An excerpt from my book
The Transition: The Undefeated Undisputed Truth

Step Seven: Write A Goodbye Letter. During one of my weekly marriage counseling sessions, my wife and I sat on a leather love seat at opposite ends. As my wife began to delve into the topics of discussion, the counselor keyed in on me. She told me I loved my wife, but I also loved football. Because I had lost football, I was grieving, and would continue to grieve until I let it go. She recommended I write a Goodbye Letter to the NFL, that served as my final detachment from the League I once loved. After this letter, I was not allowed to let it control me, blame it for not loving me back, or worry about it. My mood changed dramatically on the couch and I was able to understand what had been dragging me down. I had not given the NFL a proper goodbye and it was interfering with my ability to love and show love to my loved ones. This goodbye letter is not a eulogy, but it is eerily similar. We are laying to rest our emotional attachment and need of the NFL. This letter should be taken seriously and well thought out. Take some time thinking about what you would like to say, and the best way to say it. Be honest, be open and be content. Understand where you are now, the person you have become, and the fact that you would not be this person had it not been for your past. This is our final step to a successful Transition, God willing.

GOODBYE

July 4th, 2014
National Football League
345 Park Ave
New York, NY 10154
United States

Dear NFL,

Peace and blessings. I pray this letter reaches you in the highest levels of success, viewership and Employee and Customer satisfaction. I am writing you today to tell you Goodbye. For seven illustrious years, I was fortunate to call myself an Active NFL Player. I know the average career lasts only three and a half years, so I feel extremely grateful that you allowed me to be above average. You were an intimidating force and you always did what was best for you, regardless of who you hurt in the process. I felt hurt at times, but now I see you were just doing what you had to do. I thank you for being honest with me and making me earn everything I attained.

I loved you with all of my heart, and I thank you for loving me back. It was tough love, but at times, that’s the best love for us. You made me earn your respect, the respect of my peers and my own self respect. I’ve always been a quiet person, but you forced me to break out of my shell. You showed me how to be a man. I left my parents house at the age of 16, and never fully learned how to be a man until I stepped foot in your Locker Room. You taught me what it meant to sacrifice, to lead, to be counted on and to be tough. You kept telling me that if I worked hard enough, I would accomplish my aspirations, goals and dreams. You taught me the early bird doesn’t get the worm unless the early bird prepares properly. You taught me practice doesn’t make perfect, it makes permanent. Perfect practice makes perfect. You taught me not to judge a book by it’s cover because that book will knock you on your rear end, regardless of size. The lessons you taught me are too many to count, but I want you to know, I truly appreciate them.

From the very first time I laid eyes on you, I knew I wanted in. My first memory of the NFL was at the ripe age of two years old. One of my aunts returned to Los Angeles, California from a Midwest trip to Chicago, Illinois. She came bearing gifts and bestowed on me a Chicago Bears Jersey. The Bears were fresh off a win in Super Bowl XX. I didn’t know what football or a Super Bowl was, but I was hooked. I wore that jersey nearly everyday until the age of five. I’m quite sure it looked more like a bib than a jersey at that point, but I loved it. I loved you. I loved the idea of running, throwing, jumping and catching an oval shaped ball. It would be many years until I was able to play organized football, but none the less, I knew I wanted to dance with you when I got older.

As I grew older my love for you became stronger and stronger. I’m not afraid to admit you were my first real crush. I loved you more than I loved my 3rd grade teacher. I remember when my dad took me to see my first game at the Los Angeles Coliseum. The game featured the hometown Los Angeles Raiders versus the Washington Redskins. I’m not sure what year, or how old I was, but I don’t remember sitting down. There weren’t many people at the game, so we were able to get seats so close, I could see the names on the back of the players’ jerseys. I fantasized about one day the back of a jersey reading “ABDULLAH,” with me in it. I knew it was just a dream, but aren’t kids supposed to dream? The Raiders won the game 37-24 to cap a perfect first date between us. Unfortunately like most crushes, they soon crash and burn. You broke my heart by moving my LA Raiders to Oakland without even saying goodbye. How could you do this to me? I loved you! We were perfect for each other. Sure I didn’t have a job, and couldn’t afford tickets, but I loved you. Isn’t love enough? Isn’t love supposed to trump all, including money? I cried a lot, because I knew you had moved on, but I was still holding on in hopes that you would change your mind and come back where you belonged. You belonged with me. I was young and naive to think that way, but I’m glad you left. You made me appreciate the time we had together. You showed me that if I grew up, got my teeth fixed, gained more muscles and got taller, one day, you may come back to me. I believed in us, and I believed it wasn’t just lust, but love. I vowed the next time you saw me, you would wonder what happened to the kid with the unkempt afro and coke bottle glasses. I would be unrecognizable, and you would fall head over heels in love with me.

