Cotton Bowl Classic (2)
People call the quarterback ["the most important and most scrutinized position in all of team sports"] for one reason: the enormous commercial power of American football itself.
Despite existing as a professional league in America alone, the NFL generates the largest revenue of any sports league on the planet.
All 32 NFL teams are ranked among the 50 most valuable sports franchises in the world — the market built around this game is beyond imagination.
And within that game, the quarterback has reigned as the most important position for nearly seventy years.
Players who line up under center need a talent so special it sets them apart from everyone else — and beyond that, they're expected to carry a charisma that transcends the sport itself.
Which raises a question.
If it's the position every young boy in America dreams of, why is it so hard to find a good quarterback?
Track and tennis suffer from other sports poaching their best young athletes, yet football — where the most gifted physical specimens all gather — still can't produce them. There are even claims that 98% of professional football players possess superior overall athleticism to every player in the NBA.
From all this, we can draw exactly one conclusion.
It's that the quarterback is—
'Goddamn hard.'
Inside the head coach's office at AT&T Stadium, Dallas Cowboys head coach Mike McCarthy was staring at the television.
On the screen, Dwayne Moi Stone was escaping a pocket collapsing from the left edge. The Georgia quarterback began sprinting to the right, and a pass launched from his hand almost instantly.
The ball flew faster than the camera could comfortably track — and landed precisely in Ladd McConkey's hands.
The room erupted.
The men couldn't hold back their awe. Only when McConkey, who had gained sixteen more yards after the catch, was dragged down by a tackle did they finally find room to talk.
"That's the one."
"That play was incredible."
"Oh, absolutely incredible."
0 0 — 0 Cincinnati (4)
17 0 — 17 Georgia (1)
Anyone who knows football understands how difficult it is for a right-handed quarterback to throw while rolling to his right.
Moving left keeps the right hip anchored, which makes the throw comparatively easy — but moving right generates far more momentum, and that momentum works against you. It robs the arm of power.
There's data to back it up. Passes thrown by quarterbacks running five or more yards to the right are roughly 21% slower and about 46% less accurate than throws from a set platform. The ball wobbles, too, which makes catching it a nightmare for receivers.
And because receivers are catching on the move — often with a tackler arriving the instant the ball does — how cleanly and quickly the quarterback's pass reaches the right spot determines how many yards after the catch are possible. It varies by receiver, sure, but a decent throw ends as a ten-yard catch, while a great one turns that same ten-yard catch into extra yardage downfield.
And there it is.
The reason good quarterbacks are so rare.
The list of requirements is endless.
Pocket presence — the ability to feel, with your entire body, how the pocket is warping around the post-snap chaos and move with it. The judgment and processing speed demanded in that moment. The courage and nerve to stand tall against oncoming giants. The memory to track every movement on the field. The dynamic vision to follow a constantly shifting play. A brain capable of memorizing a hundred-odd playcalls and nearly as many receiver routes, plus the insight to read the defense's intentions before the snap.
And on top of all that—
"Kid was born for it. He's got everything you need to throw the football. Did you hear his hand size? Eleven inches. Eleven whole inches."
"Eleven?"
"Yep. Aaron's is 10 1/8 — and this kid's is bigger."
"Who was that again? The NBA guy?"
"Kawhi Leonard? He's 11 1/4."
"JESUS! Almost the same."
To throw the elongated, barbell-shaped football properly, big hands are an absolute prerequisite.
Beyond that, a quarterback needs to be tall enough to find his receivers over the mass of bodies colliding at the line of scrimmage, fast enough to run when the moment calls for it, and tough enough to absorb the hits from ends hunting him like prey.
America is a big country with a big population — but the odds of being born with every one of these traits are vanishingly small. Assume the average career of an elite quarterback lasts about thirteen years: of all the children born in America during those thirteen years, only six to eight will barely clear the minimum requirements.
Narrow it to quarterbacks on the level of Tom Brady or Aaron Rodgers, and you're lucky to find one every twenty years.
"I really do covet him."
The Dallas coaches, unable to tear their eyes from Dwayne Moi Stone's play, let their honest feelings slip — but the Dallas Cowboys had already crossed into the realm of the impossible.
Despite being valued as the most valuable sports franchise in the world, the Cowboys are run in a remarkably un-modern way. Owner Jerry Jones's will is Dallas's will, and the team's future plans swing with his moods.
