What Happens When the Quarterback Falls Short

(Jason Fitz) — ESPN CFB Show Host

"We've got a mountain of highlights lined up today, but I honestly don't know if anything tops this play from Dwayne Moi Stone! Just watch this! He's done it again! BAMN!! He stonewalled Tennessee's safety like the man was a little kid! WOW!! Somebody call the fire department, because this studio is about to burst into flames!!"

"I'm Jason Fitz, and this is the ESPN College Football Show, presented by AT&T 5G! Welcome to the show! We've got a whole hour of ground to cover, and yes, that absolutely includes Georgia's terrifying momentum. This team is just ridiculous, brother."

( Recee Davis / Co-host — "Scooby" Mejia )

"You're right about that. Georgia rolled over Tennessee this week like they were playing a team two classes below them. Honestly, I can't remember the last time a team looked this dominant. They are, without exaggeration, the No. 01 team in the country. It's overwhelming."

(Jason Fitz)

"No doubt about it. Georgia cooked Tennessee with zero effort. Fifty-four to thirteen. And honestly, given the state of Georgia's defense lately, my first thought was, wow, they actually gave up thirteen. But this team's offense is even more frightening. Which brings us to the man of the hour — Dwayne Moi Stone!"

"Take a look at these numbers! A 79.1% completion rate! That is insane, plain and simple. He's completing nearly eighty percent of his passes while piling up 3,392 passing yards. And here's how crazy that is — Will Rogers, the sophomore quarterback at Mississippi State, is chasing Stone hard in passing yards! 3,307 yards! But his completion rate sits at 75.2%."

"But what makes Dwayne Moi Stone truly astonishing is that he's thrown 38 touchdowns against exactly ONE interception! The level of consistency is on another planet! Will Rogers has 23 touchdowns — and 8 picks."

(Scooby Mejia)

"In any other year, Will Rogers would be drawing major attention. He's an SEC quarterback, and until last season nobody had paid him any mind at all."

"And purely on raw numbers, there's another player who can compete with Dwayne Moi Stone: Bailey Zappe. He plays for Western Kentucky in CUSA, and he's come within arm's reach of Stone in both passing yards and touchdowns. But — he's in CUSA. He isn't facing SEC-level competition week in and week out. And that right there is what makes Dwayne Moi Stone's season so remarkable."

November 9, 2021

United States — Athens, Georgia / University of Georgia / House of Payne

"You want to do what, exactly?"

"Princess. Doesn't it look good?"

"You're seriously planning to pull that lunacy again?"

When I told Coach Monken that I wanted to take the design that blended the Wingman and the Marching Band and name it Princess, he turned and looked at me with an expression of pure disbelief.

But I meant it.

It really was a good design.

I had something else in the chamber, too — the scheme Purdue ran last week. I figured it was worth a shot.

"I'm thinking of calling it Avengers."

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

"...And you genuinely believe that'll work?"

"We only need to use it once. The National Championship Game."

"Hoo— it's getting way too complicated."

"I'll drill it separately. You'll allow that much, right?"

"If I tell you not to, you won't do it?"

"Like that's happening."

"Crazy bastard. Get the hell out of my office!"

"Yes, Sir."

Purdue's play — a clever marriage of the flea-flicker and the screen pass — looked like something we could genuinely pull off exactly once. Normally you'd shelve a trick play like that as an ace in the hole for a big game, but if the guys reacted well when I floated it to them later, I planned to design it out properly.

These days my teammates had gotten so accustomed to my brand of madness that I had a feeling they'd come charging at it with fire in their eyes.

Morning practice wrapped up, and after showering and changing, I headed to the dining hall with the guys. On the walk over, Zamir asked me:

"What are you doing for Thanksgiving this year?"

"Didn't the head coach invite you?"

"He did. I said I wasn't going."

"Really? Damn. I just assumed you'd come."

"I've got a date with Hannah."

"Where?"

Athens, with its campus at the heart of it, is a charming city for Georgia locals and for travelers looking to mark the Thanksgiving holiday. You soak in the downtown atmosphere drenched in autumn, hit up Weaver D's Fine Food — famous for its fried chicken and soul food — take in a gospel performance, and you've got yourself a perfect day. Follow that up by watching a football game during Thanksgiving week, and the holiday wraps up in flawless fashion.

