The Combine Test (4)

#. March 4, 2023

#-1. Indianapolis, Indiana, United States

#-2. Lucas Oil Stadium

On the final morning of the quarterback combine, Dwayne Moi Stone stood before a large conference room, ready to be tested on his ability to execute plays. And when he opened the door, he froze, momentarily thrown. The room was simply packed with people.

At the sight of his eyes going wide, the assembled NFL team personnel burst out laughing. They knew as well as anyone that this was an extraordinarily rare sight. Perhaps even a first.

The quarterback-only combine test known as the Mind Game usually drew just three or four team officials — six at the very most — who arrived on schedule at a set place to watch one specific player. Today, however, all 32 teams had shown up. Mike Tomlin, taking it in, had joked earlier, "All you'll get out of this is a stomachache — why'd you even bother coming?" Some of the teams still eyeing Pittsburgh's first-round pick stiffened at the spectacle, but most of the head coaches who'd come out of pure curiosity simply laughed and let it go.

Before the real questions began, a quick light-reaction exam and a voice test were conducted. The light-reaction test judged a player's visual function and checked for any impairment; Moi Stone reacted without a hitch and was cleared as normal. And then — next up.

The voice test.

Standing before a microphone fitted with specialized equipment, Dwayne Moi Stone bellowed the phrases scrolling across the teleprompter.

"A LOT A WORD!"

Sparta Pack Left, Age Short. Dummy Pistol, Trips Left Tight. Two Jet, Y Shallow Cross, Jet Swing.

These were actual play calls the NFL teams had submitted to the league office, and the test measured — in hard numbers — the force a player's command projected over his surroundings as he shouted them out, imagining a huddle around him. Beyond the huddle, all manner of situations kept getting assumed, and the prompts shifted to match.

"There's still time on the clock! Play with confidence!"

"You have to trust each other! You hear me?!"

.

"We land this one play, and we take the whole game!"

"Do NOT screw it up!"

.

"Ace, ace, ace!! Loose A!! Hold 50!! A-TRAIN!!"

"Chip!! Chip!!"

The coaches were watching numbers the player couldn't see.

"Good voice."

"Mike."

"?"

"Congratulations."

"Haha."

Having spent days on end shaking up the internet, Dwayne Moi Stone now posted eye-catching metrics in the voice test as well.

With the first two tests wrapped up, Moi took a seat in front of the whiteboard. The Mind Game was a comprehensive evaluation of a quarterback's football knowledge, his grasp of plays and schemes, and how he responded when sudden variables were thrown at him. Everyone in attendance was free to issue instructions to the quarterback, and they could also present situations through film.

Even now, the screen beside the whiteboard was running a specific snap from an actual NFL game from the previous year. Seated at the board, the quarterback had to scan the formation with his eyes as fast as possible, then reproduce the exact same tactical scheme on the whiteboard. How fast. How accurately. And how completely he mapped the routes of every offensive player besides himself — that was what the NFL head coaches and OCs in the room were grading.

The first time Dwayne Moi Stone watched the screen, he completed the entire formation without ever checking it again; after viewing the looping clip exactly one more time, he wrote out every single route, perfect to a man. The scheme belonged to last year's Washington Commanders, and the moment OC Eric Bieniemy erupted into a disbelieving laugh, the room broke into laughter all over again.

Amid it all, the ever-serious Houston Texans head coach DeMeco Ryans raised his hand first.

"Send Y on a jet sweep."

"…"

"Make Z run the F, and have the running back punch through the C gap. You took the play fake from under center and looked at X — but the defender's draped all over him. So what do you do?"

That was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠exactly how the Mind Game ran. And in truth, it was the most important test of them all. The consensus in league circles was that no matter how superb a player's physical gifts, if his understanding of the game fell short, even a quarterback who otherwise tested brilliantly could not be graded above a 60. It wasn't impossible that a second Lamar Jackson might one day be born — but that was a story with far too long of odds.

After a few seconds of thought, the words left Dwayne Moi Stone's mouth: "I'd throw to the running back hitting the C gap." Eric Bieniemy's expression turned subtle. Because in the process of reviewing that very game, they had held the exact same discussion.

The textbook answer to this play was to throw to the tight end — but more than a few men in that room found themselves thinking that perhaps this was the better call. In the frozen frame, held two seconds past the original five-second loop, Washington's running back truly was standing all alone, wide open.

The Mind Game rolled on from there. Each time, Dwayne Moi Stone produced the correct answer — or a third answer no one had considered — and occasionally, after giving one, he would revise a few details, explaining how he himself would have done it differently.

As the session wound down, the eyes in the room turned to Mike Tomlin. Pittsburgh hadn't moved once the entire time. And then, Tomlin raised his hand.

"Roll the third tape, please."

"…"

A moment later, last year's Steelers snap appeared on the screen. Eight yards from the endzone. Pittsburgh had failed to score. The reason: a bad pass.

"After the game, we determined there were three ways we could have put a touchdown on the board. The tape's about to roll — watch it all the way through, and then give me those three."

"Yes, sir."

