Obstacles nothing new for Packers’ Desmond Bishop; he’s setting goals high

Green Bay – This is the notebook he opens every day. Page 1 is Desmond Bishop’s daily vitamin, his list of goals for that season. And page 1, in 2012, disgusted the Green Bay Packers inside linebacker.

Empty promises bled across the page. Goals, unfulfilled.

This number of tackles. That number of sacks. His winning percentage on blitzes. Each goal Bishop set for himself was hijacked by a torn hamstring in the team’s preseason opener.

“I didn’t reach any of them,” Bishop said. “Zero. None of them.”

So when Bishop returned to Green Bay last month, he reopened that same notebook, grabbed a pen and raised the bar. He hasn’t told anyone about this. Not his coaches, not his wife. But draped over those same goals from 2012 is one more line for 2013.

2013 Defensive MVP. Why not?

“Seriously,” Bishop says, “why not? I know I’m capable.”

To everyone else, Desmond Bishop is a mystery. Virtually every decision the Packers made at inside linebacker this off-season reflects concern about the torn hamstring that sidelined Bishop for all of last season.

Bishop, 28, admits he’ll probably stay cautious through organized team activities and minicamp this spring. But he also says he’ll be “110%” ready for training camp. Page 1 demands it. He plans to attack this season with merciless abandon because everything in his life has made him “stronger for this moment.”

Growing up in a hurricane of drugs, guns and violence. Waiting three years to become a starter. All of it prepared Bishop for that declaration of dominance in his notebook.

Desmond Bishop believes he’s ready for greatness.

Anvils for forearms, pipes for biceps, the 6-foot-2, 238-pound linebacker ducked into Cheese Cake Heaven off of Oneida St. last Thursday. He donned a tight blue and gray long-sleeve shirt, a beard and that expected, unabashed swagger. Taking a swig of bottled water, Bishop gazed ahead at nothing in particular and faded into deep thought.

“What’s Des Bishop’s legacy?” he wondered aloud. How will people remember No. 55?

He knows fans will paint him as the savior. Briefly, that pressure weighed on his mind. Bishop called such expectations “a double-edged sword.” Then he recalled what got him here. Those years in the rough neighborhood. The often miserable first three years as a pro. San Diego.

As soft music played in the background, his tone shifted.

“I embrace it,” Bishop said. “I embrace everything. I embraced the injury. I embraced having to be patient before I got my opportunity. I embrace when I got my opportunity.

“Bring it on.”

‘Bishop’s Corner’

Counting on his right hand, Bishop’s voice softens. He lists off the names, one by one, in a near-inaudible whisper. There’s a “Deonte,” a few others, and he takes a deep breath.

Five or six, Bishop estimates. Five or six of his closest friends from Pop Warner football are now dead.

“It’s brutal, man,” says Bishop. “It’s pretty brutal out there.”

The thick skin to weather any storm is rooted in Bayview-Hunters Point, San Francisco. Bishop grew up on the infamous block that bears his family’s name – “Bishop’s Corner.” Dennis Bishop, Desmond’s father, spearheaded the drug trade there. Dad, he says, “was the kingpin.”

Meanwhile, Desmond was exposed to violence daily. He saw things “no kid should ever see.”

Normal was drug addicts smoking crack pipes in the street. Normal was people getting pummeled senseless with a pipe. Normal was the daily soundtrack of gunshots and screeching tires. Life on Bishop’s Corner resembled one of Bishop’s favorite shows today, “The Wire.” He was too young to deal or use drugs himself. The dealers wouldn’t hassle the son of the kingpin, giving Desmond the occasional pocket change for candy or a soda instead.

But one day, gunshots sprayed dangerously close to the Bishops’ home.

Dennis Bishop hurried outside to investigate. Desmond, 13 years old, followed him, ignoring his mother’s cry to stay inside. And halfway up the block, sprawled on the concrete, was one of those dealers. This was a 19-year-old Desmond looked up to. He had the car, the girls, the cash.

Yet here he was. Dead.

“It wasn’t like in the movies where you see blood everywhere,” Bishop said. “There were just two tiny little holes in his back. Barely any blood. You know when you’re little and you fake like you’re asleep, you fake dead? The way a dead person looks, there’s no way you could fake that. It’s the eeriest stillness ever.”

