already strained capacity by inviting another layer of complexity into their world. Eventually, the nervous system begins to reveal what the player can and cannot consistently manage. Their attention becomes fragmented, focus drifts, and their ability to consistently make good decisions, especially in public, starts to erode. Because there’s only so much even a fully developed brain can manage, let alone one that’s still developing.

And in today’s environment, it only takes one ill-advised post, a “clap back” comment to the fan looking to provoke, one moment, one lapse in judgment, for everything to change.

I’m not that far removed where there’s a total disconnect between myself and today’s players. But I cringe when I see how some choose to present themselves, posing with money, showcasing cars, highlighting jewelry, profanity laced captions, and audio. Or when I find myself scrolling through a player’s page with more “endorsement deals” than evidence of actual performance.

None of this speaks the language of NFL evaluators.

Players believe it says “branding” but it actually screams misplaced priorities.

And in a business that’s highly risk averse, what signals being sent to clubs is more important than they understand.

What I find fascinating is this, more often than not, the top-end players manage their social media well. Likely because they’re more intuitively focused on what matters. But it’s the middle-of-the-road to lower-end players who don’t.

The irony?

These are the players who receive the least amount of grace in the evaluation process.

They need everything working in their favor because their film isn’t strong enough to override risk.

My advice to young players is this, manage your social media as if you have an audience of one. You may have thousands of followers, but with every post, story, repost, comment, or interaction, you’re really speaking to one person, and it’s the future NFL general manager who controls the next job opportunity connected to your dream.

Understand that every brand deal provides insight into what you value and what you’re willing to tie your name to. If you’re willing to tie your name to any low-value entity simply because money is involved, why should a multi-billion dollar enterprise like the NFL tie its name to you?

Because in a business built around risk evaluation, perception matters.

Don’t operate under the illusion that anything is truly hidden. Ask yourself, if this private message, photo, video, group chat, or interaction suddenly became public tomorrow, how would you feel about it? If you’ll need to “explain” it publicly, don’t send it. Because in football, decision-makers are constantly gathering information, not just about talent, but about judgment, maturity, discipline, self-regulation, and reliability.

This is a risk-based business, and the wrong perception can sometimes cost you more than your film can earn back.

Before you go, I’ve been quietly working on my new book.

The business of football has shifted and parents still don’t know what they’re up against.

This book was written to help change that.

The OL Parent Playbook: Coming soon.

Players that have to play with max effort every snap, they’re liabilities.

I flashback to a conversation with an NFL general manager.

We were discussing a player and he said:

“he plays too hard.”

I was dumbfounded.

As a player that prided myself on “playing hard”, the comment didn’t sit well with me.

But over time, I realized what he actually meant.

The role of executives at the club level is to do one thing first, manage the risk.

Clubs are highly risk averse.

Which means decisions aren’t anchored in:

“Is he good at football?”

But more so, “how does his ability, traits, medical history, and off-field behaviors weight against our risk tolerance?”

When clubs lead with these concerns top of mind, it creates a shift in what performance actually looks like.

In relation to ability , a player that needs to play hard is a liability.

Because when a player has to operate at max effort just to survive the snap, there’s no margin left.

As a player, I chose to play hard.

It was a conscious choice, because my chosen approach pushed me closer to my goals.

However.

I always had more in the tank.

When Warren Sapp, Luther Ellis, John Randle, or Chris Jenkins were lined up across from me, I was able to take my game to another level.

To dial this in even more, when it’s 3rd & 15, 4th quarter, and down 2 touchdowns.

Warren Sapp isn’t the same player you saw in the first quarter.

He was able to turn the temperature up on his performance, immediately.

So was I.

Let’s think of performance like a pot of boiling water.

Some players step on the field already boiling, and that’s because they have to.

That’s their ceiling.

Others start controlled, efficient, and composed.

But when the moment demands it, they can turn it up instantly.

And when that player reaches his boiling point, and then the one who’s been surviving at max effort all game…

He’s in trouble

In the NFL, it’s not about how hard you can play.

It’s about how much you have left when it matters.

A great example of this in today’s game is Chiefs defensive lineman, Chris Jones.

His ceiling is so high that his floor is still overwhelming for most offensive linemen.

If you really study him, there are stretches where it looks like he’s loafing.

He’s not.

He’s operating at a level that still allows him to do his job but without overcommitting himself, because he doesn’t need to.

Then something shifts.

The situation, down and distance, it’s a moment.

And he decides to turn it on.

Now the offensive lineman that had been “holding his own” can’t block him.

