Week 7

Week 7

#. October 16, 2021

#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA

#-2. University of Georgia

#-3. Sanford Stadium

Today was the day of the Week 7 game, and our opponent — Kentucky — had climbed all the way to No. 11 in the AP rankings after dispatching No. 10 Florida and LSU one after the other.

They'd drawn the most favorable early schedule in the SEC East, so I'd figured a 4-0 start was roughly within reach for them — but running it out to six straight wins had drawn murmurs of genuine surprise.

The most unexpected part, in particular, was their offense. Behind it stood a pair of transfers, one from Penn State and one from Nebraska.

Quarterback Will Levis.

Receiver Wan'Dale Robinson.

Will Levis, who had elevated a Kentucky quarterback room that was pure misery last year, wasn't playing at an A level — but he was delivering a solid, full-bodied B+.

Granted, his interception rate ran noticeably higher than his attempt volume or completion percentage would suggest, but the vast majority of those picks came off aggressive, daring throws, which put them firmly in the fixable category.

Kentucky's receiver quality played into it as well. Aside from Wan'Dale Robinson, the talent level around him ran thin.

Put another way, Wan'Dale Robinson was single-handedly carrying the entire receiver position — through six games he'd posted 37 receptions, 527 yards, and 4 touchdowns.

For reference, Josh Ali, Kentucky's No. 1 receiver last season, finished with 54 receptions, 473 yards, and 1 touchdown across 11 games.

You can see the upgrade, can't you?

They'd also flushed every offensive coach after last season ended, and that seemed to be paying dividends too.

Anyway.

Thus freshly remade, Kentucky had given a pregame interview declaring they were fully capable of hanging with us.

And yet.

Where do you think you're going?

I didn't bother responding to it through any interview of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my own, but a few of my teammates and I made sure that clip found its way onto social media.

I understood they were only trying to pump themselves up, and I knew there was no real need to react to it so sensitively. I just couldn't forgive it, that was all.

CHIIIIIIII——!

My entrance these days had leveled up yet again.

First, The Battle Hymn of the Bulldog Nation rolled through the stadium and cut out — and the instant it did, Invasion, the theme song of the wrestler Goldberg, kicked in. That was my cue to step onto the field.

Following the red lights glittering beneath the rolling smog, I walked slowly toward a field erupting with a colossal roar.

And when I reached the point where the lights cut off, just like last time, I shouted in the tongue of Hawaii.

"KEI TE PAPA PAKANGA — HUA—!!"

(On this field of battle)

"HE IWI KOTHI!!"

(We will be as one)

"MO NGA IWI WHANUI!!"

(For family and community)

Head thrown back like a wolf, I let out a full-throated howl.

Then I strapped on my helmet and sprinted at full speed.

Fireworks on both sides of the tunnel shot skyward and burst in answer, and after cutting through the marching band I arrived before my teammates.

The music faded, little by little.

The crowd's roar took its place.

The moment my teammates and I filled the jumbotron, the voices of 92,000-plus fans swelled and crested — and I let loose one more thunderous cry.

"I'M HIM!!"

""I'M HIM!!!""

Kentucky took the game's opening drive, starting from their own 26 on the kickoff return.

The fans, who'd spent the last few minutes singing along to the addictive refrain of Seven Nation Army, now exploded with energy — a wall of sound that out-decibeled a runway at a commercial airport.

Honestly, Sanford Stadium this year is the best it's ever been.

The finest football fans in the country, all gathered in one place.

Traditionally speaking, on the measure of pure passion, the pros can't touch the college game.

"Damn—! That gives me chills."

"Tell me about it."

Zamir craned around to take in the stands, whistling in admiration, while Jordan on the other side had already asked a staffer to film it all for him.

I'm gonna have to ask him to send me that later.

Today was shaping up to be a genuine spectacle.

"Send me a copy too."

"Yeah, yeah."

At last, Kentucky's first snap.

As expected — a run.

Kentucky's starting running back, Christopher Rodriguez Jr., was putting up numbers that, on paper, mirrored what Najee Harris had done the year before.

Averaging 121.3 rushing yards per game through the first six contests, he was on pace to crack at least 1,200 yards on the season.

But there was a certain airiness to those numbers, because Rodriguez wasn't the same steady, reliable type Najee Harris was.

The kid had a knack for running, but he lacked ball security — and he'd fumbled nearly once per game as a result.

Kentucky's offense ran through the ground game.

The first four plays looked like they were working.

But then —

"That's it!!"

On a play everyone thought had succeeded, an offsides flag flew instead — a five-yard penalty — and from that Second-and-14, cracks began to spider through Kentucky's O-line.