I placed posters on my wall of the players you were dating like Jerry Rice and Ronnie Lott. I looked at them and wondered how you chose them over me. I mean sure they were bigger, stronger, faster, more good looking, more athletic and older than me, but they didn’t love you like I did. I used these posters as motivation as I began to workout in my room. Everyday when I woke up, and every night before I went to bed, I did 100 pushups. I knew you liked your men strong, so I wanted to be extra strong just for you. I also knew you liked your men tall, so I started taking naps. A friend of mine told me, if I took more naps, I would grow. My days consisted of prayer, pushups, eating, napping and playing. I sacrificed time outside with my friends, to make sure I slept as much as possible. Love is about sacrifice, and I loved you. You were gone, but you had not been forgotten. As my body began to change, and my legs began to stretch out, my stepfather took it upon himself to help me prepare for the day I met you again. He signed me up to play Pop Warner Football in a suburb of Los Angeles.

The Chino Pop Warner Broncos were the first step in my football life. I had never put on football pads or a helmet, so as you can imagine, I didn’t know what to expect. The first time I lined up to do a football drill, I said a prayer and thought of you. I had to make a good impression on you, even though you weren’t watching. I knew that if this impression was good enough, you would hear about it. I laid on my back for what seemed like an eternity. Another player five yards away, on his back. I was to wait for the blowing of the whistle, then jump up and dive head first into my opponents chest. When the whistle blew, I hopped up like a cat searching for mice. I beat my combatant to his feet, and had the edge in velocity, speed and power. I closed my eyes, as I imagined kissing you for the first time, and pounced on my prey. The poor young lad didn’t stand a chance. I opened my eyes, to the entire team surrounding me and lifting me up as though I were a victorious Roman gladiator. My Head Coach, Coach Parhms, announced to the onlookers that one day, you and I would be holding hands and I would be courting you. I passed the first test you sent my way and anxiously anticipated the next one.

I was homeschooled throughout my childhood, and knew if I were to be ready to meet you again, I would have to go and play football at a public High School. My mother reluctantly enrolled me at Pomona High School in Pomona, California, but it came with a compromise. I was able to attend High School, but I would start two years ahead of my age group. I was a 14 year old sophomore. To make matters worse, my mother enrolled me after football season, so I would have to wait until my Junior year to play. I was frustrated, but I had my eyes on you, and would do anything to gain your approval. When my Junior year came, I was a five foot nine inch tall, 145 pound, 15 year old with bad eyesight. After a few practices the coaches determined that I would need to play Junior Varsity and earn my way on to the Varsity football team. I played well and had an opportunity to play on the Varsity team after the second game of the season. I was a fish out of water on Varsity. I wore Number 60, yes 6-0, and had a Thurman Thomas face mask on my helmet. I’m still convinced that I am the only defensive back in the history of football to wear the number 60. Sixty is a number reserved for slow guys, and I, apparently, was one of them. The game was too fast for me, and I couldn’t see a thing. The bar right down the middle of my face mask made it hard to focus on anything other than the bar right in front of my face. Couple that with the fact I had 20/100 vision, and you have a disaster. On the opening kickoff of the one and only varsity game I played my Junior year, I ran right by the guy with the ball because I couldn’t see he had the ball in his hands. On Junior Varsity we played during the daytime, but on Varsity we played at night. I could manage in the day, but at night was a different story. I needed glasses, goggles or contacts, but that was out of reach for my parents. I made a promise to myself and to you, that I wouldn’t let the excuse of having bad eyesight be a reason, I wouldn’t see you again. During the summer before my senior year in High School, I got a job working at the Pomona Water Department with the sole intention of buying contacts to play football. I was very fortunate to earn enough to go to the optometrist, get a prescription and a seasons worth of contacts. Now that I could see, I wreaked havoc on High School houseboys. I was rewarded with a full scholarship offer to Washington State University. Go Cougs!

