It Means I Cooked Them Lightly

# November 5, 2022

#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA

#-2. University of Georgia

#-3. Sanford Stadium

The Tennessee Volunteers, ranked No. 2 in the nation by the AP Poll, were well on their way to becoming the biggest surprise in college football this year.

Josh Heupel, who had taken over the program the year before, had stepped into the ranks of the NCAA's newest elite coaches, drawing fans into the stadiums with a flashy, offense-first style of football.

Darnell Wright, widely called the best offensive tackle in college football this season, and Hendon Hooker, a quarterback who had transferred from Virginia Tech the previous year, were powering the attack.

On the strength of that, Tennessee had knocked off traditional SEC powers like Florida and LSU, and three weeks earlier they had even sunk Alabama itself.

But today, without question, was their greatest challenge yet.

"Remember this! We're on the same level!!"

Before the game kicked off, Josh Heupel raised his voice in the Tennessee locker room, trying to fire up his players.

He had read the room clearly — his team was more cowed than usual.

An undefeated team. An invincible team.

The Georgia Bulldogs.

This team, unbeaten in the NCAA since 2020, was in the process of manufacturing a legend, with the third 40-game win streak in history sitting right in front of them.

Considering that the longest win streak since the 1960s had been Miami's 32 in a row, one could begin to grasp just how absurd a record the Georgia Bulldogs were in the middle of building.

Even this year — a season everyone predicted would bring crisis to the streak now that the defense had been gutted by NFL departures — Georgia had not wavered.

The reason was the offense.

And so Josh Heupel thought:

It's going to be a shootout.

He was certain the game would unfold as a fierce, back-and-forth exchange of punches.

The Tennessee head coach walked slowly down the corridor toward the field, the Volunteers marching behind him.

Stepping out of the tunnel and halting at their designated spot, they came face to face with Sanford Stadium — a place that had become a graveyard for visiting teams.

Nobody in the world could deny how well this year's Tennessee team was playing.

For one thing, their weapons were undeniable.

Running back Jaylen Wright.

Receiver Cedric Tillman.

And whenever those primary weapons were struggling, someone always seemed to show up at exactly the right moment — Jalin Hyatt, who put up five touchdowns against Alabama, was the prime example.

On top of that, OC Alex Golesh's spread/PRO-style scheme suited the roster perfectly.

It's hard to make a below-average team look good, but add good coaching to an average team and you get a good team — a maxim that had been proven in full.

But we shut down Tennessee's opening drive in just 2 minutes and 17 seconds and seized possession for ourselves.

And the drive that started at our own 25 took a nearly identical 2 minutes and 13 seconds to reach the red zone.

"This time we're going 911."

After huddling up and delivering the call, I lined up immediately and studied the movement of Tennessee's defense.

Today I intended to line up under center more than usual — something I'd worked out with the coaches during the week of preparation, a decision made with Tennessee's defensive profile in mind.

Tennessee, for their part, was compensating for their merely average defensive talent with the scheme of DC Tim Banks.

It was called the 'Multiple 4-3' — the most fundamental defense in football, the 4-3, layered with fluidity.

Nickel.

Dime.

They constantly cycled through small variations like Tampa 2, and depending on the situation they swapped personnel to shift into looks like the 4-2-5 or even the 4-1-6.

Without a mountain of film work on the opponent, a scheme like that could fall apart entirely — which meant they had to be confident. In other words, they'd watched tape of me and our offense dozens upon dozens of times. That was exactly why I had told the coaches that today, I would assemble the offense myself.

Anyway.

Tennessee's No. 6 — the defender I needed to worry about most today — was lined up at linebacker for this snap.

He drifted freely between edge, tackle, and OLB, and if we wanted to break Tennessee's defense, he was the one we had to beat.

Judging that I still had plenty of time on the play clock, I checked No. 6's alignment and the positioning of Tennessee's secondary, then turned and raised my voice.

"Ice 60!! Ice 60!!"

After the call for the receivers, I set the O-line's gap assignments, then planned to send Kenny charging into that gap to suck the linebackers in.

I couldn't guarantee the deception would work — what mattered was whether I had conviction in the call.

When a quarterback believes in the play, that belief transmits to the whole team and lifts the level of play.

Eleven men took the field on offense.

But the quarterback is the one who joins the will of the other ten.

"Go, ready!! Turbo, set!!"

