Five years later, their final conversation stays on his mind. Loved ones were all able to say goodbye to Alvin Jones Sr. inside the comfort of his home.

At one point, father told son to chase his dreams and “get everything we talked about.”

He passed away. The funeral commenced. It was soon Aaron Jones’ time to offer a few final words at the casket. As his eyes welled up, the NFL running back made a promise: “I’m going to go get that gold jacket.” He balled up a fist to beat his heart because Dad taught him to do everything with his heart, and then had no choice but to move on. Somehow.

The Minnesota Vikings vet relived the entire experience with Go Long last season.

On our most recent trip to Eagan, Minn., this offseason, we touched base again.

Frankly, last season did not go according to plan.

Up close, you can spy 1 ½ white strands in his beard. Jones is 31 years old with 2,059 career touches to his name. This is Year 10. By every metric, the former No. 182 overall pick out of Texas-El Paso has defied all expectations. The most diehard of Packer fans still revere this player in purple. Fans love him. Coaches and players, too. We talk to as many NFL people as we possibly can at Go Long — players, coaches, scouts, administrators. I’ve never heard NFL people universally rave about a player the way they do Jones. His character is universally worshiped.

The point: He easily could walk away with his head held high.

His NFL career has been an unequivocal success.

But he can’t. He’s still thinking about that promise to his father. Looking to feed his mind with confidence this offseason, Jones consciously imagined what it’d be like to make it to Canton and hear his Dad say: “Son, you did it.” He kept repeating those four words in his mind through OTAs and minicamp. Standing near the Vikings practice field, he pauses several moments.

“I don’t know what that feeling is going to feel like,” Jones says, “but I can’t wait to hear it. So, I close my eyes and try to picture it.”

This isn’t a fantasy to him. Jones “1,000 percent” believes he can speak this into existence.

Nobody ever expected him to last this long.

On his left knee is a “G” tattoo. Post-Packers, this one now stands for “Greatness.”

On his right knee, he says he’ll get the “V” finished up.

Then, Jones points to a spot on his right arm. That’s where he says he’ll get a new tattoo soon: I Did It.

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Injuries railroaded this vision in 2025. Two games in, he suffered a hamstring injury and missed a month. Upon returning, Jones sprained his AC joint against Detroit. He gritted through the pain to finish with 747 total yards and three scores before missing the final game with a torn labrum in his hip.

Heading into training camp, Jones is “100 percent” healthy. This is as good as he’s felt in a long time. He’s in line to be the No. 1 back again.

“It’s about how you respond,” Jones says. “Are you going to put your head down and work or are you going to make excuses? I put my head down and worked this offseason and hopefully it’ll show this upcoming season. I know the best ability is availability so if I’m able to be there for my team, I can do some good things.”

Like Frank Gore (16 seasons) and Emmitt Smith (15 seasons) before him, Jones wants to go down as a “unicorn” at the running back position.

The way he feels right now, Jones believes he has six seasons still in him.

Those random white hairs? “A little wisdom.”

What matters most is that his body still feels young at the most cutthroat position in the sport. All 32 teams churn through running backs because there’s always someone cheaper with more juice. In today’s NFL economy, it’s hard enough for a talented back to get to his second pro contract. Jones is still going.

“I think it shows dedication and selflessness,” Jones says. “Because at that position, it’s not just running the ball. It’s pass protection. It’s making that game-saving pickup so they can get the ball off. Or you’re running a play fake and getting hit by one or two dudes. Sacrificing. I feel young. I haven’t fully left my stamp on the game as well. If I can play for another five, six years, my numbers will go on up and be right there with the best of them. And then at the end of it, there’s no debate.”

As in enshrinement into the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

If he’s somehow able to maintain his career pace for another six years, Jones would flirt with 14,000 career rushing yards. Only six players in league history have eclipsed this number. That’s obviously an exceptionally lofty goal. But there’s no reason he can’t bounce back in a big way this 2026 season. Jones is only two years removed from a career-high 1,138 rushing yards. The Vikings hired run-game guru Frank Smith from Miami as an assistant head coach, return to full strength on the offensive line and may start a quarterback capable of functioning in a modern passing attack this season. All of which should blow a gust of wind in Jones’ sails.

He’s still having fun. Jones hasn’t lost his zest for this sport at all. At the end of the 2025 season, he told running backs coach Curtis Modkins that after seeing fullback CJ Ham retire, he has no desire to hang ‘em up himself. (“There will have to be no team that wants me before I get out,” he added.) Still, it takes two.

The Vikings brass made it clear they wanted Jones.

Jones made it clear he didn’t want to play anywhere else.

Both parties agreed to restructure his contract to $5.6 million for this season.

In theory, he’ll share the workload with 5-foot-11, 230-pound bruiser Jordan Mason. Rookie Demond Claiborne, who ran a 4.37 in the 40 at the Combine, is also an intriguing prospect worth monitoring. The Vikings certainly value everything Jones brings off the field, too. He’s already been taking Claiborne under his wing. Nothing new there. He has always taken immense pride in helping all young players that he can. This day, Jones brings up Packers wide receiver Christian Watson. Back in Round 2 of the 2022 NFL Draft, he’s the one who announced that draft pick. Through the receiver’s injury issues, Jones offered words of encouragement. Told him the key is to never feel sorry for yourself.

When Watson got paid this offseason, Jones beamed with pride.

“I like to think I had a little effect on their life,” he says.

Football is always more than those 60 minutes on a Sunday.

No way does Jones last this long in the NFL without the influence of Aaron Rodgers and Davante Adams early in his own career. Both had a unique way of instilling confidence in him. Randomly, the Packers quarterback would tell Jones he needs to speak in front of the team. Spur of the moment. No warning. Jones didn’t have a choice. He cannot remember what he said to everyone, but the soft-spoken running back quickly became comfortable talking in front of the team. Big picture, the exercise helped prepare him for more uncomfortable moments in the sport.

Here in Minnesota, he believes this roster has all the ingredients required to shoot right back into title contention after backtracking to 9-8. Jones even thinks that edition of the Vikings could’ve done damage in the playoffs if they snuck in.

“We still have that hunger, that bitter taste in our mouth,” Jones says, “and you can tell there’s an urgency around here. Love the coaching staff. Love the support staff. Love everything about this building. They really make it about us — for us to get to Sunday and be at our best. They listen to the players. So, this is a great place to be. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I’m blessed that it worked out and get to be here another year and hopefully have a career year and get to stay.”

His greatest foe isn’t any linebacker in the NFC North. Rather, Father Time.

Mention the medieval torture device that safety Harrison Smith used to extend his career 14 seasons, and Jones jumps in. He’s been using that same exact device to stretch his limbs out. Smith gifted this “Pravilo” stretching device to Vikings linebacker Chaz Chambliss and Jones asked all about the funky method of stretching first developed by Slavic warriors in battle prep centuries ago. The machine, he explains, both stretches you out and rotates your joints. Anything to squeeze a little more out of this career.

His hip never required surgery. Doctors say it’s actually gotten more flexible through rehab.

“That doesn’t normally happen,” Jones says. “I’m staying on top of it — never being satisfied.”

Once more, he brings up a quote from Michael Beasley. The former NBA pro said once on a podcast that success does happen overnight — you just don’t know which night it’ll be. That keeps Jones pushing to find any edge possible. Today, he’s thinking back to what ran through his mind at 15 years old. Back when nobody knew anything about him, back when a genuine love for the sport motivated him.

He could be anywhere else this summer. Jones has a 6-year-old boy and a 2-year-old girl. (His boy is already a natural on the field.)

It’d be very easy for Dad to embrace a new life and leave scorching-hot practices in the past.

Yet as he speaks — hands on his knees, staring forward — Jones looks like he’ll instead sprint through the nearest wall at maximum velocity.

“I want to get better. It’s crazy to say. I’m 31, but I feel like I haven’t fully hit my prime,” Jones says. “I can get better every day. There’s something I can find and work on, whether it be my first step or whether it be a track or showing late hands. Did I show my hands too early? There’s a number of things that you can continue to work on. That’s what helps me.

“I don’t feel like I’ve fully arrived and that keeps me going, that keeps me hungry, that keeps me pushing out here.”

He’ll have another source of drive this season, too. When the Vikings get into the fourth quarter of games this season — when he’s hurting, wondering why he signed up for a 10th season, hunting for extra strength — all Aaron Jones needs to do is look down at his arm and see three words written in ink.

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ICYMI:

Our 2026 NFL Season Preview Features are underway:

Our 2026 NFL Season Preview Features continue. Go Long sits down with the man who plans on being the alpha these Miami Dolphins have been sorely missing for years. One Texas Tech awakening. One brother lost. Chilling phone calls from Texas. Tearing his ACL in Seattle. More issues in Miami than anyone knew. (We chat with players on what went wrong.)

All of it has led Brooks to the captain’s seat as the voice this organization needs.

He thinks these Dolphins are going to surprise people, too.

Miss our first piece? Here’s a profile of Dolphins All-Pro center Aaron Brewer.

Thanks, all.

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MIAMI GARDENS, Fla. — He can still picture immortals from the 1960s clashing in slow motion, still hear the crescendo of trumpets, cymbals and clarinets blend into John Facenda’s dramatic narration and still remember the visceral feeling it gave him deep inside. It was art. It was addicting. He didn’t have cable. Following modern pro football was not an option. But his father did own a box of NFL Films tapes and Jordyn Brooks could not get enough.

Whenever he stayed at a friend’s house, he’d ask to watch NFL Network in hopes of catching flashbacks to yesteryear. Jim Brown, Walter Payton, Barry Sanders. His eyes were glued to the running backs most. YouTube went mainstream around the time he was 8 years old. Any access to the Internet meant chasing down every rabbit hole imaginable to learn everything he could about the NFL’s roots in the 60s. Then, the 70s. Then, the 80s. He learned about the sport in chronological order. His appreciation for the sport was pure.

At home, he’d steal all pillows from all bedrooms to set up an imaginary offense and run plays. Siblings were pissed he was blocking the TV. He’d bash into furniture. Something inevitably broke. He only knew one speed because — in his mind — these weren’t pillows. These were players. “And sometimes,” Brooks adds, “you’ve got to have an imagination if you really have a vision of where you want to go in life.” Into youth football, as a running back for the Pleasant Grove Falcons in Dallas, scintillating NFL Films tracks like “Round Up” and “Ramblin’ Man from Gramblin’” played in his head TD to TD to TD. Into high school, his coach believed the best players should play defense. Brooks was moved to linebacker. Brooks loathed the decision. And out of sheer anger, he teed off on everything that moved. Pop to pop to pulverizing pop, he grew to realize this was a calling.

He was always more Butkus and Nitschke and Lambert on those tapes.

Far back as he remembers, nothing mattered more to him.

“God put the desire in me,” Brooks says. “The love was implanted into me with how obsessed I was with football.”

So, imagine his anger. Imagine what’s running through his mind when he’s witnessing the exact opposite as a starting linebacker for the underachieving Miami Dolphins. He gets it. Anything you want, you can get in Miami. Beaches, nightclubs, girls. Temptation is ubiquitous. All who play football do not necessarily love football. Loss to loss, many peers appeared wholly unfazed.

Here inside an office at Dolphins HQ, his dark eyebrows scowl. Brooks is wearing a cutoff Jordan Brand hoodie with a hat that reads Greatness is a Process. He swivels in his chair as he speaks.

“Look, we play football,” Brooks says. “We are not going to be able to run and hit forever. You’ve got a short window and then your body’s going to fade out. It happens to everybody. Nobody’s supposed to be running full speed into each other. But we do that. So you can only do that for a number of years, and then you can’t. So the urgency should be: ‘I’ve got to maximize this while I can.’”

Go Long is fueled 100 percent by our readers. Subscribers can access today’s longform on Jordyn Brooks and the Miami Dolphins, a rare look into how an NFL team strives to replace a broken culture with a winning one.

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Football is the ultimate team sport. The player next to you quite literally must do his job for you to do yours. Tom Brady isn’t Tom Brady, he explains, if linemen don’t block and receivers can’t catch. All 11 players are intertwined. One imbecile, any given play, can lose a game. Apathy — in this profession — costs co-workers their jobs, their knee ligaments, their pride. Quit like so many of his teammates were quitting and you’re directly screwing with livelihoods. That’s where it became “personal” to Brooks the last two seasons. He confronted teammates. First, nicely. You’ve got it in you. I’ve seen you do it at this level. Sometimes, that’s all a player needs. Other times, sure, he’d get mean because he wants others to do the same to him.

Urgency. Accountability. Hunger. All of this must become contagious in a locker room.

“We haven’t been able to do that,” Brooks says, “because people don’t care.”

What’s old must be burnt to soot. A franchise that’s now gone 25 seasons without a playoff win cleaned house to historic proportions this offseason. The GM (Chris Grier), head coach (Mike McDaniel) and quarterback (Tua Tagovailoa) were all canned. Miami’s new regime will eat $179,214,254 in dead money this season. In other words, 60 percent of this team’s salary cap is allotted to players who won’t play a down. All of which is healthy addition by subtraction. Sources inside the mickey mouse operation tell Go Long exactly what this looked like, right down to highly-paid vets thumbing through their cell phone during walkthroughs. Reset button? The 2026 Dolphins, under new GM Jon-Eric Sullivan, are correctly spiking the nuclear football.

What’s new runs deeper than a flashy free agent signing, a jaw-dropping trade.

This organization needs a soul. It needs a 29-year-old with the wisdom, scars, talent and, above all, maniacal urgency sorely lacking at 347 Don Shula Drive: Jordyn Brooks.

His life is a guide. Long before asserting himself as one of the NFL’s best linebackers, he was lost. In college, drowning in alcohol, one wake-up call changed the trajectory of his life. In the pros, consumed with the self-pity, another awakening saved him. He’s a realist. Miami has the youngest roster in the NFL at an average age of 25 years old. There are no big names on the marquee.

Unsolicited, Brooks brings up exactly what readers are thinking.

“A lot of people on the outside are going to look at our team and be like, ‘Yeah, 0-17,’” Brooks says. “But me? When you’re in it, it’s different. You never have that mindset. I understand why people would say the things they say. ‘How many stars do they have? Proven guys?’ We ain’t got a lot of them. But we tried that and it didn’t work. To me, this is exactly what we need. Whatever the vision is, I’m all-in. The best teams win. Not the best players.”

He brings up Sullivan’s old team. The 2023 Green Bay Packers had the youngest team in the NFL and came within one drive of reaching the NFC Championship Game. There’s a fire in his eyes.

“Why couldn’t that be the same situation here?” Brooks asks.

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Good morning, all. A month ago, I chatted with veteran tight end Chris Manhertz. Video and audio of that conversation is right here if you missed it.

Prefer the words? The transcript below.

There’s a reason a basketball player from Canisius University in Western New York has now lasted 12 seasons as an NFL tight end. Long ago, Real Football co-host Jim Monos and Buffalo Bills GM Doug Whaley offered Manhertz a tryout to play football. He excelled, cracked the 53-man roster in New Orleans the next season and now has young players asking him every day how he’s managed to survive.

His timing is impeccable. Tight ends are now invaluable in today’s NFL.

How Manhertz manages to stick around — and thrive — is a lesson to everyone in the NFL as training camps start to open up around the country.

Expectations are rising again in New Jersey with the arrival of John Harbaugh. We get into these 2026 Giants.

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The year is 2047 and Chris Manhertz is playing tight end in the NFL. Our kids and our grandkids are going to regale future generations. You’re going strong into Year 12, I want to say.

Manhertz: 12th year, yep.

A pleasure to welcome you back on the Go Long Pod. For those who don’t remember, Chris Manhertz was one of our early conversations with Jim Monos at Go Long. You two go way back. First things first. How’s life, the family. This must be a nice little lull in the NFL calendar for you?

Manhertz: Life is busy to say the least. I’m just trying to juggle that all with the family and football. But to your point, we just wrapped up our last practice of OTAs before that big break before train camp begins. So get an opportunity to relax a little bit. It’s time away. It’s not really time off, but nonetheless, you got to take what you could get during this time, right?