Because what they were surviving against wasn’t his max.

It was his baseline.

That’s the difference.

Some players give everything they have from the first snap because they have to.

Others make you deal with just enough until the moment demands more.

And when that switch flips, the matchup changes instantly.

This is why the general manager didn’t want the player we were discussing.

He understood what I didn't at the time.

That player was a risk, a liability to the system.

A harsh reality I’ve observed many players struggle with is this:

They’re better suited to be a backup than a starter.

Any player worth his salt wants to play.

That’s the standard.

But at the highest levels of football, it’s critical for players to understand where they fit within a system.

Because this isn’t about ego management.

It’s about value retention.

The longer a player can hold their value, the longer they stay in the league.

And with that comes more accrued seasons — which means increased pension, extended healthcare, higher earnings, and access to a broader set of post-career benefits.

These are the outcomes most players don’t fully appreciate until it’s too late.

Which means this:

Navigating an NFL career isn’t just about working hard.

It’s a series of business decisions — each one either creating an asset or a liability on your career pro-forma.

What separates a starter from a career backup?

It’s the mental makeup of the player.

The common trait among NFL starters — they’re experts at managing stress and anxiety.

And in the trenches, that’s not a soft skill.

It’s a hard one — a requirement.

It’s what allows a player to:

• Stay present in the moment

• Self-correct in real time

• Regulate emotion under pressure

• Block out noise

• Receive and apply critical feedback

• Navigate the coach-player dynamic without struggle

Some backups can play at a higher level than starters — but only in short bursts.

They can give you 6 or 7 games where you think:

“This is the guy.”

But over the course of a season, they can’t sustain it.

Because eventually, their emotional bandwidth gets maxed out — and their limitations start to override their capabilities.

This is when you’ll hear — “he got exposed”

No, he didn't.

You just misread the signals.

Being a starter in the NFL is physically demanding.

But it’s more mentally challenging than it is physical.

The reality is:

Being a backup offensive lineman is a good job to have — if that’s what you are.

And this is where the problem starts.

Most players think they’re starters.

So they prepare like starters — focusing on the skills they believe will get them on the field, as they should.

But in doing so, they overlook what actually determines if they stay on it — that’s what’s happening from the neck up.

Talent gets you on the field — but it’s emotional control that keeps you there.

This is why investing in a sports psychologist isn’t optional — it’s a requirement.

Because when a player views his career through the proper lens, he starts to manage it like a business.

And with that mindset, it becomes about building an operating strategy that gives that business the best chance at success.

You’re hedging your bet — diversifying your business — by preparing for multiple outcomes, not just the one you want.

Think like a starter — prepare like a starter.

While understanding your role might be as the backup — and that’s okay.

Because “success” in the NFL isn’t defined by how many career starts you have.

It’s defined by how well you maximize your value.

That’s how owners think.

That’s how executives think.

That’s how coaches think.

So why shouldn’t players?

Especially when you consider this:

The average NFL career lasts 3–5 years.

While everyone else in the business of football can stay in it for a lifetime.

This imbalance of career shelf lives highlight the need for players to have a sense of urgency, in how they look to build a career experience that’s uniquely theirs.

The new economic landscape of college football has forced programs into positions they’re not currently equipped to manage.

If you’re the head coach at the helm of a major Power 4 program, you’re going to be in the market for elite high school offensive tackles.

You need to recruit a high-caliber quarterback, pass rusher, wide receiver, and offensive tackle — but the reality is, those positions don’t just sit at the top of the board — they dominate the budget.

They’re the big-ticket items on the grocery list.

And here’s the problem:

The quarterback, pass rusher, and wide receiver are positions that tend to “figure it out” when the coaching and scheme align with their abilities.

They can rely on instinct, space, and raw talent to bridge gaps in development.

They’re able to be productive, while closing the developmental learning curve.

In the trenches — the learning curve is long, unforgiving, requires time and intentional work to move a player from neophyte to consistent starter.

And this is the strain many programs are now dealing with.

You’re onboarding one of the most expensive positions in the sport — with the lowest probability of immediate return.

That’s a difficult model to sustain — and as a business owner, it’s not an operating model that I’d feel good about.

To put a framework around it:

An elite offensive tackle now commands an investment of several million dollars.

But unlike other premium positions, you’re not buying instant production.

The money buys his signature — it gets him in the door.

The true cost of that investment is still to be determined.

Get it wrong, and it might cost someone’s job.

