Eat My Schwartz Read online

  Begin Reading

  Table of Contents

  About the Authors

  Photos

  Copyright Page

  Thank you for buying this

  St. Martin’s Press ebook.

  To receive special offers, bonus content,

  and info on new releases and other great reads,

  sign up for our newsletters.

  Or visit us online at

  us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup

  For email updates on Geoff Schwartz, click here.

  For email updates on Mitch Schwartz, click here.

  The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at:

  us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

  We dedicate this book to our grandfather, Norman Schwartz, our biggest fan! As much as you were so proud of us … we we’re so proud of you!

  Also to the fans that love football, faith, family, and food as much as we do … thank you for everything!

  To everyone else … EAT OUR SCHWARTZ!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Geoff

  This book was a team effort. Actually, it was a multiple team effort.

  Eat My Schwartz would never have happened without the vision and moxie of Courtney Parker, Deryk Gilmore, and Markus Hoffman. Thank you for realizing Mitch and I have a story to tell, helping us shape it and connecting us to the right people to make it happen.

  Those people include Seth Kaufman, who was invaluable in capturing our voices and sensibilities, and fine-tuning the book; our editor Marc Resnick, who took a chance on us and made this process an amazing one.; and all the great team at St. Martin’s Press.

  I’d also like to thank our wonderful television team at T-Group, who came up with our brilliant title—Jennyy Daly, Rob Lobl, our show creators, Courtney Parker (again) and Charles Cook—first publishing, next television, and then the WORLD!

  We’d also like to thank the NFL and the teams that made our dreams of playing football a reality.

  Our journeys have been shaped by so many wonderful and giving people. We’d like to thank our friends, teachers, coaches, teammates, and fans who have touched our lives in so many different ways.

  For obvious reasons, this book could never have happened without our parents. Less obvious is how much they worked on the book, sharing memories, fleshing out the details and chronology. Their unwavering love and their support has been a true gift.

  And speaking of gifts, I need to thank Alex for being my greatest inspiration and for taking naps so I could collaborate on the book. And, of course, Meridith for being my guiding light, my biggest fan and for always pushing me to be my best. I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.

  Mitch

  What Geoff says. And endless thanks to my greatest inspiration, my new fiance and soon-to-be wife, Brooke!

  INTRODUCTION

  We are big.

  We are so big that when I was a teenager, I got sick of people asking me about my size. I actually thought about having a T-shirt made. The front would say:

  6'6''

  340 lbs

  Size 18

  And the back of the shirt would say:

  Now you know!

  Twelve years later, I still think about wearing this shirt sometimes, because when I go out in public—at restaurants, in airports, at the supermarket, pretty much everywhere—people still ask me the same three questions: How tall are you? How much do you weigh? What size shoes do you wear? I don’t mind the questions anymore, though. I’m a lot less self-conscious than my teenaged self.

  My “little” brother Mitch—he’s 6'5", 320 pounds, with size 18 shoes—doesn’t mind the questions either.

  As professional athletes we know size does matter. Mitch and I are offensive linemen. We push people, block people, and punch people for a living. It is challenging, physical work to compete against some of the best-conditioned athletes in the world.

  Our size has had an impact on our lives in many ways—it has helped us earn scholarships. It has forced us to learn about food and nutrition and live healthier lives. It has helped us earn more money than we ever dreamed of earning. It has opened doors to new projects and people we never thought we’d meet. It has helped us spend thousands of hours practicing and playing a game we love.

  But it takes a lot more than size to be successful in the National Football League.

  This is the story of our journeys through the world of football, and about the hard work, perseverance, faith, and support that helped us succeed.

  But we couldn’t have gotten where we are without having a nurturing family that valued sports and fellowship as a way of celebrating life, and that valued putting effort into whatever we were doing: going to school, playing sports, cooking a meal.

  Actually, make that many meals.

  For all our girth, the fact remains that there have been bigger, faster, quicker, stronger, more experienced guys than Mitch and me at every level—high school, college, and the NFL—which means we had to develop other skills and strengths to combine with our size.

  You can’t teach size, the saying goes. But there are plenty of other things to learn about the game and about ourselves. And we are still learning.

  WARM-UP

  1

  FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS: IT ALL STARTS WITH A MEAL

  It’s Friday evening, December 19, 2003, the first night of Hanukah. At our house in West L.A.—the place my brother Mitch and I have called home our entire lives—that means a few things. For one, our uncle Fred and his family will be there and so will our friends the Weinsteins. Every year we go to the Weinsteins’ house for a Passover seder and every year they come here to celebrate Hanukah, the Jewish holiday known as the Festival of Lights.

  It also means Mitch and I are in the kitchen, doing what we’ve always done every year at this time since we were old enough to help: making our grandmother’s recipe for potato latkes. Latkes are potato pancakes, a traditional dish for the holiday. And for us, two rather large high school kids who love to cook and eat, making them is a major operation. First we do the grunt work: peeling fifteen pounds of potatoes and soaking ’em in big pots of water so they don’t brown. Then we get the other ingredients ready: the bag of onions, salt, eggs, and olive oil.