I’ve got to think that you probably have learned to find those windows in the calendar to pace yourself, take a little break. I don’t know what your secret sauce is, but you’ve got to get away from it in June to an extent.

Manhertz: That getaway time I would probably say is maybe a week max and then you’ve got to hit it. At least at my stage. I can’t really afford to take too much time off because that might be a detriment to the momentum.

That’s why you’re here, right? Is that it? Going one hellbent speed in your training, your approach. How are we still talking about Chris Manhertz bullying people on the line of scrimmage week-in and week-out?

Manhertz: I think the secret sauce is, if anything, is priding yourself on being available. And that stems back to how you take care of your body. The things that my body needed when I was 22 years old vs. being 34 years old and my maintenance routine and everything like that, it obviously requires a lot more as you get older. So you have to do just as much to keep up with all this young, fresh talent that’s coming in and trying to compete. So that’s always the constant challenge, but it’s fun.

Mid-30s now and you see all the young whippersnappers coming in at 21, 22, 23 years old, it’s probably got to be motivating. There’s constantly these new waves of players that are drafted, signed, added to the 90-man roster trying to take your job. That’s going to light a fire.

Manhertz: You’re absolutely right. It’s literally a revolving door. Talent every year. You have to prove to the organization along with everybody else that you’re just as valuable and you don’t want to be replaced by somebody that’s younger and cheaper. That’s always going to be the challenge the older you get. So you have to pride yourself on providing as much value as you can as a player and it forces you not to become complacent.

Start at the start in Western New York with basketball, with a young Jim Monos, Doug Whaley seeing a little something special (with the Bills). In your words, how did this all begin in professional football?

Manhertz: It started with those guys giving me an opportunity. Never in a million years did I ever think that somebody — a football organization, football scouts — would take interest in a collegiate basketball player. So at that time, fish out of water. Didn’t really know much, if anything, about the sport. Just giving it a shot. At the time, I literally felt like I really had nothing to lose as far as taking that risk. But obviously in hindsight, it’s probably one of the best decisions I’ve made. So that’s a long skinny version, but a lot of it is just taking it year by year and like I said, just keep constantly trying to provide value and getting better.

What kind of basketball player were you at Canisius?

Manhertz: I was what I would call a “garbage man.” Somebody that did the dirty work, kind of synonymous with what I do on the football field. Defended, rebounded. I was that pillar defensively and embodied just a lot of grit and just that typical glue piece that holds and keeps everything together.

Did you have a favorite NBA player that you watched growing up?

Manhertz: Yeah, Kevin Garnett was by far legendary growing up. I mean, he’s legendary now, but growing up, that was probably one of my favorite basketball players. Kobe Bryant. LeBron, I mean, he’s been in the league for 20 years. So we looked up to LeBron when he first started and came in.

Who would be a legendary garbage man, though? I mean, obviously Dennis Rodman. But there’s got to be an under-the-radar, random 90’s NBA player that you loved.

Manhertz: In wake of the resurgence of the New York Knicks right now, I’d probably say Anthony Mason. That guy, if you know, you know.

To me, he’s a Charlotte Hornet. I grew up a Hornets fan. I remember crying as a kid when they traded Larry Johnson for Mason and my Dad had to sit me down and explain “Ty, this is how it works in sports. Sometimes your favorite players get traded.” … And he was just a junkyard dog, man. I loved Mase. God rest his soul. Absolute legend. I can see that in your game.

Manhertz: Oh yeah. Junkyard dog is probably the perfect word to use. Just scrappy.

At that time, yeah, teams are looking at college basketball players to play tight end. But they’re high-flying, above-the-rim, Jimmy Graham types. The Bills had a different vision for you back then in 2015 that is still going strong. Today, what skills that you had on the basketball court applied to football and how do you think you showed that in your workout and those early days?

Manhertz: From a raw athleticism standpoint, there’s always a ton of transferable things that I had from the basketball court to the football field, whether it was that spatial awareness, whether it was footwork, whether it was hand-eye coordination, catching, things like that. There’s certain things that translate. But there’s a lot that in my opinion and experience you just learn. The physical toughness part was something I had to learn. Although I was a bruiser on the basketball court, the rigors of how physical it is on a football field is unlike anything on the basketball court. So you have to re-program your mind and reprogram your body to get that.

What was that breakthrough moment for you? Was it a hitting drill in a training camp practice, a game? When did things kind of click: “OK, football’s a little different.”

Manhertz: Well, from that standpoint, mentally, things probably didn’t start to quick until maybe my third year, which is crazy to say. But there’s so many different moving pieces as far as what you’re able to cognitively process on the football field in conjunction with all the physical stuff that we just described. So putting those two things together was probably the hardest thing I had to do, but the physical part probably came a little bit easier for me because I could control that the most. A lot of that just comes down to want-to and a certain mentality.

Was there a block or a personal battle in a game where you took another human being and drove him backward and you told yourself, “OK, this could be my thing in the NFL, this could be my calling card.”

Manhertz: That was probably one of my first practices at the time with Buffalo blocking Mario Williams. Now, those who don’t know who Mario Williams is — defensive end, huge guy, athletic specimen, genetic lottery, the whole thing. Seeing somebody like him obviously can be intimidating initially. Especially for a basketball player that never played the sport. But I didn’t know what I didn’t know. And honestly, I didn’t even know who he was to the extent of what everybody else thought. So for me, I was just going up against somebody that was big. I didn’t care. But after the fact, I realized, “OK, I have the capability of doing this if I hone in on my technique.” So once you do things like that, you just feel like you slowly belong and obviously it builds confidence along the way.

So you took it to him in practice?

Manhertz: I did. I did. And you could ask Jim about that. We talk about that all the time. That was a moment where I was like, “OK, I could do this.”

He’s the $100 Million Dollar Man at that point off of one of, if not the best season of his career in ‘14. You don’t know what you don’t know. You can’t put these guys up on pedestals. Maybe not knowing a hell of a lot about the NFL and what you’re walking into helped as well. What do you have to lose?

Manhertz: Certainly. Certainly. I think that helped because, again, I’m going in it with very limited expectations as far as what I’m going to get across from the guy standing across from me. So I think that helped in a way.

The Bills run doesn’t last long. And then it’s New Orleans, it’s Carolina, it’s Jacksonville, it’s Denver, now the Giants. There’s got to be a mental stamina to constantly go into these training camps — one of 90 — not knowing what to expect. How do you mentally approach your profession that’s just different?

Manhertz: You have to embrace that uncertainty in a way that you have to truly focus on the things that you can control. And obviously the body of work that you’ve put in, you demonstrate that over time. It breeds confidence. So a lot of that for me, that’s where it helps me out in knowing and supplying the confidence that I have in my abilities. And year after year goes by, you might have a new coaching staff, might have a new system, you have new young players coming in. But at this stage in my career, guys are asking me the questions as far as what it takes to last so long and things like that. And it oftentimes gives you an opportunity to reflect and refine certain things that you might have about yourself that you could add to your toolbox or maybe just a constant reminder that you always have to be in a state of trying to improve. Because if you don’t, you’re probably going to get left behind. That’s what I’ve realized in my time in the league, especially with guys that are drafted first round, second round, undrafted. It’s really about what you do when you get there and what your mentality is on a day-to-day.

You should just tell them to play all the video games in the world, order pizza, pound wings. No, you’re helping these guys out. What were those specific areas of improvement you think that kept pumping oxygen into your NFL career along this decade plus?

Manhertz: It’s really every year reassessing who you are as a football player and figuring out what it is that is required of you on that given year or that given staff or that given role that they might have for you — for you to give yourself the best chance to really make it. And obviously my role has been pretty consistent for a majority of my career as far as being a blocker and things like that. But I have to constantly tell myself that there’s always something to improve on. There’s always something to improve on. Whether it’s little techniques here and there, whether it’s my preparation, whether it’s my routines, how I take care of my body, how I’m taking care of things mentally. Because it piles up after a while and it doesn’t get any easier. So that’s why I say you always have to constantly try to refine those things.

What are some of those things you’re doing to keep your body a well-oiled machine or things you picked up along the way. Is Chris Manhertz going full Rocky Balboa in the weight room blasting the music? What’s your day-to-day life?

Manhertz: I train five days a week. I eat very clean. I go to sleep every night at maybe 8, 8:15. I don’t drink. If I’m not doing those things and I’m not on the football field or in the film room, I’m doing something. Whether it’s a recovery tool, whether it’s hot tub, whether it’s cold tub, whether it’s oxygen chamber, there’s a boatload of modalities that kind of could help give you your edge. So I try to fill my time with doing those things because ultimately this body is ... I look at my body as my war machine and I have to really feed that machine good stuff so that I could have a very high output. There’s no guarantees in that, but I know not doing that will probably leave me more susceptible to all the bad stuff happening.

It’s got to be tough with three kids to find the time to do all that. How have you balanced life and football and maintaining that “war machine?”

Manhertz: That’s probably one of the hardest parts. Obviously after becoming a dad, you realize how much time you really have and how you want to prioritize that time. And I guess what works for me, at least nowadays, is I’m an extremely early riser. So my first alarm is at 4:30. I try to, whether it’s on a workday or even an off day, I try to maximize that time before they wake up so that I’m not eating into the day because once the day starts and kids and everything and dropoff and pickups and the whole nine, you kind of look up and you’re like, “Man, where’d the day go?” So if I have a hard stop at 8:00, 8:30 p.m. to go to sleep, I have to find something in-between to be efficient and maximize my time with the time I have. So I’ve learned to get up a lot earlier. It all comes at a cost, but it’s worth it.

A cost like missing the New York Knicks’ comeback? Or did you stay up for it?

Manhertz: I was at the game. That was amazing.

What was it like at MSG?

Manhertz: I’ve never seen an environment like that. I always say I’ve been to few NBA games, but there’s nothing like The Garden. There’s absolutely nothing like it, whether it’s the celebrities there, the music, the crowd, it was great. It was indescribable. And thankfully I was there on a night that was very historic in the NBA World as far as their comeback. So definitely wore my Meta glasses. I’ll review that from time to time.

Where are you sitting? Put us in the arena for those who might not have thousands of dollars for a ticket. I can’t imagine what it was like.

Manhertz: I was in a suite with a few of my teammates, so that was pretty cool sharing that experience. It’s electric. Even after the game, you’re trying to walk to get out the building. You’ve got people crowd-surfing.

It’s got to cross your mind: “If our New York Giants win, what’s it going to look like?” I get it. It’s a different sport. A lot of Knick fans are Giant fans. It’s been a while since the Giants were NFL royalty. What’s it going to take to get this team to that kind of place and what would it feel like?

Manhertz: That would be a dream come true. I’m a hometown guy. I’m playing in my hometown. That adds another element to it. But what is it going to take? I think a lot of it starts from the top — leadership from the top. Our head coach, our scouting department bringing in the right talent and ultimately the leadership on the team. The players. And I think that it’ll require a lot of buy-in from us as far as what the head coach is trying to build, what type of identity we want to be as a team. And the one silver lining is — and this might be football talk — the best teams are the most situationally aware teams in the NFL. When it comes to situational football, they have it down pat. So kind of training that because it’s going to happen, things are going to come up during the season and the margin for victory is really small. So you might take a look at maybe four or five plays that really dictate the outcome of games. A lot of that is situational awareness and ultimately executing. So just being sharp with that’ll help.

You just nailed it. It really is just a few plays that decide these games, whether you’re a good team, a bad team. Hell, you’ve lived it with these Giants. Two minutes to go, a fourth down. The ball is shaped funny for a reason. But now you bring in a coach who’s won almost 200 games. How does it manifest in practice? What does it look like? Is he stressing these situations day-in and day-out, harping on it.

Manhertz: No question. Most of that starts in practice. You have to create a certain level of stress in practice, so that once the game comes, you’ve seen it before. You’re not startled by it, you’re not disheveled by it. It’s something that you’re used to, you’re accustomed to and you’re built for. So stressing that in practice on both sides of the ball — offense and defense — and putting us in those situations, whether it’s long-drive drills, whether it’s 2-minute, whether it’s 4-minute, whatever situation it is, just feeding it to us and making sure that we’re primed to be in the best position to execute during those times.

It can’t be easy to simulate the real thing though. You don’t have 70,000 screaming fans and the pressure of knowing all of America’s watching. How does he do it? How does he make it as real as possible?

Manhertz: Well, the crowd and the pressure of America watching, I don’t want to burst your bubble, but most of us don’t even think about that while we’re playing. It’s not even there. I was telling one of my family members a few weeks ago, they’re like, “Man, you don’t get nervous playing in front of large crowds.” I’m like, “The crowds aren’t even there when I’m playing. They’re not there.” It’s like if you have a baby, you might throw on a white noise machine. It sounds like white noise, but it’s not there.

For you anyways. That’s why you’re still going strong.

Manhertz: You stress those situations in practice as much as you can, as close as you can to what reality might look like. Ultimately, it’s not going to be the same as all those environmental factors that you just said. But just making sure we’re as close to that as possible to give ourselves a chance.

The timing for you is perfect as well. Two or three times through the course of your career, people might think of an old school blocking tight end as a dinosaur, a relic of the past. And then you look up and all the good teams are using two tight ends, three tight ends. That NFC Championship game was Seattle and LA. There were tight ends all over the field. Jacksonville drafted a tight end 56th overall. Chicago drafted a tight end 69th overall. Nobody saw those picks coming. Teams realize to create that unpredictability and keep teams on their toes, you need another extra lineman in there who can also catch a pass. That’s going to open up your playbook. That must cross your mind: “All of a sudden, I’m built for the modern NFL when for so long people thought I’m not.”

Manhertz: Absolutely. And it helps in knowing the system and how Coach Harbaugh utilizes tight ends based on what he’s done in the past and having Greg Roman as our run game coordinator. Greg Roman was our OC in Buffalo when I was there. And now 12 years later, I’m circling back with him and we’re in meetings and we’re reminiscing on where I was vs. where I am now and what potential I still have as far as adding value to the offense. So it’s been good having that. I understand that it’s a unique skillset, but overall it’s good for tight ends around the league because it’s only getting better and teams kind of have to keep up with that.

That was a pretty athletic touchdown catch that you had a couple years ago against the Commanders. You’ve got to feel the urge once in a while: “Alright, just a couple targets maybe guys?” Do you ever just put that bug in the ear to a coach here or there?

Manhertz: Yeah, every now and now and again, they might feed a dog a bone. I used to harp on it much more at one point. But now you have to let it come to you. And that play in particular was something that was set up for weeks. Because every week teams are studying your tape as well. Defenses are studying our offensive tape and situations and what we do on the goal line and what type of player No. 85 Chris Manhertz is. Odds are, he’s probably going to block 90 percent of the time. What are the odds that we’re going to be on the goal line and he leaks out for a pass. And so that’s the art of it. You have to play that game as an offensive coordinator and fortunately it worked in my favor and I was able to make a play.

It’s not like you were wide open though. The guy was face-guarding you. It was a tough catch. You had to use some skill there.

Manhertz: I always tell my coaches, sometimes you’ve just got to remind them and put it on tape. I’m here if you need me.

So what is the dream scenario for you this year? If everything goes exactly how you want it to personally and for the team, what does it look like for Chris Manhertz and the 2026 New York Giants?

Manhertz: Competing in the playoffs because obviously the playoffs is a new season and what you’ve done, what any team has done over the course of the regular season once the playoffs start is, in my eyes, irrelevant. It’s a new season. So having the opportunity to compete that far into the season gives yourself a chance. Ultimately winning a Super Bowl would be awesome, but I also have to put certain micro goals in place before we get there.

You see playoff talent though on this roster?

Manhertz: Absolutely.

Jaxson Dart, what do you have to say about your quarterback?

Manhertz: Yeah, Jaxson is great. He’s learning every day. Obviously he’s a younger player, but he has the maturity of somebody that’s not in Year 2. So that’s always good. He could use his legs very well. He’s an accurate passer and obviously he has a lot of growth to do with the new offense and the coaching staff, but a good quarterback gives you a chance. Right? That’s all you need — a chance. So building on that holistically as a team — whether it’s on a defense, whether it’s on the offensive end, special teams — we just have to build that together and ultimately we’ve got to win games.

