Murphy: NFL training camp is no vacation

Brian Murphy channels George Carlin to compare baseball's camp versus football

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By Brian Murphy

Six months after the NFL last peddled its purest product, America has the collective shakes as 32 teams trudge into training camp to mainline the country its premium entertainment fix all over again.

Sadist coaches love training camp because they get to play Patton marching through France. Players dread it because their battered bodies will never feel whole again. Fans and media lap it all up even though July storylines will be lining a birdcage long before Week 1.

If there’s no crying in baseball, there’s little joy in football, despite preseason rituals that offer similar doses of hope under a blazing sun that feels so nourishing in February yet so punishing in August.

These sports are polar opposites in presentation, payoff and psychology when their players respectively report for duty. It reminds me of George Carlin, a comedic genius and unrelenting truth teller whose mastery of language and social consciousness resonate more deeply 15 years after his death.

One of Carlin’s earliest bits compared baseball’s feel-good pastoral roots and springtime renewal to football’s warlike technological struggle in the cold November mud.

I humbly emulate Carlin contrasting spring training and training camp as NFL players prepare for a 2023 season that will be prove as unpredictable as it is long.

In spring training, the smell of freshly cut grass and the sounds of a ball popping in a glove or thwacking off a bat conjure nostalgic memories of childhood and all that was once good.

In training camp, the smell of menthol painkilling cream and the sounds of coaches fat-shaming linemen as they pound steel blocking sleds conjure the graveyard shift at a blast furnace or revelry at Parris Island.

Spring training is all about escaping the snow and slop of a relentless northern winter for the soothing palm trees and sands of Florida or Arizona.

Training camp is all about escaping the relentless summer heat for a lonely patch of shade behind a port-a-potty in Mankato or Eagan.

Spring training is smearing pine tar inside the brim of a teammate’s cap in the name of farts and giggles.

Training camp is duct-taping rookies to the goal post, turning them into equipment mules and dousing their dorm room with coyote urine in the name of team chemistry.

Spring training is watching a rookie phenom casually stretch in the outfield before taking his first leisurely hacks in a big-league batting cage.

Training camp is watching rookie running back Toby Gerhart take his first handoff after a contract holdout only to get monster-trucked into Iowa by veteran defensive tackle Pat Williams.

Spring training is bringing the wide-eyed kiddos to a back field early in the morning between cups of coffee and stealing an autograph from Torii Hunter before the masses arrive.

Training camp is shoe-horning crying babies and sunburned toddlers into the bleachers at 3 o’clock so dad can double-fist Trulys and heckle Kirk Cousins for checking down during a walk-through.

Spring training is a hanger-on walking into the manager’s office to learn he has been demoted to the minor leagues but can keep playing the children’s game for another chance.

Training camp is the assistant equipment manager cutting an unsigned free agent, seizing his playbook, strip-searching him for palmed protein bars and frog-walking him out of the facility with armed security.

Spring training is hearing the ace starter discussing his new fastball grip with the pitching coach like a son showing his dad the fish he just caught.

Training camp is listening to the defensive line coach scream at a 3-technique tackle for lining up over the center as if the kid had knocked up his daughter.

Spring training is where players stay in swank condos, drive convertibles to the ballpark and spend happy hour with fans at beach clubs.

Training camp is where players are stacked two-by-two in dorms, ride kid bikes from the field to the locker room and watch endless tape of their failures until sundown curfew.

In spring training, teammates play-wrestle during stretching and sliding drills.

In training camp, teammates rip off each other’s helmets and use them as medieval weapons.

Spring training offers comforting cliches like, “I think we’re going to surprise a lot of people” and “If guys stay healthy and play to their potential, anything is possible” to “I’ve never felt better physically” and “I’m opening up my stance to drive the ball more.”

Training camp lets coaches dust off bromides like, “Sundays are not fun” and “We haven’t earned a damn thing” to “We’re not going to discuss that” and “We’re aware of the incident involving (insert wayward player’s name here) and are gathering more information (insert his dastardly deed) before commenting further (which we have no intention of doing).”

Covering spring training is like seeing your favorite band in a small venue, with optimistic players willing to dissect their new swing during open-ended conversations in the seclusion of the dugout.

Covering training camp is like navigating airport security the day before Thanksgiving, with aching players unwilling to give the time of day to jackals whose snouts are buried in the same empty trough.

Spring training takes the sporting calendar baton from the Super Bowl, which seems so attainable to the 32 teams who are chasing that elusive Lombardi Trophy.

Spring training is about leaning into the possible.

Training camp is about surviving the inevitable.

In capturing the spirit of the thing, I’ll let George bring us in for a soft landing:

“In football, the object is for the quarterback, otherwise known as the field general, to be on target with his aerial assault, riddling the defense by hitting his receivers with deadly accuracy, in spite of the blitz, even if he has to use the shotgun. With long bombs and short bullet passes, he marches his team into enemy territory, balancing this aerial assault with a sustained ground attack which punches holes in the forward wall of the enemy’s defensive line.

“In baseball, the object is to be safe at home.”

Don’t overthink it, folks.

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