I Truly Can't Help but Wonder

(Sam Monson) — Host, PFF NFL Podcast

"Week 7 teaches you that manufacturing a loss in football is, for all practical purposes, impossible. The Panthers beat the Buccaneers. The Titans knocked off the Colts. And winning turns out to be every bit as hard. Just look at where Pittsburgh sits in the standings and you'll understand exactly what I mean. Welcome in!! This is the PFF NFL Podcast — I'm Sam Monson."

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(Sam Monson)

"It's been an absolute rollercoaster, honestly. Just a week ago Tennessee looked like it had a little separation, and now all ten teams are right back in the hunt with hope renewed. Never thought I'd catch myself saying this, but losing has never been worth more in any season in recent memory. And we all know exactly why that is. So at this point, I thought we'd do something fun — the GGBW for the eventual destination of Dwayne Moi Stone."

(Steve Palazzolo) — Analyst, PFF NFL Podcast

"GGBW? What the hell is that?"

(Sam Monson)

"Great, Good, Bad, Worst."

(Steve Palazzolo)

"Ugh — can you please stop inventing these acronyms? I can never follow them."

(Sam Monson)

"Shut it. Come on, let's just get into it."

#. October 29, 2022

#-1. Jacksonville, Florida, USA

#-2. TIAA Bank Field

Nearly half the teams in the NFL had sent representatives to the game between Georgia and Florida, one of the defining rivalries of the South.

Largely unfamiliar faces, every one of them.

Among them, a man who had flown in from the heartland of the continental United States glanced around at the scene unfolding around him, newly astonished by the sheer heat of the fabled World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party — an event he'd only ever heard about secondhand.

This was scenery you simply had to take your sunglasses off to appreciate.

A Jacksonville game wouldn't even hold a candle to this.

NCAA D1 crowds and broadcast numbers had always been enormous, but there was something in this place, something that set people alight — enough to make the thought surface all on its own.

When someone jostled him from behind and knocked him back to his senses, the man found his seat and started down the steps.

And the other man — the one who'd bumped him a moment ago.

This one had come from the Northeast.

Checking his ticket, he located his own seat as well.

Row is… oh, over there.

Without the faintest clue that the man he'd bumped worked in the very same industry he did, the fellow clutching a box of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠popcorn started down the steps, let his eyes linger on an attractive woman, and promptly dumped the popcorn everywhere.

The unfortunate soul sitting at the end of the row who bore the brunt of it was, as it happened, also on an NFL team's payroll.

"What the—"

"Oh, sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Just— please. Keep moving."

"Sorry. Really, really sorry."

While these men, blissfully ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠unaware that a potential rival sat within arm's reach of them, scrambled to find their seats, one gentleman of obvious leisure was busy running game on a pair of college-aged women.

"Call me anytime."

The man flaunted his reasonably handsome features with a practiced, easy smile — but the two students hardened their expressions and walked straight off.

And watching all of this unfold was an aging man with a protruding belly.

He thought to himself, good riddance.

Yes.

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

Those two were NFL staff as well.

【"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the World's Largest…."】

As the stadium announcer's welcome crackled through the speakers ahead of kickoff, the players of both teams, finished with their final warmups, began filing toward the locker rooms.

That was when countless gazes converged on a single point — and at the end of them all stood Georgia's quarterback, Dwayne Moi Stone.

Just how different can he possibly be…?

Can he throw for 500 yards again today?

Now we'll finally get a direct comparison.

All manner of thoughts bloomed in the minds of the NFL personnel — and then several of them turned their eyes toward the opposite sideline, where Florida stood.

Number 15. Big, powerful frame, built like a fortress.

Florida's quarterback — Anthony Richardson.

And it was this Anthony Richardson who was the very reason the NFL contingent had descended on TIAA Bank Field.

How much can he do?

The NFL personnel gathered here today had come to take the measure of Anthony Richardson's potential.

If PLAN A in next year's draft was Dwayne Moi Stone, then PLAN B and PLAN C were Bryce Young of Alabama and C.J. Stroud of Ohio State.

If they found themselves holding a pick somewhere in the four-to-ten range and all three quarterbacks came off the board ahead of them, then Anthony Richardson — the last of the Big 3 — would slip through at a slightly lower rung.

At that point, a team would have to choose: trade down to accumulate extra assets, or pull the trigger and take Richardson early.

Reaching that decision would demand mountains of information, and this game against Georgia was a golden opportunity to gauge the size of Anthony Richardson's heart.

Given Florida's roster, anything beyond a Bowl game was a stretch — which made this, by every reasonable measure, the biggest game of the 2022/23 season.

And it was a rivalry, besides.

There was no better scouting venue in America.

"Excuse me."

"?"

"Would you mind if I squeezed in a bit?"

"Oh, of course, of course."

The gentlemanly man who rose from his seat had no idea that the person now settling in three chairs down belonged to the same profession he did.