Chris, I’ve got to let you get back to chasing kids around, lifting weights, going into hyperbaric chambers, which I think Jeremy Shockey, former Giant great, he revolutionized that and took it to another level back in his day. So you’re keeping that tradition go. What is it about the chamber that helps you when you’re in there?

Manhertz: It’s pressurized oxygen. So you’re in that chamber, it’s a ton of pressure. Your ears are popping, but you’re getting fresh oxygen and you couple that oxygen with the amount of pressure that’s in that chamber. Your blood cells, your muscles are getting fresh oxygen. So in turn, your body has the ability to recover much fast than somebody that doesn’t use it. So that’s been my edge. I’ve spent nights in that machine, especially during training camp. So like I said, it’s a cumulative effect, but you just have to keep stacking it.

Spent the entire night?

Manhertz: Yeah, I’ve spent 7-hour stretches in the machine.

It’s no accident that Chris Manhertz is still going strong. Thanks so much, man.

Manhertz: No, I appreciate your time.

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MIAMI GARDENS, Fla. — Fear cannot enter the equation. Anyone at any weight can execute a flawless back flip. But you’ve got to trust that you won’t land on your head, break your neck and spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair. That’s why 99 percent of people attempting a back flip, he explains, stick their arms out at the last split-second.

Aaron Brewer was never scared. Growing up in Dallas, he’d flip off trucks and houses and gates with his cousins.

Eventually, he learned how to run full speed and hurl his body backward.

“Busted my ass a couple times,” Brewer says. “I was a daredevil.”

Practice made perfect. Even as he beefed up to 272 pounds as a high school senior at Dallas Skyline.

The hidden talent gave him an idea.

When a recruiter from Texas State’s football team stopped by his school to chat — but exited without extending an offer — Brewer had a buddy record him executing a back flip during track practice. They posted the video online. The sight of a very large kid defying gravity spread. Texas State called back to extend an offer.

The first day Brewer visited campus, coaches asked him to do a back flip seven times to confirm the stunt and his life changed forever.

Soon, the best 2,880 football players in the world descend upon 32 training camps and exactly 1,184 of those participants will not make the 53-man roster. Camp is where droves of NFL dreams go to bake in the sun and die. Seated here at Dolphins HQ — orange tee cut at the sleeves, Jesus cross around his neck — is a man who transformed from undrafted nobody out of Texas State to All-Pro, to one of the sport’s most feared brawlers. The Miami Dolphins center asserted himself as one of the best offensive linemen in the sport last season and this new regime rewarded him with a three-year, $52.5 million contract extension. Naturally, he christened the occasion with a back flip.

His expedition explains how anyone buried on the depth chart takes charge.

From his roots in Dallas. One chilling close call could’ve swerved his life a very different, very dark direction.

To pushing his body to the point of collapse after earning that ticket to Texas State.

To one coach’s blunt challenge in college.

To NFL obliteration. All 11 defenders must train their eyes to keep No. 55 in their periphery, considering Brewer treats the field as more of a demolition derby at the county fair.

The key: He permits zero doubts — zero fear — into his subconscious.

Aaron Brewer has forever viewed himself as the baddest man on the planet.

No job in the sport demands brain and brawn quite like that of the NFL center. The man on the pivot must diagnose all pressure, snap the ball and then, a half-second later, stonewall a Sumo-sized nose tackle. Or pull. Or get to the second level to pick off a bottle-rocket nickel.

This 6-foot-2, 288-pounder credits the work first. His workouts are crucibles of pain because if you’re tired on Sundays, you’re toast. Once your cardio’s gone, you don’t think straight. Focus wanes. Technique malfunctions. “You forget everything,” Brewer explains. “You’re just trying to breathe!” Train like crazy and you think clearly. You’re the one dragging opponents into such waters where football, he assures, becomes “a game of inches.” As Brewer details how he owns those inches, he’s part Dennis Rodman explaining the art of rebounding on The Last Dance and part astrophysicist on the cosmos.

Pre-snap, he’s snapping pictures. Clues are everywhere. A safety tip-toes into a rotation to the other side. A linebacker’s leaning forward on his toes, itching to blitz. A defensive tackle’s weight is clearly swaying one direction. He’s done all the film work. Extremely large noses tend pop straight up out of his stance, which means getting paws on the chest immediately. Some prefer to shuffle with a “1-2” number sideways, which means beating them to the spot. Then, he stands up to illustrate how he shuts down Tackle-End (T-E) stunts that destroy unsuspecting lines. One look at the D-End’s feet and he knows if that end will take a 1-2 step or a longer 1-2-3-4 step inside, and he’s always able to catch ‘em.

Brewer wins before the ball is snapped.

Violence can now take over.

This day, he’s thinking of a screen pass to the running back vs. Atlanta. Dreads spilling from his helmet, he gets upfield to drill Jessie Bates and free Ollie Gordon III for a touchdown.

It’s fun de-cleating defensive backs, but he doesn’t discriminate.

“DBs, fucking D-Ends, those are the blocks you look for,” he says. “If I get like a sweet position on the nose where I know I’m finna dunk on them? A linebacker coming through, I get him on a perfect angle. I clean him up.”

He sees all moving parts. The game is now moving in “slow motion.”

There are Aaron Brewers scattered across camps this summer.

But, hell no. This did not happen overnight.

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He got the offer. He committed to Texas State. He looked into the mirror and was repulsed by the shape that stared back at him. That day forward, Aaron Brewer didn’t so much train as test the cardiovascular limits of the human body.

“I hit a different mode,” he says. “I hit a different switch. My grind went up to a different level.”

The best place to start was fourth period. Typically, this group of Skyline seniors sat around, BS’d, hit on girls, smoked. Brewer quit it all “like cold turkey,” and it helped that two of his friends were Texas Tech-bound. He joined them for their school’s workout program and ran an extra mile. After school, he’d eat quick — a bowl of cereal or a sandwich — before heading to 24-Hour Fitness to play basketball for 3+ hours straight. Then, he’d get to the workout provided by Texas State coaches, ran another bonus mile and headed home.

Monday through Friday. With a bonus workout on Saturday and with what became known as “Want-It Wednesday.” At 4 a.m., each hump day, trainer/mentor Lawrence Hatchett and Demarquis Brooks picked up Brewer and a few others to work out. Doors were left unlocked for them to walk inside and wake up the kids who didn’t answer their phones. It was drilled into his head: Miss A.M. workouts in college? You’re in the doghouse, blacklisted, toast. For six weeks, nobody was allowed to sleep through a Want-It Wednesday. Hatchett recalls it as a “mind challenge.”

They’d start by 5 a.m. and wrap up by 6 before the first school bell rang.

Usually, they trained on a hill right behind a school in Dallas that overlooked downtown. Hatchett appreciated the symbolism.

“You’re going to go through hell,” Hatchett recalls, “but once you get to the top of the mountain, you get to see the enjoyment in everything that you get from it. … I would put him through the most brutal workouts and he would come back the next day.”

Brewer’s goal? Ditch offensive line for tight end or defensive end.

Unveil a new body and blow their minds in San Marcos, Texas.

Each night, he’d return to his family’s two-bedroom apartment — one shared by his mother, brother, aunt, aunt’s boyfriend and aunt’s son — in a state of depletion. Brewer inched into the bathroom, turned on the shower and sat there as the water fell. And if he could sense any juice in the tank at all, he’d get into the plank position to do as many push-ups as he could. Or sit-ups. Until he collapsed and fell asleep on the bathroom floor. Brewer didn’t consider the day truly successful unless he knocked himself out. The best way he can articulate this feral stage of his life is through an Eric Thomas quote. In one of his most famous speeches, the motivational speaker said: “When you want to succeed as bad as you want to breathe,” Thomas states, “then you’ll be successful.”

Adds Brewer: “If somebody holds your head under water, how bad are you going to try to come up to breathe? I took that shit literal. Twenty-four hours, seven days a week, I’m pouring into it.

“That’s when you realize how far your body can go. It’s literally all mental.”

Nobody in his immediate family played sports. Two older cousins started playing football, and he tagged along. It’s not as if anyone was ordering him to do this all. Ask why on earth he’d torture himself to Goggins extremes and he cites those two Tech-bound friends. When they made varsity, he played JV. When they received offers, his mailbox collected dust. It was frustrating. Brewer thought he was working just as hard. (“I have to change something,” he told himself.) There was also his living situation. Growing up, he bounced around the Dallas area. His aunt’s apartment was in the particularly rough neighborhood of Oak Cliff (“Bro, once when I leave here. I’m not trying to come back.”)

In all, Brewer shed 50+ pounds. Officially a 220-pound block of granite, he could not wait to unveil his new look to Texas State coaches that May of 2016.

He expected applause.

He was greeted by the exact opposite. Coaches were incensed.

They wanted an offensive lineman. Not a damn tight end. Brewer was immediately ordered to eat. And eat. And EAT. Which sounds a lot more fun in theory than it is in practice. Think about Joey Chestnutt and the gang stuffing their mouths with hot dogs on July Fourth. It’s not a festive feast. Over the next 2 ½ months, Brewer ate 10 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches a day and drank glasses of chocolate milk nonstop. “A terrible program, bro,” he laments. “I did this shit all summer.” It worked. He put on 45 pounds. Of course, it was all bad weight. By July, he couldn’t even look at a PB&J. Further, Brewer could tell there was a stigma attached to his name. On his official visit as a senior, he wore a tank top with a palm tree on it and claims the team’s strength coach, Aaron Burkhart, interpreted this as a marijuana-themed shirt. When summer workouts commenced, he was unrelenting. “Military sergeant type shit,” Brewer says, “He’s telling everybody, ‘Oh yeah, we’ve got the pot smoker of the group.’”

Ribbings didn’t last. Brewer was soon lapping other linemen during the 300-yard conditioning test and dusting seniors. He even kept pace with skill-position guys.

Into the season, he earned playing time as a freshman.

“Then,” he says, “we had a coach come into Texas State. His name was Eric Mateos.”

One handshake and the subconscious immediately makes judgements. First impressions are powerful. Of course, Eric Mateos remembers the first time he was around Aaron Brewer the spring of 2017.

Thoughts filling his head weren’t pleasant.

“A degenerate,” Mateos says. “Super immature. He had a confidence about him that was like, ‘I’m the man.’ But he was just so naive and dumb to what he really needed to do to be a good football player. … Young and dumb. It’s really that simple.”

Where the kid grew up, he knew, was no cakewalk. (“You’ve got to be a little rough around the edges to come through that school system.”) Brewer kept showing up on the coach’s “list” for skipping classes, remained stubborn about his weight and did not seem to care much for Mateos’ ban on tank tops inside the dining hall. The coach told all his linemen to wear damn sleeves because nobody enjoys armpit hair in their food. Brewer continued to show off the guns. Mateos started to wonder if all Brewer owned in his closet were tank tops.

But Brewer wasn’t getting arrested, wasn’t doing anything unsavory or illegal.

To the core, he was a player who enjoyed smashing fools on the field. Mateos knew they shared the same passion for the sport. The coach was only 27 years old himself and jokes that he didn’t know what in the hell he was doing. Yet, as a GA with Arkansas, he was around center Frank Ragnow… a first-round pick and future three-time All Pro. Then, with LSU, he coached center Ethan Pocic… a second-round pick now entering Year 10. He knew what NFL talent looked like. Brewer had it. So, during their exit interview that spring, he laid out reality in the purist of terms.

The “list guys,” Mateos told him, do not go pro.

The choice was binary. Buy in, and you’ll be in the NFL. Mateos informed Brewer that he possessed more talent than Ragnow and Pocic.

“Getting him to believe that it was a real thing, not just some pipe dream,” says Mateos, who’s now the O-Line coach at Wisconsin. “Texas State was a losing program at the time. When I got there, it was Loserville and we had a guy who wasn’t a loser. He refused to lose.”

All offensive line coaches are black sheep in a society hyper-focused on emotional sensitivities. Nothing is sugarcoated because they understand football — especially in the trenches — remains one of the last remaining bastions of legalized violence. Mateos quotes Liam Neeson’s character in Taken. O-Line coaches, he says, require “a unique set of skills.” You’re managing egos. You’ve got to be tough without being “too much of a dick” or else guys won’t trust you. The balancing act is constant. Above all, you’ve got to demand perfection from your best players.

That’s where the two connected.

Brewer has a Grade-A bullshit meter. He’s always trying to figure out who’s real, who’s full of it. After one quizzical, Are you full of shit? Squint of the eyes, Brewer embraced Mateos’ message. Deep down, he harbored a desire to be the best player on the field. Mateos fed this wild side. Looking back, he chuckles. Most players chose Texas State to party first, play football second. And here was Brewer, a player whose expectations were “on a whole other planet.”

Brewer credits Mateos for teaching him everything about the sport. All X’s and O’s. How to read defenses. How to understand offensive personnel, motions, formations. Up to this point? “I’m just playing off just fucking grit,” he admits. “Fucking see somebody, go hit ‘em.” Mateos taught him the game and — most importantly — made him believe the NFL was real. Quickly, Brewer expanded his vision board. He didn’t compare himself to anyone in the Sun Belt Conference. Brewer stacked his game up vs. the best linemen across all of college football. To him, it wasn’t delusional. Mateos brings up a 40-31 win over Georgia State in 2018. One screen pass, he laid out two players at once. Brewer was the best player on the field.

Says Mateos: “I was like, ‘Holy shit, this dude is not normal.’”

Opportunities at facing top competition were scant. In a 35-7 loss to the Big Ten’s Rutgers, he maimed whatever was in front of him. (“We weren’t any good,” adds Mateos, “but I mean, he whooped everybody’s ass that they had.”)

The high-schooler passing out in the bathroom lived with zero contingency plans.

Make the NFL… or bust.

Become one of the most feared players in the NFL… or bust.

Mateos told Brewer to walk and talk and think like the greatest player who has ever lived. He took it to heart.

“He’s like The Terminator. He can’t be killed,” Mateos says. “He’s just going to keep moving forward and getting better and better and better. He fights complacency. At the end of the day, he likes to do pushups and wear tank tops and be the tough ass kid from South Dallas. The fact that he’s never changed who he is has helped him. Because once he believes, once he saw himself as an NFL player, there’s never been a Plan B. He refuses for it to go any other way.”

As the 2020 draft closed in, however, a strange thing happened.

NFL teams only saw “6 foot 2” and “Texas State.” They didn’t bother getting to know the man. The only phone call Mateos received from anyone in the pros was from Carmen Bricillo, an O-Line coach with the New England Patriots. Two-hundred and fifty-five selections came and went without Brewer’s name being called. Eight centers and 17 guards were selected in all.

The Tennessee Titans signed him as an undrafted free agent and back to the dregs he plummeted. From afar, Mateos knew that Brewer still viewed himself as the best lineman on the Titans roster. It’s how he’s wired. Not easy when your new offensive line coach is kicking your ass. The relationship between Player and Coach did a 180-degree turn in the pros. Brewer recalls Titans assistant Keith Carter threatening to ship him home, saying things like “You can go start selling insurance!” and “Go back to your hometown, go sell paint!”

Says Brewer: “My O-Line coach used to talk to me crazy every day.”

Into Year 2, he tore his pec. He was now the worst kind of damaged goods.

NFL teams are typically in no rush to stay patient with undrafted players who are injured. And undersized. And from a small school. Aaron Brewer could’ve — perhaps, should have — viewed himself as damaged goods. Yet, it’s in these defining moments, he instead thinks back to the roots of his mentality.

To growing up in Dallas, to all close calls.

One in particular.

Close your eyes to bring this imagery to life and, no doubt, it’s jarring. But in the moment, nothing about day-to-day life in South Dallas felt abnormal. That’s what strikes Aaron Brewer as an adult.

“You don’t know what you don’t know,” Brewer says. “Growing up in that atmosphere, it was different. I grew up around crackheads, trap houses, violence.”

Twelve to 15 family members sardined into his great grandmother’s house. Across the street, he explains, was a trap house. He’s seen SWAT team members knock on doors. He’s seen people shot in the street.

“I’ve seen,” he continues, “the motherfucking cartel cut peoples’ heads off. … Head sitting on the street.” (Thankfully, he did not know anyone involved.)

