“That’s what living is. It’s taking a chance and putting yourself out there,” Kyle Juszczyk once mused, probably while bench-pressing a Prius or crafting a kale smoothie in his hydroponic garden. But on March 15, 2025, the NFL’s last true fullback—a nine-time Pro Bowler, Harvard grad, and human Swiss Army knife—got a reality check sharper than a sideline reporter’s stilettos.

The 49ers dropped the axe on “Juice,” freeing up $2.92M in cap space. Also, it ended an era where fullbacks were more than just nostalgia acts. Meanwhile, linebacker Dre Greenlaw, the Tasmanian Devil of San Francisco’s defense, bolted for Denver’s $35M payday. Cue the violins, folks—it’s a breakup story only the NFL could script.

Let’s start with the numbers, because in the NFL, loyalty’s a luxury and stats are the currency. Juszczyk racked up 1,576 college receiving yards at Harvard (yes, the place with actual ivy). Then bulldozed his way to nine straight Pro Bowls. He blocked for three different 49ers QB1s, caught touchdowns in Super Bowls, and once turned a fourth-down play into a TikTok dance trend. But at 34, with a $6.49M cap hit? In today’s NFL, that’s like bringing a sledgehammer to a salary cap knife fight.

“I understand the business side of things,” Kyle Juszczyk shrugged when rumors swirled. Translation: ‘I carried this team’s personality and its playbook. And y’all still cut me?!’ His release isn’t just a roster move—it’s a cultural tremor. Juice wasn’t just a fullback. He was Kyle Shanahan’s “offensive weapon,” a guy who could pancake a linebacker, then sprint out wide and moonwalk past a cornerback. He scored the first Super Bowl TD by a Harvard alum (eat your heart out, Teddy Roosevelt). And his wife, Kristin, dressed half the league in sequins. But in 2025’s NFL, even legends get downgraded to cap casualties.

The 49ers’ offense now feels like a Netflix show losing its lead actor. No more Juszczyk leapfrogging linebackers or growing arugula in his locker. Just a younger, cheaper cast trying to replicate magic they’ve never seen. It’s like replacing The Office’s Michael Scott with a spreadsheet—technically functional, soul-crushingly bland.

If losing Juice felt like a slow fade, losing Greenlaw was a mic drop. Let’s have more on that.

Greenlaw: another sad goodbye after Kyle Juszczyk

The linebacker who once “missed getting [his] anger and frustration out” via legally sanctioned violence packed his rage (and 455 career tackles) for Denver’s mountains. Let’s be clear: Greenlaw isn’t just a player; he was a vibe. The guy who saved the 2019 NFC West title by stopping a Seahawks TE inches short of the goal line—a play so clutch, it’s etched in 49ers lore.

But the NFL’s a what have you done lately? league. And Greenlaw’s 2024 season? Something derailed by an Achilles tear. Still, Shanahan fought to keep him, growling, “We’re not into losing really good players who are also good people.” Too bad Denver’s $35M offer was the equivalent of shouting “FOMO” into a megaphone.

Greenlaw’s exit isn’t just a loss. It’s a fracture in the 49ers’ defensive DNA. For years, he and Fred Warner were the Bash Brothers of the Bay. A duo so synced they could’ve starred in a buddy cop reboot. Now? Warner’s stuck playing solo, like Phoebe Bridgers without Bright Eyes.

The Broncos gain a heat-seeking missile; the 49ers lose a heartbeat. Greenlaw’s departure echoes that scene in Toy Story where Andy donates Woody. Except Woody’s packing a 127-tackle season and a grudge.

The 49ers’ 2024 season was a 6-11 dumpster fire. Even George Kittle’s mullet couldn’t distract from the chaos. Letting Juszczyk walk and waving bye to Greenlaw feels like swapping out heirlooms for IKEA furniture. It works, but where’s the soul?

Yet, this is the NFL, where dynasties crumble and rebuilds bloom faster than Kristin Juszczyk’s Instagram followers. Kyle Shanahan’s now drafting in the dark, chasing the ghost of “The Catch III” while juggling cap space like a Cirque du Soleil act.

As for Kyle Juszczyk? Some team’s gonna snag a fullback who quotes Thoreau and grows organic tomatoes. And Greenlaw? Denver’s about to learn what happens when you unleash a Tasmanian Devil in the Rockies.

In the words of Friday Night Lights’ Coach Taylor, “Every man at some point in his life is gonna lose a battle. He’s gonna fight and he’s gonna lose.” But in San Francisco, they’re betting on a comeback—one kale smoothie and angry tackle at a time. 🏈