Once Again, Our Offense Is Unstoppable

A while back, when 247Sports.com published its scouting report on Dwayne Moi Stone, the public reaction split wide open all over again.

There were two main reasons.

It was one thing for ESPN, which had always loved a circus, to hype him up — but a supposedly objective outlet had gone and dished out an absurdly inflated evaluation.

If you look back at the scouting reports 247Sports.com has released since 2010, you'll find a remarkably consistent pattern in how graduating high school seniors are graded.

And 247Sports.com's projections had proven accurate with impressive regularity.

Predicting the future of high school seniors — not college players, but kids still in high school — to this degree was never, ever easy.

Which was precisely why the 106 slapped onto Dwayne Moi Stone became such a burning topic, and such a fierce controversy. The first question people asked was this one.

Number two.

Is Dwayne Moi Stone really better than Jadeveon Clowney (105) was in high school, back in the 2011 class?

And here —

there were people who said he wasn't.

#. October 12, 2017

#-1. Clemson, South Carolina, USA

#-2. Clemson University

The Clemson Tigers, the defending NCAA national champions, had long since washed their hands of the Dwayne Moi Stone recruiting sweepstakes.

Granted, they'd shown interest like everyone else. But they'd never planned to overextend themselves for it.

Dabo Swinney, who had spent fifteen straight years at Clemson from position coach all the way up to head coach, refused to bet his university's future on a quarterback from Hawaii.

Part of it was that the gamble seemed reckless.

But they had an alternative.

No —

they'd always had a project in place.

A quarterback rated a "once-in-a-decade talent" even before Dwayne Moi Stone entered high school.

Trevor Lawrence.

Born in October 1999 in Knoxville, Tennessee, the graduating senior QB had been drawing national attention since he was fourteen.

Just like Moi.

"Look at these beautiful numbers."

"Astonishing."

"Trevor is a talent on a different tier entirely."

"Absolutely."

Clemson's head coach Dabo Swinney beamed as he studied the figures in front of him.

In last night's high school division game, Trevor Lawrence had needed only fifteen pass attempts to rack up a jaw-dropping 295 yards and four touchdowns.

295 yards on fifteen throws.

Nearly twenty yards gained per pass.

"We're being wise about this."

"Honestly, everyone else seems to have lost their minds lately."

"Fire moths, every last one of them."

"Well, it made our job easier, didn't it?"

"Exactly my point."

Clemson already had Trevor Lawrence in the fold.

It was only a verbal commitment —

but you could call it 99.9 percent certain.

The promise with Trevor Lawrence had been made on December 15th of the previous year. Alabama's Nick Saban had visited the player in person since then, and nothing had changed.

In fact, back when word of that visit had reached them late, Clemson had been terribly nervous — but according to Trevor Lawrence, the trip had only deepened ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his disappointment.

Nick Saban, who had already recruited Tua Tagovailoa, apparently seemed to be looking at him as an emergency backup.

Georgia, his greatest rival up to that point, had already raised the white flag, which meant Clemson could complete the recruiting effort without a hitch.

Team For Trevor.

Building a team around Trevor.

The TFT, carefully assembled piece by piece since 2016, was now complete with this recruiting class — and Swinney firmly believed it would bring glory to Clemson.

"Travis, Etienne, Higgins, Hunter. We're already loaded with weapons. The O-line's been steadily reinforced too. All that's left is feeding Trevor experience until the boy learns to swing every weapon in his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hands like he was born holding ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠them. Next year we might stumble — so what? From 2019 onward, it'll be our year. I'd stake my name on it."

The confidence radiating off Dabo Swinney was rock solid.

It came from an unshaken composure.

While countless universities were tearing up their long-term blueprints because of Dwayne Moi Stone, Clemson alone had stubbornly stuck to its own path.

Look back over the long, long history of NCAA D1 football —

the winner was usually the side that didn't waver.

Sure, there were cases where a gamble on a single colossal talent paid off. But in those cases there was only ever one winner, while the dozens of losing teams wasted two full years or more just cleaning up the wreckage.

And above all —

something bothered them.

Namely —

"It's odd that Moi hasn't attended a single camp, don't you think?"

"A lot of people have pointed that out."

Every June, without fail.

Dozens of NCAA programs throw their camps.

These camps are a kind of showcase — the combine of NCAA D1 — where high school prospects fight to prove that their talent translates at the college level.

Trevor Lawrence had attended Georgia's camps since he was fourteen, which was exactly why Georgia had been the biggest contender in his recruitment.