Jalen Carter, who had caved in Kentucky's left side, crashed over the just-handed-off Rodriguez and drove him into the turf.

It was a hit so violent that those of us watching let pained noises escape our own mouths.

Jalen, who'd enrolled alongside me last year, was already being billed as a premier first-round candidate in the 2023 Draft.

Among the sophomore-and-junior D-linemen currently in college — setting aside anyone declaring this year — he was, without question, the top of the class.

No wonder they called him 'Mini' Jordan Davis.

Not that he appreciates the nickname.

Third-and-16.

Kentucky had actually lost two yards on the drive, and gaining sixteen in a single play against our defense was a very tall order.

"Get ready, boys!"

Coach Cortez hurried along the sideline where the offense was gathered, barking at us to warm up, and I — already prepared — watched the next try from just beside the sideline.

Screen pass.

This time it was Chris Smith.

Kentucky, unable to pick up so much as a single yard again, promptly turned the ball over on downs.

Fourth down meant a punt anyway — and sure enough, Kentucky pulled their offense and sent out the special teams unit.

We did the same.

From the stands, the chant of UGA rolled out across the stadium.

{"UGA!!!"}

{"UGA!!!"}

{"UGA!!!"}

Georgia had now scored on its opening drive for seven straight games. The time required to manufacture a touchdown from the defense's 15-yard line? A mere three minutes and thirty-six seconds.

Nine plays total.

Seven of them successful.

Five of those seven were passes, and the yardage gained on designed runs amounted to a laughable 11.

And — No Fouls.

In other words.

Five passes. Seventy-four yards.

...Absurd.

Kentucky head coach Mark Stoops found himself replaying the passes Dwayne Moi Stone had thrown on the previous drive.

The first was a Shallow concept — and it wasn't Brock Bowers but Darnell Washington who slid naturally between the D-linemen, took the pass just behind the line of scrimmage, and took off.

Darnell Washington, all 6'7" (201 cm) and 260 pounds (119 kg) of him, simply leapt clear over the safety coming up to tackle.

Sixteen yards on that play. On the next, the backfield cleared out and Brock Bowers hauled in a 13-yard catch.

Then a 9-yard catch from Ladd McConkey.

Then another catch — 11 yards.

That time it was Jordan Addison.

Red zone, 15-yard line.

First-and-15.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Dwayne Moi Stone lined up under center and sold a play action — and just when everyone was convinced he'd turn left for an unobstructed field of vision, he flicked left for a beat and instantly found AD Mitchell.

And then.

Touchdown.

One incompletion marred the drive, but that was a credit to Kentucky's defense — the throw itself had been perfect.

"Somebody get me a water."

Mark Stoops asked the nearest person for a bottle, rolled the stiffness out of his neck, and lobbed the half-crushed plastic container carelessly onto the ground.

Why was Georgia's offense so devastating this year?

He'd only just understood the reason.

Georgia's offense could not be prepared for.

They simply had too many weapons.

Early in the season they'd seemed to run everything through Jordan Addison and Brock Bowers; then, from Week 3 onward, a new freshman named Ladd McConkey burst onto the scene and his involvement climbed week by week.

When Jordan Addison went down with a minor injury, the freshman trio of AD Mitchell, Ladd McConkey, and Brock Bowers ran wild in his place.

And when Addison returned, Georgia did the opposite of what anyone expected — they leaned on Darnell Washington and rolled him out alongside Bowers.

Through 1-2 and even 0-2 Personnel Groups they emptied the backfield, flooding the field with a minimum of four and as many as five receivers, and simply dared Dwayne Moi Stone to pick his poison.

And then there was the tight end running Jet Sweep — or the fullback selling a block before slipping inside — movements that rendered any semblance of anticipation utterly impossible.

Yes, the play designs were excellent.

Todd Monken was a brilliant football mind.

His philosophy and creativity were woven into every inch of that field.

But.

If you set any other college quarterback behind that same center, how many in the country could have produced results like these? Stoops wouldn't have bet on many.

One thing was certain: it wouldn't crack three.

Which raised the question of last year.

What about last year's class?

Trevor Lawrence.

Zach Wilson.

Trey Lance.

Justin Fields.

Mac Jones.

If those five quarterbacks — every first-round pick of the 2021 NFL Draft — had played behind this year's Georgia offense, could any of them have matched Dwayne Moi Stone's production?

Trevor Lawrence and Mac Jones might have come close, in fairness. But never — absolutely never — like this.

