update: An inside look at being on the roster bubble entering the final preseason game…

The average NFL career is less than three and a half years. Tom Brady played for 23. Jerry Rice played for 21. John Elway played for 16.

And then there are the thousands whose names you can’t remember — guys with incredible high school and college careers who wowed football fans their entire lives. Young men who sacrificed it all for the sport they love made it onto an NFL roster, fought like hell for a spot and watched it all come down to the last preseason game, like the one the Broncos play on Sunday at Empower Field at Mile High.

Ninety-one men currently wear a Broncos jersey: 53 will make the Week 1 roster. That’s 38 football players who will be getting varying forms of bad news next week. Some will end up on the practice squad. Most will get cut outright.

We get caught up in the quarterback chatter and, rightly so, focus our attention on the stars we know and love. But as Broncos Head Coach Sean Payton has repeatedly said, this process is about finding the right 53. While the starters have, by now, likely all been fleshed out, it’s the back end of this roster that now requires attention. After all, once you assemble the team, every man on it is an injury away from major playing time. And when you’re on that field on Sunday, anything can happen. You may be asked to make the play to win it for your team. So, can we trust you to do that? Sunday’s game is the last chance to make your case.

But things have changed in the NFL. There used to be four preseason games, and the last one was a week before the regular season began. That usually meant that the starters wouldn’t play in that final game. This made it very clear exactly who was going to play and how much playing time you’d get. In my six-year NFL career — all six with the Broncos — in all of them but one, I had to play and perform in that last game to solidify my spot on the team. And because the starters weren’t suiting up, the rest of us got to play the entire game, plus all of the special teams. It was one of the most tiring games I can remember, especially because it felt like so much was on the line.

Maybe the coaches had already made up their minds. Maybe if I hadn’t played well, I still might have made it. Who knows. After all, it’s the body of work, at this point, that matters most — who you were every single day — not your last, desperate attempt to make an impression. No, you probably can’t win a spot on the roster in the last preseason game. But you certainly can lose one.

And this is that thing that no one talks about. That thing that the coaches try to express to you the night before Sunday’s game, when they dismiss all of the starters so they can go watch the Seattle film, and you look around the room and realise that everyone left is fighting for their football lives, and most of us in here will be gone by next week. You’ve done everything you’ve been asked to do since the moment you stepped into the facility. You’ve fallen in love with this team and this city, and you don’t want to leave. Not now. Not yet.

And then the coach stands up in front of you and tells you how difficult these decisions are. How proud he is of everyone in this room and the effort that you’ve given. How he wishes that he could keep all of you, but he can’t, and that this is the hardest part of the business—lletting go of good players. Saying goodbye to good men. And you know he is telling the truth.

After all, there was a time when Coach Payton—aa record-setting college quarterback—wwas a young football player himself, sitting in one of those chairs, listening to that same speech the night before the last chance he ever had at changing someone’s mind. He knows how this feels. So when he delivers this message, the players will understand that he means it.

What Coach may also say—oor may decide not to say—iis that for many of you in this room, this will be the last football game you ever play. A few will catch on for another team, but never as many as we hope. The fact is, the sport you have devoted your entire life to is ending, and tomorrow will be the final page. The last time you strapped on your shoulder pads. The last time you bite down on the mouthpiece. The last time you look at yourself in the mirror before taking the field, and the last time your cleats hit the grass.

But here’s the catch: If you think it’s the last game you’ll ever play, you’re probably right. I’ve seen guys go out and try to win a job in the last game—aa job they had already lost—aand end up playing out of control and embarrassing themselves. Don’t think about the end; you’ll have plenty of time to do that later.

Just go out and play the game you know how to play—with speed, passion, and joy—aand pray you’ve done enough to still be a Denver Bronco next week.