That Feeling, the Season Has Begun

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There are roughly 77,000 college football players in America, and of those, about 16,000 are considered eligible to declare for the draft.

Of them, 259 get selected by pro teams each year.

That's 0.3% of all NCAA players.

And 1.6% of draft-eligible ones.

It's why football is rated the hardest sport in the world to turn pro among all sports that operate a draft system.

And yet, at the same time, it also produced the most busts — whether due to graduation, the concentration of talent at powerhouse programs, coaches, teammates, or any number of other factors — proof of just how difficult it is to objectively measure a player's true ability.

So NFL scouts had a saying about themselves.

"We're gamblers."

"Haha."

"I'm serious. We place our bets holding only the cards in our own hand, without ever knowing what's in the cards lying face-down over there."

Advances in technology and media meant pro scouts no longer visited the field in person the way they once had.

In fact, most of them conducted their scouting from a team's war room rather than a stadium sideline, and it was rarer still for one to maintain a close personal rapport with the people at a particular university.

The tendency only grew worse the younger the scout; some had never set foot at a live venue even once. Their belief was that watching players in person at the Combine was more than enough — and that hunting for some 'unseen something' was nothing but a hollow fantasy.

In that sense, Xavier Woods, a pro scout for the Houston Texans, was what you'd call old school.

"I love being on-site, Nick."

"There are things you can only see here."

"Exactly what I think."

"You're a good scout, you know. You've earned the right to be proud of that."

"That one goes straight to my heart."

The man currently chatting with Xavier Woods, his face warm and affable, was none other than Crimson Tide head coach Nick Saban.

True, he'd been outshone these past two years by Kirby Smart's Georgia, led by Dwayne Moi Stone — but nobody, anywhere, would deny that this man was, at this moment, the finest head coach in the NCAA.

As a Culture Maker, he was rated all but perfect — Nick Saban was, quite simply, a legend in the flesh.

"So how am I supposed to read your visit?"

"We're casting a wide net."

"...Bryce was born for this."

Having caught on that the Texans weren't dead set on the number one pick, Nick Saban began feeding information to a scout he genuinely liked.

But the words coming out of his mouth were the kind you'd expect from a coach actually tutoring Bryce Young rather than a mere observer.

Xavier Woods didn't care for it, and decided to probe Saban in order to get at the man's real thoughts.

Of course, testing a man far his senior — both in football and in years — was an impossible ask. So Woods chose the honest route, and raised the concern the whole football world was murmuring about.

"Is Bryce really 5-10?"

"..."

"I might be misjudging, but he looks even smaller than that. You've always been reluctant to put him on too public a stage, Coach. Could that have something to do with his height?"

Football fans love to say that what matters most in a quarterback is the shoulder — the ability to throw hard and throw accurately.

Others rank first the mentality to read the field coldly and make the right call.

Both statements are entirely correct.

But everyone overlooks something. The fact that those things alone aren't enough.

What self-proclaimed football fans — and even the people working inside NFL teams — keep overlooking is this: a quarterback, first and foremost, has to be big. Big in height and big in frame.

The helmet already narrows your vision, and when the giants are locked together at the line of scrimmage, reading what's happening behind them is far harder than anyone imagines.

That's why shorter quarterbacks have always shared a common set of problems.

Decision-making.

Interceptions.

And injuries.

Xavier Woods called it DII, though at present nobody else in the world used the term.

"Why not wait and confirm it at next year's Combine?"

"Fair enough. I will. I was just curious. Every now and then Bryce Young throws a pass that makes no sense at all, and I can't tell whether that comes from his height or his mentality."

"You lack discipline. Observe longer."

"Oh, you got me. Same as ever."

"Haha. Enjoyed it. See you next time."

Watching Nick Saban's back as he departed with a smile, Xavier Woods concluded that he had struck a nerve.

His expression and voice hadn't changed one bit — but the man couldn't hide his old habit of leaving the room the moment something displeased him.

So does that make him a 5-9?

The officially listed height of Bryce Young was 5-10 (about 178 cm) — a figure widely considered absurdly inadequate for becoming an elite NFL quarterback.

Because of this, in the Big 3 debate — Will Levis aside — he was being edged out by C.J. Stroud.

C.J. Stroud, who led Ohio State and was rated the best quarterback in the Big Ten, stood 190 cm tall.

Anthony Richardson, far ahead of both men in raw physical ability, was 194 cm, and Will Levis came in at 193 cm.

"..."

Scratching his head as he stared off into the distance, Xavier Woods slipped his notebook into his bag and left Alabama's practice facility behind.

Alabama was beginning fall camp the next day and had given its players a full day of rest, which ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was why the indoor facility stood completely empty.

Stepping outside, Woods hurried to his car to escape the punishing midday sun.

Thump.

"Goddamn. It's a damn sauna out here."

Vrrrmmm.

He started the engine, cranked the AC to its lowest setting, left the window cracked, and waited for the cabin to cool.

And all the while, his mind kept turning.

