You’re Running Out of Time
What last night’s NFL playoff game taught me about life.
Last night, the Cleveland Browns destroyed the Pittsburgh Steelers in a stunning 48–37 defeat that marked the end of an era for one of the most storied teams in the NFL.
The Browns are a historically troubled franchise that hadn’t won a playoff game in 25 years.
The Steelers have won 6 Super Bowls and were coming off a dominant season that began with them winning 11 games in a row.
The massive upset was a bad game for a lot of Steelers players, but none more so than veteran quarterback Ben Roethlisberger, who threw four interceptions that allowed the Browns to set a new first-quarter scoring record.
Both during and after the game, critics and fans were quick to point out that Ben didn’t look like the future Hall of Famer who has dominated the AFC for over a decade.
He was slow. He was inaccurate. He was scared to take contact. Things just weren’t clicking any more.
He was washed, and he seemed to realize it too.
In a game full of memorable moments, the most vivid for me came after the final whistle. The camera slowly zoomed in on Ben, sitting quietly alone on the sideline, tears slipping down his face.
There was a vacant, faraway look in his eyes. It was the look of someone who knows there probably won’t be a next time.
It’s hard to lose. It’s absolutely heartbreaking to run out of time to try and win.
Watching him sit there, I felt my throat get a little tight.
Whether Ben finally retires this year or not doesn’t really matter. This season was his last shot at another Super Bowl, and he knew it.
I thought of how he was once a red hot first-round draft pick. I thought of how he became the youngest quarterback in history to win a Super Bowl. I thought of his years of undisputed football dominance.
And now this.
Perhaps I found the moment so poignant because it reminds me of my own mortality.
It reminds me that college is a fading memory, that my 20s are well over half done, and that 30 is coming relentlessly into view.
It reminds me that I’ll be the one sitting alone on the bench someday — grappling with a final loss before the slow, inevitable slide into obscurity begins.
It reminds me that I’m dying.
Ben Roethlisberger has had a storied 17-year career, but last night, the clock ran out.
I don’t have a minute to waste, and neither do you.
