What Happened in Jacksonville (1)
#. October 25, 2021
#-1. Athens, Georgia, United States
#-2. University of Georgia
#-3. Butts-Mehre Heritage Hall
There was a more pressing matter that demanded my focus, so Hannah and I had patched things up with a reasonable phone call yesterday.
I accepted her apology, told her not to let it happen again, and left it at that.
This weekend, we were headed to Jacksonville, Florida.
The world's biggest outdoor cocktail party.
That's right.
Our next opponent was the Florida Gators.
But before that, I had to report to Coach Kirby Smart about what had happened with Travis Hunter down at Sandy Creek.
Near the end of that largemouth bass fishing trip, the kid had explained to me exactly why he chose FSU.
"He says it's because of Deion Sanders."
"And so FSU it is?"
"Yes, sir. According to him, a conference like the SEC doesn't really matter. He's serious, Coach. He wants to be the second Deion Sanders — and beyond that, the first Travis Hunter. I've got to admire the size of his ambition."
"…"
Travis Hunter had already received a scholarship offer from Florida State back in November 2019, and announced his commitment the following March.
Of course, since that came before National Signing Day, it amounted to little more than a verbal pledge — which is why, as you could see, plenty of universities, ours included, were still working to change his mind.
Anyway.
FSU was an ACC program, a middling team that had gone 3-6 last year and was sitting at 3-4 this season.
In other words, not exactly an attractive destination for a given year's biggest 5-Star catch.
But as I'd said, Travis Hunter had already accepted FSU's scholarship offer, and the reason was simply that it happened to be Deion Sanders' alma mater.
Deion Sanders.
Prime Time.
Alongside Bo Jackson, he was the iconic two-sport athlete who had spent years playing both MLB and NFL in the same calendar year.
"He said he was welcome to play two sports from the very beginning."
"Well, with precedent, I suppose it made it easier."
"That's what I figured too."
"…I see. Good work."
"There's actually more I should tell you."
"What is it?"
"Deion Sanders."
"Didn't we just cover that?"
"That was about why he picked FSU. This is something else about Deion Sanders entirely."
On September 21 of last year, despite a coaching career riddled with controversy, Jackson State — an FCS school — had hired Deion Sanders as its head coach.
Years earlier, he had co-founded a football academy in Texas called Prime Prep, where he'd choked out and thrown to the floor a business partner who was trying to fire him for being reckless and derelict in his duties.
And when he served as offensive coordinator at Trinity Christian High School, where his own three sons played, he'd landed in hot water for disrespecting the head coach and playing favorites with his boys.
But Jackson State needed money, and the school had zeroed in on the prestige Deion Sanders would bring — and sure enough, a great deal of it had flowed in over the past year and change.
And then there was this.
"He thinks he was promised cash?"
"I didn't hear it directly, but that was the feeling I got. You know what I mean? Apparently someone mentioned a six-figure number a few times, and no matter how I look at it, that had to be money. Six figures means at least a hundred thousand dollars."
"…"
Silent, the Coach ran a finger along his eyebrow.
He hadn't seen this particular current coming, it seemed.
Now, sure — promises of cash guarantees were commonplace.
Hadn't I collected more than a few myself?
What made this case unusual, though, was the fact that the money in question wasn't coming out of Jackson State's coffers, but out of a private pocket.
Deion Sanders was the greatest cornerback of all time, one who'd also moonlighted as a wide receiver — a living legend who'd spent nine seasons as a starter in Major League Baseball, and had played in both a World Series and a Super Bowl within the same year.
He'd released an album during his playing days and made a tidy sum as a broadcaster after retiring. He was a diligent businessman too, serving as a spokesman for a variety of companies. The man's bank account was likely stacked quite comfortably.
Travis Hunter idolized this Deion Sanders — and with the Jackson State head coach approaching him with promises of mentorship, his decision to attend FSU was shaking badly.
No —
Let's be honest. The FSU deal was effectively over.
The whole reason he'd visited our Georgia campus in the first place was that his resolve had wavered, and he'd wanted to take stock of the options available to him.
And the reason he'd tried to get chummy with me? Not any serious consideration of Georgia, I suspected — more a calculation that since we'd be playing in the NFL together someday, it couldn't hurt to build connections early.
Quite the sharp one, that kid.
Immature, but unmistakably clever.
"He beats us on every single condition, Coach."
"You're better than the team's recruiters, you know that?"
"There are just some things that come easier from someone your own age."
"Heh. Anything left to report?"
"Mm — one more thing."
If I had told coaches during my own recruitment that I planned to juggle baseball and track like Deion Sanders, would they have been as aggressive as he was?
"No. You're a quarterback, son."
"Easy question. Then I'll head out."
"You do that."
Click.
The moment I stepped out of the head coach's office, something Travis Hunter had said came floating back to me — that bit about why a body like mine shouldn't be doing other sports.