Like endless pros who rose from sketchy neighborhoods — Damar Hamlin, Azeez Al-Shaair, David Long Jr., Ray Davis, Javon Bullard — Brewer doesn’t want people getting the wrong impression. It’s a delicate balance. He dozed off to the soundtrack of gunshots killing people at night. Not an ocean breeze, not country crickets. But this childhood also hardened him in the best ways. He lived all over Dallas, primarily on Park Road, while his great grandmother resided in Oak Cliff. All men and all women in his life, he emphasizes, were tough. “My great-grandmother, bro?” Brewer says. “You talk to anyone in my family, she was a fucking gangster.” Understandably, she slept on the couch near the front door with a .38 tucked under her pillow. Great granny cussed like a sailor, too. Whoever walked into her home stumbled right into a Netflix-style roasting.

All in good fun. She was beloved, a neighborhood fixture right up to her death at age 94.

Meanwhile, with friends, Brewer got into more fights than he could count.

All of it — he’s certain — forged this zero-fear mindset.

“That chip, that grit, that aggressiveness I play with,” he says. “It comes from being in that environment.”

He also realizes how swiftly his life could’ve come crashing down at age 13.

One day in 2011, two of his 14-year-old cousins rode a train to the NorthPark Center Mall to shoplift at Dick’s Sporting Goods. They then rode it back and four boys in all, ages 12 to 14, decided to steal a stranger’s iPod. Nineteen-year-old Octavius Lanier was simply on his way to a medical appointment when he was harassed, attacked and shoved into a moving Dallas Area Rapid Transit (DART) train. Lanier’s body became lodged between the train and the platform and was fatally dragged for several yards.

He was 19. The entire scene was captured on surveillance footage.

Brewer still remembers police coming to his school to investigate. Instantly, his cousins were the top story in local and national news. The sentences for the four boys ranged from 7 to 30 years behind bars. Both cousins got out after only four years, before then violating their probation with a string of armed robberies through Dallas. They’re back behind bars.

A visible chill passes through Brewer’s body. That exact day in 2011, he wanted to join his cousins. He was living in the Lancaster area about 22 miles south.

Mom refused to take him to the train station. Son has no clue where he’d be in life otherwise.

No way he’s sitting here inside an NFL building.

“I was supposed to be there with them,” Brewer says, “but I wasn’t there that day. That was wake-up call.

“It should have been over with. Little incidents like that are in the back of my mind. I don’t really think about them, but once I really get the thinking about the path? This shit is not normal, bro.”

Mom’s intuition saved him that day. But it would’ve been remarkably easy for Brewer to descend into the streets with how much both parents worked. He avoided it entirely by staying active. Football, basketball, baseball, track, wrestling, chess club, even ballroom dancing. As a fifth-grader, Brewer mastered the Rumba, Waltz, Tango, Foxtrot and Swing. The key, he explains, is loose hips.

When Hatchett picked up Brewer for those Want-It Wednesdays, he saw family members scattered everywhere.

Throughout the week, the trainer would text motivational messages: You can change your environment. Brewer never made excuses. And on drop-offs, other kids would ask Hatchett to leave them a block or two down the street. Years later, he learned that known drug houses were raided nearby. Brewer, universally respected, was shielded from all pitfalls. Gang members didn’t mess with him. He was going places. Mateos, again, is blunt. Considering football is a violent endeavor, it doesn’t hurt to have a grown-ass man who grew up throwing hands like Brewer. “You can’t have any milk-drinkers on the O-Line,” he says. “They’ve got to be beer-drinkers.”

Mateos calls him a “quiet killer,” with the snarl of a character on the crime drama, Snowfall.

“He doesn’t take any shit from people and he’s really reliable, but he’s right on that edge,” the coach adds. “He could have gone down a different path and been the best gangster in America. That’s who he is because he’s just a winner.”

Brewer stayed on the straight and narrow. He realizes his case is rare.

At age 12, 13, 14, he explains, you see everyone working at Family Dollar, McDonald’s and don’t realize other jobs exist. Careers. “So a lot of my friends, everybody,” Brewer adds, “wants to be fucking gangsters, OGs. That wasn’t my path. I wanted to see more of the world.” A vision sharpened through those ghastly sights in the street, the incarceration of his cousins, right to Texas State and the NFL. That’s why he’s so determined to unleash the imagination of kids trapped in the cycle.

Brewer recently donated $25,000 to the Future Leaders Program, the organization that picked him up on Tuesdays and Thursdays and took him to a nicer part of Dallas. At charter schools and private schools, he was introduced to totally different classes that opened his eyes to a world beyond the hood. Brewer plans on bringing 5 to 10 students from South Dallas out to South Florida to tour Miami University, Florida International and attend a Dolphins training camp practice. He’ll get kids into a game, too. Brewer didn’t even attend his first NFL game until he was in the NFL. On IR as a rookie, in 2020, he used his allotted complimentary ticket to attend a Titans-Bills game in primetime. His mind was blown by the energy inside Nissan Stadium. Fireworks blared. Derrick Henry stiff-armed Josh Norman. Throughout the Titans’ 42-16 win, he felt “like a kid in a candy store.”

He knows what this ecstasy could do to a 13-year-old, back in South Dallas, who thinks his only choice is to sling drugs or flip burgers.

So why get discouraged? His NFL career crumbling, that belief — I’m the baddest MF’er on the field — never waned. Even as Carter ripped him. Even as he tore his pectoral the spring into his second season. Through rehab, he started to see why so many players retire after significant injuries. It’s taxing. It’s lonely. Doubt can creep in when everyone walks right by you each day. He missed a slew of practices, yet rallied in time to crack the 53 again.

“Only thing I can do is control my response,” Brewer says. “Everything else? If this team wants to let me go, I can’t do anything about that. I’m hurt. I can’t fast forward this injury to make it get better faster. All I can do is my PT, go home, eat how I supposed to, do little things I’m able to control to heal my injury faster. But thinking about the outcomes — ‘Am I going to be good when I do this?’ — that’s only going to drive you crazy. That’s anxiety.”

In Year 1, he played 152 snaps. In Year 2, that number jumped to 507.

He learned from veteran Ben Jones. Told himself, again, I’m going to be one of the best in league. The next year, Brewer started all year at left guard. Finally, in Year 4, he settled in as the starting center. Around this time, he called Mateos livid. He hated the state of pass pro and knew he needed his old coach’s magic touch. Mateos was coaching for Baylor at the time, so Brewer asked if he could hop in a car and travel 95 miles to Waco for a 1-on-1 session. Together, they solved his issues. Such tales are in high supply. Whenever he’s back in the Dallas area, Brewer texts Hatchett on Friday nights to get extra workouts in. “My wife is like, ‘You’re not going to no club or anything,’” Hatchett says. “I’m like, ‘No, I’m going to go work out with Aaron.’”

These days, the duo know to stick to 288 pounds.

When I suggest to Brewer that playing below 300 helps him get to the second level to take on linebackers, he cuts in. A sore spot has been identified.

“I dunked some of the biggest nose guards you’ve seen in the league,” Brewer says. “They don’t say shit about when fucking big ass Tristan Wirfs gets hump-moved by Khalil Mack. They ain’t saying, ‘Oh, he’s too little.’ He’s not too little. It just happened. It’s the league. It doesn’t matter how big you are or how small you are.”

There’s the spunk, the sharp edge.

The way Brewer has always felt about himself has become an on-field reality with the Miami Dolphins.

Each gameday, on three separate occasions, he takes the time to pray. Given his rise, it’s no surprise Aaron Brewer has simultaneously experienced a spiritual awakening. Avoiding that train in 2011. One backflip in 2015. One college coach’s challenge in 2017. This summer’s life-changing contract extension. All of it fills him with gratitude. He calls himself a Child of God. He cites Jesus Christ as his “ultimate why.” He views this relationship as the same as a husband shares with his wife.

“It’s a forever task,” Brewer says. “It doesn’t just stop. Once you get to a certain point and say, ‘I’m five years in, I’m good,’ that shit starts going south.”

This is no athlete defaulting into cliché autopilot. Brewer practices exactly what is preached.

He reads, journals, prays, engages Dolphins teammates in endless faith-based sauna conversation.

Then, to begin each week, he fasts.

At around 8 p.m. on Sunday night, he’ll polish off dinner and swear off food for the next 24 to 36 hours. Not one crumb is consumed. Only water. Some weeks, he’ll eat again on Monday night. Other weeks, he’ll wait until Tuesday morning. He isn’t doing this for any physical benefits. Brewer believes fasting builds up the “spiritual armor” he needs each week. He points to Jesus gaining full clarity after fasting for 40 days and 40 nights.

That’s how he feels. When his gut is clogged, his mind is clogged. When his gut is cleared, he thinks clearly and makes better decisions.

Each time, he essentially hits a refresh button on life.

A new perspective sets in. There’s no reason to bitch about anything.

“If Jesus was able to do this for 40 days, 40 nights, and he was able to carry a 300-pound cross on his back, me fasting for a day, I have no room to complain,” Brewer says. “There’s so many people that go through things so much worse, but it’s easy to get caught up in your own world. There are people across the country. So many people less fortunate than us who deal with everyday struggles. But we only focus on us, so we think our problems are the worst in the world.

“There’s someone always going through something 10 times, 20 times worse than what we’re going through. I keep that on the forefront of my mind and in my heart.”

Brewer thrives by staying honest with himself. Fall asleep in meetings. Refuse to put in extra hours. Slack off, at any point, and the league spits you out. He’s seen it. The line between making millions of dollars and unemployment is so visible. Too many players, he says, cannot verbally admit, This is why I’m in the UFL or This is why I’m in the CFL or This is why I’m out of football. They’re allergic to accountability and don’t see the light until they’re long gone.

A perfect segue into these Dolphins.

Ask if exactly that — accountability — was an issue for this team last season and Brewer starts chuckling. As if I asked if the sky is blue.

A teammate can only do so much.

At some point, you’ve got to man up for your own actions.

“You have to hold yourself accountable,” Brewer explains. “Anybody can push you to do anything. But if you’re not going to do it yourself? It’s not going to happen.

“That’s the piece we’re missing. When you’ve got a bunch of older guys on the team, it’s easy for them to be stuck in their own ways and not easy for them to buy into something new. Or get out of their own way. I’m not a believer of ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’ Walk how you talk. Show by actions. That’s the biggest thing we all need to do coming into this year if we want this to be a successful program. Not just a successful year. For a successful program for years long to come. You’ve got to be comfortable with being uncomfortable.’”

Nobody can force you to give a shit. Brewer will train like that 17-year-old back in South Dallas, and it’s on others to do the same. Oh, he’ll speak up. He knows from experience that all it takes is one inspirational message. Eric Thomas’ words “hit a trigger” inside of him.

He’s confident the Dolphins finally have the correct leaders in place. Go Long will have more on this transformation soon.

Once his fasting is complete, Brewer feasts on all 11 defenders. Amid Miami’s malaise, he was one one of six finalists for the NFL’s inaugural Protector of the Year award. Don’t ask how he emerged out of nowhere. He’s no one-hit wonder. Brewer studies centers of all ages — Jason Kelce, Creed Humphrey, Zach Frazier — and believes he’s only now hitting his stride. Hit play and he’s more 90s fullback in space, pancaking defenders at all three levels. One Colts nose tackle is drilled into the turf. Proud linebackers Zaire Franklin and Quincy Williams aren’t blocked. Rather, humiliated ass over teakettle. Safety Jaylinn Hawkins, that poor sap, never sees the destruction coming.

“Shit is dangerous,” he says. “You saw the tape. It’s crazy.”

Footage that everyone close to Brewer’s seen forever. Hatchett directs us to Brewer wiping out a cornerback 15 to 20 yards away from the play on his high school Hudl reel. “As a lineman,” he adds, “you’re not supposed to make that play.” He sees Kelce, only much more athletic.

Hatchett knows Brewer’s antennae is still up, scanning for doubters who claim he’s too light.

“He can go down,” Hatchett says, “as the best center that’s ever played the game.”

When vet Jordyn Brooks told him how linebackers must react to the linemen, it was music to Brewer’s ears. Everything’s slowing down for him. He knows if the call’s an outside zone, that linebacker must take an extra hop-hop. All he needs to blast through his face. Nobody’s expecting a thing out of Miami in 2026, but this offense does boast two electric weapons in Malik Willis and De’Von Achane. Get these two harmonizing RPOs and linebackers may need to take three… or four… or five extra hops to decrypt what’s going on in the backfield.

Brewer is bullish on his new QB1, a former teammate in Nashville. There’s the human who gave a homeless person his NFL Combine attire, oblivious to the fact that his act of kindness was being recorded. Brewer cites everything Willis endured, Auburn to Liberty to Nashville to Green Bay. “He’s been at it forever,” Brewer begins, “and he’s so strong-willed.” Then there’s the dual-threat weapon who’s been dying for the chance to lead a team. This is a moment the two have discussed for years.

“For him to finally get this opportunity to be full time? That shit’s scary,” Brewer says. “It’s scary for the league because bro is an athlete. He’s got an arm. He can run. He’s got the full package. I’m one of his biggest fans. I’m so excited to see him play this year and ball out.”

With that, he lays out his goals for the Dolphins.

He wants to win a Super Bowl.

He wants the defense to lead the NFL in takeaways and the offense to finish in the top 5 of most statistical categories. Personally, he expects to go All Pro again, make the Pro Bowl and earn another “Protector of the Year” nomination. But he wants company. His plan is for another O-Lineman to earn the same accolades. “Two of us, if not more. If all five of us can do it, fuck it, let’s do it.”

After football, he’ll get into public speaking in addition to all philanthropy and investing plans. He’ll share his story — “a piece of me” — to help anyone overcome adversity because he’s proof that one message, one backflip can change a life. Until then, he’s a testament to all NFL players on the fringes. There’s no secret sauce to this UDFA-to-All Pro metamorphosis. He never quit believing in himself, never quit working and will keep on displacing 300-pound men against their will. Brewer vows to be an open book inside this Miami locker room.

If anyone has a question, they know where to find him.

Granted, it’s not necessarily an orator teammates need.

Imagining the scene at a Dolphins practice, his old college coach pauses for a moment.

“It’s easy to follow the guy,” Eric Mateos says, “that you know would kick everybody’s ass.”

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Go Long subscribers can hang out with former players around the NFL. Miss our latest Happy Hour on Zoom? Here’s the Eric Wood Replay:

Football will be here soon. Very soon. Thank the heavens.

Thrilled to share our plans for the 2026 NFL Season as we close in.

The beauty of the football calendar and your amazing support is that Go Long has been able to travel the country to sit down with players all offseason long. Our aim is to bring you exclusive profiles and team deep dives you cannot get anywhere else.

Tomorrow, you’ll start seeing those stories.

Expect to see our first season preview feature in the AM. There will be many.

As always, paid subscribers can access everything we roll out.

There’s an NFL manicured for podiums and social media and then there’s the real league. Our mission stays laser-focused on bringing you the real with reporting rooted in talking to players, coaches and scouts around the league all of the time. We are only beholden to you — the genuinely curious reader who desires a story beyond the Twitter/X pigsty. Meanwhile, you won’t see one ad or hear about one sponsor. No gambling blood money will ever be accepted.

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ICYMI, Go Long took home some hardware in the Associated Press Sports Editors (APSE) annual writing contest. You can read those stories below.

Explanatory, 2nd place:

Long Feature, 5th place:

Columns, 2nd place:

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Part I of our latest mailbag is here.

Part II is below for subscribers. It’s a doozy. Thank you all for your exceptional questions — and story ideas! Never hesitate to send pitches our way at golongtd@substack.com.

Topics include…

• CTE and the future of football. What will things look like in 2076 and what can the NFL do about it now?

• The hunt of the next Sam Darnold. It’s complicated.

• Playing through pain — some do, some don’t.

• Bills Drought Memories. My goodness was 2015 Netflix-worthy.

• How much does “luck” factor into a player’s NFL success?

• Should players be criminally charged for particularly egregious on-field attacks?

• Thanksgiving Day.

• Sports gambling is worse than you think.

