The saddest day of my life was the day I didn't get to play football anymore.
The sight of burnt orange makes me puke.
In the middle of a play, I go crazy and don't realize what I'm doing. I'll snap back to reality and I realize, 'Hey, I just ripped that boy's helmet off,' or, 'I'm over here twisting this guy's knee.
Football is so barbaric. Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking by playing it. I feel almost like I escaped from boot camp.
When you're 20, we all make stupid and impulsive decisions.
All I want is the defining moment.
I'm moving to a point that I'm fed up with the N.C.A.A. dictation.
If you can miss getting up in the morning and running into a wall, I miss playing football. I'll never be a frustrated athlete.
People never understood that there was Brian and The Boz. They were two completely different people.
I actually was rebelling as all young adults tend to do at or around the age of 19, to experiment with their lives and have fun.
I should hurt a lot more people than I do. I'd like to hurt someone on every play.
How hard could it be? Is it really going to hurt? You get into that deep well of emotion if you are by yourself. Why am I here? What's the point of going on? If I can't do what I want to do, then what's the point?
Due to the injuries that I will have for the rest of my life, it is physically impossible for me to consider any career in wrestling.
I hate when people call me 'The Boz'.
I'd rather be good than lucky.
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