There was a lie buried in Mike Tomlin's question. Pittsburgh had only ever found two. On the current screen, the Steelers had targeted the tight end on a blocking fake before he slipped out and released downfield; beyond that, there was only one other route to the endzone — going to George Pickens, who had run the out route on the left, as a second target.

Before long, Dwayne Moi Stone answered.

"If that pass had simply been on target, we score. That's the first. The second is George on the left — looking toward the Z receiver's out route. And the last one is…"

"The last one?"

"Yes, sir. You said there were three."

"…Go on."

Mike Tomlin had expected Dwayne Moi Stone to fire back with something like "Are you sure it was really three?" Instead, the young quarterback was about to speak on a third touchdown the Steelers themselves had never found. It wouldn't move the draft board either way — but depending on the answer, Tomlin might walk out of this room disappointed. At the same time, though, it was also a prime opportunity to expose a weakness he hadn't known existed. And so Mike Tomlin quietly chose to listen.

"If neither of the first two targets had much separation, I'd simply have bought a little more time."

"Buy time?"

"Yes, sir. Quarterback rushing is off the table in this situation, right? Normally I'd bolt straight through the A gap — but since that's not an option…"

Turning to the whiteboard, Dwayne Moi Stone picked up a marker and sketched the Cincinnati Bengals' defensive formation in smooth, unhurried strokes — then began scattering arrows across it in a flurry. Before long, the play on the screen was one hundred percent complete.

"The pass rush is coming off the quarterback's left. The Steelers double-teamed the left tackle and the tight end — and by now the tight end has released. If I were the quarterback here, I'd just sit in the pocket and wait. Cincinnati's left defense has been completely devoured by the Steelers' movement to the right, so there's no reason to give it a second thought."

"…"

"…"

Naturally, everyone in the room found themselves pulled under by the words, helpless against the current.

Erasing a few arrows with his eraser, Dwayne Moi Stone began drawing new ones — and with three fresh strokes, the Steelers' left tight end became a prime attacking target.

"I'd say… hmm. Probably about two seconds would do it."

The moment the answer landed, a few people thought the same thought. Shouldn't we be applauding right now? Mercifully, no such thing came to pass, and every gaze swung back instead to Mike Tomlin with his strange expression and David Culley Jr., whose eyes had gone perfectly round.

"Well said. That was impressive."

"Yes, sir."

And so Moi's Mind Game came to an end, and one after another, a great many people came up to Mike Tomlin, offered their congratulations, and drifted away.

As Mike Tomlin and David Culley Jr. tidied their seats and stepped out of the conference room, they found themselves recalling a meeting they'd held with a certain man just weeks ago. They'd run an interview much like today's back then too — an entirely different scene, yet one thing in common. Waiting.

In football, the general rule is that the less time a quarterback spends in the pocket, the better. Of course, on plays like the Hail Mary, where a long pass is required, the O-line has to keep him upright in the pocket for as long as humanly possible — but in every other case, the faster the ball comes out, the better. That's how you shrink the odds of taking a sack, and that's how you execute the offense you actually called.

And yet before today, a man from Wheaton, Illinois, had voiced a strikingly similar view — that the changes unfolding across the field in the one or two extra seconds a quarterback lingers in the pocket could, at times, become a breathtaking play that slipped a knife clean between the opponent's ribs.

At the time, Mike Tomlin had written it off as a somewhat radical notion. Having lived through today, though, he was half convinced already.

"Looks like I'm the one who's been stagnating."

"…"

The Steelers were chasing change and a leap forward in equal measure. Today had been a powerful jolt to Mike Tomlin, too.

#. 4:30 PM

Traditionally, the quarterback combine ends with the bench press — an unwritten rule created for the sake of protecting the shoulder. No sense ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠risking an injury by slotting it earlier in the order. I'd call that fair treatment.

But despite the consideration, every quarterback this year passed on the bench press entirely. Neither the league office nor the NFL teams wanted QBs grinding out reps they didn't need, so not a single media outlet or fan raised a word ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of complaint.

I participated anyway. On one condition.

"LIGHT WEIGHT BABY!!"

"…Was that really necessary?"

"Been hearing that since high school."

The thing NFL teams worried over most with this 2023 draft class of linemen and linebackers was, quite simply, how disastrously they failed the bench. The best mark belonged to Michigan tackle Mazi Smith — and the number was 32. This was the first year on record that every single lineman and linebacker at the combine had gone under 33 reps.

The bench press is the most reliable indicator of the power a lineman or linebacker delivers at the point of attack, so the teams' worry wasn't exactly unreasonable. Anyway.

"Whoo—"

Wade Buck had asked me why I even needed to bother, and I promised him I'd do exactly 35 reps — and won his approval. Truthfully, it was less a promise than the fact that the man caved the moment I said, "If I hit 35, the media's going to go berserk, no?" The agency was already shrieking tears of joy over the marketing value. We were set to fly out to L.A. the instant the combine ended — I'd get to see Kendall, and it looked like a packed stretch lay ahead. The school had already signed off on remote classes for me, so earning my credits wouldn't be a problem.