  No doubt plenty of cooks toss their latke spuds in a blender. But we are operating on old-school methods. We get the box grater out and we shred all those potatoes by hand, trying our best not to cut our fingertips off in the process. And that’s harder than it sounds, because we’ve got gargantuan hands. I’m a 6'6" senior. My “little” brother, Mitch, a freshman, is about 6'4". And when we grate each potato down to that final tiny morsel, we have to slow down and carefully press that last bit of potato through the shredder or risk a bloodbath.

  When we’re done with the prep work, which also involves squeezing out the excess water from the grated potatoes and shredding all the onions, too—a big chunk of onion can overpower our Jewish flapjacks—we mix everything together, fire up a couple of frying pans, heat the oven to 200 degrees to keep the early batches warm, and go into mass production.

  When the Weinsteins show up—Joel, who works with our mother at an L.A. law firm, Deborah, and their twin sons Perry and Adam, who are little kids I’ve known since they were babies—I start to think about all the meals we’ve shared together and I wonder about next year. I’m going away to college and I’ve been weighing scholarship offers from some major football programs, the kind of teams that play Bowl games at the end of December. Who knows if I’ll be back
here for Hanukah, or any of the other holidays we share together? I’m not a super-sentimental guy, but I am passionate about gathering around the table, bonding and breaking bread with family and friends to eat great food. It’s the most basic communal human ritual there is.

  Our dad, Lee, puts out the hors d’oeuvres and gets everyone drinks. In the kitchen, the sizzling continues as Mitch and I take turns manning four frying pans full of latkes, calibrating each one for that optimal fried golden-brown look that says they are done. It’s funny: some people look at cooking as work or a chore, and some people might think of football as play, but for us, it’s sort of the opposite. Mitch and I are not the most artistic guys on the planet—we don’t paint or draw or play music—but cooking has become a creative outlet for both of us, something we enjoy exploring and experimenting with. We love the improvisational element of cooking, and the social element, too. Food, which is so important to us as athletes—it fuels our work—provides the forum for us to create meals that look good and taste fantastic. As fun as football is, as much as we love “playing,” it definitely can be hard work.

  By the time we join the others, my uncle Fred, aunt Brenda, and their twins, my super-cute three-year-old cousins Amanda and Heather, have arrived. Our conversations are wide ranging. L.A. is recovering from a big media circus around the indictment of Michael Jackson on charges that just make everyone shake their heads in disbelief and horror. My uncle asks if we heard about Ben Roethlisberger, a junior at Miami of Ohio, ending his college career with a superb game against Louisville. “He threw four touchdowns in the first half and had a thirty-five to seven lead in the second quarter. Now he says he’s going pro.”

  Joel and Deborah ask about the college recruitment process. Which colleges am I interested in? Which have I visited? What do I want to study? I have this idea that I’m interested in eventually being a lawyer, like my mom and Joel. So I’m thinking about studying history, which seems like a relevant field of study for a lawyer since there’s a lot of reading and analyzing facts. I mention the names of a few schools that have offered me scholarships.

  Joel asks my parents what they think.

  “It’s Geoffrey’s decision,” my dad says. “He’s worked his tail off on the field and in school. And he’s the one who is going to have to do the work.”

  My mom laughs. “I didn’t believe Lee when he told me scholarships were a possibility. But it’s happened. And now Lee and Geoff say it will happen for Mitchell, too.”

  “Geoff and Mitch have the size and athleticism,” my dad says. “But I’m most proud of their work ethic and perseverance. They both had a big learning curve.”

  It’s true. My brother’s size and physique make him even more suited to the offensive line than I am. He’s come on some of the college tours and we joke that we can practically see the recruiters making mental notes to send Mitch letters as soon as possible.

  Adam and Perry ask when we are going to start the candle ceremony. For eight nights in a row, we light a candle called the “shamash” and then use that candle to ignite one candle for each night of the holiday. So on the first night we have two candles burning and on the eighth night we have nine. We do this to celebrate and give thanks for a miracle from the time around 174 B.C. when the Maccabees, Jewish warriors who faced seemingly insurmountable odds, defeated the massive forces of Antiochus, the murderous leader of Syria, and then retook the Temple in Jerusalem. There, they found a small jar containing only enough olive oil to light a menorah for a single day. But instead of going out, the oil burned for eight more days until new supplies arrived. It was a miracle, and a sign that God was looking out for the Jews.

  As we light the candles we say a few prayers in Hebrew. Many families sing songs, like “Rock of Ages,” but we Schwartzes don’t have the greatest voices, so we opt to protect our guests’ eardrums.

  We head to the dinner table. My mom lights the Sabbath candles and we chant the blessing over the bread. And then it is time to eat. Mitch and I carry out the stacks of pancakes; the table is outfitted with bowls of sour cream, applesauce, and sugar—the condiments that we love to slather on each latke. Like the perfect hamburger, everyone has his or her own vision of what constitutes the perfect latke. Some believe fried onions and sour cream are the perfect combination. Others indulge in seemingly bizarre pairings of sour cream and applesauce. In that vein, Mitch is a proponent of sour cream with a little sprinkling of sugar, which he says is the perfect way to achieve maximum sensory overload: you get the salt, the potatoes, you get the oil and the fat, the sour cream gives you a little tartness, and the sugar gives you a little sweetness. Me? I’m a straight sour cream man.