That moment, mom Sherri demanded the family move to the suburbs. Her husband needed to leave Bishop’s Corner behind – once and for all. Dennis Bishop didn’t argue, either. He knew that his sons were on the brink of the “spider web.”

When Dennis heard Desmond say that he planned to “retaliate,” to fight another kid over a girl, he knew “retaliate” would take on a new definition very soon.

So they moved. They left Bishop’s Corner.

“It’s madness,” Dennis Bishop said. “It’s like a spider web. People get stuck and they can’t get out of it. That inner-city life, you can fall in love with it because there’s always something going on. 24/7, there’s always something. A car chase, a shooting, just drama, it’s 24/7 drama. You kind of get numb to it when you’re there.

“I had to get away if I wanted to survive and wanted my kids to survive.”

Still, those early years shaped Desmond. The experience conditioned him to handle any trauma. He had a front-row view of the thin line between life and death. He saw his dad spend time in jail. For fun, he played football in the streets. Parked cars served as “out of bounds” and 60% of the games, he said, ended in brawls.

He escaped just in time.

After moving, Dennis Bishop returned to Bishop’s Corner to talk to Desmond’s friends, 15 and 16 years old by then. He told them all to go to school, to get off the streets. Lost, blank faces stared back at him. His words evaporated in mid-air. Those same kids died over the next two, three years.

So that’s why Desmond calls his dad his hero. That could have been him.

There’s no way Bishop would be sitting here – within sight of Lambeau Field – if his family hadn’t moved.

“Not at all,” Bishop said, “not at all.”

In waiting

If the dark, graphic upbringing hardened Bishop as a child – he still can visualize those two bullet holes – an insufferable wait on the sideline hardened him as an adult. After being picked by the Packers in the sixth round of the 2007 NFL draft, Bishop toiled as a backup for three years.

Most players have a sparkle in their eye when asked about special teams in the locker room. Not so with Bishop. He won’t sugarcoat it.

Those are three years he won’t get back.

“Oh man, it was hard,” Bishop said. “It was frustrating. It was hard to be happy. Especially when you do this. You play football and you’re a starter. You come in and you’re behind two good players and you just don’t play.”

Only an injury to Nick Barnett in 2010 finally lifted Bishop into the starting lineup. He can count on one hand how many practice reps he was given with the No. 1 defense through 2007, 2008 and 2009.

To this day it irritates him. Some rookies just don’t know how good they have it.

“I envy some of the rookies that come in now and get a chance to play and get practice reps,” Bishop said. “Rookies come in now and play, and I never got that opportunity. So I kind of envy them a little bit like, ‘You all don’t even know how rough it is, how rough it can be.’ ”

So Bishop embraced his role as the unwelcome bull in the china shop. He dared coaches to slow him down.

Justin Wilcox remembers Bishop’s first spring practice at the University of California. Wilcox was the linebackers coach and Bishop had just transferred from the City College of San Francisco. As soon as Cal started 11-on-11 work that spring, Wilcox said, “it was on.”

Along with head coach Jeff Tedford, Wilcox quickly realized he’d need to rein Bishop in.

“There was no half-speed for him,” Wilcox said. “That was a learning process, learning how to practice and knowing we had to keep our guys healthy, too. . . . He was hitting guys and they were flying. There were bodies on the ground. He’s a physical, big, strong dude. And when he hits guys, bodies fly everywhere.”

In the pros, Bishop couldn’t quite send multimillion dollar assets airborne. When he wrapped up a running back or closed on a quarterback, he would “talk a little smack.” Bishop always tested his boundaries.

“Absolutely. I had to,” Bishop said. “You’re not supposed to sometimes, but I had to give them a quiet (message), let you know ‘I’m here. I can do this.’ ”

In 2010, Bishop finally was promoted. During that postseason run, his shoestring tackle of Philadelphia’s DeSean Jackson in the wild-card round saved Green Bay’s season. His fumble recovery in the Super Bowl was the turning point. One year later, Bishop was one thorn on a mostly dandelion defense, finishing with 115 tackles, five sacks and two forced fumbles in 13 games.

And nine exhibition snaps into his 2012 season, Bishop’s hunger was tested again.