Was he serious?
Go compare yourself to a career .260 hitter, kid.
If I'd played tight end or linebacker, you bet I'd have chosen pitching instead and gone hunting for a Cy Young.
But I hadn't.
No —
I couldn't.
The reason Deion Sanders could juggle baseball, track, and football wasn't just the era he played in. The decisive factor was that his position wasn't quarterback.
Unlike other positions, where you can shuffle bodies around to compensate, there is no answering for an injured quarterback.
That's why, once they reach college, quarterbacks abandon every other sport they trained alongside and dedicate themselves to football alone.
For other positions, showing off that kind of raw athleticism boosts your stock — but a quarterback's value lies in how well he throws the football. Athleticism is a distant second.
Right behind the ability to lead a team to victory, that is.
Both of those.
And I was — just a little — confident in both.
#. October 29, 2021
#-1. Athens, Georgia, United States
#-2. Athens Ben-Epps Airport
Two days earlier, two freshmen — Malaki Starks and Daylen Everette — had declared their commitment to Georgia.
Malaki was a 5-Star, a 100-point defensive back still unassigned to a specific spot in the secondary, and Daylen Everette was a 185 cm cornerback ranked around fifth in the nation.
When I came across the news online, I realized the Coach had given up on Travis Hunter.
It stung a little, but there was nothing to be done.
The kid's will was simply too set.
And today, Friday, we were seated in our seats, waiting for the plane to lift off toward Jacksonville.
I was buried in the Play Book.
"…"
Florida, which along with Alabama and us had formed the SEC's Big 3 last season, had now slid clean out of the AP rankings.
The reason: everyone who'd been the program's core through last year — Kyle Trask included — had departed for the NFL.
Quarterback.
Wide receiver.
Tight end.
Cornerback.
Safety.
O-line, D-line.
Even the kicker.
Strangely enough, the roster had sprung leaks at nearly every position, recruiting hadn't gone as well as hoped, and they hadn't landed transfers to plug the holes. They were having a rough season.
The one silver lining was the defense.
"Ugh!"
"Oh man!"
"Damn—!"
As the plane bucked through wind and turbulence on takeoff, groans erupted all around the cabin.
It was scary, I'll admit.
During takeoff, especially.
Once I confirmed the aircraft had steadied itself, I immediately pulled out my tablet.
It held footage of Florida's games.
I selected the file in the team's dedicated app.
"D."
"?"
"You need to study these guys for me."
"Let's have a look."
"Yeah."
For all that they were clearly struggling more than last year, Florida's defense was worth a degree of respect.
They reached, at best, up to our ankles — but there was no harm in paying attention anyway.
"When number 28 blitzes, space opens up behind him. If that happens, hit the shallow route immediately. If it's not that, just block him no matter what. If he crashes in together with number 1, that'll get pretty exhausting."
The notes I passed to my teammates while watching game film would later be relayed to the coaches during meetings and shared with the staff.
If any of my reads seemed off, the position coach would go in and adjust them himself.
During in-game play, my influence as the quarterback carried a bit more weight, but this was still the college level — I couldn't call things quite as freely as in the pros.
So I framed my observations to stay well within the team's established schemes.
"Coach?"
"?"
"I just spoke with Danell. Here's what we found."
Coach Monken, having received the brief rundown, nodded — and I went back to my seat and the footage.
They really didn't feel like a difficult opponent.
About Kentucky's level?
In fact, Florida had lost 13-20 on the road at Kentucky this year, and two weeks ago they'd fallen 42-49 at LSU.
Their offense and defense were swinging wildly from week to week — and part of it was almost sad, because whenever one side showed up, the other fell apart.
Last year, they'd still been a genuinely dangerous team.
In just one year, their strength had fallen off a cliff.
But that was part of what made college football fun.
Why it matters so much how well you fill the gaps left by each year's graduating class — this season's Florida Gators were demonstrating it perfectly.
About fifty minutes after takeoff, the skyline of Jacksonville — our destination — was already coming into view far below.
#. Same Time
#-1. Jacksonville, Florida, United States
#-2. TIAA Bank Field
#-3. General Manager's Office
It had been barely ten days since the Jacksonville Jaguars had dragged the Miami Dolphins into a five-game losing swamp and claimed their first win of the season.
Thanks to that, Trent Baalke had enjoyed a relatively quiet week — but with the Week 8 matchup approaching, he was once again in agony.
The funny thing was, it had nothing to do with their own game.
"…"
Looking out the window past the blinds, Trent Baalke spotted a crowd carrying picket signs.
Behind a wall of firmly locked gates, they were chanting a slogan built from three words.
"WE WANT MOI!!"
"WE WANT MOI!!"
"Well, I'll be damned. Can you believe this? Not six months after we drafted him first overall, they're telling me to throw him away."
"That's football fans for you."
"Goddammit."