And here was the part that truly stung: Georgia's defense had only been on the field once. Against a defense like Georgia's, surrendering two or more touchdowns in a single quarter was tantamount to defeat.

His players knew it too, which was why, the instant his team gave up points, Mark Stoops found himself fixated on how the atmosphere around his sideline had shifted.

Sanford Stadium was already notorious as a graveyard for visiting teams.

And Georgia's fans had only grown more delirious.

Greater noise.

Greater interference.

Greater mockery.

Every Kentucky mistake from here on would pour more fuel on that crowd, and the Georgia players drinking in that deafening roar would convert its energy directly into fuel of their own.

Kentucky's second offensive drive of the day began at their own 20.

{"YEAH—!!!!"}

{"UGA!!!"}

{"UGA!!!"}

The time it took for Kentucky to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hand possession right back to Georgia?

Sixty-eight seconds.

#. 4:58 PM

#-1. Jacksonville, Florida, USA

#-2. TIAA Bank Field

#-3. General Manager's Office

Last spring, the Jacksonville Jaguars and their fanbase had been drunk on rose-colored dreams.

The Tank For Trevor campaign had ended with the franchise cradling the franchise quarterback of its dreams — and along with him, they'd spent a first-round pick on Travis Etienne, the Clemson running back who'd starred beside him.

Beyond that, they'd stocked every position with respectable talent.

They'd been aggressive in free agency too, shoring up the roster with seasoned veterans — Shaquill Griffin (CB), Marvin Jones (WR), Chris Manhertz (TE), Jihad Ward (DE).

But the fear everyone had harbored from the very beginning was this:

Urban Meyer.

Amid a torrent of criticism and skepticism, Urban Meyer had taken the Jacksonville job — and from February, before the NFL Draft had even occurred, he'd been entangled in one scandal after another, dragging the entire organization's mood down with him.

The first came in February: the hiring of Chris Doyle, Iowa's strength coach, who'd been run out of his job over allegations of racism and player mistreatment.

Chris Doyle was a textbook white supremacist who had never once hesitated to demean Black players during his time at Iowa.

Worse, back in 2011, he'd pushed Black athletes through brutal training regimens that left no fewer than thirteen of them suffering rhabdomyolysis.

His genuine brilliance as a coach had long served as a shield for his transgressions — but when the George Floyd controversy erupted in 2020, his atrocities became national news.

And yet Urban Meyer had tried to hire him on nothing more than personal friendship. On top of that, he'd signed Tim Tebow — the living emblem of his college career — as a tight end.

The problem there, of course, was that Tebow hadn't played a down of football since 2015. Sure enough, he was released after the first preseason game.

Tebow thus pocketed roughly $80,000 for his trouble, and questions were raised about whether a portion of it had found its way back to Urban Meyer.

Then, just this past October, footage surfaced from a Columbus restaurant following the road trip to Cincinnati — Meyer inappropriately touching a young woman who was very much not his wife. It landed like another bombshell.

Pile on an 0-5 start and the incomprehensible personnel decisions made along the way, and the pile-on had become relentless.

Twenty consecutive regular-season losses.

Already, Urban Meyer's credibility lay in ruins.

Not a single player trusted him anymore.

Even Trent Baalke, the Jaguars' general manager who'd been showered with praise at the time of the draft, was now drowning in blame.

— Make the right call here. You've got exactly two ways out of this, son.

"..."

Click.

The one-sided call finally ended, and Trent Baalke, slumped deep into his chair, exhaled a long, weary breath.

The call had come from Omar Khan — and the message had been simple: choose one of two, or the GM's chair wouldn't be his next year.

The first option: fire Urban Meyer.

Which meant surrendering power.

Meyer's appointment had been the first major move of Baalke's tenure as GM; firing him mid-season would cripple his ability to drive through anything else he ever tried to do.

But the second option was no easier — because Omar Khan had gone so far as to raise the idea of trading Trevor Lawrence.

Gut it out however he could this season, raise Trevor Lawrence's trade value, then ship him to the team holding the No. 1 overall pick in 2023 — packaged with first-round picks in 2023, 2024, and possibly 2025.

The purpose was obvious: selecting Dwayne Moi Stone.

But that, too, was the kind of move the whole world would laugh at.

His NFL play had been underwhelming, sure — but before Dwayne Moi Stone arrived, Trevor Lawrence had been the greatest freshman/sophomore quarterback the game had ever seen.

He'd accomplished what no one else ever had.

He was struggling at the moment, yes — but the talent was undeniable. Give him a real system and a real offensive line, and he'd bounce back immediately.

Trent Baalke had until year's end to choose one of the two.

And then his eyes drifted to the TV screen.