The NFL’s rulebook has always been a battlefield, as timeless as Ford vs. Chevy or Star Wars vs. Star Trek. Coaches tinker. Owners debate. Traditions collide. Enter Matt LaFleur’s Packers, a team suddenly playing rulebook roulette like they’re trying to outsmart the final scene of The Sting. But instead of pulling off a con, they’re scrambling to rewrite the play everyone loves to hate. Imagine your uncle arguing Thanksgiving turkey should be grilled, not roasted—bold, divisive, and destined to spark chaos.
LaFleur’s squad isn’t just challenging a play; they’re waging war on football’s version of comfort food. The “tush push” has become the NFL’s equivalent of a diner’s secret-menu burger: messy, effective, and impossible to ignore. For two seasons, the Eagles turned it into an art form, while rivals grumbled like kids denied extra fries. Now, as owners gather in Minneapolis this week, Matt LaFleur’s Packers are doubling down on a rule change that’s less about safety and more about spite.
On Tuesday, NFL owners will vote on a revised Packers proposal to ban all pushing or pulling of ballcarriers—anywhere, anytime. No more loopholes. No more debates. If passed, even a gentle nudge downfield could draw a flag. “Not sure about [the] tush push,” one league source told Mark Maske, hinting at shaky support. The move amplifies Green Bay’s earlier failed attempt to outlaw Philadelphia’s signature short-yardage play. This time, they’re swinging for the fences.
Critics call it overkill. The original rule, scrapped in 2005, banned aiding runners but was ignored like a speed limit in Texas. Now, the Packers want it back, citing “competitive equity.” However, the timing reeks of sour grapes. But Philadelphia’s 93% success rate with the tush push in 2022 (76.5% in 2024) isn’t magic—it’s mastery. Meanwhile, the proposal’s vagueness has coaches baffled.
It’s unclear whether the expected revised proposal to prohibit pushing or pulling the ballcarrier anywhere on the field will get the required 24 votes when NFL owners meet Tuesday and Wednesday in the Minneapolis area, source says: “Not sure about [the] tush push.”
— MarkMaske (@MarkMaske) May 19, 2025
At March meetings, Mike Vrabel asked if shoving a QB behind the guard counts. Jim Harbaugh wondered about extra linemen bulldozing guards. The Competition Committee offered no clarity, leaving loopholes wider than a Wisconsin highway. Meanwhile, the NFL’s health czars fear a “catastrophic injury” from the tush push.
Dr. Allen Sills warned owners it’s a “when, not if” scenario. Yet data shows QB sneaks are safer than outside runs. The contradiction? As glaring as a Packers fan in a Bears bar. And the Eagles aren’t backing down. Philly’s secret isn’t the push—it’s their O-line’s synchronized heave, a human bulldozer perfected like Springsteen’s E Street Band. Banning pushes won’t stop the music; it’ll just mute the backup singers.
LaFleur’s Tush Push tango—a dance of strategy and safety
Matt LaFleur’s Packers insist this isn’t personal. “There used to be a rule prohibiting this, but it is no longer enforced because I believe it was thought to be too hard for the officials to see,” claimed team president Mark Murphy in February. “The play is bad for the game, and we should go back to prohibiting the push of the runner.” But Green Bay’s 0-3 record against Philly since 2023 whispers otherwise.
Rivals smell blood. “It was more from the entertainment standpoint—which from my perspective, is a good discussion,” Cowboys owner Jerry Jones said in April. “The fact that fans could be interested in what we do with it.” Besides, the tush push vote is just the undercard. Owners will also decide whether to reseed playoffs strictly by record—a move Detroit’s pushing harder than Barry Sanders in ’91. The goal?
Make Week 18 matter. Last year, three rested playoff teams won wild-card games, proving rest > rust. The NFL hates that. They want drama, not siestas, in prime time. As the Minneapolis meetings loom, one truth emerges: The NFL’s identity crisis is real. Is it a league of innovation or tradition? Progress or nostalgia? Matt LaFleur’s Packers picked a side. Now, 23 other owners must join them—or let football evolve.
In the end, this isn’t about a play. It’s about control. The tush push debate mirrors America’s culture wars: old guard vs. new school, caution vs. creativity. As The Sandlot’s Smalls once said, “Heroes get remembered, but legends never die.” Will the tush push become a forbidden legend, or will the NFL let it ride?
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