Taking the snap and turning back, I ran the play action, faking the handoff to Kenny.

Kenny, cradling the ball as if he'd actually received it, dove into the gap the O-linemen had carved open, and the edge rushers on both sides were held in check.

Watching Tennessee's No. 6 — who had been sitting back — attach himself one-on-one to Brock, I instinctively knew this play would succeed without fail.

The first target would be wide open.

And he was.

Darnell.

My Big Guy.

It was a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠high pass anyone else would have had to leap for, but Darnell caught it standing in place, then torqued his body upfield.

The tackle came immediately after.

He didn't manage to finish it in the end zone — but he went down at the 2-yard line.

I glanced over at the bench for a moment.

This wasn't about the play call itself.

We had roughly thirteen set plays for scoring situations inside the opponent's 1-to-3-yard line, and I was checking which player was designated to take the touchdown attempt in each one.

Coach Monken pointed at me.

"Thomas & Friends."

"Damn— you again?"

"Coach called it. If you've got a problem, take it up with him."

"Shiit. It's Thomas, right?"

"Yup."

I swatted away the minor complaints, clapped twice to break the huddle, and set the formation for Operation Thomas & Friends.

It was an attacking variation of the Tush Push, built around pushing Milton, stationed at halfback, in ahead of me as a lead blocker.

Milton dives into the gap the O-line creates and becomes an extra blocker; then I take the ball and knife into the space.

And in case blocking breaks down somewhere it shouldn't, one man lines up behind me to shove me forward.

Using a lineman for that role would tip the defense off instantly, so the job falls to the team's versatile tight end.

This time, it was Darnell.

Shotgun.

For starters, this opened up the RPO possibility.

From here, the defense's movement barely mattered — by any means necessary, all we had to do was gain two yards.

The play call rang out again.

"Go, ready!! Hike! Hike!!"

Snatch!

I'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠deliberately altered the snap timing, but regrettably, nobody took the bait.

Milton, lined up on the left, charged straight into the gap, and I followed immediately after him in the same direction.

At the far left edge of my vision I could see Tennessee's No. 6 coming to run me down — but Milton cut him off, and naturally a sliver of space opened up on the right.

I dove straight into it, floated lightly into the end zone, and put today's first touchdown on the board.

I spun the ball in my hand against the turf like a top, then crossed my arms and gave a smug little nod.

Beside me, Brock was imitating NBA star James Harden's "cooking" celebration.

It meant he'd cooked them — lightly.

Podlesny added the extra point with a steady kick, and five minutes into the game we were up 7-0.

But here's what I wanted to say to Tennessee.

This was only the beginning.

Oh—

You'd better believe it.

# Owings Mills, Maryland, USA

#-1. Baltimore Ravens Training Facility

College football games are mostly played in the afternoon, so plenty of NFL players catch them between periods of practice.

"Damn— that was literally you!!"

"No way. Not as good as me."

"Yes it is! I'm telling you, that was you!!"

"Knock it off."

The man, displeased at being compared to someone else, waved a hand and wandered away from the TV.

Lamar Jackson.

Named the NFL's second-ever unanimous MVP in just his second professional season, he was one of the greatest dual-threat quarterbacks ever — a player who became the face of the league.

Boasting a solid 188cm / 93kg frame, Lamar Jackson had spent his entire pro career producing highlight-reel magic with running-back-level agility and speed.

The 'Spin Move' Dwayne Moi Stone had just pulled off on TV was, in fact, one of the plays that defined Lamar Jackson himself.

Ronnie Stanley, the sixth-year Ravens lineman who had let out an honest gasp of admiration, hollered toward the guard who had joined the team this year.

"Ben!! What the hell even happened to that kid?!"

"Moi did Moi things, that's all!"

"Goddamn. That was straight-up nasty."

Ben Cleveland, savoring the exploits of the quarterback he'd blocked for until last year, was just getting into a story from their college days when Lamar Jackson fixed his gaze on a different TV screen, spooning down cereal.

Not bad. But he's still got a long way to go.

Lamar Jackson.

Patrick Mahomes.

The young quarterbacks rated the best in the NFL were, right at this moment, being tremendously stung into action by the play of Dwayne Moi Stone.