I kept climbing the ladder, envisioning the day that you would one day crown me your prince. I made it through Pop Warner and High School, but now it was the final test. Division 1A Football. When I stepped on campus at WSU, I quickly learned that I was not the only one preparing to show up at your father’s door, to ask for your hand. I was now an even six feet tall, and weighed 175 pounds. I began to take protein, lift weights and workout at an unbelievable pace. I wanted my chest to stick out, so I made sure I aligned myself with other guys who I thought were also preparing to meet you. Upon my arrival on campus, my friend and teammate Jason David made a bold declaration. He vowed that the four freshmen defensive backs, recruited in the year 2000 to WSU, would all go to the League. At the time Hip Hop Hustler and Mogul, Jay-Z, released a CD with his Roc-A-Fella crew entitled The Dynasty. JD anointed four freshmen DBs The Dynasty. The Dynasty consisted of Jason David, Erik Coleman, Karl Paymah and me. As my favorite rapper once said “Ain’t no fun, if the homies can’t have none.” I was willing to share you with my three brothers from another mother, but no one else. My brothers pushed me to be great, and even after I tore my Anterior Cruciate Ligament, my sophomore year, they still believed in me, that I would be healthy enough to dance with you some day. They were right.

On April 24th, 2005, you asked me to go steady. You noticed me noticing you while you pretended not to notice me, but I noticed. You welcomed me with open arms and I cried like a baby. The moment I dreamt of was finally here. I would now get to see ABDULLAH on the back of an NFL jersey. Thank you for making my dreams come true. I appreciate you not hanging up on me when I started to cry on the phone. I know you like your men big and strong, but I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with emotions. All the sacrifices, all the hard work and all the prayers had finally synergized. I still remember walking into my first Locker Room and seeing Tampa Bay Buccaneers- DB- Number 35-Hamza Abdullah. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to react, so I glanced around the room to see what the other players were doing. Of course, they were doing the same thing I was doing. I didn’t want to be “That Guy.” That guy that did things against the grain, so I just sat down at my locker and pretended like I had been there before. There was only one problem. I hadn’t been there before. I hadn’t seen how beautiful you were up close. I wanted to take pictures with you, and kiss you all over. I wanted the moment to last forever, but it didn’t. My stay in Tampa Bay was short, but you gave me another chance in Denver. Thank you.

From the Chino Pop Warner Broncos to the Denver Broncos. A Hollywood movie script couldn’t even make this tale up. I was literally a mile high off the ground. I was swimming in the clouds as you placed me in one of the best football cities in America. People loved you in Denver, more than I had seen anywhere else. Denver Broncos Player Jerseys were considered Formal Attire at Restaurants. It was such an amazing feeling and for nearly four years you and I were inseparable. We held hands as we walked together through the Rocky Mountains, beaming with beauty. We were the talk of my hometown, Pomona, California and my college town, Pullman, Washington. Many envied what we had. What we had was special. I didn’t want it to end, and for a brief time, it looked like it wouldn’t. Then all of a sudden you changed. I saw a side of you that your previous exes warned me about. I learned your business side. I suffered an injury, and you didn’t allow me to properly heal before releasing me. You sent me to the streets to lick my wounds and ponder my next step.

My next step landed me in Cleveland, Ohio playing for the Cleveland Browns. When I made it to Cleveland, I knew you were mad at me and wanted to punish me. You wanted me to grovel and beg to get back with you. I loved you so deeply that I would walk through the darkest valley for you, and that’s what Cleveland was. It was painful, depressing and desolate. At least that’s the way it appeared when I arrived. I decided you were trying to teach me a lesson, so I began to see things objectively. The Browns facility was top of the line and resort-like. We had valet parking, personal chefs and childcare. The Muslim community in Cleveland were among the most cordial groups of people I’ve ever been around. Brother Jamal and Brother Abdur-Rahman gave me the brothers I was missing. Cleveland wasn’t so bad after all. Thank you for teaching me to make the most out of my situation, and to not stereotype or characterize an entire city based on the perception of others. Thank you.