Scowling, Trent Baalke grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and gulped it down, as if to wash away the suffocating feeling.
And someone was watching him do it.
A man called Trip.
His real name was Alan MacCracken. He had managed the salary cap in Cleveland and served as an administrative director in Kansas City before briefly drifting off the beaten path — then, ahead of the 2021 season, he'd taken over as the Jaguars' Director of Roster Management.
Whenever the Jacksonville Jaguars wanted to make a trade, sign a free agent, or otherwise shake up the player roster, Alan MacCracken was required to sit in on the meeting.
"Phew — so? What's your read?"
"Fire Urban Meyer."
"…No. He was my first choice."
"Then, as you said, we'd have to trade Trevor. Frankly, getting rid of Urban Meyer feels like the far safer option. Much safer than trading Trevor."
"…"
Just as the stress from the owner's directives was cresting toward its breaking point, the speakerphone on the table rang.
Beeeep—
Click.
"—You have a call from Brad Holmes."
"Brad? Put him through."
"—Will do."
Beeeep—
Click.
Hitting the hold button before the call connected, Baalke asked MacCracken to summon the staff involved in roster matters.
MacCracken nodded and fired off an urgent message. Knowing everyone would arrive within two minutes, Baalke drew one long breath and pressed the gleaming button.
Click.
"Brad! Sorry about that — just spilled my coffee."
"—Haha. Happens to the best of us."
A call from the General Manager of the Detroit Lions.
It would absolutely not be a leisurely chat.
The 2021 NFL trade deadline was November 2nd, and in the remaining 72 hours, countless deals were set to go down.
Naturally, Jacksonville was working to lift its miserable roster even a notch higher — the problem was that the market had frozen over completely.
"—Matt Nelson. My first call to you."
"Matt?"
MacCracken, eavesdropping on the speakerphone, pulled up Matt Nelson's numbers on his tablet and showed them to Baalke.
The voice kept coming through the phone.
"—That's right. Offensive tackle, played every game this season. Can play both sides. Healthy body. Nothing wrong with him at all."
"And yet you want to sell a player like that?"
"—Come on. Let's be honest with each other. You need one more tackle to protect Trevor Lawrence, don't you? To make up for even a fraction of Urban Meyer's atrocious pocket protection, a quality O-lineman is essential — you know it, I know it, we all know it."
"…"
Seen through the tablet, Matt Nelson looked attractive.
Undrafted, picked up afterward as a free agent, his salary was a mere $780,000.
The ability to lock down a serviceable O-lineman at that same price through next year was an enormous draw — and for a Jacksonville team that happened to need an experienced tackle, he was a perfect fit.
He'd work as a bridge tackle until Walker Little, drafted in the second round this year, got his reps in.
MacCracken, along with everyone who'd just filed into the room, all gave approving nods.
In the end, Baalke took the bait.
"What are your conditions?"
"—A 2022 fifth-round pick and a 2023 third-round pick."
"Bullshit! That's way too steep."
"—Think it through. Nelson's contract runs through next year."
"…How about a fourth-rounder for each?"
"—No. Let's say a 2022 sixth-round pick and a 2023 third-round pick instead. Not the one you got from Seattle. Yours. That's my final offer. You have until the 1st to answer. Otherwise, the price goes up — or another team takes Nelson off my hands. Cheers. Happy Halloween."
Click.
Acquiring an above-average offensive tackle who could play both sides for a sixth-rounder and a third-rounder was a clear win.
And yet, with the value of the 2023 first overall pick inflating to absurd heights, it felt as though the worth of every draft pick that year had been dragged up along with it.
Of course, that was an illusion shared by Trent Baalke and countless other NFL general managers alike.
"Still, that offer is undeniably attractive."
"Phew — let's wait a little longer."
There was still plenty of time before the deadline.
So he had no intention of rushing.
Understanding his mood, the Jaguars staff all nodded — and Baalke rose from his seat, walked back to the window, and eased the blinds up with a finger to look outside.
The people outside, still holding their picket signs.
They were chanting the same words even now.
"WE WANT MOI!!"
"WE WANT MOI!!"
How on earth had Trevor Lawrence lost their trust this fast? Part of the answer lay in the fact that football is played only seventeen times a year.
Football never has enough samples.
For the good.
Or for the bad.
This is why the NFL draft, in particular, produces so many busts.
And it's the same reason Tom Brady was selected 199th in the sixth round, and why Patrick Mahomes was drafted after Mitchell Trubisky — too few samples.
Even if a pro scout watched a player for all three of his college years, he'd see at most fifty games — a number absurdly short compared to sports like baseball or basketball.
That's exactly why NFL fans are so short on patience, and why the verdict on a rookie's bust status comes startlingly early.
"WE WANT MOI!!"
"WE WANT MOI!!"
"…"
One day before the Georgia-Florida game, TIAA Bank Field in Jacksonville was burning hot — for a reason no one had predicted.