The NFL Draft is fast approaching, heralded as always by a flood of analysis that alternates between the impressive and the amusing. How else could we find out that Clemson quarterback Trevor Lawrence, the likely No. 1 overall pick, has “fluid mechanics to easily uncoil” or that Florida tight end Kyle PItts, another certain early selection, has a “twitchy body type”?
Both those assessments come courtesy of Dane Brugler, who compiled a 267-page draft guide known as “The Beast” for The Athletic, in which he ranks 636 prospects and offers scouting reports on 415 of them. Brugler is, of course, one of many gurus who have followed in the footsteps of the immaculately coiffed Mel Kiper Jr., who more or less invented the genre years ago.
I would never be so bold as to question the knowledge, sourcing or work ethic of any of these guys; all of that is truly impressive. At the same time, the verbiage borders on the ridiculous, though at least it displays “excellent get-off burst,” like Georgia edge rusher Azeez Ojulari.
Scanning Brugler’s guide, I also learned that:
- Alabama wide receiver Jaylen Waddle “stacks corners vertically.” Which sounds like something you do when you make your bed in the morning.
- Oklahoma State offensive tackle Teven Jenkins possesses “violent hands.” Which is good.
- Washington defensive tackle Levi Onwuzurike possesses “violent, purposeful hands.” Which, I’m guessing, is better.
- ‘Bama guard Alex Leatherwood, who on name alone should be a great pro, displays “wide-screen vision” but is hindered by “lower-body stiffness.” Same!
- Penn State defensive end Jayson Oweh is a “freaky athlete with lower-body twitch.”
- Nittany Lions linebacker Micah Parsons is “one of the best talents in the draft,” in part because he too is “twitched up.”
- Florida State cornerback Asante Samuel Jr., owner of “velvet feet,” is likewise “twitched up.”
Gets you a little twitchy just reading all that, does it not?
What should be understood is that all these guys, besides being surpassing athletes, are more competitive than anyone you know, and smarter than you might realize. (That some of them have a genetic head start doesn’t hurt, either.)
I learned a little bit about all this years ago, when I covered the Eagles. Exhibit A was Jon Runyan, a hulking offensive tackle who played 14 years in the NFL (1996-2009) — nine of those with the Birds — and was renowned for, shall we say, operating in the gray areas of the rulebook. He was a brawler, a scrapper, a survivor. And when he was approached for interviews he was a willing enough participant, though he always wore the smallest of grins, suggesting he was either in on a joke you knew nothing about, or that he would be all too happy to snap you in two, should you displease him. Probably both.
At any rate, he was once asked about job security, and the jockeying for playing time that occurs within every team. “Who’s my competition?” he scoffed, before making an off-the-record comment about his backup, who shall remain nameless here. The guy, Runyan said, was nothing more than a “pussycat,” or at least a word somewhat like that.
That’s a reminder of how they keep score in the trenches — that absent ball-handling duties they measure themselves by who’s toughest, by who will play hurt, by who has what it takes to weather the week-in, week-out grind.
Runyan, who at one point started 213 consecutive games (including playoffs), always signaled that he was going to do whatever he had to do. One time in training camp at Lehigh, he and a defensive lineman got into a scrap during a scrimmage. They wound up standing face to face and grappling as two wrestlers would, their arms locked onto each other. In the meantime, Runyan was trying to kick the guy south of the border, raising this question: If he reacted to those on his own team in this fashion, to what lengths would he go when facing someone in a different-colored jersey? I’m gonna guess pretty far.
Side note: He has a son, Jon Jr., who like his dad was an offensive lineman at Michigan and now, after a promising rookie year with the Packers, looms as a potential starter. So as mentioned, let us not discount the role of DNA in determining NFL success. In this draft alone, Surtain and Samuel had fathers who were long-time NFL stars. And on a local level, the father of Penn State center Michal Menet, Brian, starred in basketball at F&M and before that was a multi-sport standout at Reading Central Catholic.
The elder Samuel is an interesting study, in that he recorded 51 interceptions in his 11 seasons (2003-13), the first five of which he spent with New England, the next four with Philadelphia. He played in four Pro Bowls (three while with the Eagles), and won a Super Bowl each of his first two seasons with the Pats.
Brilliant player, in every sense of the word. For proof, consider the day he missed a Birds in-season practice with a minor injury, but watched intently during a drill that pitted a single receiver against a single defensive back. Again and again he called out what route the receiver was about to run, before he ran it. It was uncanny: The receiver would barely take a step, and Samuel knew what he was about to do.
Finally one of the offensive coaches yelled over to Samuel: How could he possibly discern what was coming?
“I got the 4-1-1 on all y’all over there,” he answered.
Which is how you stick around, and in his case do a lot more than that. Let’s also remember that he was a fourth-round pick in 2003. The elder Runyan had likewise gone in that round, seven years earlier.
So the question facing each and every guy in this draft is not unlike the one facing every draftee, every year: Even if you’re “built like a sculpted, life-size action figure,” as Brugler writes of Alabama running back Najee Harris, and even if you are the owner of a “fluid hip turn” like Northwestern cornerback Greg Newsome II or are capable of “outstanding pattern match” like the younger Surtain, do you really have what it takes? Are you willing to shrug off various nicks and strap it on every week, like Runyan? Are you willing to study the game like the elder Samuel? Because those things would seem to matter as much as any.
That at least partially explains why teams swing and miss so often. Consider that in 2005, Aaron Rodgers slipped to the Packers at No. 24 overall, after such luminaries as Troy Williamson, Travis Johnson and Erasmus James came off the board. He has since spent his career making throws like this. And this. And this.
Far more recently Rodgers guest-hosted “Jeopardy!,” and says he wouldn’t mind doing it full-time, in the offseason. I say go for it, but make sure you have some producers to run routes for him between tapings.
Y’know, twitchy guys. Because that always has its place. But it isn’t the be-all, end-all we are sometimes led to believe.