And everything that actually drives ROI — sequencing, skill acquisition, trust, consistency — remains an outstanding invoice.

This is where the tension sits.

You’ve paid a premium for a position that still requires one of the longest and most intentional development curves in the sport.

“The more money you invest in to those young lineman… that’s really dead money, because it’s a developmental position.” - Steve Sarkisian, Head Coach, Texas

I believe we’re headed toward a level-set in the market.

Programs can’t keep escalating the economic ante at this position — the risk is too high, and the downstream impact on budgets and roster construction becomes too costly.

At some point, it stops being aggressive — and starts becoming irresponsible.

Because when you miss at this position, it doesn’t just affect the player — it distorts your entire roster and can cost you a championship window.

So the market will correct — and when it does, the decision for a player to go to School X versus School Z won’t be driven purely by economics.

It’ll be driven by development — by where they believe they can actually become a player.

The programs that win the offensive line arms race won’t be the ones spending the most.

They’ll be the ones building the best in-house developmental models — specifically for offensive line.

Because the weight of developing a marquee player at this position can no longer sit solely on the offensive line coach, the strength program, and time.

That model is outdated — It’s too narrow for what the position demands.

Because when an unproven 17-year-old commands a multi-million dollar investment, it signals a shift — not just in the market, but in how organizations must be structured.

Unnecessary tension in player development silently kills the process.

Players are under constant pressure to “get it right.”

In response, they create tension — because it looks like effort.

But what feels and looks like hard work is often what’s holding them back.

Tension restricts fluidity, impairs breathing, and dampens skill retention.

Over time, it conditions the brain to associate performance as a negative stressor.

And all of it shows up in the one place it shouldn’t — the game.

What we’re looking for isn’t tension — it’s bracing.

Bracing is controlled stiffness — enough to produce force, while still allowing the body to remain reactive.

A braced athlete is more calm, stronger, more reactive, explosive, and less fatigued over time.

Over the years, I’ve observed the impact tension has on development.

The players with the least to lose — late-round picks and undrafted free agents — tend to grasp the difference between tension and bracing the fastest.

Because they’re not trying to protect anything — they’re just trying to improve.

The less a player has to protect, the easier it is to move freely.

I’ve observed the opposite with high draft picks and players trying to stabilize performance inconsistency.

They’re much slower to distinguish between what looks like hard work and what actually supports performance.

The pressure they’re under — both self-imposed and external — creates tension.

And that tension leads to a clenched fist approach to learning, which slows development and limits retention.

Keep your eyes open with your players.

The ones who make everything look harder than it should be are usually trying too hard.

Create a relaxed environment.

Remind them it’s a game — not war.

I always want development to be in a hurry — but never in a rush.

Being “good” isn’t enough for an offensive lineman in the NFL.

Most players entering the league don’t understand how it actually works at this position — at this level.

They think ability is what gets rewarded.

It isn’t.

I laugh when I hear a player say to me,
“I’m better than him.”

My response is always the same:
“So what?” - “But are you better than him where it matters?”

The league rewards three things — availability, adaptability, and trust.

There’s enough depth in the league for teams to find offensive linemen who can play “good enough” and still function.

That’s not true across the roster.

A player like Puka Nacua changes how a defense aligns, covers, and communicates before the ball is even snapped.

That kind of impact is far more difficult to replace than a right guard. And because of that, organizations tend to carry more tolerance for inconsistency, immaturity, or off-field concerns at other positions.

An impact receiver with some off-field question marks?
“He’s maturing.”

A star defensive end with a few too many speeding tickets?
“We’re going to educate him.”

A lockdown corner who can’t make meetings on time?
“He just needs mentorship.”

That’s the reality.

Which means the performance standard for an offensive lineman shifts away from:
How good is he?

And toward three different questions:

Is he consistently available?
Can he play more than one position?
Does the coaching staff trust him?

As a fan, this can be incredibly frustrating. Because you’re watching on Sunday and thinking — “There has to be someone better than this.”

And the truth is — there probably is.

But that player is either:

Always hurt.
Limited to one position.
Or hasn’t earned trust.

The sooner players understand how the system works, the cleaner they’ll navigate the NFL.

And the sooner fans understand it, the less they’ll stress over a model they can’t control.

Because understanding the system changes how you see everything.

I believe NIL will have detrimental effects on the development of offensive linemen.

My agency, AMDG Sports, currently represents 25 collegiate NIL players.

It’s a challenging space — because you’re engaging with families and young athletes who, in a normal world, should be focused on high school prom or how to manage an acne breakout.