  “When was your first varsity high school game?” Joel asks.

  I’m pretty sure he knows the answer. “Last year,” I say.

  He shakes his head in disbelief. “And they’re offering you full scholarships?”

  “A miracle,” my uncle says. “But it’s the season for miracles.”

  Everybody laughs.

  FIRST DOWN

  2

  HIGH SCHOOL CONFIDENTIAL

  Geoff

  You’ve probably seen pictures of the high school Mitch and I attended. Set on eleven acres and located in a canyon between the Santa Monica Bay and the Santa Monica Mountains, Palisades Charter High School is sort of a fantasy American high school come to life. It’s also not far from Hollywood. That proximity has made it the ideal setting for a ton of blockbuster movies, including Freaky Friday, Old School, and even the first Stephen King movie, Carrie. And if you haven’t seen those movies, there’s a good chance you’ve seen our school on TV. It’s the high school setting for the kids in Modern Family.

  In real life, the combination of a great L.A. location and the fact that it is a strong school academically means that it has attracted a who’s who of Hollywood alumni in the fifty-odd years since it opened its doors. J. J. Abrams of Lost and Star Trek fame, will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas, and that party goofball Redfoo of LMFAO—aka Stefan Gordy, the son of Motown Records founder Berry Gordy—are some of the more recent celebrities who went there. There were other pretty faces that attended besides mine: Christie Brinkley, an early supermodel, was a member of the class of ’72.

  Despite those big names, with nearly three thousand kids, most of whom are selected by lottery and bused from all over L.A., Pali, as all the kids call it, is hardly Beverly Hills High or the Harvard-Westlake School in terms of the city’s privileged, big money institutions. To me, it was a great mix, with a real cross-section of kids you find in L.A. In that way, it was familiar to me. After preschool, my parents had always sent us to public schools where the student body was diverse: Chicano kids, African American kids, Asian kids, even Jews like me. Growing up where we did, in a wealthy part of L.A., a lot of neighborhood kids were sent to private schools, but I’m glad I went where I went. I think it helped reinforce some very basic life lessons, number one being: people are just people.

  As far as sports at Pali High goes, NBA stars Steve Kerr and Kiki Vandeweghe played hoops for the Pali Dolphins. But very few football players have cracked the NFL. To my knowledge, only QB Jay Schroeder, who played for the Redskins, Raiders, Bengals, and Cardinals, made it to the big time.

  And that’s interesting, because my first year there, when I was playing JV football, the school was a real football factory. Seven guys on the varsity team got Division 1 scholarships. By the time I made varsity the next year—go ahead, make a joke about me bringing down the team—the talent level had plummeted, no doubt because the coach who had helped Pali become a local powerhouse left the program.

  But in ninth grade, I was totally thrilled to be in high school and have the chance to play three sports. Unlike a lot of my peers in the NFL—60 to 70 percent of pro players first started playing youth football between the ages of five to fifteen, according to the player’s union—I didn’t play on a Pop Warner team.

  I was a football fan, of course—I grew up attending e
very UCLA home game with my parents—but in terms of offensive and defensive line skills, I arrived with zero experience.

  There were two reasons for this. The main one, when I was twelve, was that football would have been too time consuming. That year, I had to study Hebrew and have weekly Bar Mitzvah lessons. The second reason was that even if I had managed to convince my parents that I could handle school, study Hebrew, and play baseball and basketball, I was over the weight limit for Pop Warner football.

  Going out for high school football was a slightly sensitive issue in my family. For one thing, my mom, who answers to both Olivia and Livie, worried that she’d be a bad Jewish mother if she let me play. Initially, she was concerned about Mitch and me getting injured. Although this is what she tells her friends now: “I started out worrying that they were going to get hurt—but then I realized it was the other players I should be worrying about. They were like trucks hitting small cars. Gradually I started to kind of feel like maybe this was their destiny.”

  For my dad, Lee, who grew up in Santa Rosa in Northern California and was a huge 49ers fan as a kid, the issue of high school football had been more painful. When it was time to start freshman year, his mother, like thousands of Jewish moms before and after her, had said, “No, Lee, you can’t play football.”

  When my dad went to his first gym class, the gym teacher, who was also the football coach, walked over to where my dad was sitting and said in front of the entire class, “Hey, Schwartz, are you coming out for football this year?”

  There was no way my dad was going to tell him the humiliating truth—that his mom wouldn’t let him—so he said, “No. I’m going to concentrate on baseball and basketball.”

  “What a wimp,” said the coach in front of the whole class.

  We all laugh about that story now, especially since, ironically, the coach himself was Jewish, and was certainly in a position to understand that there is no higher authority than a Jewish mother.