The Power of Heroes - Livin' Best Life

They say you become who you admire. And for me, it started with a movie, a name, and a football.

It was the summer before 8th grade when I first saw the movie Brian’s Song. I was just 13, a skinny farm kid in Indiana who hadn’t played a down of organized football yet. But that film—that story of friendship, resilience, and the unbreakable bond between teammates—ignited something inside me.

Maybe it was because his name was Brian.

Maybe it was because the movie tugged at something deeper: the idea that in the crucible of sport, differences disappear.

Black. White. Rich. Poor. City kid. Farm boy.

In the locker room, we all wore the same sweaty, used gear. On the field though, we fought for each other.

That movie planted the seed. My mentors—Coach Jay, Coach Hunsucker, and later Coach Strickland—watered it with discipline, belief, and iron in the form of barbells and morning two-a-days.

But it was my heroes who gave it fire.

The Birth of a Bears Fan (And a Football Life)

Growing up in the cornfields of Indiana, you’d think I’d have rooted for the Colts. They had relocated in the middle of the night in 1984; I didn’t care for the way it happened and I wasn’t in Indiana long enough after college to commit myself to becoming a fan.

The team that owned my heart was the Chicago Bears—and it all started with Brian Piccolo. His quiet courage. His friendship with Gale Sayers. That gut-wrenching goodbye. I was hooked. It was why I chose #41 as my jersey number.

And for a bit of irony, the bantam football team my brother played on was the Bears.

And then came Walter Payton.

“Sweetness” wasn’t just a nickname—it was poetry in motion. He ran like he owed someone money and lifted like he was trying to bend time. I admired everything about him: the legs, the lungs, the mindset. He trained like a man who knew the end would come too soon. His ‘Hill’ workout was legendary in the football training circles.

That hit home for me.

Coach Jay’s comment in those first days of my football experience that I had “tenacity” – I latched onto that.

I wasn’t the biggest or the fastest, but I could hit.

I could grind.

I wasn’t afraid.

I learned that effort, attitude, and preparation could beat raw talent if you showed up enough times.

I was also a fan of the Alabama Crimson Tide and Paul ‘Bear’ Bryant; I had dreams of playing for him because of his ability to outwit his opponents and his innovative approach to the game. I was facing headwinds getting the attention of smaller schools in Indiana, which led me to the conclusion that perhaps I wasn’t a candidate for the Crimson Tide. But the ‘Bear’ was always a hero to me.

The Raiders Taught Me Swagger

By the time I had arrived to high school, I was reading every magazine watching every VHS highlight tape I could find of the Oakland Raiders (I was in the era before the internet existed).

- Jack Tatum, the Assassin, set the tone. (this mindset was shared by my local hero, one Russell ‘Rusty’ Jones. To me, he was the badass on our team. More on that in another post).

- Lester Hayes, with his arms dipped in Stickum like he’d just been tarred and feathered.

- Ken Stabler (The Snake and a lefty like me) – a brilliant quarterback that fit the style of the Raiders.

- Otis Sistrunk, “from the University of Mars” – a man who looked like he’d crush quarterbacks for breakfast.

- Cliff Branch, Art Shell, Phil Villapiano, and of course John Matuszak and Ted Hendricks (The Stork) – names that sounded more like mythology than roster sheets.

This wasn’t just a team. It was a lifestyle. The Raiders were attitude.

I modeled my mindset after them. I wanted to be feared on the field—not because I was dirty, but because I was relentless.

And if you know me now, you can probably still hear the echoes of that swagger when I talk about training, business, or grilling the perfect lamb chop.

Meeting a Raider and Becoming One—In Spirit

In the early 1990s, I met Burgess Owens in person – one of the Raiders I idolized. By then, I was in the thick of my wellness career, starting my own company, learning how to fight for independence just like I did on the field.

Burgess wasn’t just a great football player. He was a man of principle, sharp intellect, and purpose. Meeting him reminded me that heroes grow, too. They evolve. And if we’re lucky, we get to become the kind of person someone else might admire.

From Bears to Giants: Loyalty Born of Grit

After college, living in a Maryland suburb of D.C. (where my dad rooted for the Redskins), I went searching for something different.

As a Ball State alum, I scoured pre-internet magazines looking for MAC grads in the pros.

I found Rob Carpenter, a fullback with the New York Giants.

That was enough for me.

Then came Lawrence Taylor—a force of nature—and Bill Parcells, the master tactician. The roster was deep with great players. The Giants played like I wanted to live: with fire, control, and unrelenting resolve.

They became my team (until the Browns relocated to Baltimore as the Ravens. Not quite the same as the Colts leaving Baltimore for Indy but I acknowledge the irony and potential hypocrisy).

Heroes Aren’t Perfect. They’re Human.

That’s the thing no one tells you when you’re young (or if they do, we don’t hear the message).

Your heroes may not always stay on the pedestal. Some stumble. Some fade. Some grow into something else entirely. Which is why we’re told not to meet our heroes because we’ll be disappointed by their humanity.

But the ones who last are the ones who made you better.

The ones who:

- Pushed you to train when no one was watching

- Taught you that race, size, or zip code didn’t matter between the lines

- Made you believe in your own ability to endure, to fight, to try again

Why It Still Matters

I’ve grown older; I’m reflecting. I’ve built companies, raised kids, lost and gained a lot of things in life.

But that spark? That grit? That love of football, brotherhood, and heroes who lead by example?

Still there.

I think about those days often—not with nostalgia, but with gratitude. Because football gave me more than just bruises and stories.

It gave me my compass.

The Power of Heroes

So, here’s:

To Brian Piccolo and Walter Payton.
To the Raiders and the Giants.
To mentors in the locker room and warriors on the screen.
To the guys who reminded me that tenacity beats talent when talent doesn’t try.
To Coach Hunsucker, who told me I had a nose for the ball.
And to Coach Strickland, the hulk of a man who taught me how to visualize success like an artist paints a masterpiece.

If you’re reading this and nodding, then you get it.

And maybe you had a hero like that too.

I hope we all get the chance to be one someday.

Because the power of heroes? It doesn’t fade.

It just finds a new way to inspire.

Got a hero that changed your life? Drop their name and story in the comments below—or share this post with someone who shaped your playbook.