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Tyler,

Short, simple question this week:

What do you think is the biggest risk to the NFL’s seemingly unstoppable growth:

• International expansion? Playing games at all hours, travel, talent dilution.

• Fragmented game coverage? US government making noises about the sheer number of streaming services required.

• Gameday cost? Going to a game is becoming a once in a lifetime experience for most fans due to parking, concessions, ticket costs.

• Loyalty? Team relocations are certainly not new, but the Bears even potentially leaving Illinois risks a watershed moment.

• Talent? CTE is scaring a lot of parents away from encouraging their kids from playing which is a pipeline problem. NIL keeps mid-tier kids in college.

Are the owners concerned about these things? How are they strategically managing these risks?

Many of the risks come down to greed, and we know “the world is not enough” for the NFL. It simply seems like the NFL behaves like their power is limitless. I think of NASCAR 20 years ago and look how far it has fallen. It could happen to the NFL. Many things in life seem impossible and then become inevitable.

Paul Barth

Cross Plains, WI

Paul always delivers. All five factors threaten the NFL to some degree and I think these worlds will collide in ways big and small. Not overnight. Not even in five to 10 years. But eventually the freight train will run out of fuel. Something cannot grow at such absurd rates and at such breakneck speeds without a long-term consequence.

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Good morning, readers! Thanks to everyone who submitted mailbag questions.

Excellent inquiries. I’ll break ‘em up into multiple parts again.

First up?

• 2026 revamped Bills roster… which change is the most significant?

• KOC on the hot seat in Minnesota?

• Re-jumbling the divisions. Fun with relegation.

• Lions cornerback plans after Terrion Arnold disaster.

• Two journalism questions.

• Personal draft hits/misses.

• NFL’s international future.

Also: Be sure to check out Isaiah McKenzie on the Happy Hour Replay if you’ve got a chance. He was remarkably candid, start to finish. More details coming soon, but our next guest will be longtime Bills center Eric Wood one week from today.

Welp, I guess we can turn down “Free Bird” on the dial. The USA’s World Cup run came to a screeching halt last night vs. Belgium. Bummer.

Back to our regular scheduled programming: American Football.

Do the Bills have the squad of players with the coaches on this roster to go all the way?

Jason Hoffman

Love a loaded question, J. Let’s cut to the chase for the 2026 Buffalo Bills because that’s clearly the expectation after the coaching change. The Super Bowl. Anyone who took this job certainly understood the stakes and I’d wager Brady grasps this reality better than anyone who interviewed for the gig because he’s been here since 2022. He’s accrued all playoff scars this side of 13 Seconds.

No. 1, as he detailed, Brady wants to sharpen the mentality of the team, 1 through 53, into more of an active, attacking, “they’ve got to play us” temperament than the passive, cautious, bend-don’t-break, “Kodak” timeout crew that too often snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. He brought up his first meeting with the offense as offensive coordinator in 2023. Ahead of that Jets game, Brady didn’t even mention stars like Sauce Gardner and Quinnen Williams to the players because he didn’t want them overthinking the opponent. I like it. Why make anyone out to be a boogeyman? Coaches obviously will still construct a gameplan to exploit weaknesses, etc. But the Bills should strut into playoff games with more bravado.

That being said, yes. Personnel changes were needed. Personnel changes were made. Let’s get to the meat of your inquiry.

Here’s how I’d power rank the three most significant changes to the starting lineup.

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Stedman Bailey is alive.

Stedman Bailey is now determined to change as many lives as he can.

This week, the former NFL wide receiver joined the Go Long Podcast to pick up where we left off eight years ago. Here is the 2018 story I did on Bailey during my Bleacher Report days. Back when he opened up on taking two bullets to the head in extremely graphic, harrowing detail.

Bailey will never forget the doctors telling him he’d be a “vegetable.”

He wasn’t able to play football again and, sure, he plays cruel games of “what if” on NFL Sundays. Bailey knows he could’ve lit up defenses to an AB-extreme. But this father of three also learned he’s a hell of a lot stronger than he ever knew. One centimeter the wrong direction and he would’ve died. Perspective, he explains, is everything. He found happiness. He knows karma will take care of whoever tried to take his life. He’ll enjoy Toy Story 5 with his kids and he’d really love to connect with another victim of gun violence: Florida State football player Ethan Pritchard.

Video and audio of our conversation is right here.

Words are transcribed below.

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On one hand, we could talk about this surreal experience that you had the night of Nov. 24, 2015, or we can just talk about raising three kids and watching Toy Story 5. We can go two very different directions with this conversation. We were just talking about Dad life before starting. I loved it. I thought the message in Toy Story 5 was phenomenal and everybody out there should watch it.

Bailey: Yeah, absolutely, man. Just in real time, what we’re dealing with our own children — technology vs. being able to be outside and play with toys and really be present. The technology is really taking over and not just with the kids, but even us as adults. We find ourselves just being so glued to our phones for many different reasons. But seeing a movie that had a concept like Toy Story 5, I thought it was really good. Me and my family really enjoyed it.

So do you guys absolutely devour multiple bowls of popcorn at the movie? What’s the experience like for the Bailey family? We went through pop, we went through popcorn, multiple trips to the bathroom. It’s like being at a sports game: “Sonny, we’re going to miss an important plot point!”

Bailey: First of all, it’s an expensive experience. I think you can attest to the fact that the prices of popcorn, the prices of pop, the prices of anything at the movie theaters is certainly inflated. However, my kids, they definitely look forward to those movie experiences where, “Dad, I want popcorn.” Whatever they want. And it could be candy. It could be chocolate. It could be a hot dog. It could be a slushie. I’m down to just making sure that they have a really good time. So I open my wallet.

Where are you living right now, Stedman?

Bailey: So now, I’m back in South Florida where I’m born and raised. Not too far from where I had my incident. But I’m actually in Miramar. So it’s a somewhat better community. It’s a nice community that I’m currently raising my family in, got some good schools around and it works out for me. I have a lot of family that’s still here. So for convenient reasons, it works out.

That’s pretty remarkable considering what you’ve been through, to return to that area in any capacity. Let’s just jump right into it. So for those who don’t know, I’ll have the link in the post. If you want to go back and read it, it was a longform story in my Bleacher Report days. That’s when I connected with Stedman. We were hanging out multiple times over the course of two, three days and you really opened up on this whole experience.

I’ll just read the first few paragraphs.

His finger traces the path of the bullet that should’ve killed him on site. Right here, he points. Right here, one bullet struck him near his right temple, traveled through his head and exited just above the eyebrow.

His skull shattered. Shards of bone fell into his lap, blood gushed, and a car screeched away. The shooters used hollow-point bullets, he explains, bullets designed to expand and destroy and kill on impact.

Thirty hit the SUV in all. Eleven struck his cousin. Two struck Stedman Bailey in the head.

“A barrage,” Bailey says, “of bullets.”

That night, Nov. 24, 2015, the then-St. Louis Rams receiver was going to eat dinner with his cousin Antwan Reeves, Antwan’s 10-year-old son and 6-year-old daughter, and one of Bailey’s best friends, Terrance Gourdine. They were in an SUV they’d rented to drive the nine hours from Miami Gardens to Atlanta the next day, to spend Thanksgiving at Bailey’s mother’s house, waiting in front of Gourdine’s house while he changed for dinner.

The back hatch of the SUV was left open, an unknown vehicle pulled up from behind, and around 8:45 p.m., the gunfire commenced.

“Like a war zone,” Bailey recalls. “Call of Duty, but you’re really there.”

Bailey, in the passenger seat, took those two bullets. Reeves, in the back, felt one bullet rip through his chest, another strike his lower back and another zip through his arm, then lost feeling in his legs and regained enough feeling to leap atop his kids in the back seat and absorb more bullets in the shoulder. Once the assailants sped away, Reeves handed a cellphone to his son and told him to call Mom, to tell her that he and Bailey were shot.

But his son was staring at Bailey. At the literal holes in Bailey’s head.

The 10-year-old screamed.

“Sted’s dead! Sted’s dead!”

Sted is not dead. He’s here. He’s a miracle.

All of that, does it feel like it was 11 years ago or does it feel like it was yesterday when you think back?

Bailey: Well, my recollection of it feels like it was yesterday. It’s something that is still very vivid within my mind. However, as I just listened to you read that off, it really just sounds like something that could only maybe happen in a movie that just turns out to be really bad. But that is my story. To be where I am today, as you mentioned, I am a miracle. I’m blessed to have all my functions, just everything about me just working and able to just be here for my family.

We should really backtrack because I forgot how insanely productive you were at West Virginia. That last season: 114 catches for 1,622 yards, 25 touchdowns. You’re drafted in the third round. You’re producing for some bad St. Louis Rams team. Your career is all in front of you: fame, fortune. That ends. Your life nearly ends. I can’t imagine what is possibly going on in your world at that point of time when you’re then in a hospital room. The pictures they showed you of your surgery sounded just insane. You saw a flap of your head open like a garage. You could see your entire brain. Your eye drooped out of the socket by three feet. You’re seeing this and the doctor’s telling you, “We don’t know if you’re going to walk again.” In the snap of a finger.

Bailey: Well, I remember just within the timeframe of being in the hospital, that little time was tough because of all the words that I was hearing from the doctors. The projections of what my future would look like after that. And they essentially explained that I would probably live the rest of my life as a vegetable. However within my mind — though I just went through such a traumatic incident — it was something that was embedded to say, “No, first and foremost, we’re a fighter. I’ve always been a man of faith.” So that’s something that I was really able to lean on within that time of just trying to understand it all really. I’ve always been a person to believe that everything happens for a reason. Now, it took me quite a while to just really sit back and really process everything. To this day, I’m still trying to figure out my true purpose.

However, I have found some lanes that have been truly beneficial for me and it brings me a lot of hope just being able to — in this very moment — connect with other survivors who have also been through gun violence. Some people have survived, some people have not. The people who have not, I get a chance to connect with their families. But it’s been something that has been able to bring me some joy. Being able to give other people hope and even people who have not been through gun violence. Just seeing that I’m a person that went through what I went through and came out just as I am today, being a man of faith. If I can help turn people in the world to knowing who Jesus is then I feel like I’m doing the right thing. To me, that’s purpose.

You can connect with victims of gun violence in a way no friend, no family member, no therapist ever could. You lived it. You were shot in the head twice and live to tell that story. When we were hanging out, it was your mission to play football again — with a plate in your head. That was a real goal for you. That desire to want to play the most violent team sport on earth — after this all — it’s not just physical. The physical part of it is minuscule compared to the mental. You shouldn’t have even been in South Florida at that point. You’re suspended for something that, even at the time, is legal in several states. Marijuana. You’re also not allowed to be around your team in a suspension. That’s why you were back home. You’re banished. So you could play all those what-if games and curse out loud to whoever. And even when we’re hanging out in the moment, when it was still fresh, I never got the sense from you that you were bitter, spiteful.

Bailey: Having a relationship with God is what gets me over the hurdle. I know that within my situation, things could have been much worse. But I was blessed to overcome something that was probably meant to destroy me. And it taught me something about myself — I’m a whole lot stronger than I probably initially ever thought I was.

How so? In what ways did you realize you’re a lot stronger than you even knew?

Bailey: For most people, you never really know how much courage you may have, how much strength you may have, how much perseverance until you face adversity in life. Adversity is something that’s going to knock on everyone’s doors. I don’t think no one is exempt from adversity, but I do know it looks different for everybody. And for me to go through something like that when gun violence or anything remotely close to that was far, far from a life that I lived, going through that helped me to see that I could make it through anything. There’s no adversity or little problems that I run into now that make me feel that I can be defeated.

I remember you telling me that you and Reeves, your cousin, both thought it was an initiation for a gang possibly. And the local detective back then, he never got back to me. There was like a federal investigation ongoing. Maybe it was mistaken identity. Did you ever get any answers?

Bailey: Nope. To this day, I can’t tell you anything in terms of who, what, why. That’s something that’s a really big question mark in my life. However, I think it’s kind of good that I don’t know in a sense because I wouldn’t want to be a person that — to the slightest degree — would think about revenge, retaliation. I lost a whole lot behind that. And there’s probably ways to easily go get revenge. But it’s a situation that I’ve been through and something that I turned over to God. Karma is real. So whoever those assailants were behind the guns, I believe in due time they’ll get whatever is coming to them. Whether it be doing something else that may cause them to lose their lives, I can care less. As long as I’ve got 100 percent health like I do, my brain is functioning, heart, everything. And I’ve got family, I can press forward.

Beautifully said. Back then, you said “whoever those dudes were, they’ll get theirs” and “revenge is killing them with success. You thought you had me. I’m coming back stronger. So hey, thank you. Here I am.”

Bailey: Honestly, just being here in South Florida as a very popular and notable figure, obviously, I’m sure there’s a lot of people that probably do know and could give me some answers. But I’ve never really had no one come to me. Some people just ask about my point of view. But again, I think it’s best that I don’t know and just continue to live life. … Everything in life is perspective.

It’d be easy to be negative about this all. The millions of dollars lost…

Bailey: I choose to be positive. I have a choice. We all do as humans. When it comes to my situation, my outlook and how I chose to go about it, I chose to be positive. For the simple fact that God blessed me to still be here.

One centimeter the other direction and we’re not sitting here talking.

Bailey: We’re not talking in 2018. I’m not talking no further after 8:28 that night. And the very location where it took place at, I pass by it almost every day because my mother-in-law, my wife’s parents, they live not too far in the area of Miami Gardens. And so I pass it all the time. Sometimes I’m with my son and we’ll just look over and obviously it takes me back. All I can do is just thank God.

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Even back then, if I recall, you didn’t have PTSD from any of this. I believe your cousin did for a while. He was sleeping with a gun, wondering: Are they coming back? Obviously his kids had to seek therapy, I’d imagine, with what they saw out of you. You were always pretty good.

Bailey: His son is now 21. Actually just celebrated his 21st birthday in April and his daughter I think might be approaching being a senior in high school. So they now live in Georgia. After that situation, they moved up to Georgia and that’s where they’ve been ever since. But just seeing them now, his oldest son AJ is 21 and knowing what we had to endure 10, 11 years ago — and seeing where they are now — gives me a lot of joy because, again, their life could have been totally different, cut short, if their Dad didn’t play a heroic role in laying on top of them.

And before any of this, you and I got a chance to speak and I told you about another kid named Ethan Pritchard who is currently a football player for Florida State University. He’s also a Florida kid. He too like myself, is a survivor of gun violence. He too was shot in the head and he’s still right now actively recovering and his situation happened sometime last year in 2025. Now he just went viral about a week ago by the words of the doctors defying the odds and being able to walk on his own. Now I found that to be just incredible because it definitely brought me back to my time, my situation of hearing a doctor say that I probably won’t be able to walk. I’m sure this kid heard the same things. And here he is, another miracle on his feet and walking and just slowly but surely progressing.

I, after being shot, was still able to walk. Actually was able to walk into the emergency room and explain what was going on with myself. So I’m really a miracle. So is this kid, Ethan. But yeah, I’m trying to reach out to Ethan to just essentially see if I could be a part of his journey and his recovery. Being a person that has gone through what he’s currently facing. I believe that I can give him so much hope that his life can get back to normal and maybe he can return back to football. I’m not sure what his mindset is or where he may be with the whole situation of even wanting to play again. But if he’s anything like me, I’m sure that he’ll still just try to push as hard as he can to get back to everything that the devil tried to take from him. I’ll just dress it up that way: taking his life, taking his joy away from him, the game of football and everything else.

So that’s something that I’m trying to do right now and pretty sure it’ll happen sometime soon. So we could look forward to that and maybe in the situation that I get ahold of him, maybe we can all jump on the pod and make it real special.

If he was here right now, what would you want to say to Ethan? What would be your message?

