What it’s like to make the Denver Broncos roster and start the regular season

Empty chairs. That’s all you see when you look around the conference room. Although most of the guys are still here, it’s hard not to notice the ones who aren’t. It’s a stark reminder of what’s been going on for the past five months, as the room has been filled with 91 players pursuing their dreams.

When a coach stands in the front room and addresses this week’s team, now stripped of its roster by cuts, two thoughts go through your mind as a player, one stronger than the other. The first thought is: A lot of my friends are gone. For example, he left he left. Their seats are empty, their lockers are cleared, their name tags are removed. I’ve been through this process of cutting seven times as an NFL player, and the sad truth is that 99 percent of the guys who just got cut, you’ll never see again. When you’re in the same locker room every day, on the same schedule, bleeding together, sweating together, breaking bread together, you’re closer than brothers. But then, in an instant, the bubble bursts and your brothers are gone. They were good football players—great even. But great isn’t always good enough for the NFL.

I have never envied coaches in this process. We all watched the Broncos cut last week. These tough decisions were not made lightly, and each tough decision required an even tougher conversation with the guy you decided to let go. Whether he saw it coming or was caught off guard, this moment — the end — demands a delicate touch. It matters more than a coach can ever know. For many of these guys, this is their last moment as a football player. Looking that player in the eye and being direct allows him to move on to the next phase of his life without the bitterness that so many men leave the NFL.

After Mike Shanahan was replaced by Josh McDaniels in 2009, a lot of us on the team were fired. I was one of them, and because it was the offseason, I didn’t get a chance to talk to the coach face to face. Instead, I got a voicemail on my parents’ home phone, and when I called Coach McDaniels for an explanation, I was told he was in a meeting and would call me back—the call never came through. Ultimately, it was my agent who told me I had been fired.

I mentioned two different thoughts about seeing those empty chairs. One was sympathy for all the guys who got kicked out. But as head coach Sean Payton addresses the newly formed team and the conversation shifts from reflecting on the training camp process to their Week 1 opponent, the Seattle Seahawks, a much stronger thought comes to mind. My chair is not empty. I created it. And now the real work begins. The reason you just went through the most extensive interview process known to man is so we can understand who is right and who is ready.

To be among the right ones, the ready ones, on this team, in this city, with this fan base, and a coach who understands the game so much, is an honor in itself. You endured the ups and downs of the offseason. You struggled through the pain and the doubts. You waited by the phone all day, hoping it wouldn’t ring. It did, of course, a thousand times, but it wasn’t from the facility that told you to empty your locker. It was all your friends and family who wanted to know if you made it. And as you sit in your chair, looking at the empty lockers around you, you realize you made it. And now the real game begins. Week 1. Seattle. Lumen Field. And the last five months slip away through the back door.

About the Author: Former NFL wide receiver and center Nate Jackson played six seasons for the Broncos and is the author of the New York Times bestseller “Slow Getting Up.”