Houston's current doctrine was simple: enter the season aiming for dead last, then finish by drafting one of the Big 3 depending on how the TFM race shook out.

Woods had been assigned the task of analyzing the Big 3 in concrete detail, and the first person he'd sought out was the friendliest name on his list — Nick Saban.

If he really is 5-9...

Drafting a 5-9 quarterback would be insanity.

Even with elite college production.

For years, Woods had argued that a quarterback's physical dimensions were growing more important by the day, citing the dramatic improvements in defensive players' size and skill as football entered the modern era.

Nose tackles used to just be nose tackles; nowadays, every other team rolled out an NT who moved like a linebacker.

And with defensive schemes like the Blitz and Pass Rush now the mainstream, NFL quarterbacks were being exposed to more danger than in any era before them.

Suspicion was also mounting that Bryce Young was even lighter than his listed weight of 190 pounds (about 86 kg).

...Way too risky.

Too Risky.

Things could still change — but for now, Xavier Woods transmitted his first report on Bryce Young to the Texans.

The day had finally arrived.

The day we'd waited for, and waited for, and waited for again.

The first day of fall camp.

"Let's rip into it, boys!!"

"LET'S GO-!!"

"BUUUUUUUL— DAAAAWWWWGS--!!!"

The goal of the 2022 fall camp, starting today, was to re-instill in everyone the belief that we were still the strongest team in the country.

We needed to pull together as one so that the absence of our graduated players went completely unfelt — and at the same time, not a shred of negligence could be allowed in sharpening each man's individual game.

After gathering the entire team and letting out a roar that shook the field, I delivered my message to all of them.

"We are the goddamn champions!!"

"..."

"..."

"Last year!! And the year before!! We became the goddamn champions!! How?! Because we didn't lose!! Not even once!! You know what that means?! It means we're the best football team in the NCAA, that's what!! And it's the same this year!! But!! Right now, things are a little different!! A new team!! New teammates!! We don't know each other well enough yet!! But this much I can promise you!! The sweat you bleed in fall camp!! That's going to be our record!! What was that?! The sweat you bleed in fall camp!!"

"That's going to be our record!!!"

"Louder!! The sweat you bleed in fall camp!!"

"That's going to be our record!!!"

"That's it!! LET'S GO!!"

Ahh.

My throat hurts.

After watching the guys scatter to their respective stations, I moseyed off in search of a water bottle.

"And yet here you are, acting like a clown."

"I've done the most work out of anyone so far, Coach."

"Ha! Still all mouth, I see."

"You've watched me for over two years — shouldn't you be used to it by now?"

"Well. Doesn't look like I have anything to worry about."

"Damn right you don't."

As I've said before, football has no such thing as taking it easy or going easy on anyone just because it's day one of training.

Ah.

Well, it is a little lighter.

Relatively speaking.

Soon enough, the sound of grown men grunting and straining rose up from every corner of the field, and I poured out my own sweat through the passing drills.

Called the snap, took the ball.

Threw to my receivers.

KJ started things off, and after him the starters took their turns, one by one, running their assigned routes and catching my passes in repetition.

A short distance to either side, Gunner and Van were running the same drill, and the key was tempo — if our speeds didn't sync up, the whole training session fell out of rhythm.

"Hold up. Let's stop for a sec."

"My shoulder's going cold, Coach."

"One second's all I need."

This right here is exactly it.

When things go sideways, you stop them — just like this.

Even for a simple drill, Gunner and Brock struggled to keep up with my tempo, and it was no different for the receivers — mistakes kept cropping up on the freshmen's side.

"That was an easy ball!"

"I slipped."

"If you did that in a real game, they'd have shot you."

"Right through the middle of the forehead."

"Heh heh heh. Go easy on us, will you?"

"Then play pretty!"

This year, our receiver corps had suffered essentially zero losses, so no 5-Star freshmen had come in.

Instead, we had 4-Star tight end Oscar Delp and 4-Star wide receiver DeNylon Morrissette — and both of them would have to work their tails off just to get a crack at real opportunity next year.

Still, there was a faint flicker of visible talent in Oscar Delp, and the coaches seemed to have real expectations for him.

"That's it! Right there!"

As the receivers loosened up, genuinely quick, agile movements started to emerge — and my passes picked up speed along with them.

Jordan and Brock showed even steadier hands than before, and Ladd McConkey, carrying big expectations this year, ran his routes like a man announcing himself — thickened forearms on full display.

KJ, entering his final season of college ball, was training far more seriously than he had the past two years.

This would be his fifth season in college — if he couldn't show something concrete this year, his NFL dream was over.

On the other hand.

"AD! What on earth are you doing?!"

"..."

There were guys who had some trouble focusing, too.

AD Mitchell was the poster child.

"Whew — he's completely gone, man."

"It's my daughter, Coach."

"I understand the situation. But when you're at work, you do the work."

"Yes, Sir. I'll talk about it later."

AD had become a father two years ago.

His daughter's name was Icylinn.

She took her mother's surname, MacLaurin — the two of them weren't on bad terms, but they'd acknowledged that their relationship was over and agreed to simply each do right by their child.