Bailey: Well, I would first harp on him about how much of a blessing he is to be able to overcome what he has been through. I would really try to talk to him about faith and hope that he understands there’s a higher power that is looking after him and that clearly — with him still being here on earth — he has purpose to fulfill and that I would want to help him try to go discover that as I continue to discover mine. Being two people that have been through something that’s so similar, I feel like we can do some really positive things together. But I would also tell him that he could use his story to impact a lot of people in the world. I think that essentially when we’re put here on earth, he’s a football player, but if we can impact people in a way to bring positive and help people understand that it’s a higher power, I think that that’s the job well done. So I would just try to help him understand those things and tell him to continue to push forward that if he just looks at how I am today, he can, too, get back to being a regular person and living a regular life.

It was just in the news last week out of Tallahassee: “Less than a year after being critically injured in a shooting, Florida State football player, Ethan Pritchard has taken another step forward in a 16-second video. Pritchard was seen smiling and walking without a walker, taking small steps while occasionally using chairs for support.” That’s from WCTV down in Florida. I would think there’s so much mental anguish and mental hurdles to overcome in that moment where you do have to zoom out and realize, “OK, yes, maybe the NFL, maybe millions of dollars, celebrity,” this path I was on 100 miles an hour, that’s taken from me, but I’m alive. I’ve got a larger purpose.” And that’s a transition that you made so seamlessly, so much better than former players that played for a decade and had success and won a lot of games and made Pro Bowls. You see it repeatedly — and it’s so sad — how tough it is for players to transition to everyday life. Life after football is unbelievably difficult and sadly we see players take their own life. My God, the last three, four years there’s been several.

Bailey: It’s been rough. It’s been rough. I’m human, so I do have my days. I still watch the game very closely and sometimes I’m still looking at certain players. At my age right now, I’m 35. I feel like I could still go out there and be better than some of the players that I get a chance to watch on Sundays. However, football is far behind me. So I channel the energy that I have to want to get out and still be a part of the game to, now, passing that all down to the youth. So that’s something else that I’m currently doing now. I wouldn’t really call it the coaching world, but more so like training at wide receiver. There’s a slew of talented young men down here in South Florida that just with a little bit of molding here and there and some good guidance, good leadership, mentorship, and essentially the trainer, these kids can go a very long way. So I live through some of those guys by trying to push them to be the very best version of themselves as little young kids here in South Florida.

In 2018, when we were hanging out, you were throwing around 80-pound dumbbells, you’re playing pickup hoops. I think Todd Gurley was out there at the time. You’re texting “Bones” Fassell…

Bailey: So life is still pretty much like that. I’m still in touch with Todd. Todd still lives in California. When I get a chance to go over that way, I connect with all of my former teammates and I’m thankful for the brotherhood that you get a chance to build when you are on those teams, on those rosters, in those locker rooms, the camaraderie. It goes a long way. People like Coach Bones, I genuinely love that guy to death. He’s a people person. So the love that he has for people extends much further than the game. To this day, he checks up on me, his wife, everybody.

And I want to say you were engaged with one child at that point.

Bailey: So now it’s married with three.

Everybody has come back from torn ACLs and hip surgeries and Achilles. You were serious about an NFL return at that point working out like you were with a titanium plate in your head that the doctor said is stronger than bone.

Bailey: I still have that plate. It’s still hanging on inside of my head. And that plate was added to give me an additional layer of protection over the area where I had a lot of bone destruction right here over my right eyebrow. Being able to have that in my head, I thought certainly that it should give me just the amount of protection that I need to be able to return to the game. However, I had to find out that it was too much of a risk. But from a physical standpoint, two, three years later, I was in really good shape. I was running really fast and I was ready for the game.

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You went to a Marshall Pro Day?

Bailey: I went to Marshall and West Virginia. I got a chance to partake in both of those pro days and I killed them. Honestly. I did really well. Got a chance to talk to a number of teams who probably at this point, they might’ve sold me a dream. They were saying some really good things to me about just being impressed with my story and seeing where I was in that time of being present at the pro days. But being able to go back and showcase that and show the world that I did have doctors saying that I would be a vegetable, but God is the person that I feel is the author of my life. Doctors, OK. You don’t know everything. I’m proof of that.

At that point, you’re thinking of return as possible. When did you come to grips with, “OK, this isn’t a risk that a team wants to take or one I should even take here and find your next purpose in life from 2018 and 2019 on? When did you refocus?

Bailey: I got a chance to go to a neurologist out at the University of Michigan. I think they happened to be one of the top neurology practitioners in the United States. So around that time, I was trying to find the best neurologist that can scan my brain and make sure everything looks somewhat normal so that I can potentially go and play again. And when I did go to this neurologist, the tests were coming back really well. They actually took me as far as taking me on the University of Michigan’s indoor facility on the football field to run some drills for them just to see with me bouncing around, how would that essentially affect me? And they had one of their doctors — as I was trying to run around and catch passes — stand with pretty much like a pad that you could put here on your forearm. And after I caught a pass, they tried to run into me as hard as they could to see what would impact look like for me. And the impact that they had with the little bag is definitely not the same as what it would be as an NFL athlete running into me full speed. So that wasn’t necessarily realistic and that, too, was like a piece of cake. I’m just catching the balls and throwing a little flipper and moving these little guys around.

And they initially said that they were going to sign off for me to return. And then when I got a chance to leave, they sent me an email and I’m not sure if maybe they started talking to some other people and it kind of boiled down to the fact that — if they were to sign off for me and then I actually do go back and have some type of serious injury — I got lawsuits everywhere. I could go after a lot of people. So again, initially they signed: “Okay, yeah, we’re going to sign off for you to return.” And I was ecstatic about that because it’s like, “OK, it’s really about to happen.” But within a day of me going from up there at Michigan, I got an email and it was extensive of them thoroughly breaking down that there’s still, within my brain, supposedly a gray area that’s dead, that just doesn’t function.

So I’m no neurologist. That was beyond me in terms of actually understanding what does that mean for me. But at that point it’s like, “OK, well, if I can’t get them to sign off for me, then I guess I’ve got to accept the fact that it would essentially just be too dangerous for me to go.” So then I turned to look at my family and then you get to weighing those things: “Would you want to go risk?” Which at the time it’s like, “Yeah, absolutely.” But then I’ve got my family, too, who I know needs me at the end of the day. So that decision wasn’t that hard. Like, OK, I guess I can find something else to do in which I turned to go finish my degree up at West Virginia and I did that and I started to dabble into coaching for a little while. But then I was like, “Yeah, I don’t think this is for me because coaching is very time-consuming.” I thought I used to be busy as a player, but their time extends a little further for the overall preparation that goes into making sure that your players are ready. So I was like, “Yeah, I don’t think that’s the right move for me neither.”

So then I kind of jumped into the CBD world, cannabis, but just by way of trying to find myself some natural remedies that can help with things that can just be brain food for making my brain better. So I found out that CBD was pretty good and kind of got into that for a little while and just been moving along.

Like you said, you’ve got three young kids. That’s such a great decision to know right then early on in the coaching world, OK, maybe I don’t want to just stay all night at the facility and take my kids to Toy Story 5.

Bailey: Yeah, I might miss something as precious as going to see Toy Story 5. That just didn’t really make sense for me, but I know that that’s a door that I can easily step into when I’m ready. I might have to start at a lower level and work my way up, but having the name that I have within the game, it’ll help me get into some places.

I feel like that West Virginia team still has a cult following. It doesn’t matter who you talk to in the sport. Hell, here in Buffalo, Joe Brady just got the job and he remembers going to early coaching clinics and Shannon Dawson is talking there about this crazy offense that you guys had and he’s learning as much as he can about that. And then William & Mary played them the next year after you guys had left. You were doing just some pyrotechnic shit that other teams weren’t in putting up 40, 50 points a game.

Bailey: It was a whole lot of fun back then. I knew once Coach Dana Holgorsen got to Morgantown, things were about to get crazy. I checked his track record, his offensive mindset. For myself being a wide receiver, I went to go check the wide receivers and what the production was like within the offense. Justin Blackmon, a College Football Hall of Famer who played at Oklahoma State. He was amazing and he was in Coach Holgorsen’s offense that threw the ball around a whole lot. Now before Coach Holgorsen got there, we ran the offense that was ... eh. It wasn’t as fun. It was whatever. But again, I got a chance to look at the numbers of Blackmon and saw that he won the Biletnikoff trophy for best wide receiver in college football two years in a row. And then he also had two years of going for 20 touchdowns.

In my mind, seeing that come to Morgantown, I just thought to myself, “Well, 20 is a lot. But if I can get maybe a fraction of what Justin Blackmon was able to do, I should be sitting somewhere around maybe 15 touchdowns and well over 1,000 yards. And within that first year, sure enough, I went for 1,200 yards and 12 touchdowns as a redshirt sophomore and then followed up with doubling the touchdown count with 25 and 1,600 yards. Yeah, sky’s the limit. It was the limit within that offense and being able to play alongside Tavon Austin, defenses had to be honest when playing us. And therefore there were not too many double teams on me, not too many double teams on him. But if we did have those situations, we were beating that, too. So a whole lot of fun. And Coach Dawson, he’s now down here at University of Miami (Fla.) calling the plays. So I had a chance to run into him this past spring and he gave me a really big hug, very happy to see me. And I’m happy for the success he’s having too. He branched off from Coach Holgorsen and he’s looking real good and has some exciting players. Malachi Toney is a person that he says reminds him of myself just in terms of having grit being a past catcher.

Even in the pros, that second year you were starting to come on.

Bailey: My trajectory was looking really good, man. To this day, sometimes I battle with the what-if’s because I was seeing how my trajectory was going and I’m not sure what would’ve been next, but I know as far as how I see success in the NFL, it’s always about being in the right situation. Guys like Antonio Brown who was phenomenal had one of the greatest stretches ever at wide receiver. He’s a person I grew up with and a person in the offseason I got a chance to work out with all the time. From a physicality standpoint — talent of how we run around cones and work — I didn’t really see a whole lot of differences. And he’s also somewhere around my height. So I used to remind myself to be patient when the opportunities come, obviously to capitalize on it. But moving down the line, nothing is ever concrete as a player. You can be traded, you can be moved. I just imagine that maybe if I would’ve led it with any kind of quarterback, someone like Matthew Stafford, the what-ifs eat me up. He keeps a receiver that’s over 1,000, leading the NFL. So again, the what-ifs just eat at me sometimes, but I’m just thankful that I actually even had the opportunity to go to the NFL at all. Perspective.

So what’s your day-to-day life really like, Stedman? I know you want to fight gun violence and you want to be a voice that can prevent something like this happening to somebody else in the future.

Bailey: So I work with a couple different anti-gun violence organizations where it’s essentially all about trying to dig a little deeper and go to the congresspeople of different states to try to enact laws that will ... I mean, it’s a long road. But essentially enact laws that can try to keep guns out of the hands of people who should never have them in the first place. And then you turn over to a person like myself. Victim Recovery Services. So maybe having the resources that a person like myself could turn to after going through such a tragic event, whether you need a little financial help, you need to see a therapist. It’s a wide range of things, but it’s something that I’ve been pretty passionate about because I’ve been able to meet a lot of survivors along the way and give those people hope. So it’s something that I’ve been hands-on with and then ramping up with my training stuff. So after we get off, I have to go look at my schedule to see what kids I have to interact with this week as far as that goes. And then with my son, he’s on summer break right now from school. So I spend a lot of time with him. He’s playing basketball right now, so we’ve got to go get shots up today. I’m just very, very, very present, man. Very present with the family.

And you’re a hell of a player from what I remember watching those pickup games out there in LA. A lot of football players say they can play, but you can ball.

Bailey: That’s something that I tie into when I’m working out on a regular basis, but that’s a real good form of cardio. I’m a very competitive person and it works out. Getting with some friends, a lot of guys that are my age and seeing who still has it. A good amount of us are slowing down, but I’m still rolling around.

Better than me, man. I retired about five, six years ago. I was like, “I’m worried about this Achilles popping or an ankle ligament getting damaged beyond repair.” I conceded defeat.

Bailey: I feel that. I mean, I actually had a friend on the court who, not too long ago, tore his Achilles, but he’s a guy who was never really an athlete ever. So he probably shouldn’t have been out there in the first place, but it’s a reminder that things do happen.

Really, I have no excuses. You were shot in the head and you survived and you’re playing. So I need to get off my ass and get play basketball.

Bailey: It doesn’t have to be basketball, but obviously just taking the health part of our lives is something that as we get older, we want to make sure we’re doing something because the calendar days go by. We’re all busy with day-to-day life, but we could find an hour, two hours to get the heart pumping a little bit.

You’re in the right part of the country to start a wide receiving training service.

Bailey: I’m about to get some things going, man. With the kids that I’ve been able to train so far, I can just really see myself pretty much just raising them on up as they go through high school and even when they get to the point where, OK, we’re getting scholarship offers now. Now, we’re talking NIL. Being a person who can help advise and point them in the right direction because I mean, when we talk at NIL, it’s really wild, wild west. Such a slippery slope. You want to be able to maximize everything that they can when it comes to NIL. And for the kids that I got my hands on right now, I can see them being able to have a whole lot in the future if they just stay on the right path. And that’s something that I want to help direct.

Everything that you’ve been through, how did it really make you in mind, body, and soul? Who is Stedman Bailey today in 2026? You look in the mirror and you’re proud of what you see.

Bailey: I’m Stedman Bailey, survivor of gun violence. Man of faith. I’m a husband. I’m a father. I’m a person that pushes just positive energy. Perspective. Perspective is everything. So being a person that can exude such energy that is infectious to everybody that I come in contact with and then they get a chance to learn my story, who I am and it’s like, “Wow.” They see a light and I hope that I’m living in a way that they can see Christ through me.

It’s such an important message that anybody — not just former players — should listen to. To see somebody like yourself mid- 30s, late 30s, happy with all of that behind you. Forget losing football. You lost so much more than that. Just to smile and love life is a perspective that all of us should take.

Bailey: We all need, right? A little reinforcement. I plan to do a few more podcasts where I can share my story a little bit. I’m not sure if you may be familiar with one of my former teammates. He’s running a podcast called “Raw Room.” Have you ever heard of that one on YouTube? Daren Bates, he’s one of the hosts on that show and one of my former teammates and it’s like locker room talk. So they touch on a variety of topics and really just kick it. It can be off the chain a little bit, but it’s something that I look forward to just being able to speak about it a little bit more. You mentioned the suspension for something that now everybody uses. I’ll be able to kind of touch on that and give a little bit more of my story. But I plan to join a few more podcasts and continue to let my light shine, man.

You’ve always said, too. There’s a reason that that even happened — you’re getting suspended and you can’t be around your team and you’re back home. You got to look at it that way. There is a reason for this happening and then that happening. OK, now you’re ejected from the sport. What do I do now?

Bailey: Things never really make sense when you look forward. But when you look back, it’s like, “OK, yeah.” Chronological line of events, “OK, OK, OK.” So everything is a lesson learned. I’ve definitely learned some lessons and I hold myself accountable in terms of even just the whole suspension thing, that part starts with me. But I trust God and that’s why I’m able to be content with where I am today.

Thank you so much, Stedman. You are welcome back, man. Any day, any time you want to BS, Go Long is here. Next one will be a Dad podcast to help the fellow Dads out there.

Bailey: Yeah, that’s cool. Whatever you want to touch bases on, man, I’m here for you, man. I appreciate you always. You started this off by just reflecting on the wonderful article that you put together in 2018. That’s still something that’s really a highlight for me. The way you were just able to make that thing come to life. Obviously, we sat down and I’m pretty sure I painted a really good picture, but that piece by you was awesome. I still have copies of that here at the house.

Really it was all you and your willingness. Because I think before I flew out there, we talked on the phone a few times and I wasn’t really sure if that night was something you wanted to get into. It’s so traumatizing beyond belief that I would’ve completely understood if you want to keep those details at surface level. And hell, we sat down for dinner I think the first night out there in Thousand Oaks and you dove right in. You were willing to share. And I think to this day it’s going to help people — you being so open.

Bailey: But you know what, Ty, you too, man. You’re a great person so it’s very easy to talk to you. You get a chance to rub shoulders with certain people and you might not get a great feel where you may want to go into something like that. But I appreciate you for just who you are, man. I appreciate you.

We just wish you nothing but the best. Thanks so much, Stedman.

Bailey: Alright, Ty. Catch up with you, man.

