First game of a playoff campaign, really your second season. I will be upfront and honest with you that I am not the origin of this. Alright, I have copied, I have pasted, I have stolen, I have done what a lot of good people have, and I put together hopefully something that will at least make you think. The first part of it and the last part of it are an open letter to seniors—not that I wrote, that I borrowed—and the stuff in between is the retirement speech of an NFL player.

Alright, but I just want you to kind of internalize this and listen to it because, as you know, after tomorrow nothing is guaranteed. Alright, so it starts as follows:

"The game, the season, and my football career were over. Now, it finally registered to me what it meant. The finality of the situation was now crystal clear. With that came the realization that I could have given more effort. I just didn't know it until it was too late. Every once in a while, still some 40 years later, I'll find myself wishing that I had given more effort in that final game—even for just one play. I compile a lot of memories playing football, but the ones that stick most in my mind are the mediocrity of my last game."

That's the beginning of the open letter to seniors. This is now the beginning of the retirement message:

"There I lay face up in the cool morning's dew-covered grass, waiting for a whistle I knew would come any second, knowing full well that a teammate was a couple of yards away on the ground, waiting in the same position. The foreign objects that rested upon my shoulders and head weighed me down and unbalanced my awaiting body. As the whistle blew, I arose, turned all in one motion, and ran at my teammate as fast as I could. It isn't even the collision that I remember the most, but the feeling before. What was about to happen? How was it going to feel, and will I win?

Whenever I smell those fresh grass clippings, I'm brought back to this day—12 years old, first day in pads. I've been asked many times why I chose football, what drew me to the game, and I never have an answer that gets it right. The best way I can explain it is what draws you to your favorite song, your favorite book. It makes you feel the seriousness of it, the intensity of it. Stepping on the field was the most alive and free that I had ever felt. There was a visceral feeling with football unlike any other sport. The hairs on my arms would stand up. I could hit somebody, run around like a crazed lunatic, and then you're told, on top of that, good job. God, I love football.

Whether it was in my backyard with my brother, on the playground with my friends, or suiting up on Friday nights, I loved everything about it. Football was hard, much harder than any sport that I had ever played, both physically and mentally. In most other sports, I was bigger and faster and stronger than everybody else. On the football field, those traits were matched. I loved the challenge that football was—the joy of winning, the agony of defeat, the anxiety of the unknown, and the camaraderie of my teammates.

As a freshman, I had no stars, no investment from the team or the coaches. I had to earn everything, and that's good because I had no clue as a freshman what hard work was yet. Knowing that I had to earn my respect every day made me committed like never before. In my first weightlifting session, I was put through the hardest workout session that I had ever been through in my life. At the end of it, he said if I could walk around the perimeter of the weight room holding my hands above my head with no weights in my hand, I could leave. And if I couldn't hold my hands above my head, I'd have to stay and clean the whole weight room. That entire year as a freshman, I found out later that cleaning the weight room was something that I would get used to.

The weight room was even tougher, and I redefined my mind and what working hard actually was. They pushed me into areas of fatigue that I didn't know I had, and for that experience, I am forever grateful to all of them. There are so many teammates, coaches, support staff, trainers, managers, equipment people—you guys have no idea the amount of people in this building that it takes to assist our players. At times, you hate it as an athlete, but when you've been through it enough times, you learn to appreciate it.

Football receives a lot of attention. You better be ready to overcome the lows that will happen, to be ready to persevere in the face of criticism. Yes, they will let you know when you are not performing well, but they will also love you if you show effort, aggression, desire, and the will to fight. They will love you in this city if you love it the way you love your brother. You will be loved by going above and beyond. Show that you care because they care. They've been caring for generations in this town about this team, and they aren't about to accept a bunch of excuses or soft nonsense representing the name on the front of that jersey—something they've invested their entire lives in.

This world—life—can be hard. It can challenge yourself to points of self-doubt that is a dangerous place to be. Well, I'm lucky; my whole life I've been surrounded by people that believed in me. No man is an island. We must draw our strength from others. I'd like to thank my teammates, my brothers. Oh, how I've drawn my strength from you all. I was fortunate to play with great players, some of the best the game has to offer, but it was really off the field—just sitting in the cafeteria with my teammates, breaking bread and talking about life. Those were some of the most meaningful times I spent in my career.

The melting pot of geographic location, economic background, race, body type, personality, and athletic traits of a locker room is truly remarkable. And when we all rely on each other and respect one another and each of our differences because we know we're stronger together, I will always cherish this brotherhood—the relationships that fostered how unique an experience it has been to enjoy the field with all of you. Coming to work every day with a group of men who were driven to be the best in the world at what they do is an environment that will surely be hard to replicate.

So this brings us here today, where I announce that I am retiring from the NFL after 13 seasons with the Philadelphia Eagles. And today I must admit I am officially overrated—vastly overrated. It took a lot of hard work and determination getting here. I have been the underdog my entire career, and I mean this when I say it: I wish I still was. Few things gave me more joy than proving someone wrong. My mother used to tell people, and still says to this day, if you want Jason to do something, all you have to do is tell him he can't."

—Jason Kelce

Here's the closing of the open letter to the seniors, because what Jason Kelce just told you was everything you've experienced. Whether you started in Pop Warner, like many of you—I got a chance to talk to them yesterday on the baseball field—or whether you started in middle school, or whether you started your first year with us this year. But keep this in mind in this last closing message as the open letter to our seniors:

"For one play, get out of your comfort zone and take your effort to a level that you have never been to before. If you're a running back, tell yourself that on this play, it's going to take three to four guys to bring you down. If you're a lineman, tell yourself that you're going to explode off that line and bury your head into the chest of an opposing player, and you're not going to stop driving your legs until you hear the whistle. Give so much effort in that five-second window that you have a hard time catching your breath afterwards. Even if you feel that you've been giving 100% effort throughout the entire season, believe me, you haven't.

Jump off that cliff for five seconds. Pretend that your life depends upon making the best play of your life. Get wild, get crazy. I think you're gonna surprise yourself with the results. Then, try it again a second time. Try it again a third time, and so on and so forth. When the clock goes to all zeros, the finality of playing football no more will definitely register. But when you look back at your football career, now and for years down the road, one of the first things to pop into your mind will be how you did something really special before hanging up your pads for the last time. Don't let this game pass by without doing something really special on the football field, even if it's only for one play. You won't truly understand why until it's too late—until it's gone. Trust me on this one."

Think about that. We know who our opponent is, and I've told you all week long: don't overlook anybody. But if you muster up that acknowledgment of "this very well could be it," with the message that Jason Kelce had in his retirement closing, it puts everything into perspective. All those late days of lifting, all of that summer, all of that work, all of that time, all of that effort. Now, for our 29, I believe, seniors that are currently in the room, it's win or go home. It's win or hang it up.

And as the movie basically stated when we watched it last week, you only get these moments every once in a while after you're done playing. When you get married, when you have your first kid and your second—I don't know about the third, but anyway—all right, those moments are now fleeting. Because when you're done and you hang those pads up, it's over, and those feelings don't come back that often.

Beat LaPorte