And so today's game drew every eye in the football world.

This stadium — where the unspoken rule that NFL teams simply don't scout Dwayne Moi Stone had quietly collapsed — was a battlefield no one could see.

"I'M HIM!!"

"I'M HIM!!!" — the whole room roared back.

"LOUDER!! I'M HIM!!!"

"I'M HIM!!!!!"

"BUUUUUULDAAAAWWWWGS--!!"

Riding the same unchanging routine as always, I whipped myself and my teammates into a fighting frenzy.

Then I asked them the question.

Were we ready to win?

The answer, of course, was a resounding YES.

"God! I love this so much!"

The instant I stepped onto the field, the world turned fearless, and the feeling was so intoxicating I could have lost my mind.

The World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party.

Today, it would be us getting drunk on victory.

Florida had one standout on each line, offense and defense — I'd give them that. But truthfully, 2020 was their peak, and the quality of their roster had been sliding since last year.

What had swept across the entire SEC in the wake of COVID-19 had caught the Gators in its current too.

"Don't tell me something's got you rattled?"

"Rattled? About what?"

"Their quarterback."

"You think that guy is what worries me? What I'm actually worried about right now is how many points we should hang on them. Fifty? Sixty? Maybe I should break out a 75-0, for old times' sake — 1942 style?"

"Just how much storage space is rattling around in that skull of yours?"

"Roughly sixty-two years' worth."

"Ha! Now that's some fresh nonsense."

I meant every word, though.

But whatever — who cares.

The coin toss handed the opening drive to Florida, and I stood there encouraging the special teams unit with a light heart, waiting for the kickoff to arrive.

Unable to keep still, I bounced in place.

"You're a distraction! Get back there!"

"Yes, Sir."

Oops.

Got scolded.

Best get on the field quick — that was the only way I'd ever calm this body down.

(Brad Nessler) — CBS Play-by-Play

"Snap. And he's taking off himself! Florida's right side has just caved wide open! Oh — STIFF ARM!! Miller is DOWN! I don't believe it! And TOUCHDOWN!! THE KING IS HERE!! Dwayne Moi Stone just put that entire arm on full display!!"

Ventrell Miller.

An inside linebacker by trade, standing six feet (roughly 183 cm) and 230 pounds (about 105 kg) — a Florida defender routinely rated as NFL-caliber.

And moments ago, he had been flattened by Dwayne Moi Stone's stiff arm, crashing helmet-first into the turf.

As ill luck would have it, the Florida Gators' helmet was a blazing shade of orange, and a considerable portion of everyone watching couldn't help thinking it looked exactly like someone dribbling a basketball.

But that amusing image mattered not one bit in the moment — because nearly every other emotion in the building had been swallowed whole by sheer disbelief.

Safeties and cornerbacks getting flattened happens often enough. But a linebacker — the very symbol of mass, of power, of muscle — toppling like that? You could go years without seeing it once.

And the man who had done it to him was, of all things—

That kid's the quarterback, isn't he?

Yes.

The quarterback.

@@@

(Gary Danielson) — CBS Color Analyst

"Another highlight reel has just been authored by Dwayne Moi Stone. And this play, honestly… oh my. It's genuinely hard to watch. Rest assured, this image will be replayed and replayed in living rooms and barbershops for the next five, ten years minimum. For Ventrell Miller, this is humiliation."

@@@

As the scoreboard made plain, today's game was rolling along in ruthlessly one-sided fashion.

Dwayne Moi Stone, who had punched in a 47-yard touchdown on the very first drive of the game, had been cooking Florida's defense at will — and had now produced the single greatest play of the NCAA season.

Anthony Richardson, on the other hand, had every flaw he'd ever been tagged with laid bare on national television.

Start with his volume and quality of passing.

Coming into today's game, Anthony Richardson had attempted a mere 170 passes across seven games, and of those, only 96 had found their receivers.

A completion rate of just 56.5 percent. He'd thrown six touchdowns — and one more interception than that.

His passing yardage sat at a meager 1,367, short of 200 per game, and even that figure owed a heavy debt to the 453 passing yards he'd posted against Tennessee in Week 4.

Granted, Anthony Richardson's strengths lay elsewhere.

Rated the finest dual-threat quarterback in the country this year, he undeniably showed his appeal as a runner.

In the season opener against Utah, he'd carried it eleven times for 106 rushing yards and three touchdowns.

He'd been turning heads with his frame and raw athleticism since the previous year, so when Week 1 ended, the verdict arrived immediately: he belonged in the very same breath as C.J. Stroud and Bryce Young.

But today, even that wasn't working.

Georgia tacked on the extra point to stretch the lead to 35-3, and from the funeral of a student section behind the Florida Gators' bench, only voices drained of hope rose into the air.

The NFL men, still nowhere near composed, sent messages up the chain on their phones in unison.