The problem was that adorable little Icylinn suffered from Type 1 diabetes, just like AD, and it weighed on him heavily.

Right now, only the head coach and staff, me, and the captains of each position group knew about it — and we were working on ways to put his mind at ease.

"Let's go, Buddy. Let's do it right this time."

"...Yeah."

It was family business — and business involving a daughter so precious it would hurt just to look at her — so I made a point of understanding where AD was coming from, while making sure his low mood didn't poison the team's atmosphere.

He had enough on his plate already; if the team started acting strange around him because of it, he'd only have to read that many more faces.

Truthfully, there were plenty of other guys whose off-field problems were dragging at their heels — but that much was par for the course, every year.

What mattered for me right now was holding the center as captain and pushing forward — and taking care of Gunner, who was still finding his fire, and Van, last year's 5-Star who had all but been relegated to third-string quarterback.

"That pass from earlier was nice."

"Was it?"

"It was. Just one thing — when you throw, pump once and go. You're double-tapping every time right now, and a defender could read it."

"Yes, Sir. I'll try it that way."

"Good."

That feeling — the season has begun.

God, I love this.

Football became America's most popular sport partly because of the nature of the game itself — but above all, because of accessibility.

NFL teams, opening training camp a week ahead of the NCAA, open every single one of their outdoor practices to the fans. There's a fee, but the stands fill to capacity nearly every day.

In a space with no competition, no pressure of a season, the players move far more loosely — and show a much gentler side of themselves to the fans.

And everyone turns on the showmanship, too.

The players all know why.

"Because all of that is their own money, Sir."

"Haha. That it is."

Every March, just before the new season, NFL players receive a royalty deposit from the sales of jerseys bearing their own names.

Other sports have the same system, of course — but for football players, who face the shortest average careers in all of professional sports and, outside the top 5%, the lowest average salaries, this money matters enormously.

Players gambling their livelihoods on a single contract option comes from the same place — which is why teams try to blend salary and incentives into a careful mix.

But this year, Seattle had done no such thing.

Ninety-four percent of the contract was guaranteed money.

Far above the league average of 83% — a deliberate move by a front office that wanted no additional motivators in the building.

John Schneider was proud of it.

While the other teams embarking on TFM campaigns had overlooked the fine print, he had tended to every detail — and as he watched the practice field, his gaze drifted toward a silver-haired man nearby.

Pete Carroll.

The oldest head coach in today's NFL.

One of the league's premier tacticians, and a man who stood at the very top of the craft when it came to molding quarterbacks — and it was precisely because of Pete Carroll that Seattle had kept making moves even after trading Russell Wilson.

The man's ability was so exceptional he could manufacture wins with a deficient roster, and his mastery of the quarterback position meant he'd made C-grade arms look like A-grade ones.

Sending Geno Smith to Dallas was about eliminating variables, and as Drew Lock's backup, they'd brought in a free-agent quarterback who could just as well have retired on the spot.

Fortunately, Pete Carroll understood the team's circumstances — and he'd even shown that he, too, was looking forward to working with Dwayne Moi Stone.

"Take away the weapons, and this is no bad team at all."

"No, Sir. It's a good team."

"I'm heading back. You stay and watch a while longer."

"We're still having lunch together later, right?"

"We'll see when then comes."

Slipping on his sunglasses and turning away, John Schneider walked slowly into the VMAC building.

Riding the elevator up to his office, he heard an alert chime before he'd even sat down, and crossed to his desk to wake a monitor that had gone black.

Tap.

One absentminded keystroke, and a popup appeared in the bottom corner of the screen — a message had arrived.

The sender was one Matt Berry, Seattle's director of college scouting.

"..."

Seattle would do its absolute best to finish dead last, of course — but even so, nothing was guaranteed. Which was why, just like the Texans, they were keeping a close eye on the quarterbacks known as the Big 3.

The report Matt Berry had sent through the messenger contained an analysis of Anthony Richardson.

Last year he'd played in just eight games, recording a mere 529 passing yards — but at the same time he'd rushed for 401 yards and 3 touchdowns, instantly drawing every eye in the country.

This year he'd already been anointed the starting quarterback of the Florida Gators, and if he could show just a little more promise as a passer, a high draft selection was well within reach.

Of course, Seattle rated Richardson as a third-tier candidate, believing they could land him somewhere in the 20s.

John Schneider read the earnestly written report through.

Then, the moment he finished, he closed the window without ceremony.

"Boring."

Ordinarily, Richardson's physical gifts as described in the report would have sparked his curiosity — but the plain truth was that even in that arena, Dwayne Moi Stone was the superior athlete.

If Dwayne Moi Stone ever set his mind to running as a true dual-threat, he might well post 7,000 combined passing and rushing yards.

If he'd landed on a weak team, he really might have done it, too.

Summer and fall camps were in full swing ahead of the new season.

And now, less than a month remained until the opening of what might be the most thrilling — and most consequential — NFL season of the past decade.