But for me, a UGA student, Thanksgiving in Athens held nothing particularly special. Our relationship had been running a little rough lately, so I'd planned a proper date with Hannah to smooth things over — a day at a lakeside resort in Greensboro.

It was a forty-minute drive, so if we left after afternoon practice we'd have from evening straight through to the next morning to ourselves.

"Your boy is finally splashing some serious cash, let me tell you."

I'd already run it by Hannah, and she'd said she'd try to cancel a prior family commitment and come anyway.

Truthfully, though, things had felt off lately.

"Hey, if that falls through, hand her over to me."

"Shut up. I'll go by myself before I do that."

"Ooooh, alone at a resort on Thanksgiving... You do realize you're famous, right? People are going to talk."

"I know! And it's not getting canceled anyway!"

I'd said it over lunch with total confidence — and almost immediately, Hannah called to say she'd be spending it with her family after all.

"Well, that's just great."

— I'm sorry, babe. You know how much I love you, right? I promise, this week and next week, I'm all yours.

"Yeah— sure. Nothing I can do about it, I guess."

Even though a hairline crack had formed in my trust, I'd tried not to let suspicion take root. But by now, honestly, I was starting to see it differently.

Was she seeing someone else?

Someone she'd met at that club that night?

"..."

Maybe it was time to start wrapping things up. Things kept going like this, and the affection was draining out of me. I had no reason to come off like the one desperately hanging on — and above all, I'd been faithful since the day this relationship began.

And wouldn't you know it — my ex-girlfriend was walking toward me right now.

Fantastic.

Not that I was especially eager to avoid her, so I kept walking like nothing was wrong and gave Alexi a curt greeting.

"Hi."

"...Hmph."

"Good Bye."

Seriously, that girl. Anyone watching would think I was the one who screwed up and broke us off. The reason we ended, in case anyone's wondering, was your obsessive clinginess?

"Women, honestly..."

This was exactly why I preferred the days when things stayed light and casual. At the very least, nobody occupied space in my head.

Letting out a sigh and shaking my head as I walked toward the café, Grace from the beach in Kahuku drifted unbidden into my mind.

I'll probably never see her again, will I?

If only I'd gotten her number back then.

"Tsk."

What I tasted as I clicked my tongue was somewhere between bitterness, regret, and emptiness.

November 15, 2021

United States — Athens, Georgia / University of Georgia / Butts-Mehre Heritage Hall / Head Coach's Office

Over the weekend, we demolished Missouri. And I rested from the final snap of the third quarter onward.

Missouri, whose defense was so hapless it had coughed up 62 points to Tennessee, was even weaker than last year's squad.

Knock, knock.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah. Come on in. Leave the door open."

"..."

Next weekend, we'd face Charleston Southern — quite possibly the weakest team on our entire regular-season schedule this year. A member of the Big South Conference, Charleston Southern played in a stadium that held barely 4,000 people; on every front, they operated a notch or two below our level.

Obviously the plan was to give the guys who rarely see game snaps their day in the sun, and that was exactly why Coach had called me in.

This week, I'd only play the first half.

"The games left on our schedule are too important."

"Yes, Sir."

"The records... I hope you understand."

"Of course."

The reason Coach Kirby Smart brought up the records, with an apology no less, was that the conversation was getting serious everywhere you turned:

He might break Joe Burrow's records.

Television, radio, podcasts, the internet — everybody was talking about it.

The NCAA had seen seasons of 5,000+ passing yards with 50+ touchdowns before, but the record of 5,000+ passing yards with 60+ touchdowns belonged to one man alone: Joe Burrow.

And Burrow had done it in the SEC, no less, which is why the record is held in such towering regard.

With the regular season barreling toward its final stretch, everyone wanted to know whether I could leap over Joe Burrow.

"I'll just get it all done in the first half."

"...How hard do you plan to go?"

"Moderately? In exchange, start the full first-string offense in the half."

"That was the plan anyway."

"Then we're good."

In the Week 11 game against Missouri, we'd produced the first thirty-point single quarter of the year — four touchdowns, plus a fumbled Missouri punt that turned into a safety for two more.