After you broke up with me again in Cleveland I went to my new home in Seattle, Washington. I desperately wanted to earn your trust again, so I woke up every morning and worked out at the crack of dawn. Rainier Beach High School in Seattle became my second home. I ran, and I ran, but you never noticed me. I checked your website and saw you sign Safety after Safety, but there was no mention of me. You appeared to move on from me, but you never explained yourself. I was hurt again. This is when I began to understand we had a Love/Hate relationship. There were times when we loved each other, but there were also times when we hated each other. There were peaks and valleys in our relationship, but at least you were consistent. When you hated me, you really hated me, but when you loved me, you loved me up. After months and months without a call back from you, I began to fathom life without you. I was gearing up to finally pack my things and move on, but you called. You called me while I was on a road trip from Seattle to Los Angeles. You told me you needed me, and you hoped I hadn’t gotten ugly or fat. The truth was, I had recently stopped working out on a daily basis, and nearly pulled my hamstring off the bone days earlier, picking up my son’s sippy cup. I wasn’t in supreme shape, but you gave me the weekend to get ready to see you. I thank you for not rushing me. When I made it to Los Angeles, I immediately went to a local High School and ran more than a Kenyan distance runner before the Olympics. It obviously paid off, because you gave me another chance, this time with the Arizona Cardinals. I always wanted to play close to home, and now I was only a six hour car ride from home. Thank you.

Arizona is synonymous with retirement, and I’m guessing that’s what you were preparing me for. I loved the relaxed, family environment of Chandler, Arizona, a suburb outside of Phoenix. I now had two children, and needed to do what was best for them. I felt as though our love candle was beginning to dim, but I tried and tried to add more wax to that candle. I began to use my relationship status with you to earn money off the field and build relationships I would need when the candle finally burned out. I spent nearly three years in Arizona, where I was welcomed into the community and loved like a hometown hero. In Denver you showed me you loved me, but in Arizona you taught me how to love. You introduced me to people that will be lifelong friends, as well as the most selfless group of people I had ever met. Brother Ishmael at the Chandler Mosque literally gave me the shirt off his back when he thought I didn’t have one. I am thankful that you gave me the opportunity to spend time with people like Brother Ishmael. Without you, we would have never met. Thank you.

I left Arizona and returned to Los Angeles in the hopes of returning to you one day, but that day never came. You have moved on, and now it is time for me to move on. We shared some great times that I will cherish forever. You may not remember me as a player in a year or two, but I hope I left something to remember me by as a person. I loved you with all my heart, but you showed me it isn’t the normal love that one sees on the television. This isn’t the romantic love we will read about in trashy novels on a layover in Salt Lake City, Utah. It’s an operational love. A love that serves you as you serve it. As long as I was in your good graces, you would love and protect me, but once I was gone, I was gone forever. I love what you have done for me and what you have allowed me to do for my family. We may not smile at each other when we pass by, or walk hand in hand, but for a brief period of time, we did. You are more than a memory to me, you are a part of me. From now until forever, people will associate me with you. Thank you for helping me raise my voice, my status and my ability to help others. I have been blessed with a platform that many people would kill for. Thank you.

Thank you for making me feel special for seven years. Although we had a nasty break up, I can honestly say I have moved on. I forgive you and I hope you forgive me. The next time we see each other, I hope you embrace me as you once did. I understand I’ll never be an Active Player again, but I have a special request. Please hold on to, and love my brother better than you loved me. When it’s his time to move on, please be gentler and more affectionate than you were with me. He’s not really big on tough love or beating around bushes. Be straight with him, and allow him the proper time to build a strong relationship with you. Thank you again, from the bottom of my heart. I pray that we are better because of meeting each other. Farewell NFL. Peace and be blessed.

Sincerely Yours,

Hamza Abdullah