When you think of NFL players preparing for battle on the gridiron, you probably imagine protein shakes infused with the tears of their rivals, kale salads blessed by dietitians, and chicken breasts grilled over the fires of Mount Olympus. But no, my friend, the truth is far more glorious, bizarre, and downright hilarious. Welcome to the culinary carnival of Uncrustables, crawfish, and candy—the holy trinity of NFL sustenance.
The Uncrustables Uprising: How Frozen PB&Js Became NFL Currency
Remember Uncrustables? Those pre-made, crust-less peanut butter and jelly sandwiches your mom packed in your lunchbox because she loved you, but not enough to make a fresh sandwich? Yeah, those. Turns out, they're not just for second graders anymore.
According to Roman Montijo, the Philadelphia Eagles' performance chef and dietitian (a.k.a. the guy responsible for making sure grown men don’t collapse mid-huddle), NFL players devour Uncrustables like they're tiny, carbohydrate-filled treasures. We're talking 80,000 sandwiches a year league-wide. The Denver Broncos alone are eating 700 a week. That’s not a typo. Seven. Hundred. Per. Week.
Imagine walking into the Broncos' locker room, expecting to see hulking gladiators crushing protein shakes and instead finding them lovingly unwrapping Uncrustables like it’s snack time at kindergarten. Somewhere, a Smucker’s executive is laughing maniacally, rolling in piles of PB&J money.
Crawfish: The Unexpected Crustacean MVP
If you thought Uncrustables were strange, buckle up. Apparently, one Eagles player is really into crawfish. Like, “bring out the bibs and buckets” levels of enthusiasm. While most of us reserve crawfish for messy backyard boils where we pretend we know how to eat them without flinging shell fragments at our friends, this guy is making it part of his elite athlete diet.
Now, crawfish aren't exactly the first thing that comes to mind when you think "optimal sports nutrition." They’re tiny, fiddly, and require more effort to eat than the calories they provide. But hey, who am I to judge? If peeling a dozen crawfish helps an NFL player achieve peak performance, maybe I should reconsider my stance on shrimp cocktail.
Candy: The Sweet, Sugary Fuel of Champions
Let’s talk about DK Metcalf, the Seattle Seahawks wide receiver built like an action figure come to life. You’d assume his diet consists of nothing but grilled chicken, brown rice, and protein powder with a dash of suffering. But no. DK has confessed to eating three to four bags of candy a day, plus one actual meal and a coffee. That’s it.
His favorites? Life Savers and Skittles Gummies. Because nothing says "elite athlete" like gummy candies shaped like rainbows. And while the rest of us are lectured about "empty calories" and "sugar crashes," DK is out there outrunning defenders powered by pure glucose and spite.
Montijo suggests that players opt for "energy chews" and "fresh fruit" for their sugar fix, but let's be real—no amount of marketing spin can make an orange sound as exciting as a bag of gummy bears.
Monster Mash: When Bodybuilding Meets Bachelor Chow
Let’s not forget Lane Johnson, the Eagles' offensive tackle and part-time food disposal unit. His daily intake is a marvel: five scrambled eggs, two rib-eye steaks, two protein shakes, and a bowl of something called "Monster Mash." No, it's not a Halloween-themed cereal. It's a concoction of ground beef, white rice, bone broth, and parmesan garlic salt.
It sounds like the kind of meal you'd throw together at 2 a.m. when you're drunk, broke, and all you have left in the fridge is random sadness ingredients. But for Johnson, it’s fuel. And to be fair, when you're burning 5,000 to 6,000 calories a day just existing, anything that fits on a plate (or in a trough) is fair game.
Pregame Rituals: French Toast, Chicken Sandwiches, and Mild Regret
Not to be outdone, Travis Kelce of the Kansas City Chiefs swears by French toast and strawberries as his pregame meal. Because when you’re about to get body-slammed by a 300-pound linebacker, nothing prepares you better than a breakfast that screams, “I’m ready for brunch, not battle.”
Patrick Mahomes? A grilled chicken sandwich with fries and ketchup. Not just any ketchup, though. Mahomes loves ketchup so much he could probably be sponsored by Heinz. Forget Gatorade baths—douse the man in ketchup if he wins the Super Bowl.
Halftime Snacks: Oranges Are Mandatory (Because the NFL Said So)
You might think NFL players chomp down on protein bars or chug electrolyte potions during halftime. Nope. The NFL literally requires each home team to provide three dozen sliced oranges. It’s like a youth soccer game, but with more concussions.
Montijo claims that bananas, apples, and energy bars are also popular halftime snacks. But the real MVP here is the humble orange slice. Picture the locker room: elite athletes with million-dollar contracts, sitting around in full gear, peeling oranges like they’re eight years old at recess.
Post-Game Feasting: Recovery, Gains, and Probably More Candy
After the game, it’s time to rebuild. This means protein, carbs, and enough antioxidants to make a smoothie bar weep with joy. Players aim to reduce inflammation, repair muscles, and pretend that eating a giant steak is a medical necessity.
Montijo emphasizes hitting “macros” and calorie goals. Players even track their food with apps like MyFitnessPal. Which means somewhere out there, an NFL lineman is logging his Monster Mash under “dinner,” while also noting, “add 3 Uncrustables for snacks.”
So, What Have We Learned?
Uncrustables are the unsung heroes of professional sports.
Crawfish are more than just a messy weekend indulgence; they’re elite athlete fuel.
Candy can apparently make you faster, stronger, and possibly immortal.
Oranges are mandatory. Like, legally.
Monster Mash is both a song and a lifestyle.
While you're counting calories, debating keto vs. paleo, and forcing down another sad kale salad, remember this: somewhere, an NFL player is crushing a bag of Skittles, polishing off an Uncrustable, and chasing it with chicken broth—all in the name of peak performance.
Maybe, just maybe, you're doing it wrong.