(Stephen A. Smith — ESPN Analyst) "No cap — this kid is already the greatest NCAA player of all time!! Nobody gets to argue with me on this!! We are witnessing history right now!! Hand him the Heisman today, this minute, and make him the first-ever three-time winner!! Scrap the whole show with the four finalists and just dedicate the entire day to the Dwayne Moi Special!"

"It's already November — do you know why the media isn't even talking about the Heisman this year?! Because everybody already knows!! Whatever argument anyone tries to make about this candidate or that one, the outcome was decided long ago!"

# November 7, 2022

#-1. New York City, USA

#-2. NFL Headquarters

#-3. Commissioner's Office

Back in March, the NFL had enacted a new set of regulations governing draft-pick trades — the so-called 'Dwayne Moi Stone Rule.'

It was a decision born of a desire to protect competitive balance across the league, and while a few franchises had pushed back, clearing the votes needed for ratification had proven no difficult task.

And yet, on some level, the league office still worried about the tanking that would erupt over the No. 1 overall pick in the 2023 Draft.

That worry had only deepened as they watched franchise-quarterback-caliber players — men who in any ordinary year would have been worth more than a franchise — fail to find jobs. But now, nine weeks into the season, the atmosphere had changed completely.

"Six point three percent."

"…"

"Can you believe it?"

The NFL was currently enduring a season of historically unprecedented extremes, with the gap between the top and the bottom wider than at any point in memory.

Barely nine weeks in, six teams already had seven or eight losses — the first such season of the 21st century — and for the first time in league history, more than ten teams sat at five losses or worse.

Under ordinary circumstances, the league office would have been sweating over limp ratings in a season like this. Instead, viewership was up 6.3% over the previous year.

Jersey sales had climbed 17.2% compared to last October, and the fascinating part was that a full 87% of those sales were the most basic version — the one with no name on the back.

And, naturally, the fans who bought those blank jerseys had the three letters MOI printed onto them.

Some did go with D.M Stone or Dwayne Moi Stone, but the overwhelming favorite was those three letters: MOI.

Beyond that, companies hoping to sign sponsorship deals with the NFL next year were lining up out the door.

It was a capitalist market wearing the costume of professional sport.

When the results are good, everything is OK.

That same law could be read plainly in the face of Roger Goodell, the man who led the NFL.

Having translated the rise in television ratings — and the explosive growth of youth-driven social media markets like YouTube — into hard numbers, he had proclaimed the dawn of a new golden age for the league.

Football still held its throne as America's premier sport, but the truth was that no noticeable upward curve had appeared in recent years.

Patrick Mahomes was viewed as the man who would inherit the mantle after Tom Brady, but the storyline capable of moving people's hearts had always run a little thin.

A father who played professional baseball.

A childhood raised in comfortable affluence.

Sustained excellence all through college.

The only flicker of intrigue was that he'd almost been a baseball player instead — and on its own, that couldn't hold a candle to the story of Tom Brady.

A white quarterback with an ordinary frame, no bodybuilder's physique.

An average man's forty-yard dash (5.28 seconds).

An average man's vertical leap (roughly 24 inches).

And so he was drafted 199th overall.

But Tom Brady laughed at the 194 selections that had passed him by (Patriots excluded), and became the greatest quarterback in NFL history.

And his wife was Gisele Bündchen.

The most famous model in America.

Tom Brady had a story that, from beginning to end, was guaranteed to make any American's heart race — and so the NFL had no choice but to worry about the void he would leave behind.

In this respect, Dwayne Moi Stone carried a story for reasons entirely different from Tom Brady's.

A mixed-race kid born in Hawaii.

One-quarter Samoan, three-quarters Korean, no less.

Holder of numerous national youth track and field records.

Shoulders that made MLB scouts drool.

Nearly every FBS program in the country offered him a scholarship out of high school, and by the time the draft approached, a full third of NFL teams were considering — or actively attempting — to tank.

And he was no choirboy either: he threw parties in his own dorm room and was spotted at the bashes of famous rappers and public figures alike.

The most widely circulated rumor was that he had slept with more than a hundred women — and yet, for all that, not a single genuine scandal had ever surfaced, which only sharpened the public's curiosity.

The media had already crowned him, in effect, the most ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠influential rookie in the history of American sports.

"Let's make next year's draft a grand spectacle."

Roger Goodell, proposing the most extravagant draft in history in front of his staff, found himself impatient for the future.

The tanking of this season, which the NFL would quietly tolerate.

It already had wings.