How Travis Kelce’s work with Operation Breakthrough reflects breakthrough of his own
Not so long ago, Travis Kelce’s name conjured not just mesmerizing athletic ability and an animated on-field presence for the Chiefs but also an asterisk: He could be a brat, a guy always shadowed by an emotional trap-door.
At any given moment, he might throw a towel towards a referee to mock a perceived non-call. Or, say, ridicule a game official by saying he shouldn’t “be able to wear a zebra jersey again” or even be able to work in a Foot Locker.
If opponents could only hope to contain Kelce, well, the same applied to the Chiefs.
Despite teammate Charcandrick West being spotted by alert colleague Sam Mellinger pointing to his head and telling Kelce to be smart after a 2016 loss to Tennessee, the volatile Kelce took issue with Andy Reid’s play-calling. He tested Reid’s considerable patience any number of other times. Shortly after Kelce had vowed on NBC in 2017 that he would no longer be “the young idiot on the field doing immature things,” an exasperated Reid hollered at him for taunting the Eagles sideline (and perhaps his brother, center Jason Kelce) … only to have Kelce later double down in celebrating a touchdown by flapping his arms in ridicule of the Eagles’ “Fly Eagles Fly” celebration.
“He was kind of a wild pony,” Reid said the other day.
We bring all this up not to drag Kelce around but to illustrate a spectacular change as he’s learned to harness his irrepressible passion into an irresistible force in all manners of the term:
He’s become nearly unstoppable on the football field, particularly given his seemingly extra-sensory connection with Patrick Mahomes.
And with his charm subduing any snarky inclinations, you can revel now in his playful and giving nature away from the field.
That’s been evident for a while. But it was enshrined in a new way last week with his recognition as the Chiefs’ nominee for Walter Payton NFL Man of the Year for work through his Eighty-Seven & Running foundation to support Operation Breakthrough.
It’s a distinction that seems all the more resonant in the very year in which teammates Patrick Mahomes and Laurent Duvernay-Tardif were among five sportspersons of the year honored by Sports Illustrated and when teammates Tryann Mathieu and Tyreek Hill, among others, have provided so much charitable support amid the pandemic.
And Kelce’s commendation has multiple implications.
Whereas once his impulsive behavior was the narrative, a theme that merited frequent scrutiny as it seemed to threaten his potential, Kelce is on a trajectory to be the best tight end ever to play the game (if he’s not already) with offensive player of the year credentials (albeit up against the luster of everything Mahomes) that include being an underappreciated blocker. And that’s just part of how he’s become the consummate teammate.
Call it coincidence, but the very week he was ushered into the elite Madden NFL 99 Club (“Don’t forget to update your rosters, everybody,” he said, laughing) he also was recognized with this accolade that once would have been far-fetched but now underscores who he’s become.
“If I leave Kansas City and all I’m known for is what I’ve done on the field then I haven’t really done anything,” he wrote on Twitter with an attached video on Dec. 10. “It’s that simple. #ChiefsKingdom.”
Indeed, as he spoke of the meaning of this recognition to him last Friday, he radiated a moving sense of sincerity. He also displayed appreciation for what’s been done for him, particularly by Reid and the Chiefs front office and teammates he cherishes, to be given the forum and resources to do what he can for others.
“Football is just a game. We’re talking about life and to be able to help somebody have a better future, being able to lend a helping hand so somebody has a better situation ...,” he said. “I feel like it’s a duty of mine to make sure that I’m helping out as much as I can, knowing that it’s a responsibility.”
We don’t have to just take his words for it, though.
Mary Esselman, president and CEO of Operation Breakthrough, raves about Kelce, who was the first person to call and offer extra aid in March when COVID-19 hit home but has been connected with the group for years now.
Or should we say immersed? Kelce was introduced to the group in 2015 or 2016 in what might have been a one-off event. Instead, he became attached to what he calls “such a genuine and loving place.”
And he just kept coming back. And then getting further invested with various fundraiser events like the Walk the Walk fashion benefit and shopping trips and the Eighty-Seven and Running Robotics Lab.
And, most recently, the purchase of an adjacent former muffler shop to create the Ignition Lab to provide more opportunities for teens in an array of fields from multi-media production to automotive/engineering to culinary arts and … too much else to mention here.
For that matter, it’s hard to quantify all the other contributions Kelce has made. But there is one telling common denominator to it all.
Kelce isn’t simply a figurehead, doesn’t merely give money, worthwhile as just that would be. When Esselman considers his impact, she thinks foremost about examples of how he’s connected with children and demonstrates how they matter to him individually.
“It’s the time he comes when the cameras aren’t rolling. …, ” she said, later adding, “When you see people with children, you can get a sense of who they are and where their heart is.”
So at events, she can count on him spending extra time sitting and chatting with children in particular. When one child among hundreds recalled what he thought most about Kelce, she recalled, he said, “He remembered my name.”
You can look at a scene of him competing in a robotics tournament in the headquarters at 30th and Troost to get a glimpse of how real this is … and how it might mean the world to any given child. He’ll always talk and treat them like he’s just another person, Esselman said, even as he’ll stay until the last picture or autograph request is fulfilled.
Part of this generosity of spirit comes from how he was raised, Kelce will tell you. And perhaps part comes from such moments like this that he shared with Esselman:
When he was young, Kelce approached an athlete he admired for an autograph and was refused.
“I just never want to be that person,” she remembered him saying.
So now he is … this person, a portrait in growth.
Not that he has become a wallflower. He still might pick up a penalty now and then for, say, dunking the ball through the goalposts, still might goof around rubbing Reid’s shoulders late in a game or by calling team president Mark Donovan “El Presidente.”
On Sunday, after owner Clark Hunt said on a Zoom call that what most impresses him about Kelce is his growth off the field and work for the underprivileged, Kelce stepped next to the podium and exaggeratedly rubbed his eyes as if in tears and said, “That was beautiful.”
More seriously, though, he added, “What a guy, man, what a guy,” in reference to Hunt. And he later reiterated his blessings to be a Chief, saying that “technically” at 31 he’d grown up in the organization since arriving in 2013.
Even with what Reid has always believed was a heart in the right place, that wasn’t assured.
Ten years ago at the University of Cincinnati, he was kicked off the team for a season in violation of team rules. And even after realizing how much he needed football after having it taken away, there was all that stuff in his first few years here.
“There were definitely a lot of dark days,” Kelce said.
It’s not clear if there was one ah-ha moment that made for changes in Kelce. But it is clear that over time trust in Reid, Hunt, Donovan and surely teammates like Mahomes helped him figure out who he really wanted to be.
We all face our passages and pivot points on the way to who we are. Some emerge. Some grow. Some can’t, for any number of reasons.
But seeing examples of what’s possible can be powerful and even contagious. And that’s an important part of Kelce’s story, something Esselman felt strongly enough about to follow up about in an email the morning after we spoke.
“Early in his career Travis had trouble controlling his emotions on the field,” she wrote. “Years ago I used to wince a bit during the games, but seeing his growth has been a real learning experience for our children. We spend a lot of time at OB working with children on managing their behaviors and emotions. Sharing Travis’ journey can be a great opportunity for our school-age children to see that getting control of our emotions is something we all work on through life.”
Something that reflects what Reid has witnessed unfolding the last few years. He’s always seen “a good heart, a big heart.”
Now, though, he sees something more there: A heart in the right place … and growing into the mindset to make the most of it in every way.