Instead, they’re being asked to navigate a system that’s quickly becoming a mirror of the NFL — and that’s not a compliment.

The NFL is a business — it’s a system.

And the model isn’t dependent on player development to be successful.

That’s a difficult reality — but one most players are eventually forced to understand.

For many, the NFL Draft is the entry point where they first hear:

“You’re not that good.”

NIL changes that entry point.

Because now, the first message young players hear is:

“We love you. We need you. We want you.”

“Come play for us, please.”

And that shift changes everything.

When it’s not managed correctly, the college entry point reinforces what the player and family already want to believe:

“I’m a great player. I’m headed to the NFL.”

NIL then reinforces it — by paying significant money to unproven players for production that hasn’t happened yet.

That’s a powerful psychological burden for a still-developing mind to carry.

And most aren’t equipped to process it.

And then the inevitable happens — it gets hard.

Development at this position is rarely linear.

It’s undulating.

Phase one: Incremental growth
Phase two: Plateau
Phase three: Regression
Phase four: Significant growth
Phase five: Sustainability

It’s usually between phases one and two where frustration begins.

For some players, that phase is manageable — because their ceiling is high enough to absorb it.

For others, it’s where confidence — and trust — begin to erode.

Between phases two and three is where resolve is tested.

This is where desire is stressed.

And where many break.

That phase becomes even more difficult to manage when the money is good.

The people around them hesitate to tell the truth.

And it becomes harder to push forward when the entry point has already rewarded them.

I’ve seen this before — with high draft picks who failed to meet expectations.

It’s hard to change when your environment tells you you’re doing everything right.

It’s even harder when your bank account does.

This new world won’t negatively impact every player.

But I’ve observed this:

When parental guidance fades too early, players become more vulnerable to a system that can break them — instead of develop them.

When evaluators say “a player needs to get stronger,” it’s usually not about strength — it’s about sequencing.

By the time a player becomes draftable, they’ve spent at least three years — often up to five — in a college strength program.

At that stage, performance isn’t unlocked by adding 20 pounds to a squat.

Continued strength gains that come with physical maturity will add confidence — but they won’t overhaul performance.

The most important note on this topic — Strength development is a function of time.

And in the NFL, careers can’t be built around the one thing the game doesn’t guarantee — longevity.

Early on, I believed strength was the cure-all in player development.

That thinking changed after time spent with Louie Simmons at Westside Barbell.

It forced a different question:

If strength were the answer, why aren’t NFL teams drafting powerlifters — the strongest athletes on earth?

Challenging my own thinking led me to this conclusion:

At this level, “strength deficits” are more about sequencing than they are about numbers.

Which leads to this:

The best players aren’t the strongest players - they’re the ones that understand how to organize their bodies in order to exert force.

Sequencing is how the body organizes force — in the right order, at the right time.

When the chain from the ground → feet → hips → hands → defender isn’t organized, force doesn’t show up.

What you see is late hands, no displacement despite effort, and a slow anchor under pressure — all of which get labeled as a lack of strength.

Strength isn’t the issue - organizing the body is.

Here’s the irony:

When a sequencing issue is misdiagnosed as a strength issue, the player invests more time trying to get stronger.

And in doing so, moves farther away from building sequence.

So when you hear, “he needs to get stronger,” understand this:

That issue likely isn’t going away in the NFL.

Which should temper expectations of a major leap simply because a player has spent time in an NFL weight room.

Effective pad-level is a byproduct of proper force application into the ground.

The question is — how do we develop it?

The first step is to build an understanding of feel.

Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding. - Proverbs 4:7

Players often lean on drills to solve their problems.

But drills don’t solve problems — they build situational context.

They support a player’s feel for what’s being coached — and how it applies to the game.

Otherwise, without feel, we’re building players who can recite it — but don’t own it.

If the player can’t feel the work, the work isn’t working.

This is a method I’ve developed to build feel for “near foot” technique in combo block situations — grounded in the principles of force application and refined through years of applied work.

It’s part of a broader system built around how force shows up in offensive line play.

Video Explanation

Phase One - Developing Feel

The left foot drives down into the ground to establish stability.

This is the anchor point — where force is created and controlled.

The right foot drives down and back to create propulsion.

This is what allows the player to project force through the defender in the run game.

The sled must be heavy enough to force the player to strain through the movement.

This should be a slow, grinding rep — that’s where feel is revealed.

Part Two — Applying the Feel to the Technique

This is where the feel developed under load is applied to the actual technique.