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ATLANTA — Life was spiraling. Most days, he was paralyzed by darkness. Lost. Depressed. Contemplating suicide. Jamal Lewis was in a scary place mentally the last time we hung out.

In all, he suffered at least 10 concussions and went unconscious “two or three” times as a battering ram NFL running back. All of it triggered the same chilling sequence we see play out for so many retirees. Lewis was remarkably candid in this 2018 story.

Since then? Too many ex-NFL players have died far too soon.

A short list…

• Vincent Jackson was found dead on Feb. 15, 2021 after his family reported him missing five days earlier. It was revealed later that he suffered from Stage 2 chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE). Shortly after, ex-QB Ryan Leaf joined Go Long for an emotional conversation. Further, the Hillsborough Country (Fla.) medical examiner determined Jackson’s death was caused by alcohol abuse.

• Marion Barber III died one year later. Authorities administered a wellness check at the 38-year-old’s Frisco, Texas apartment and found the former Cowboys running back deceased from an accidental heat stroke. Barber had several bizarre run-ins with the law leading up to his death and was reportedly hospitalized twice for mental health evaluations. Terence Newman shared one chilling tale with us. He spotted his ex-teammate walking through the pouring rain one day, stopped and the encounter was chilling. Part of Newman thought Barber might start swinging at him. (“He looked like he wasn’t there, like he was a different person, like he couldn’t function.”)

• Rondale Moore died this past February from a suspected self-inflicted gunshot wound. He was 25.

• Doug Martin died in the custody of Oakland police last April. His parents had his brain sent to the Boston University CTE center to be studied for the brain disease and say their son was experiencing a mental health crisis when police held him down. They’re alleging restraint asphyxia in a lawsuit. He was 36.

• Aldon Smith passed away at the age of 36, shortly after delivering pizzas to a charity that supports the homeless. In an interview published days before his death, Smith admitted he’s “definitely seen better days.” The family is having Smith’s brain examined for CTE.

No two cases are the same. There are typically many factors at play, as all families are left to piece together maddening puzzles. But however you try putting that puzzle together, it’s clear players struggle to adjust when ejected back into public life. Lewis was one of the best running backs of the 2000s. He rushed for 10,607 career yards, 58 touchdowns, won a Super Bowl as a rookie and his 2,066-yard season in ‘03 still ranks No. 3 all-time. I reconnected with the Baltimore Ravens great on one of our Happy Hour podcasts with subscribers in 2023 and he didn’t hesitate in stating he’d do it all again.

This offseason, we met up again in Georgia for lunch.

The 46-year-old looks, sounds and moves like a new man.

Back in 2018, he was doughy. Out of shape. Today, he’s 40 pounds lighter and jacked. Back then, his kids were young and navigating life as a father was not easy. Today, we’re discussing Javen’s life as a rising actor and Jazz’s potential as a Division I slot receiver. That’s right. Despite his own post-NFL troubles, Jamal is all for his son embarking on his own career.

Effects of concussions were rocking Lewis’ world in ‘18. His temper could spike any moment. His memory flickered. Sometimes, he’d turn the key of his car and totally forget where he was going. He kept sunglasses on top of his head at all times because he was so sensitive to light. Headaches were brutal.

Today? Lewis is all smiles. Today? Lewis is enjoying immense success in business, co-hosts the “2 Livewell” podcast with Dr. Jeff Collier and there’s a good chance you saw his name in the news last February. Lewis was one of five former players to receive a pardon from President Donald Trump. Twenty-two years ago, he pleaded guilty to using a cell phone to set up a drug deal. As he explains here, there was always much more to that story. Now, his record is clean.

So, here’s some needed good news in the Former NFL Player department.

Jamal Lewis is doing great and represents real hope for all players in a rut.

Players can find purpose… but how?

Pull up a seat inside our booth at First Watch on Peachtree Boulevard.

Here is how Lewis fought back.

Go Long is your home for real, raw football.

Thank you for building our community.

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You look amazing. You sound different just talking to you. So, you’ve really gotten into working out?

Lewis: I started hitting it and got back in the gym, man. And I think starting that regimen, taking testosterone. My levels went up. My doctor said, “Your level’s at like 200. That’s what a girl’s should be.” And he’s like, “You probably have no energy.” I’m like, “I really don’t.” Just mentally, I wasn’t in the gym, wasn’t doing anything. And my asthma was bad. I was in the hospital for like five, seven days. You remember that, right? And I just took it serious, man, and started hitting it. Next thing you know, I started shedding the weight and I started experimenting with more of the peptides for inflammation. I got off the medication. I started losing. I lost like 20 something pounds, then it went to 30. And it just started working. Shoot, it probably took like a year and a half, two years to get to where I’m at now. But it got my energy up. It got my head straight. It got me more motivated. In a better mental space and everything else. So that’s why we’re doing this Live Well piece because I’ve seen how it changed my life. Just having more energy and being able to hit the gym and go work out and do stuff like that, it just did so much for my mental.

We got together eight years ago. And then you came on our podcast three years ago. You looked happier, in a good mental space. So far here, it seems like another level. Mind, body, soul, spirit, how are you doing?

Lewis: Doing great, man. Transitioning and making that curve into getting out of that depressive state — not working out, not hitting the gym — made things a lot better. Things calmed down. The kids are growing up. Jazz started playing football in seventh, eighth grade. That put me in a different state, too. He basically just said, “Hey, look, I want to do this. I really want to do this.” And he asked for my help. That got me really focused. So I’m like, “If you want to do it, then you’ve got to put in the work. And I can’t be driving you to put in the work. You’ve got to want to put in the work yourself because that’s what you really want.” So he showed me that and I bought in and laid out the resources. So that kept me going and gives me like a mission. He keeps me busy. My other kids, too. But he’s the one, I’ve got to take him here to practice. He’s about to get his license, too. I take him to Florida. We go train with my old trainer down there. I got him with Gold Feet down in Florida. XPE, which is my guy. He’s in Lauderdale. So when he’s got a dead period, we go down and I’ll work with some of the running backs that are either going to the Combine or going to the pros. Usually January, February, March is when a lot of the players are down there working out and training. Even the former guys. That keeps you active, keeps you going.

Business is good. I’ve started a couple companies that’ve been doing their thing and working. So it’s pursuing life — whatever comes my way — and taking it head-on. I even started writing a book called, “Still Running.” And I did that because I was trying to get the attention of the President or somebody’s ear about my case because I just want to tell my story so people could hear my side of the story vs. the ESPNs, the news and all of that. And it was crazy because I’ve been writing it for about eight months now. What really happened vs. what the government said happened. And I was just doing that because I’ve tried to approach Congress. I’ve tried to approach the Senate. I’ve tried to approach people under different administrations to try to get a pardon. But it costs. It’s like $75,000, $25,000 to try to get campaign money or donations. And the crazy part about it, I just said, “Hey, I’m going to write a book” and hope somebody hears it.

All of a sudden, I get a call from the White House. Alice Johnson, she’s like, “I just met with the President and he signed off on your full pardon.” I was like, “What?”

Where were you? When did you find out?

Lewis: I was at a cigar spot waiting for Jazz to finish training. So I’m waiting and I was leaving to go pick him up and I saw her number come through at 202 and I was like, “I don’t know who that is.” I didn’t answer. Next thing you know, I checked the message and this lady, she was like, “I’m Alice Johnson, the White House Pardon Czar. Call me back. I’ve got some good news for you.” So I called her back, that’s when she said, “I just met with the President.” I was like, “Wow. How? What?” She said, “I’ve been advocating for you for a while. I know your story. I looked at your case and I believe in second chances and I feel like you should get a second chance.” She also got a second chance from the president. So that was it. It came out of the blue. I didn’t even apply. They did everything. This lady, Alice, she did everything. She just advocated and said, “I wanted to do something for some football players.” So that’s why there were like five of us. Nate Newton and then Travis Henry and Klecko and (Billy Cannon).

Did you start celebrating? What’s the next move?

Lewis: I was in awe, first of all. The first person I called my Mom. And then of course the next day it exploded. That Friday. And, man, it was just a sigh of relief. Really. That’s really what it was. Like, “finally.” And it’s great, but at the same time, I’m writing this book and it still needs to be told. What really happened. Because it was bogus. It was BS.

There’s probably a deeper problem rooted there?

Lewis: Oh, there’s a lot of guys got railroaded and just set up whatever by informants and this, that and the other and people trying to get out of their own trouble. And it’s crazy because the government sent somebody — at me — to set me up. That’s really what the story is about. How the government really set me up.

What do you mean by that? Like something we’d see on The Wire?

Lewis: A confidential informant. It was a girl. It was a confidential informant. She was working for the feds because she got in trouble. So since that was the case, because of where I was from, there was a big sting that was going on. From where I was from. You’ve been in my neighborhood. There was a lot of that and I knew a lot of people. So I guess they knew that I knew these people. So they sent this girl to me to talk about drugs (in April 2000). I didn’t bring up drugs to her. She bought up drugs to me that was planted from the government. And then the phone call — the phone count that I’m charged with — I wasn’t even on the phone. She said she turned the microphone around the wrong way, so therefore all you heard was her talking. So you didn’t even hear me talking on the recording that I actually went to jail for.

What? You weren’t even on the call?

Lewis: Wasn’t even on the call.

So you’re not doing this cocaine deal?

Lewis: Yeah, I’m not talking to her. She’s talking about cocaine, talking about what, where, blah, blah, blah. It’s a whole 30-minute conversation. But I didn’t hear it until I got indicted and I was able to listen to the discovery. But basically you either go to trial and you get a 50-50 chance or you take this 4-to-6 months (in prison) and Paul Tagliabue and Ozzie Newsome and Art Modell, they already told me I’ve got my job, I’m good because they knew who I really was. So I was like, “I’ll go do this 4-to-6 months” versus…

But then it’s like you’re admitting guilt to it even though you did nothing wrong.

Lewis: Did nothing wrong. Because of my job and everything else, you get forced into pleading to say, “Yeah, OK. Four to 6 months, I’ll take it. Give it to me.” Versus going to trial. A lot of the detail will be in the book as far as where it started, growing up, my neighborhood, the people I associated myself with, which was, you want to say “my fault,” but these are your friends, these are your neighbors, these are your people you went to school with that you’re around. So you can’t say, “Oh, hang around better people.”

That’s all there is.

Lewis: That’s all there is in the area. I didn’t do anything wrong. But that’s what I’m hitting on — the backstory, where it started, how it happened, all the detail as far as who, what, where. And all the accounts that happened because I had got a chance to sit in my lawyer’s office every Monday after a football game. When we played on Sunday, if we were away or at home, I flew out after the game to Atlanta because I had to meet with my lawyers Monday and Tuesday, and then fly back to Baltimore. I had to fly back that Tuesday night to be at practice Wednesday.

Your mental, how do you stay sane when you’re getting set up like this — and then need to go play a football game?

Lewis: It was crazy. It was a tough time. But it taught me a lot about how strong I was as a person. And hey, God’s got something in store for you because he’s putting you through this for a reason. So it was one of those things where it’s like a Come to Jesus meeting with yourself. So it really prepared me a lot for life after. But the crazy part is the contract negotiations because it all happened after my 2,000-yard season. I got indicted two weeks after the Pro Bowl (in 2004).

Of that season?

Lewis: Yeah. That’s why it even came out.

So you believe you were targeted because of who you are and that they wanted a big name?

Lewis: Exactly.

Who’s behind all this then?

Lewis: So Mike Brown was the prosecutor. He’s now a federal judge. They just had this sting and took down probably 18, 19, maybe 20 guys. So therefore, there were dudes trying to jump on my case to try to get their time down. So that’s what the government was using, too.

Meanwhile, you’re not involved in any of this?

Lewis: I just got drafted into the NFL. I just signed a $35 million deal.

That’s why the book piece of it is good. I’m pardoned. I had to add that to the book because of the way it happened out of the blue. And I had been trying for years and I just gave up. I was like, “Forget this.”

Who wasn’t listening before?

Lewis: The Obama administration first and then it was the Biden administration. They weren’t listening because, first of all, you’re not talking to a Pardon Czar. You’re talking to a senator, a congressman, somebody like that that is supposed to help lift you to and get it in front of the sitting president. Well, you’ve got to file an application. You file an application and it’s probably 30 pages of shit that you need to put in there, whatever about your case, this and that. So hopefully it gets in front of somebody. But I was just trying to meet with people to say, “OK, this ain’t brain surgery. The case is the case.” But it’s campaign contributions, and it’s not even guaranteed.

I didn’t take it on. I didn’t do it because it was $75,000, $25,000.

And it’s just this wink-wink with a politician?

Lewis: Yeah. So you either take it or you don’t.

So here you are, believing you’re totally innocent. And the way the system’s set up is an innocent person has to spend tens of thousand dollars just to get eyeballs on your case?

Lewis: Yeah, yeah. Because you’ve got to get somebody that’s going to get it in front of him. Trump brought in somebody to handle that. And I think that’s what really helped accelerate the process. He bought Alice Johnson in. He gave her a pardon and then he brought her in as the Pardon Czar for the White House. So she handles all of the pardons and looks into the cases. That’s how they brought us five into the equation because she was like, “I think you guys have done your time, you lived under that rock for so long. It’s time. The President heard it through and put pen to paper.” Shit, you can’t complain. I was happy.

I’m just happy it happened and now it’s behind me. It’s hard to get business capital as a convicted felon. They turn you down immediately or they charge you a high interest rate. … People see through it sometimes because of who you are. Still, it comes up. So now I’ve got my pardon papers and it’s in the system that I’m clean.

How much time did you do in prison?

Lewis: It was six months. But I did it in the offseason. Four months in and two months halfway house.

What was life like behind bars?

Lewis: It was different. You’ve got to read that in the book.

When I do get it finished, I want to exclusively speak to kids at colleges and universities — the NIL kids, the high-profile kids that are basically going to have to deal with some of this stuff in the future. And making better decisions. Consequences that do happen, things that come up that you just don’t even think about and just like what happened with me. I want to be able to share that with these guys and tour some schools for that first year. And then drop the book after that. Because I think that’s who it’s for. They’re in the same boat that I was in. I got caught up right before the draft. And then I didn’t get indicted until four years later. It was about to go into the statute of limitations. It was almost at the five-year mark.

What do you regret then? Were you using drugs?

Lewis: No, I just regret being young and naive at the time to even letting this girl in my world.

She said she knew Michael Vick’s family, and Michael Vick wanted to talk to me about leaving school earlier. And it came through my marketing agent. So my marketing agent, of course, was probably trying to get Michael Vick in some kind of way. So doing them a favor then turned into this girl who was really bullshitting. She was really sent by the government.

That’s the only thing I regret. That’s one of the things that these kids need to watch out for. Don’t let everybody in your world. Especially when you’re who you are.

I was just reading a story by Dan Wetzel. A lot of high school athletes that are high profile D-1 athlete prospects are getting targeted by people overseas posing as females and they’ll ask for nudes. Then somebody in Nigeria tries to extort them and send the pictures to all their friends, all their family through the school and these boys are killing themselves.

Lewis: Wow. That’s crazy. That’s the mission with the book — to help somebody else. Because like I said, I was doing it to try to get a pardon. That’s done. So, now what?

Let people hear my story and hear from my side vs. what they read back then in 2005.

How about all the other stuff that we got into back in 2018? All the concussions you suffered in the pros did a number on you. And, mentally, do you finally feel fulfilled in life after football? Depression probably isn’t something you simply defeat completely.

Lewis: The depression was there. It was gaining the weight and feeling down on yourself. We talked about it. Not having the crowd. Not having that around anymore and getting adjusted. Now, I’m adjusted. I’m adjusted to civilian lifestyle. I learned how to deal with and cope with problems that might exist. At the time, I was either in a business or trying to start something and get something going. But with time, things developed and business started going good. Things started looking up and that kind of helped. And even like I said, losing the weight, working out, getting back active. That really helped, too.

Are you running the same businesses as before? Have things changed?

