It's Good to Be Gronk - Softcover

Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

Rob “Gronk” Gronkowski played college football for the University of Arizona before beginning his legendary career as a tight end for the New England Patriots. Hailed as one of the best tight ends the NFL has ever seen, he is currently playing for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, and millions of fans who can’t get enough Gronk. Follow him on Twitter @RobGronkowski.

Jason Rosenhaus is a sports agent, lawyer, certified public accountant, and writer. He is the coauthor, with Drew Rosenhaus and Don Yaeger, of A Shark Never Sleeps.

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It’s Good to Be Gronk

1

MEET THE GRONKS

From day one, all I ever wanted to do was have fun with my brothers. Whether that fun came from playing sports, joking around, dancing crazy, wrestling, or just being me, that was what made me happy. And now, twenty-something years later I refuse to let success, money, fame, beautiful women, or anyone or anything else change me. Why should I change? I’m a happy guy, I don’t hurt anyone (except when I’m paid to do it on the football field), I work superhard, I don’t break the law, and I’m all about working hard, playing hard, and being a good guy to the kids. What’s wrong with that? Absolutely nothing, so I’m going to play ball, work out in the gym, hit my playbook, run on the track, party with my family, and do all of it Gronk-style!

That doesn’t mean I’m going do things my way or not at all. That means I’m gonna do things the right way, the best way I can or not at all. That’s how I was raised and that’s who I am. There was no other way for me to be. I grew up in a house in Buffalo, New York, with four brothers. In that house, we had constant fun and action. Our idea of fun was beating the hell out of each other and laughing the whole time as we got our shots in. I had three older brothers and one younger brother and we did nothing but all-out brawl all day, every day. My poor mom, Diane, had no chance of handling all of us and my dad, Gordy, set two rules we all had to follow—no punching to the face, or to the balls. Anything other than that, and I mean anything, was fair game.

One afternoon my dad came home from work and walked into the kitchen to see what the ruckus was. My older brother Chris, who was fifteen at the time, had me, thirteen, pinned on my back. The loud thumping my dad heard was Chris grabbing fistfuls of my hair with both hands and smacking the top of my head back and forth into the linoleum kitchen floor. My dad, who is a big man himself, and had played college football, picked us both up with each arm and held us against the wall. “That’s it! We’re gonna settle this right now.”

My dad was our idol; he was big, strong, tough, and smart. We all respected him and his two rules mostly because he was the only thing in the world we were afraid of. He was mean when he had to be, but always fair. After separating us, my dad brought us into the living room and cleared out the couch and other furniture so the center of the room was empty. He gave us both one of the big pillows on the couch and let us smash into each other full speed until we tired ourselves out. He called it zoom-zoom. From then on, whenever he had to break up a fight between us, we resolved it through zoom-zoom, where we banged into each other, over and over again like only kids can do, until we were both exhausted. We loved it!

Another time, when I was eight and Chris was ten, I caught him taking one of my Reese’s Pieces packets from my Halloween candy bag. Back then, Halloween candy was like gold to us. We would spend the night running from house to house with huge pillowcases to grab and carry as much candy as we could. Whoever had the biggest bag with the most candy had the best night among all of us. It was a major competition in our household.

That year, I was particularly proud of my large bag of candy and guarded it like it was pirate treasure. When Chris took a Reese’s Pieces packet from my bag, I went nuts. I grabbed one of my mini hockey sticks (it’s about a foot long) and ran toward him and checked him as hard as I could. Before Chris could get up, I started whacking him with the stick. Chris fought his way up and ran after me. Chris was a lot bigger and more muscular than I was since he was stocky and older. Since I was smaller than my older brothers, my technique was to hit them with the best shot I could and then run off and try to escape.

After knocking Chris down, I sprinted toward the bathroom and tried to close the door behind me, but Chris was coming full speed. He put his shoulder into it and barreled through the door. I was caught off balance and the force of the door sent me flying backward. I hit the back of my head on the front of the hard bathtub and was knocked out cold.

When Chris saw I wasn’t moving, he thought I was dead and he ran off into the living room in a panic, calling for our parents. While Chris was panicking in the living room, I woke up, grabbed my stick, and went right back at him. By the time my dad came downstairs, Chris got checked from behind and was knocked to the floor.

To understand us, you have to picture five boys growing up together in the same household in upstate New York. The oldest, Gord (not to be confused with our dad, Gordy), is the most outgoing, fun-loving, and partying guy of the group. Gord went on to play professional baseball and was a tall first baseman. Gord was six years older than me. Next came Danny, who was the biggest and best athlete around but was always responsible and mature for his age. Dan was four years older than me. Then came Chris, who was an intimidating, mean, and scary kid. Chris enjoyed inflicting pain on everyone who would bother him. Chris was two years older than me and I fought him the most. Then came Glenn, who we all call Goose. Goose is four years younger than me and he took a beating the same as everyone else.

To me, fighting my brothers was fun. The problem was that I was smaller than Gord, Dan, and Chris. These were really big guys who would all become professional athletes. Since I was younger and smaller, the only way to even the odds was to hit them with whatever I could find and then run like hell to escape. Most of the time I got away but when I didn’t, I took my beating like a man.

One afternoon, my dad’s brother, my uncle Glen, came over to visit us. I loved Uncle Glen. He was a fun uncle to talk with so I was pissed off when I saw Dan talking to him where I had been sitting five minutes earlier. I had just gone into the kitchen for a minute to get something to eat and when I came back Dan had taken my seat. When I saw Dan laughing it up with Uncle Glen, I was determined to get him. I didn’t care that Dan had no idea he pissed me off and that it was unintentional. Once I had any reason to attack, any reason whatsoever, I was gonna take my best shot. So I snuck out of the kitchen behind Dan and with a full sprint toward the living room, tackled Dan all-out. I rammed my elbow right into the back of his ribs and got him good.

Dan had no clue what had happened but he knew the drill. He knew I didn’t need much of a reason and got up instantly to chase me down. Dan was four years older than me and bigger, faster, and stronger than I was. To make things worse, Chris was there and saw what I did, so for the fun of it and because I deserved it, Chris helped Dan catch me, grab me, and hold me down. From there, Dan just pounded me in my thighs, punching me over and over again, giving me a brutal charley horse. That was their deal. Dan and Chris knew my dad would knock the hell out of them if they punched me in the face or balls, so they stayed within the rules and did their worst!

Whenever they could catch me, and that was most of the time, Chris would hold me down and Dan would savagely, without mercy, whale on me with his fists, elbows, and knees. The thing is, I always deserved it because I had always started it. And I always started it because after a while, my thighs, shoulders, arms, and stomach all toughened up and the blows didn’t hurt anymore. So when I got caught...