As dusk falls on North Scottsdale three months into another football season, Brock Osweiler wheels his new equipment away from his driveway. He has packed a shiny red wagon with essentials: pizza, water, diapers, toys. Ten months into “retirement,” his new teammate refuses to wear anything except tutus. Pretty pink bows protrude from her shoelaces. “Come on, Blakester,” Osweiler says to his two-year-old daughter, as she skips down the street.
The Osweilers arrive at Brock’s new stadium, the playground in their gated neighborhood. Brock takes Blake there most days with his wife, Erin. He’ll cram his 6' 7" frame down plastic slides, throw Blake high into the air and chase her through the bed of woodchips underfoot.