The player himself admitted it.

Said Georgia was the school he felt sorriest about.

That's how much camps mattered in recruiting a player.

And naturally, Clemson held camps every year too.

"That kid is a bust."

Bust.

In other words — a fraud.

Dabo Swinney's eyes, convinced that Dwayne Moi Stone's reputation was nothing but the athletic gifts of his childhood blown out of proportion, brimmed with a certain certainty.

Whether that certainty was faith in Trevor Lawrence —

or conviction that Moi was all bubble —

only he could say.

But a few things were clear.

Clemson had secured the player who would soon be the best quarterback in all of NCAA D1. And because of it, they could very well mount another national championship run before long.

Amid the diverging trajectories of every D1 football program in the country, Clemson's answer was to give up on Moi.

#. October 13, 2017

#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, USA

#-2. Kahuku CDP, Honolulu

#-3. Kahuku High School

#-4. Football Field

The first game of the OIA Blue playoffs.

We drew Kapolei.

"HIKE!"

The snap came back, and

I turned my body immediately.

Enoch took the handoff and took off.

From here on, this was my teammates' time.

I pivoted to watch the result unfold.

"There we go."

Six yards on first down.

Five more on second.

From our own 25, we'd chewed up a fresh set of downs in just two tries.

The early running game was working beautifully.

There was no reason to change a thing.

The sideline kept sending the same signal, and

the huddle didn't change much either.

Which suited me fine — it bought me a little breathing room.

"53!! 53!!"

The number I was barking out was the jersey number of a Kapolei defensive lineman.

Watch for a tackle from that side.

I lifted one foot just slightly — a signal —

then called the play.

"Green- 80! Hike!!"

The running game rolled on.

Enoch ground out three more yards.

Not bad. But

the defense was reading us better now.

Kapolei actually fielded a pretty respectable defense.

They had a linebacker named Kukea Emmsely who'd committed to D1 Boise State back in July, and defensive tackle Aaron Faumui was pure power.

It was only because these were run plays that I never had to face pressure —

but even Kaika was struggling to hold off Faumui.

Junior Tuia was a concern too.

He was their weakside defensive edge.

Kapolei's defensive scheme was sloppy enough that individual talent never got room to shine, but man for man, they were about on par with our own defensive line.

And yet.

"Red- 23!! Hike!"

If a defense chooses its scheme poorly,

then no matter how good its players are,

they become scarecrows — stuffed sacks propped up in the field.

"…"

Once again I sold the initial handoff motion —

but I never gave the ball to the running back.

Faking the handoff, I used Enoch as a blocker, turned, and settled into the pocket.

Those first three running plays.

Kapolei had lost fourteen yards' worth of positioning.

Once I'd checked the defenders' alignment and confirmed their weight had tilted ever so slightly backward, I abandoned the green call and switched to a Red Call — a specific pass target.

Our number 23 was Peter.

The most reliable split receiver on the roster.

He was running his route right now.

A slant.

A fake toward the outside, and

Peter was cutting hard on the inside diagonal.

There wasn't a single reason to hesitate. I let the pass fly, and the receiver, cradling the ball securely into his chest, launched his body straight forward.

Ordinary receivers — everyone except the tight end.

Running backs, wide receivers.

Those boys are selfish creatures.

Their own highlight reel matters more

than the team's win.

Here's the funny part:

they have to be that way to play the position well.

Team first?

No.

That kind of player never survives at receiver.

A guy can be the ultimate team player off the field and after the final whistle, but during the game, at minimum, he'd better carry a selfish heart.

Poking at that instinct and wielding it properly —

that too is a quarterback's craft.

Even with the running game humming along, I'd audibled into a pass because I was certain I could gain more yardage through the air — and because I judged it was time to spread the ball around.

So this next play, I figured I'd try the slot receiver.

I turned and flashed the signal to the bench right away.

Coach accepted my request.

Then came the huddle.

I delivered the play to my teammates.

"It's Metal Slug."

A fullback-based strategy built on the shotgun formation.

This time we were going with Metal Slug.

Except Mauga wasn't in — Enoch was.

By this point in the season,

the opposition knows our playbook.

So we always bent it, just a little.

"Flame Shot. You got it? Let's go."

Every variation of the Metal Slug concept shared the same skeleton.

I'd just lifted the weapon names straight from the video game.

The Flame Shot I'd just called

tweaked the way the tight end was used.

"56, LEFT!!"

After passing along the intel on their defensive alignment,

I slid my left foot back.