Are you watching this?

'Holy Shit.'

Those, precisely, were the two words ruling their heads.

#. The Same Moment

#-1. Kenilworth, Chicago, USA

#-2. The Residence of George McCaskey

At the home of the Chicago Bears' chairman today, the most senior figures from the team's front office had gathered as well.

The media had already predicted the tanking, sure — but a loss is a painful thing all the same, and the occasion was a plea: bear with us, and wait for the team that would leap forward starting next year.

With lunch finished, each man had set a drink of his choosing in front of him, the television already tuned to CBS.

Which meant they'd seen it too — that play a moment ago.

The play that would, nine times out of ten, have the tag THE STIFF ARM stapled to it by every media outlet in the country.

"Are you truly… prepared to give up on that young man?"

"…."

The No. 1 pick wasn't settled yet — but Ryan Poles posed the question all the same, assuming, just in case, that it might actually come to pass.

Beside him, Ian Cunningham chimed in.

The Bears' Assistant General Manager.

"Holding onto the pick would be the wise call, sir."

George McCaskey knew his GM and assistant GM weren't saying this over a single play. Talk of protecting the No. 1 overall selection had been steadily climbing the front-office channels since around Week 4, and every time it did, George McCaskey had projected unwavering resolve.

The price paid for Justin Fields and the pick that brought him had been ruinously steep — and if only to make amends for the sins of the previous regime, a haul of draft capital was an absolute necessity.

And yet — the wavering was real, too.

In his junior season, Dwayne Moi Stone was unleashing unprecedented performances week after week, and at this rate, there was every chance he'd carve out records that would never, ever be broken.

Which was exactly why there was no easy answer now.

Just as George McCaskey hesitated over his reply—

Ding—

An alert chimed on the Bears chairman's phone, and the screen lit up with the name of his beloved niece.

Even his niece was following the trend now.

Looking at it, his heart grew very complicated indeed.

"Hoo—"

The searing image Dwayne Moi Stone had just left behind.

It kept seizing hold of his mind and refused, stubbornly, to let go.

(Brad Nessler)

"Seven — that's SEVEN — 500-yard passing games in just eight outings. 'Unreal' doesn't even begin to cover it. I've broadcast college football for a long, long time, and I don't believe I've ever said this before: I cannot wait to see what this kid does in the NFL."

(Gary Danielson)

"Same here. For weeks now, this young man has made D1 football — SEC football, mind you — feel like a high school scrimmage. It's just too easy. Other quarterbacks strain and grind for every single yard, and this kid makes it look as natural ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as breathing."

The game wasn't over yet, and I was still steering what would probably be our final drive of the day.

The reason I kept taking the field even with the score this lopsided was partly my own wanting — but also a promise I'd made to Coach: "I will not run the ball in the fourth quarter. Not once."

Once the fourth quarter arrived, I played exclusively from the pocket, and even when a scramble offered itself, I'd either get out of bounds immediately or slide early.

Florida territory, 37-yard line.

Second and 2.

This time, a running back carry.

"Turbo, set!!"

Under-center snap.

I turned, handed the ball off to Kendall.

Thanks to me, the team's running backs had been soaking up rather less of the spotlight this year — so whenever a chance like this came, they hugged that ball like their lives depended on it and fought for every last yard.

Kendall glided past the first-down marker with ease, ground out six more, and went down in a heap of tacklers.

First and 10 again.

Inside the Florida 30.

"Gun. Left Trick Flash. Tight End. Double Chip. Y-Shallow."

Trick Flash was a concept we'd been milking to great effect all season.

Depending on who the target was, it could be bent and adapted a dozen different ways — and today, the target was Brock. The Double Chip was the protection scheme, and Y-Shallow was the second read.

Better still, Y-Shallow doubled as a decoy to sell the defense a lie, which meant some genuinely beautiful pictures could be painted with it.

1-2 PG.

A tight end set to each side, with two receivers stacked out right for starters.

And here — Jet Sweep.

On the call, KJ swept from right to left across the backfield, and in that instant the Florida linebackers, bunched together a breath ago, scattered left and right.

They'd abandoned the blitz.

I barked out the play call, took the snap, and immediately found KJ stretching full speed up the left sideline.

Florida's cornerback and safety collapsed toward KJ, and the right-side linebacker, wary of the pass, began drifting toward the sideline as well.

And right then — Brock, who'd been selling his block, slipped quietly out the back end. With my eyes alone I'd sold Florida a perfect counterfeit, and I delivered the ball to the real target.

In a heartbeat, Florida's defense was a wide-open field.

From here on, it was that man's kingdom.

Twenty yards.

Ten.

True to his billing as the premier tight end in the NCAA — the No. 1 receiver in the country — Brock strolled into the end zone.

Touchdown.

I threw both hands into the air.

Why does this never, ever get old?

I truly couldn't help but wonder.