The same process from Phase One is repeated — now with explosive intent.

Application — Game Rep (Force Expression)
This rep reflects the same force application principles — executed in game by (LeCharles Bentley)

Pad-level isn’t developed through drills.

Effective pad-level is earned through proper application of force into the ground.

If the force is wrong, the movement will be wrong - and pad level will reflect it.

Yes, coaching points can add-value — but they don’t create the desired outcome.

Pad level is a dynamic outcome of the interaction between a player’s feet and the ground - and this principle is rooted in basic principles of biomechanics.

Force causes movement — that’s the fundamental principle of biomechanics. All error detection should be based on this principle. The movement you see occurs because of the forces that were applied. Bad movement reflects bad force.

- Steve McCaw

Bad movement shows up as high pad level — the result of poor force application.

I’ve chosen to evaluate offensive line play through the lens of sport performance — not football tradition.

When you widen the lens, the patterns become more clear.

The force and movement principles showing up across sprinting, throwing, speed skating, soccer — across all sport — are identical inside offensive line play.

Here’s a visual of what I'm referencing — players learning how to apply their “football technique” to the principles of movement.

You will see the connection between a left tackle working “near foot” on a “Trey” block — and Usain Bolt coming out of the blocks.

The player is learning to project force off the ball — and through a defender.

The details can be refined later. The priority is establishing the feel of projecting.

Here’s what I ultimately believe.

Pad-level matters - but how we get there matters more.

Because it’s far easier to play this game projecting force through a defender’s chest than it is to sacrifice force output trying to manufacture pad level and play soft.

Emotional resilience is the most important trait in offensive line development.

Not strength.

Not talent.

Not even football IQ.

Over the last 18 years, I’ve worked with players across every level of the game — from Pop Warner to the NFL. Today, that work sits inside AMDG Sports, where we represent offensive linemen at the highest level.

That exposure has created a unique lens, and it’s invaluable to how I evaluate players, build value, and navigate careers at the highest level.

I’ve seen undrafted players fight their way onto rosters.

I’ve worked with first-round picks trying to stabilize their careers.

Different backgrounds. Different expectations. Different levels of investment.

But the outcome is usually decided by the same thing:

Emotional resilience

Without emotional resilience, none of the pillars that drive success hold up - on the field or off.

And right now, we’re at an inflection point in the game.

We have players that are bigger, faster, and more skilled than their predecessors.

But void of what matters.

That’s my concern.

Because without emotional resilience, talent doesn’t mature — it fades.

Players leave the game carrying a bitterness that follows them into the next phase of life. I’ve observed this far too often.

It also raises a harder question — one I’ve spent time thinking about:

As the developmental environment evolves, are we doing enough to build the emotional resilience required to navigate both the game and what comes after it?

I’m not suggesting a direct cause-and-effect.

But when you look at the mental and emotional challenges young athletes are facing today, it’s a conversation worth having.

But it’s not too late to course correct.

We need to remind ourselves that football was never the end goal.

It’s a tool — one that builds discipline, character, and the ability to sustain success long after the game is over.

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Offensive line play has been reduced to Instagram ready drills.

In reality, it’s a close-quarters combat sport.

Depending on your algorithm, if you’ve engaged with any sort of offensive line content, you’re going to be bombarded with players taking pass-sets on air and working run-blocking footwork.

It all looks perfect.

But it’s lacking the most important ingredients that drive true development - strain, strength, and context.

Admittedly, a lot of what we see is my fault.

Over 18 years ago I set out to build a brand that focused solely on helping offensive linemen maximize their football experience and value. The original LB Offensive Line Academy was the first brick and mortar facility in the world dedicated to offensive line development.

As any entrepreneur would do, I used social media to capture an audience and tell a story. I shared training videos that highlighted player progress.

But I noticed something.

The content with the most views wasn’t the work that mattered.

It was the “drills” that caught everyone’s attention, because they were novel, clean, and easy to copy.

Social media is an attention economy, so I leaned in to sharing more of what people wanted to see. I believed that by hosting seminars and writing books, that would be enough to balance out the eye candy with much needed context.

I was wrong.

The things that build offensive linemen will never perform well on social media.

It’s the strain, work, nuanced teaching, the uncomfortable conversations, it’s the relationship - That’s development.

Instead, we’ve created a new generation of players that’s more “skilled” than ever-but aren’t better players.

There are 12 year olds that can take better pass sets than I did as a Pro-Bowl guard.

But they don’t come close to having the pieces of the puzzle required to build a career.