Sekope went in motion, and the snap came at the same time.

The instant I turned my body,

I handed the ball to Sekope.

The whole thing hinged on how well you could hide it.

And how well you could deceive them.

The key was executing the misdirection so convincingly that the defense read Sekope as the decoy and assumed the real threat was Enoch.

As if he were the one carrying the ball.

Mauga — no, Enoch — wrapped both arms around his body and charged into the line.

And a defender crashed right toward him.

There it is.

Whenever you deploy a decoy,

one defender attaching to one decoy means success.

What remained was the offensive tackle's job.

It was an attack deliberately aimed at the weaker strongside edge — if Tuzani had just delivered a clean block, there was a real lane to be had.

The moment I checked Sekope's path to the right,

I found myself watching my friend sprinting free.

He'd broken through.

And through some genuinely wide-open grass, too.

Sekope ran a long, long way before the safety finally dragged him down — but the moment he sprang back to his feet, he spiked the ball into the field and let out an enormous roar.

Play executed to perfection.

Clapping my hands, I jogged upfield after him.

Once again today, our offense was utterly unstoppable.

"Green- 80!! Hike!!"

After that, we just kept hammering the running game.

Twenty-three yards.

Eighteen.

Fourteen.

Seven.

We converted another first down even inside the red zone, and the capper was an option play working two running backs at once.

Enoch, who'd sprinted left, punched in the touchdown.

"ALL DAY!! ALL DAY!!"

"One more of those next drive!"

"You know it!"

"Let's go!!"

The third quarter had barely ended before crowds of spectators were on their feet, gathering their things to leave the stadium.

Mo wouldn't be playing

in the fourth quarter.

Most of the recruiters, having spotted Sol-Jay Maiava loosening up on one sideline, had already accomplished everything they'd come here to do.

The ones still holding their seats were the men with business remaining.

Two schools stood out among them.

USC — Southern California.

And Georgia.

The two programs were each waiting for the final whistle for entirely different reasons.

And among them —

was a man from Athens.

Ari Henson.

A senior recruiter for the University of Georgia.

This was already his fifth visit to Kahuku.

But the mission Ari Henson currently carried was nothing like the one he'd had on his four previous trips.

Namely —

to determine whether Dwayne Moi Stone

was better than Justin Fields.

Georgia produced a staggering number of elite high school players every year, and this season the trend was worse than ever — three of the top ten rated prospects were Georgia boys.

Among them had been Trevor Lawrence, originally the University of Georgia's number one recruiting target.

Only, he'd gone to Clemson.

For the people of the University of Georgia, watching the hometown-boy quarterback they'd meant to build their future around commit to Clemson was a deep wound — so they'd hurried to lock down the other two.

Offensive guard Jamaree Salyer.

And quarterback Justin Fields.

The two are nothing alike.

Dwayne Moi Stone resembled Trevor Lawrence far more than he did Justin Fields.

Where Fields was a textbook dual-threat, Dwayne Moi Stone was a pro-style quarterback — a pocket passer who commanded the entire team through his audibles.

Granted, at the college level, dual-threats are the better bet.

The overall level of play is simply lower.

If the NFL is a 10,

D1 sits at about a 6.

Setting that talent gap aside, though, from a pure NCAA recruiter's standpoint, operating the team with Justin Fields and letting Dwayne Moi Stone walk was the correct call.

And yet.

There's definitely something more going on with him.

Moi's play had changed since the Bingham game.

To put it kindly, it had stabilized.

He'd simply stopped running the ball.

Oh, he still flashed his speed once or twice a game with a designed run, showing off what those legs could do — but he'd reined in anything that made him stand out too much.

Even so, he was the most eye-catching thing on the field every single time.

How on earth were they supposed to read that?

Added to which was this visit's real purpose.

Ari Henson's mind was a jumbled mess.

We have the talent. An offensive line that can protect the pocket better than anyone in the country. The weapons are a bit thin, sure. But with that kid, maybe… just maybe it could work…

A line built to shield a quarterback.

And, on the other hand, a slightly duller edge at the skill positions.

Since they'd recruited a quarterback who could make himself a weapon with his own legs, a roster shaped like this was only natural.

But if Georgia twisted its direction now,

next year's recruiting class would have to be overhauled from top to bottom.

And naturally, the recruiters would be the ones fed into the grinder.

Even so — that didn't scare him.

What scared Ari Henson

was the university failing.

And losing his job.

Whew. I'd better stay here a little longer.

Georgia's senior recruiter

still could not

reach a conclusion.