Dave Aranda is sprinting.
It’s a Monday practice in fall camp on one of the hottest days of the year. The breeze refuses to blow, but Aranda is wearing a dark gray windbreaker, and sweat sprays off his face as he runs.
As he runs, a player cuts in front of his path, and for a second, Aranda seems to consider tackling him. His better instincts prevail, though, and so he simply lowers a shoulder, bumps the player affectionately, and offers a running, “Let’s go!”
He’s fired up. He’s having fun. Because the tape is out on Aranda, and he knows it.