Steadying my breathing and sharpening my focus, I opened my eyes, loaded my hands with power, and pulled the barbell off the rack. I'll say it once more — I was the only quarterback measuring the bench this year, and the crowd pressing in around me was enormous.

Let's go.

"Whoo—"

Clank.

"Whoo—"

Clank.

A few reps at 225 pounds? Light as a feather. Ten reps gone in the blink of an eye.

"Hoo!"

Clank.

"Hoo!"

Clank.

I cruised through the 10-to-20 range — wide receiver and cornerback territory — and the low twenties, home to the safeties, edges, running backs, and tight ends, vanished just as fast. As of this year, anything from 25 up was the domain of upper-tier linemen and linebackers, and I blew straight past that too.

"Whoo-oosh!"

Clank.

"Whoo-oosh!"

Clank.

My breathing was a touch rougher than when I'd started, but the weight never once felt like a burden.

Clank.

Thirty, now.

Holding a steady pace, I ground out five more, then kept my arms locked at full extension for a moment, thinking. Should I keep going? And then—

"Mo—i!"

Wade Buck's voice rang out, and I flashed a wink at the spotter before lowering the barbell back into its cradle. To anyone watching, it would look like I'd stopped purely as an injury precaution, not out of exhaustion — and I made a fresh show of flexing my bicep in front of the NFL Network camera filming the bench press. Word was, the clip of me pounding my arm after yesterday's pass velocity test had gone viral. That kind of content, you have to keep serving up. Because it drives people insane. And I love it.

"You were about to do more just now, weren't you?"

"Thought about it for a se-cond."

"You're hilarious. Good call stopping. Body holding up?"

"Thirty-five reps? That's a warm-up."

In a few seconds, the result would be screaming across the entire world — and the linemen and linebackers of this class ought to be ashamed of themselves. Why hadn't they been living in the gym? Strength is non-negotiable.

"Let's go."

"Yes. There's time to shower, right?"

"Of course. Absolutely. The busy part starts tomorrow."

"Time's going to evaporate again, isn't it."

"Haha."

At Lucas Oil Stadium in Indianapolis, where I'd spent the better part of a week, I brought the long marathon called the combine to its finish. By this point, I figured I had promoted myself more than enough.

#. March 8, 2023

#-1. Santa Monica, California, United States

#-2. Kendall Jenner's House

I reunited with Kendall yesterday afternoon; we had dinner together at a lovely little restaurant, came home, and shut ourselves up in the bedroom. In the morning we made love for quite a while in the bathtub, and now, in comfortable clothes, we were cooking together in the kitchen. More precisely, it was Moi's Cooking Class.

I watched her slicing a cucumber and nearly gasped.

"Curl your fingers in like this…"

"Like this?"

"Haha. Yeah. Just like that."

One of the surprising things I'd learned since we started dating was that Kendall — a world-famous influencer — was, unexpectedly, quite shy, and carried an anxiety born of negative thinking. Not that I'm defending her, but she told me the party that stirred up all that COVID-19 controversy had been a surprise thrown by a friend who couldn't bear to watch her do nothing but cry for days on end. In some ways, watching her felt like watching my past-life self, and maybe that was why my affection for her only deepened.

We made a salad of cucumber, onion, and tomato tossed in Greek yogurt dressing, carried it over, and settled onto the couch. Kendall balanced the big bowl across her crossed legs, speared a generous forkful, and fed it straight into my mouth.

"You're making me taste-test first, aren't you?"

"…Was it that obvious?"

"Haha. You are so cute, babe."

Last night, lying tangled together before drifting off, Kendall had told me that being with me made her feel calm. Like being at the ocean, she said. At first I couldn't quite place what that feeling was — but the moment I thought of walking the Hawaii beaches alone, I understood instantly. I took it as an enormous compliment.

"When I'm with you, all I do is smile."

"There'll be times you're upset with me, though."

"Will you still talk to me sweetly even then?"

"I'll always be there to hold you."

"Haha. You're so Perfect."

For the me of right now, one thing was certain: I could fall very, very deep into this woman. And one slightly worldly thing was certain too — she satisfied every last ounce of my imagination. Everything my eyes took in. Just looking at her put me in a good mood.

"How long are you staying?"

"I can stay through the 12th."

"That short?"

My heart wanted to linger far longer, but Pro Day falls on the 15th, so on the 13th I had to head back to Athens and start preparing. After that, I'd have to keep my coursework on a normal track as well, so weekends looked like all I could spare. Hearing all this, Kendall wore a wounded expression at first — then asked whether she could come visit my campus.

Her coming was no problem at all, but…

"School is going to lose its absolute mind, you know? And anyway — aren't you busy?"

"I'm fine through March."

"Perfect. I'll let the school know."

"Mm."

Football season was over, but school was in the middle of a normal spring semester, with festivals and parties big and small on the calendar. And Kendall was going to appear in the middle of all that?

Hold on. Right — there's Alexi.

"Babe, you have to come to campus."

"Hm? Where's this coming from?"

"I'll treat you to real, proper Hawaiian food."

"Really? Okay, now I'm excited."

"Excited is exactly the right reaction."

Call it shameless if you want — can't be helped. But that moment couldn't come soon enough for me.