Personally, I believed we could have run it up to 37 that day, but after hitting 30, the guys' focus loosened a little. The failed passes came in that stretch too.

"Anything else?"

"How are things with your girlfriend?"

"...Honestly? Not great."

"Thought as much."

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"Yeah."

The coach and I shared a great deal with each other. It had gone a long way toward building trust.

What I'd felt spending time with Hannah over the weekend was that, between the two of us, something had definitely changed. Both of us were spending more and more time staring at our phones.

"We might be breaking up soon."

"Do you love her?"

"I say it. The words come out. But..."

I like Hannah. But love?

Alexi, and Hannah too. I wasn't sure either of them had ever reached that far.

If anything, if things had worked out with Emmeline, I think I could have loved her with my whole heart.

"Maybe that's the root of it."

"...Do you think she knows?"

"Maybe. Moi, a good woman changes a man. Makes him more diligent, more devoted. If it's eating at you, a quick decision may be kinder than a slow one."

"Yes, Sir. You're right, Coach."

The emptiness I was feeling felt strangely familiar. Like a hole punched clean through one corner of my chest. Something hollow that refused, no matter what, to fill.

"Hoo—"

Stepping out of Butts-Mehre and heading to class, I noticed the campus had quietly blazed into full autumn color.

November 16, 2021

United States — Atlanta, Georgia / Mercedes-Benz Stadium / Front Office

The Atlanta Falcons were, in their own flesh, a living demonstration of why operations matter in football — just in the worst possible direction.

Drafting wide receiver Julio Jones in 2011 bought them short-term results, but they never won the Super Bowl, and the bleeding from that trade gradually shackled the franchise for years. To acquire Cleveland's No. 6 pick that year, Atlanta had handed over five selections in total: their first-, second-, and fourth-rounders that year, plus a first and a fourth the following season.

And here was the problem: the Falcons treated the loss of those draft picks — and the resulting difficulty of replenishing the roster — as a trifling matter. Atlanta's general manager, drunk on faith in the current squad, overlooked the fact that his core players were aging year by year. The paper-thin depth forced the starters onto the field for longer snaps, and the injured list kept growing. Above all, the offensive line — the position group the front office had all but ignored — fell apart, and with it went the passing game built around Julio Jones.

Finally, a worn-down Julio Jones detonated the whole thing on live television before this season began, saying over the phone: "I want to win. And I'm getting out of here." The team was rocked to its foundations.

And on June 7th, Julio Jones actually left.

The price: a single second-round pick.

Ridiculously insufficient compensation for one of the league's premier wide receivers — but no team pays a premium to hold onto a player who's about to walk in free agency anyway.

The season began amid that sour atmosphere, and Atlanta collapsed right on schedule.

Opening game: 6–32. Week 2: 25–48.

They seemed to steady themselves at 3–1 over the next four games, then lost at home to a feeble Carolina Panthers team, and two days ago they delivered a performance that could only be described as eyeball-rotting.

A 3–43 defeat. Their entire score came from Younghoe Koo's field goal.

And that game delivered a jolt of urgency to everyone inside the Atlanta Falcons' front office: maybe it's time to hit the reset button, boldly.

As luck would have it, a quarterback worthy of the franchise tag was about to enter the draft. A University of Georgia product, at that.

Half of it is hometown bias.

"What do you think about deliberately letting the roster keep declining?"

"You're proposing we tank?"

"It's sad, but the fans are used to losing by now. And you like the boy yourself, Mr. Blank. The team that holds the No. 1 pick in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠2023 Draft will literally be holding a golden ticket."

General Manager Terry Fontenot had made his case for tanking to Falcons President Rich McKay. Still reeling from the seismic shock of losing Julio Jones, Rich McKay found it extremely difficult to judge what the right move actually was.

"Hoo— and does Arthur agree?"

"If we tell him, he'll listen."

"He doesn't strike me as a man you work well with."

"He is... someone I can handle myself."

Fans had plenty to say about Atlanta's path this season, too. If the team was going to be bad, it should be spectacularly bad — yet they kept winning games, needlessly(?), game after game.