At one point, Jerry Jones insisted they throw everything at recruiting Dwayne Moi Stone — then, less than a month later, he reversed himself and ordered the staff to build the team around Dak Prescott instead. He never considered why his mood changed, nor how much extra work it piled onto his staff.
That is the Dallas Cowboys.
And that is why they've gone more than twenty-five years without a championship.
It has to be said: the accomplishments Jerry Jones racked up in his early years, and the sheer business brilliance — brilliant doesn't even cover it — that made Dallas the most valuable franchise by an overwhelming margin, deserve genuine credit. But his methods are too autocratic, too authoritarian, and in modern football they simply don't work.
Dallas is the only sports club on earth where the owner doubles as both team president and general manager. But what can you do? As long as the owner doesn't change, the Dallas Cowboys will forever be at the mercy of one man's opinion.
That said, Jerry Jones's thinking proved correct this year — Dallas beat Washington last week to move to 11-4 and clinch its first division title in three years. Whether it was truly the best decision, though, will only be judged once Dwayne Moi Stone's professional career is about five years along.
Attacking the heart of Cincinnati's defense at a relentless tempo, Dwayne Moi Stone found Brock Bowers with a pass — and Georgia's tight end scored his first career playoff touchdown on the college stage.
Another quality a quarterback needs, revealed in that very sequence: the composure not to panic when Plan A collapses, and the execution to pivot to Plan B and find the next answer.
Before anyone noticed, the score was 24-0.
Georgia looked simply overwhelming.
0 0 0 — 3 Cincinnati (4)
17 14 0 — 31 Georgia (1)
The numbers put up by Georgia's receivers this season have been, in a word, dazzling — and overwhelming.
Four receivers — Jordan Addison, Ladd McConkey, Adonai Mitchell, and Jermaine Burton — each recorded at least thirty receptions, five hundred receiving yards, and a minimum of eight touchdowns.
All four also posted 9.0 or more yards after catch. Four receivers on a single team putting up those numbers in a single season was a first in college football history.
But that wasn't even the most astonishing part.
It was Brock Bowers' stat line.
The freshman tight end who enrolled at Georgia last year had, to date, hauled in a staggering 61 receptions for 1,163 receiving yards and 16 touchdowns. YAC is notoriously hard to generate at his position, and he'd still posted double digits.
Cincinnati head coach Luke Fickell knew these numbers all too well, which is why his defensive preparation had been exhaustive. He'd sweated the finest details, designing every movement of his linebackers and safeties — but once the game actually started, he found himself powerlessly watching it all fall apart.
Georgia simply had too many weapons — more than he'd anticipated. And Cincinnati's defense wasn't good enough to account for them all.
Fwang-!!
Georgia's placekicker booted the ball high into the air.
Amid the struggle, the third quarter began.
If the gap between high school and college football is a matter of degree, the sharpest dividing line between college and professional football is the defense — the raw physical capability of the defenders themselves.
Even among college defensive players — already whittled down at a ratio of one in a thousand — only the most physically dominant, most beastly ones make it to the NFL.
Why am I bringing this up now? Because watching our defenders tear into Cincinnati, I couldn't help thinking of predators released into a chicken coop.
When the third quarter opened, and again just now, they savaged Cincinnati's #7 on his return attempt — brutally. That's how good our special teams are. Imagine the starters?
"Damn-! That's gotta be one hell of a bruise later."
"Count it as a win, then? At least his ribs didn't pop out."
"Kukukuku. Fair point."
I got up from the bench and hustled out to the sideline, greeting the special teams guys as they came back cheering.
Cincinnati's #7 had fielded Jake's kick around the seventeen-yard line, only to be driven back nine more yards — forced to start their drive practically at their own goal line. If the score had been closer, he'd have taken a fair catch, but with the deficit that big, he'd evidently wanted to squeeze out every yard he could.
It cost him dearly.
"SHADOW SPIDER!!"
"Haha-!!"
"That tackle was straight murderous, Dawg!!"
"Yours truly showed out!"
"HELL YEAH!!"
Nolan Smith, who normally walks around in glasses, always made me think of Miles Morales from the Spider-Man cartoons — the look just fit him. He shows up in the black Spider-Man suit, so I nicknamed him Shadow Spider last year. He loves it, too.