The injury

He remembers an unusual burst of preseason adrenaline. Across the line was San Diego’s Antonio Gates, one of the league’s best tight ends. Bishop planned to shut him down.

“I don’t care if it’s a 2-yard route,” Bishop told himself, “he’s not catching anything.”

A few series, a few hits, and he’d sit out the rest of the night. This was the plan on Aug. 9, 2012. Instead, on the Chargers’ second series, Bishop’s right leg was sandwiched in a vise of bodies and he tore his hamstring. Bishop held out hope the Packers would designate him as their injured reserve exemption. Maybe, Bishop rationalized, he could return for the stretch run.

Those hopes were extinguished by the sight of Ted Thompson walking into the training room.

“I have chills right now seeing Ted Thompson walk toward me,” Bishop said. “It was like a hospital scene in the movies when you know it’s bad news that’s coming.”

The Packers general manager told Bishop his 2012 season was over.

Any plans to be a perennial all-pro were delayed again. A full season away – from defense, from special teams, from everything – tested Bishop again.

For one month, his leg was covered by a massive cast. For three months, he walked with a limp. Unable to tattoo receivers across the middle, to drill the quarterback, Bishop searched for outlets. He bought two ATVs to satisfy his need for speed. He bought guns and fired off rounds at the range to let off steam.

Psychologically, he managed. Sitting out hurt most when the Packers’ defense was shredded by Minnesota running back Adrian Peterson and San Francisco quarterback Colin Kaepernick. The 45-31 playoff loss at San Francisco was a particularly cruel beat-down. As a kid, Bishop could see Candlestick Park out his window. Bishop’s Corner wasn’t far away.

“Not being able to play was tough,” Bishop said. “And watching us get gashed up was even tougher.”

Rehab has been more strenuous than Bishop expected. The challenge was strengthening everything around the tear. The quad, his hamstring, all muscle fibers in that area required attention. Bishop cycled through a series of massages, Active Release Technique work and acupuncture.

When organized team activities begin Tuesday, don’t be surprised if Bishop is sidelined. But he does expect to be ready for August.

“My injury side is perfect,” Bishop said. “It’s 100%. But I have little nicks and knacks here just from being out and trying to get back in. So we’ll see how I feel, but I don’t really want to rush it. There’s no point in rushing it right now.”

Those close to Bishop know just how much last year ate at him.

They expect him to be ready, to return with a vengeance. From Day One, Bishop wanted to be synonymous with the best linebackers in the game. Yet for four of six years, he’s been a bystander. Thus, George Rush, Bishop’s coach at junior college, says, “He’s dying to go. He can’t wait to go. The hunger, the passion, is bursting inside.”

Dad? He agrees.

“He’d probably give up a leg to play,” Dennis Bishop said. “He wants to make his mark. He still has something to prove.”

His time

Sometimes, Bishop unravels his past and does wonder, “What if?”

Any twist in his history would have altered the hunger consuming him today. It’s all connected. It all led to that new goal in the notebook.

Three weeks ago, the Packers further fed the fire. Midway through the NFL draft, an NFL.com report surfaced that Green Bay was looking to trade Bishop. Thompson told the linebacker the report was overblown. This day at Cheese Cake Heaven, Bishop isn’t bitter, isn’t vindictive.

But the faint possibility that the Packers would even consider trading him is absolutely motivation.

“Oh yeah,” Bishop said, “definitely. I get so much motivation from so much different stuff. I’m ready to go.”

So Bishop admits training camp could be “awkward.” As he said, “everybody is paid” at inside linebacker. Thompson restructured A.J. Hawk’s deal. He re-signed Brad Jones. He drafted another inside linebacker. The position is overcrowded with veterans and youth alike. Bishop must prove himself, again, to coaches.

He’s not worried.

Years from now, Bishop wants people to look at, say, his first 200 games, Ray Lewis’ first 200 games and see no differences. He wants another Super Bowl. He thirsts for a legacy that pass down for generations. The moment Bishop wrote “2013 Defensive MVP” in his notebook, the stakes were raised.

There are other linebackers in house, sure.

But with all due respect, Bishop says, 2013 is his year.

“Not to take anything away from them,” Bishop said, “because they did a really good job. But I feel like it’s my time. It’s my time.”

Via: Tyler Dunne | jsonline.com