Had they won on the strength of good play, at least there'd have been some fun in cheering for it. Instead, opponents kept producing spectacular own-goals of epic proportions the moment they met Atlanta — suspiciously so. And the man steering the team to victory in those games wasn't the quarterback or a receiver. It was the placekicker, Younghoe Koo, booting field goals.

Koo had leapt to the top of the NFL's kickers this season, nailing game-winning field goals in Week 3, Week 7, and Week 9 to hand the Atlanta Falcons three of their wins. That's exactly one shy of the record of four game-winners set by Jason Elam in 2007 and Matt Prater in 2011.

But a kicker doesn't put fans in the seats. The fact that a kicker is the team's leading scorer is a problem in itself. Quarterbacks and receivers collect six points on a touchdown; a kicker earns just three per make. That Younghoe Koo stands as Atlanta's No. 1 point-scorer is a testament to just how wretched the Falcons' offense truly is.

And it isn't as if improvement is around the corner — the team needs to spend at least two or three years focused purely on filling the roster holes with the right players. And if that's the state of the team, then losing is good. Losing is how you land the top draft picks.

The problem, though, was that head coach Arthur Smith, newly appointed before this season, refused to cooperate. He'd been brought in to win — hired before anyone knew Julio Jones would bolt — and he had no intention of deliberately losing games just to scar his own coaching résumé.

The front office and the field staff, marching in opposite directions. That, in a single image, was the last ten years of the Atlanta Falcons.

"Hoo— this is why..."

Leaving the president's office, Terry Fontenot sighed and ran a hand over his wiry, close-cropped hair.

Traditionally, the Atlanta Falcons had been run this way: President Rich McKay carried out the will of owner Arthur Blank and told the general manager, "Make it happen." Even now, Arthur Blank was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠demanding they bring in Dwayne Moi Stone — but Rich McKay had failed to take any action worthy of that demand.

Had he handed full authority over to Fontenot, his GM, everything might have turned out differently. Instead, he refused to do so, absolutely and without exception.

A continuous grinding of gears — the Atlanta Falcons. Their future looked very, very dark.

November 20, 2021

United States — Athens, Georgia / University of Georgia / Sanford Stadium

▷ 4Q — 3:18

Charleston Southern  00 00 03 00
Georgia (1)  35 32 07 00

I hadn't set foot on the field for a single second of the second half, but just as promised, I'd filled every number I needed in the first. So I settled in and cheered for my teammates with an easy heart.

"Let's go, one—!!!"

"Blitz!"

The third-stringers were running both sides of the ball now, but all they'd managed was a grinding, endless exchange of drives — nobody had actually gotten into the end zone. Almost everyone was doing their job; Van, on the other hand, just couldn't make use of the open looks he was being handed.

Even the third-quarter points had come from Kenny McIntosh putting on a one-man show for an entire drive, not from anything Van had produced.

Second & 7.

The snap went down, contact erupted at the line of scrimmage, and the pocket formed.

Slow down, Van. Slow down.

The right side of the offensive line — Amarius Mims and Tate Ratledge — was holding rock-solid. And no, the left side wasn't weak either. Xavier Truss. Clay Webb. Against a D-line of Charleston Southern's caliber, those two could build a fortress wall.

The problem was the quarterback. He was the cause.

"Ugh..."

"Tsk."

I had no idea why he kept rushing everything. Van glanced back toward our sideline. I signaled with both hands — calm down, calm down — and on Third & 7 another pass went up, but again the ball came out short and thudded into the turf.

Coach Monken's face had twisted completely out of shape. Consider that the score currently stood at 74–3, and you understand how bad a play had to be to drag that expression out of him.

I sidled over and planted myself beside Coach Smart, who looked like he was absorbing a bit of stress of his own. Then I said it.

"We need a backup."

"...Yeah."

There was obviously no way to add a backup quarterback this season. What I'd just said was about next year. Whether through recruiting or by hunting for a transfer through the portal, we'd have to bring in a proper backup QB.

Because we had to think about the year after this one.

Sorry, Van. It's just not going to be you.

Fourth down. With the score so lopsided, Coach targeted the conversion with a Go For It rather than sending out the special teams — and the drive died in a sack.

Charleston Southern's ball, at their own 37-yard line. The defense was jogging onto the field.

What happens when the quarterback falls short.

That — that exact thing — is what we'd been watching all season long.