"Let's go, dude. Keep it coming."
With Nolan Smith off for a breather, Robert Beal lined up at the Jack spot.
Cincinnati's ensuing drive started badly — first-and-ten and already in trouble. From a pocket that collapsed almost instantly, Desmond Ridder had to fight off the added pressure of a safety hanging over his head, and the panicked kid ended up throwing the ball out of bounds near the sideline.
You could call it a smart decision, all things considered — but he already looked rattled by our suffocating defense.
"That side's hell, boy? A living, breathing hell—"
"Kukukukuku."
Zamir, bursting out laughing, thumped my arm, and I smiled too, watching our defensive guys grow even more frenzied.
If I were the quarterback of a team like Miami or Carolina — stuck with one of the worst offensive lines — and had to face our Georgia defense, it wouldn't have been easy even with pro-level teammates around me. That's how strong our defense is.
Almost beautiful, honestly.
On second-and-ten, Cincinnati tried a rush with their #24, but Quay baited the handoff and flattened him into the turf. A yard, maybe?
The scoreboard still read third-and-ten.
Well, this is awkward.
Trapping an offense near their own end zone and then surging in like stampeding buffalo is exactly what our defense does best. Thanks to that, we've recorded the most safeties in D1 this year, and our pick sixes — turnovers snatched and returned for points — rank fourth in the nation.
Cincinnati's third-down attempt went back to the passing game, but the throw, targeted straight up the middle, never found its mark — and Lewis Cine arrived at exactly the right moment to lay the hit, jarring the ball loose.
Watching our defenders charge after the ball tumbling across the field, it looked for all the world like fresh prey dropped into a horde of zombies.
Contrary to our hopes of recovering the fumble, the referee ruled it a simple incomplete pass — but either way, Cincinnati gained not a single yard and was sending out the punting unit. Our special teams took the field as well.
Since we were on offense this time, the personnel looked a little different.
"Yo, KJ!!"
"?"
"Squeeze it tight this time and run!! You got it?!!"
"…Shut the fuck up."
"Kukukuku."
Back in the second quarter, KJ had lost the ball on his way to the turf during a return. We'd salvaged possession thanks to the guys around him, but it was the kind of moment where a needless turnover nearly happened.
For the record: in football, a turnover is only recorded when possession actually changes hands — on a fumble, for instance.
Second offensive drive of the third quarter.
Current score: 38-3.
0 3 0 3 — 6 Cincinnati (4)
17 14 7 10 — 48 Georgia (1)
There was still time on the game clock, but with less than forty seconds on the play clock, the game simply ended as it stood.
As expected, we won — as if it were the most natural thing in the world — and we'd be facing Alabama again, the team that had beaten Michigan. A bit tiresome, sure. But that was a separate matter entirely.
"You're a straight-up monster, man."
"Thank you. You played well too."
"Yeah. Go win it all."
"Take care of that body of yours."
After trading greetings with Cincinnati's #8, I kept moving down the line, exchanging words of respect with their players one by one.
Their season ended here today, but what Cincinnati showed this year deserved to be celebrated on its own merits. Going 13-0 as an AAC member is a tremendous feat in itself — and yes, they looked powerless in today's bowl game, but anyone would have in that position.
Molly McGrath, who had been weaving through the crowd hunting for me, came over and requested an interview.
"Of course. Anytime."
I stepped away from the crowd toward an open patch of field and faced the ESPN camera.
"Moi. Congratulations. Your team showed a different class out there once again. And now you'll meet Alabama again — are you ready to produce the same result as last year?"
"Ready? Of course."
But I wanted to say a little more.
"Alabama's been a great team for the past decade and more. Last year and this year, we beat them three times, and we haven't lost to them once. What I mean is — there's meaning in that. This team is truly ready to take the leap into greatness, and if we get there by knocking off the greatest Alabama teams ever assembled, it'll mean that much more. So, yes. We're ready to become truly great. I believe in my coaches and my teammates. They're my family — the people I love most."
One more question and the interview was over. From there, I made my way to the podium set up at one end of the field.
Winning a bowl game is always meaningful in its own right, always worth celebrating — but once today is over, I intend to get my teammates locked in on the one game this season that remains.
At the very end of the trophy ceremony, I pressed a giant sticker emblazoned with our Georgia logo onto the championship bracket — right onto the other side of the finals.