QB Lessons in Mckinney in Dallas will teach you about game speed. Listen to the quarterback coach in McKinney in Dallas. Trust your quarterback lessons in McKinney in Dallas. I am going to speed you up in practice so that way when you get to the game it is calm and relaxing for you. It is 7 on 7 and I ask for the play - greenrtzshtfox2xpost as fast as he can. Coach barks the play at me like a civil rights German shepherd. It feels like someone just threw their drink in your face. Half/Half coffee please. Half shock, Half play. They say that humans only need to see the first letter of the word, and the last few letters. I forget what its called, but they can scan parts of a word, and know the entire thing. They scramble the letters in the middle of the word, and read it as if it is written correctly. That is basically playing quarterback. You get to hear 65 percent of the play, and better know how to finish the rest. Anyways coach sped it up for me. He wants me to fail. Its like in the wolf of wall street -- I want you to choke on it until you either buy or fuckingggg dieeeeeee. Some young quarterbacks their brain shuts off. You ever drop your phone, or IPAD and it just shuts off and you have to reboot it. That's a quarterback. The coach spitting the play at your face, muffled with a piece of paper over their mouth so the TV cameras can't see their lips. I am half convinced its an HR policy for coaches to run the spread so they can just signal or hold poster boards, and you don't have to come within 10 feet of work place harassment. You call the play, drop back, get throttled by a defensive lineman, your head hits the turf. The pussy quarterback shuts off like when your computer freezes, and you get frustrated and hold the power button down. They take ten minutes and a timeout to reboot back to the home page. You didn't save your pivot tables on excel. All erased. The Hall of Fame quarterback is seamless like fantastic wifi. The next page just loads. You click the button, and it loads fast. Man this internet is great. This computer is fast man. Hell yeah. Piece of shit quarterbacks- their minds are like airport WIFI. You pay $8 for Wifi on Southwest Airlines and they tell you the plane doesn't have it, or its off, and they can't control it. Its out of their hands. Badass quarterbacks there minds at like the wifi at your corporate office. We can't be having bad internet, and can't process payroll. So we pay for maximum strength internet. Bad quarterbacks are the the dial up phone internet of the late 90's. They are the AOL disk with 100 minutes on it from the 90s. Great quarterbacks process information like the Google Algorythm. You type into search- green righ.. .32 seconds an AI auto-sort on the correct item you wanted. Anyways - coaches are pieces of shit. They are evil, rebranded as a tough coach. They seem like they want you to fail. They want to fold your ass up like a piece of used tin foil. Just crumple you up and toss you in the garbage can. I went to go get a play call once from my high school coach and he called me a cock sucker. I was 15. Here is the valuable lesson that I learned from this type of environment. Your wife will disagree. Is that words are fake. They are variables used in an equation of motivation. He didn't really think that I was a cock sucker. He basically wanted to see me blink. He wanted to see me fold. He wanted to see if I would fight back. He wanted to see energy. He was managing energy. Real leaders manage energy. Not people. Was I poised? His word was just as powerful as if a middle linebacker caved my chest in with his helmet. The same way I would be expected to just stand up after that hit. Bill in front of my peers says, "I took a private plane to Florida to recruit that piece of shit throw." All I did was throw a pass behind the running back who still caught the ball. He looked at me. The next play I fired a curl route. Perfect bullet spiral. Boom. Coach is like this motherfucker is a rattlesnake. Quarterback is like in the movie scream when you shoot the killer in the head. He is laying there, and then rises up. He is not dead. Its like in the movie Halloween. The first one. The doctor unloads 6 bullets into Micheal Myers. He falls off the balcony. The doctor runs to look, and Micheal is gone. You can't kill him. He has like 12 more sequels left in him. Its the fourth quarter, this guy has 13 more strikes left in him. He is ragged, beaten, destroyed. He is under center, looks down at Jarriette Buie of USF, and hears the lineman say you fucking suck, and my brain already has the antidote. Coach already gave me the syrum. Immediate remedy. The linemans words instantly evaporate into thin air as I continue my cadence, and snap the ball. The lineman no longer exsits. Its like in the movie Goosebumps, when you open the RL Stine Book and all the monsters get sucked back into the pages of the playbook. They were never real. The town is safe. All the toilet paper we used to TP your moms house instantly gone. I watch a lot of those episodes on Netflix. A coaches playbook isn't just stick figures on the back of some soccer moms van that account for each member of the family. Its not just slants, and flanker drive. Its an extreme environment. Its a berating, and beating. Its a son of a bitch. Its stone cold steve Austin in your face with a mic seconds away from a stunner. And just like wrestling none of it means anything. You are just a character in a movie. You are Val Kilmer in Heat with a bag full of money strapped to your shoulder, unloading machine gun bullets as you trail down the sidewalk, and try to escape the cops. Some of the other bank robbers get shot and killed. You get shot, and keep going. After you escape you end up at the doctor getting your shoulder stitched. But you're alive. And you have the money. Deniro says, "Don't let yourself get attached to anything you are not willing to walk out in 30 seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner." That is the quarterback physically and mentally. You drop back and escape. Your coach destroys you verbally. You're not attached. Walk away back to the huddle. You have to separate your body, mind and spirit. They can be neighbors. But more like the ones you wave to across the street, and wonder why the fuck they are always blowing leaves off their lawn. But you never actually get to see the inside of their house. They don't come over for dinner. You just know they drive a nice car, and seem stable, and so you don't worry about your kid playing in the street when they are outside. That becomes your psychology. Its hilarious because in recruiting the coaches are sweet as pumpkin pie. They court you, they share meals with you, have a great time with you. If I were a girl I would be like great I just found the man of my dreams. This little pumpkin pie haircutted freak sure has a great moral base, and is super funny. Then you commit and get married, and you find out he just beats your ass every day. But if you can take it, you will get a great bank account for life. You don't want to lose your life. You will get rich. A football player is basically a battered housewife of New Jersey on Bravo. But for the love of the game.. There are these new coaches going around saying we don't curse at players. We teach players. Well you're done. Your team is done. You have no chance at all. Because I didn't join the football team to not have the chaos. I am addicted to the chaos. I need the punishment. I came here to cuss. The headbutt. To wrestle. To rob banks. To be in shootouts. To get surgeries. To be a son of a bitch, and bar room brawler. That is why I joined. Or else I would have learned how to play piano for the local church, put gel in my hair, wear a polyester shirt with Khaki pants, and talk about a mission is Israel. The sauce isn't even real marinara. Or as Dana once said to me, "I don't need a fucking accountant at quarterback." My back hurt pretty bad that day. Low energy. But he was right. Put your calculators away, and pull your balls out. You signed up to rock and roll. So start a moshpit. Here is my suggestion if you want to play football, but are nervous about your coach eating an ice cream cone in the elevator on the way to practice, and telling you to stand in the pocket and drop your nuts, and make the throw. Go get a Visor for your helmet. It will hide your eyes. Your eyes are the portal to your soul. They can say and do whatever they want to you, but they can't see your face. So you are protected, and their words and actions become like bugs splattering on the wind shield of your future ford focus because you were too pussy to take it like a man, get better and go to the league so now you are a teacher at your local high school making 40K. Now fuck you, and run the play. I get to live the rest of my life like a Schnook.