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Floyd was drafted by the New Eng-
land Patriots in the third round of
the 1998 NFL draft, 81st overall, after
helping lead the Wolverines to their
1997 national championship as the
starting fullback.
Third rounders have a decent shot
at playing for a long time in the league.
While they aren't expected to be
stars, third rounders have more than
a puncher' s chance at carving out a
role for themselves, and many end up
as solid veterans.
This wasn't the case for Floyd. He
never made it past special teams in his
two-plus years with the Patriots, and
first-year coach Bill Belchick cut him
after a penalty-filled game in front of
Floyd's family and friends in Detroit
on Thanksgiving in 2000.
Floyd couldn't find a permanent
home in 2001, either. From there, he
spent the next two years as a football
vagabond, training and trying to make
teams. But workouts with Detroit,
Atlanta and Buffalo didn't amount to
anything. He also tried out with the
Chicago Rush of the Arena Football
League and spent some time with the
La Crosse Night Train of the National
Indoor Football League, buoyed by
former Michigan teammate Diallo
Johnson.
It was after Floyd's last NFL tryout
in 2003 that the trying times, the car-
ousel of short-term jobs lacking long-
term prospects, began.
"I think my lowest point was being
turned down for jobs," Floyd said. "I'm
talking about odd jobs. There's been so
many jobs I've applied for."
So many, in fact, that Floyd used
to keep a notebook of all the rejec-
tion letters he received. But it's spring
2012, and he thinks he's finally found
his calling. For Floyd, it's long been an
aspiration to come back to Michigan
and work in the Athletic Department.
The past five years have seen many
applications turned in, but nothing
substantial has come of them.
This time, though, Floyd feels like
he's made for the assistant director
for alumni engagement position that is
now open.
From talking to his former team-
mates, he says that some ex-Wolver-
ines feel "used" by the program since
they feel unwelcome to come back.
Floyd points to one incident to illus-
trate this sentiment. At the 2003 home
game against Ohio State, he, former
safety Eric Mays and former running
back Chris Howard were watching on
the sidelines despite not having tick-
ets. They were eventually escorted off
the field by police, while former quar-
terback Drew Henson and Yankees
star shortstop Derek 3oter - also tick-
etless but a constan get of ABC's
cameras - remaine the-ield for
the whole game.
Having experienced frustra-
See FLOYD, Page 6
"Can one wonder that under the
circumstances the relative impor-
tance of work and sport is sometimes
lost in the mind of a twenty-year-old
undergraduate?"- Harper's Weekly,
Nov.12,1892
The crowds of students
huddled impatiently
outside the Blue Lepre-
chaun bar last spring,
just as they do outside
any bar in any season here.
The first thing on their minds was
the bouncer - getting past him. If
they looked at him, it was only with a
fleeting glance, maybe one moment of
eye contact while their ID was in his
hands.
It wouldn't be enough time to rec-
ognize that this bouncer started on
Michigan's last national champion-
ship-winning team 15 years ago, the
only team to do so in the last 64 years.
"They have no idea (w461 am)," said
Chris Floyd;an NFL fullbacturned-
bouncer. "If anything, they will mis-
take me for a current player."
It's about a mile and a quarter from
Michigan Stadium to the Blue Lep, as
the bar is affectionately known. It's a
trek that takes about 20 minutes on
foot, a little faster by car.
For Floyd, it was a journey that last-
ed 15 years, one that took him through
at least six jobs, three internships and
a successful stint at grad school. All
of those occupations represented the
37-year-old's attempts to find a career
once his football days finally expired.
It's a journey that is still very much
ongoing - this latest job at the Blue
Lep is a mere placeholder. It keeps
income flowing while Floyd awaits the
opportunity that brought him back to
Ann Arbor, the place where he made
his name as a football star.
He is not the only one to go through
such travails. Countless other former
athletes, at Michigan and everywhere
else around the country, find them-
selves unsure of what to do when they
are told once and for all that they can
no longer play football - the only thing
they've known for most of their lives.
These aren't the true stars - the
Tom Bradys, the Charles Woodsons,
the LaMarr Woodleys - the men who
enjoy 10-to-15-year careers in the
NFL, and can live off their spoils the
rest of their lives.
These are the more forgotten play-
eris, men like Floyd. The ones who last
afewyears inthe NFL, perhaps,butno
longer.
Fifteen years after that national
championship, Chris Floyd is back in
the town he still loves. It's the town
where he once soaked in the cheers
of 100,000. fans every Saturday, back
when the future seemed limitless and
the present was free of worry. He's
holding a job so close to the Big House
- the place where he made so many
memories - that he's practically in its
shadow.
Yet that sadium never felt so far
away.y
4 j FootballSaturday - November 10, 2012
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