Lewis: I’ve sold out of some of them. But right now, I’ve got a company where we run underground fiber. Underground construction. So I’ve got a partner in that and we’ve been tyring to build that up for three or four years. Mainly running fiber for Telecom companies. And then since Jazz was doing his thing, I got involved in his sports. That’s why I started “Shōcase” brands with him and my older son. It’s more youth apparel type stuff. I designed this shoe bag. Because I was buying these cleats for $200, $300. Right? And then you go to basketball and shoes are, shit, even more than that. Because if you don’t get them when they first come out, you won’t find them. So I basically designed this bag where the kids can carry their shoes in them since they cost so much. A Shōcase bag. I started going to these 7-on-7 camps, all these camps that I’m taking Jazz to and I’m seeing the money grab and what they’re doing. That’s why you’ve got to go to the right camps and be at the right places where it’s not money grabs.

So many of them seem like a Ponzi scheme.

Lewis: Yeah! So basically I did my first showcase this past Saturday. So I had some of the top players in the country. I had some of the top players in the country come in and we did 1 v 1’s. Competed. Quarterbacks. Running backs. Linebackers. Receivers. DBs. We had probably about 100 kids in downtown Atlanta. I did it at Grady Stadium.

And you’re not charging an arm and a leg.

Lewis: I didn’t charge at all. It was an invite only. You know Quincy Carter. So he did all my quarterbacks. (Note: We did a 1 on 1 with Carter on the QB’s addiction battle, icymi.) Another guy here did DB training. Another guy did wide receiver training. So we basically pulled it together because they know a lot of kids that they train or they come across. I called up some coaches around the area that I knew in-state, out of state. I was like, “Hey man, I’ve got this showcase. If you’ve got some kids you want to invite, let me know their name and stuff like that.” So we evaluated them before they came just to make sure the competition was there. But it was good.

I just got my bags into the PGA Tour Superstore. It’s a big golf store. Retail. All they do is buy golf stuff. So they just brought my bags in.

And you’ve got these superstar children doing big things. That’s got to give you so much happiness. You talk about waking up in the morning and filling out the calendar to keep you busy. Now you’re waking up in the morning and one of your kids is acting in a movie?

Lewis: Javen has been staying active and doing his thing. And then he did an audition for this movie (“Undercard”) and he ended up getting it. And then he got a TV show coming out too called Route 187 (on Paramount). A Tyler Perry show. So he’s been doing his thing, man. Staying active and just staying at it. He’s 22. I think we went to his basketball game (in 2018).

Jazz was just a little guy playing baseball at the park back then.

Lewis: Now, he’s 170 pounds and has 10 football offers.

Where to?

Lewis: Memphis, Oregon State, Colorado State. UMass just offered him. You’ve got to check out his Instagram. We moved up to Milton. They’ve got a real good program. He’s put on 10 pounds since he’s been there. He’s a slot receiver. About 5-9 right now.

What traits do you think he got from Dad when you watch him out there?

Lewis: I think his feet and vision. I would say hands, but a lot of people would be like, “Nah, that’s bullshit. But I just needed the opportunity to catch balls. I had some good hands!

Once upon a time, I had you on my fantasy team in fourth grade. It was my Dad’s league. All the adults let me in it. You carried the “Crushers” to a title, rushing for over 2K in that last game. You’re right — you could catch it.

Lewis: He’s got some big hands and he can catch it, man. That’s the only reason I let him play it. But I started him at running back. You don’t know how big a kid is going to be. Let him play everywhere. But then he ended up going to this school up here and they moved him straight to wide receiver because he was a better athlete than a lot of other kids. So he started as a freshman on varsity. So that kind of got him kicked off with experience and stuff like that. That’s one of the reasons I sent him there. Because I knew he would start. Going to a big school he’s just going to sit on the bench.

He’s a junior next year. And being a slot receiver — vs. a running back — who in the hell knows what the running back position looks like in five years?

Lewis: But when you play running back, it gives you vision. It also teaches you instinct — to be able to run between people vs. just being out on the island where you just have one person in front of you. But being able to carry the ball and use that pad level. There’s certain athletic movements. Now, if he catches the ball and gets upfield, he’s hard to tackle. But I think a lot of that comes from playing that running back position because he was running scared as hell.

You could run away from people, but you were running through people.

Lewis: But I was scared, too. Back when I was young? Run scared. If you run scared, you’ll be alright.

Does he pull up your old games at all to watch you?

Lewis: He did back in the day. He was like me. He watched football. But now he watches Ja’Marr Chase and Justin Jefferson. He watches those guys. And then we go train. He sees all these guys that are in the league.

I’ve got a place down in Delray Beach. So we’ll try to get down there and actually train when you’ve got a dead period. Because the schools, they lock ‘em down. They’d have ‘em year ‘round if they could. … Now they’ve got agents in high school. I deal with a couple agents here because with my company, we like to do deals with the kids and some of them have the kids. So it’s like, “Hey, we want to get our product on these kids.” That’s one of the reasons I did the showcase. I had probably two of the top wide receivers in the country from high school that are juniors. I had the No. 1 wide receiver out of South Carolina: Amare Patterson. Then, Braylon Calais. He’s from Louisiana. It’s a chance to get around these kids and talk to them and mentor them a little bit. It’s a different landscape now.

Would you still play football all over again? And encourage people to play the sport?

Lewis: Oh yeah.

To you, why does the reward outweigh the risk now that you have a son rising up in the sport?

Lewis: He loves it. You just need to keep them safe and keep them up on the knowledge of the game and knowing the game and working out and training and tell them the ins and outs. And I’ve got stories, too. So don’t make the same mistakes I made. You confront them with that.

The good that the game has. Why does that outweigh the bad — the depression, the suicidal thoughts you’ve had since you retired?

Lewis: Because these dudes are not getting hit anymore. They’re not getting hit like that. So I think that the risk of a kid having depression at 30 years old or having suicidal thoughts, stuff like that — in their 30s — it’s not going to be that. Because these kids are not as physical, first of all. Well, it’s the rules. It’s not that they’re not physical. The rules make the game not as physical, which makes it safer. So you’re not getting killed going across the middle. You’re not able to lower your head. You’re not able to get into the habits that we had. So it’s been constantly evolving over time. The helmets are a little different, too. The protocols are different. Even with 7 on 7, they’ve got to wear the guardian caps. Even in the game now, they’ve got the guardian caps.

How much can those guardian caps actually help? The brain is still within the skull sloshing around on impact.

Lewis: I’m not an expert, but I’ve heard this enough that honestly, it’s like it’s not. It’s the second impact. The second impact is what hurts you. It’s when you go down and your head bounces off the ground. So it’s really a lot of that. It softens the blow. Even though your brain moves in your head, it’s that second impact. So you get hit, boom, and then you go down to the ground, boom. That’s the second impact. A lot of times, it’s the second impact that knocks you out and makes you unconscious.

The helmets are a little different, too. I look at old pictures of a Ridell bowl on my head. Now they got all kinds of slits and shit and it makes it a little different. You’re not getting hit. They’re tackling. We got hit. They tackle now.

I think of your time with the Cleveland Browns and that SI cover of James Harrison taking out Mohamed Massaquoi’s head (in 2010) with his forearm. We’re not going to see stuff like that again.

Lewis: Massaquoi lives around here. He’s good, man. You know he had an accident, but he’s good. He was riding the ATV and had an accident. He fucked up his arm. So now he has a (prosthetic). I think that he had an accident flipping, but he ended up putting his arm, trying to catch himself. But he’s got two kids. I see him at Whole Foods right here. Just in line. He’s got two or three kids.

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The running backs of your era were different.

Lewis: It was hard competition, man. Every year, you’re like “Am I going to the Pro Bowl or am I not? You’ve got this guy over here and this guy over here. A ton of featured backs that were running.

You got a Super Bowl ring your rookie year, but could’ve gotten more if you had better quarterback play in Baltimore.

Lewis: If I could’ve come back that next year (in 2001), I think I could’ve helped them because they did go deep. That was with Elvis Grbac and Randall Cunningham. I got hurt that next year after the Super Bowl. They brought in three different running backs: Terry Allen, Moe Williams and they had a guy who was the same age I was: Jason Brookins. They had a rotation and ended up going (to the divisional round). We still had a good defense.

Even after those Ravens days, when you went to Cleveland (in 2007), you actually had a good season. Won 10 games.

Lewis: We were pretty good. That first year. We were just young and guys didn’t know how to come back the next year and how to work. They just didn’t know and it showed because we had a real young team. When we came back the next year, it was shitshow.

Did you have other options? I’m guessing Cleveland offered the most money.

Lewis: Cleveland locked me in a room. Phil Savage was there. He was with the Ravens before. I’m happy I was there.

That’s right — Phil Savage was the man who helped get you to Baltimore.

Lewis: He brought me in. Phil’s got an interesting story. He told me this when I got to Cleveland. He said he came to Tennessee and I think he was looking at an offensive lineman. So I think we were at the end of the season, going to bowl game. And he said he came down to see this kid and when he got there, we weren’t practicing. So he asked the GA to walk him around the facility. So they did that and I never did squats and shit. I always worked out in the sand pit. So Johnny Long, who was a trainer, that’s where we got our legs in. In the sand. I didn’t go home. I didn’t leave. I just stayed to work out and get ready for the bowl game. So I was back there training in the sandpit. Phil saw me working out in the sandpit and said, “Who is that?” The dude said, “Oh, that’s our freshman running back, Jamal Lewis.” And he said he immediately called Ozzie (Newsome) and was like, “You’ve got to see this kid.” The next year they came down to the Alabama game and I closed it out. I was on their radar ever since. That’s all I used to do. Work out in that damn sand pit.

That’s all it takes — one moment. You never know who’s watching.

Lewis: You never know who’s watching. We used to practice on a hill. You’ve got to work. Work. At full speed, let’s go. Never know who’s watching. That’s one thing we told the kids at our showcase. You never know who’s watching.

You’ve come a long way from those streets of Adamsville, right? Back when you practiced on a field full of glass.

Lewis: We practiced on that shit.

You got scraped up pretty good from those days. Arms, legs?

Lewis: Tried to stay off the ground, bro. That’s why I had those choppy steps. You’re trying to stay off the ground — not being hit.

Is all that stuff in your past then — those suicidal thoughts? Or do they creep up at all?

Lewis: It’s always finding a way to channel. The working out. The training. I’ll go ride the bike. I’ll go and lift. I’ve got a lifting guy I got to work out with. Do that a couple times a week and stuff like that. So any time I go into a state of depression or it creeps in, I get on the bike. I go work out and find a way to just channel that. Before, I wasn’t working out. So I wasn’t able to channel that energy. All I did was just get fat and gain a bunch of weight.

Something as simple as that — working out.

Lewis: Working out, man. Because I worked out all the time. Growing up, that’s what we did. That’s what we did. Worked out. Trained. My brother — trained.

That helps out guys more than anything. Even the old-timers. Jackie Smith, a tight end for the St. Louis Cardinals, spent a year with the Cowboys and had one of the biggest drops in Super Bowl history. One of the greatest players ever and not a lot of people know about him.

Lewis: Like Earnest Byner. He dealt with that for a while.

You’ve probably seen the iconic picture of a Cowboys player in the 1970s on his back. It looks like he’s levitating. That’s him. We hung out in St. Louis for my tight ends book and he’s in his mid-80s at this point. And he went through depression for years, closed himself off from family, he wouldn’t even open up to his own kids. It was that simple for him, too. Even at his age, he works out all the time.

Lewis: Being able to work out, being able to hit it. And when I started doing testosterone treatment, started doing the HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy), everything changed. I changed mentally. I was in another place. And thank God I was able to do that. Accomplishing my goals, losing weight, getting back in shape, it just makes everything better.

Sixty pounds you lost?

Lewis: Yeah. I always say I was 295. But I’m sure I was tipping 300. Now, I’m 240.

And it’s muscle. (Note: Lewis posts workout videos on his IG.)

Lewis: Yeah, 240. I work out with Jazz sometimes. I get to the gym because I take him to work out on Saturdays. So we’ll hit the gym and it got me going.

Staying busy. That’s another thing — staying busy. With Shōcase brands, it’s trying to help these kids put the best product on the field. Which is themselves. I’m learning in the process too, because I’ve got a son that’s 16 years old going through the same thing. So me knowing the industry, me knowing what it really takes and having the resources, I ask trainers: “Hey, my son’s turning 14, turning 15. What do we need to do? How do we need to train right now?” He needs to get faster. He needs to get bigger. So I got all these resources. A lot of parents don’t have resources.

You’re such a success story here — how an ex-pro can get to this other side.

Lewis: Last time you saw me, I was down in the dumps. Mentally, I was trying to find a way. 2020 hit and I think things turned. My Dad died from COVID and, boom, things just changed and started going up. … He died on July 27. I think a little time after they came out with the shot. He was on the ventilator. He was one of the ventilator guys.

And that’s when you kind of got into working out?

Lewis: That’s when I really got into the TRT (Testosterone Replacement Therapy) treatment and stuff like that. So really it was starting in 2020. But then I probably didn’t go serious until about ’21, ‘22, and I really started getting into it. Doc would just give me the knowledge of, “This is why you take the TRT testosterone with the CJC, which is a human hormone, and why you do that.”

HGH has a bad wrap. Back in 2013, I did a story at the Journal Sentinel. One of the players I talked to was one of your old contemporaries: Ahman Green. He noted how our body already produces HGH and putting more of it back in your body is like putting motor oil back in a car.

Lewis: It helps from a healing standpoint. Because at night when you go to sleep, that’s when your HGH kicks in. So that’s when the healing start. But some of us, how often do we sleep? What time do we go to sleep? So by taking a CJC, which is not like HGH, a compound. When you take CJC, it goes in and it chases down your natural. That’s why it’ll put you to sleep quicker. Basically, it heightens your own HGH. So take it. Just like testosterone. Your body naturally produces testosterone, too. But after 40 years old, it ain’t kicking. That’s why your energy level goes down. So now by taking more of it, it heightens it and gets it up.

HGH is from a healing standpoint, like inflammation. But you’ve got VPC157, TB500, which is like “wolverine,” that’s what they call it because it’s combined. But it’s for inflammation. So a lot of people out here, a lot of illnesses, a lot of stuff that happens to you comes from inflammation. A lot of people that died with COVID, it’s because of inflammation. Inflammation jumps up and it grabs certain diseases and shit like that. It pollinates that disease. That’s what inflammation does, the mucus and stuff like that. So you want to keep that down. So that’s why these peptides keep that stuff calmed down.

What got you interested in all this? Because when we last hung out, you weren’t into health and fitness at all.

Lewis: Seeing my body. Now, I look like I did when I was toting the rock.

You’re in the best shape since when, would you say?

Lewis: I’m back. Since 2010 when I retired.

Let’s announce a comeback. Think you could give a team a dozen snaps?

Lewis: As soft as they are right now? I can get you a fourth and one. I might pull a hamstring getting there. It’s going to be a hamstring or an Achilles tendon. One of them is going. I’ll be done after that.

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Miss our latest profile? Go Long traveled to Philadelphia to sit down with Drew Mukuba, a man whose upbringing in Zimbabwe prepared him for all guaranteed turbulence in this city. (And Vic Fangio.)

Two years back, subscribers may recall this piece on the Vikings. In light of Jonathan Greenard’s trade to the Eagles this offseason, we figured we’d reprise and tweak a chunk of that story below.

I caught up with Greenard 1 on 1 in 2024 to see what makes him tick. Philly is betting big on the pass rusher to deliver this season.

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EAGAN, Minn. — The chieftain of a ransacking defense takes a seat on a leather sectional in the lounge area outside the locker room. Piece by piece, he starts removing his body armor. There’s the 2XL gloves. There’s the bulky arm brace that resembles something those literal Viking tribesmen wore in the 10th century. Jonathan Greenard tears apart the tape covering his hands and drops the remains into a pile at his feet.

Scars cover his knuckles. A pronounced 2 ½-inch scar is on top of his right hand.

The purple thread on that “V” of his practice jersey is tearing off.

His winter beard is coming in early.

All smiles here, he’s been all pain for opposing quarterbacks. Greenard pinpoints the first domino that tipped in his football life, the moment that led to all destruction we see. He was 5 years old in Hiram, Ga. Playing the glory positions in Pop Warner — running back and linebacker — eyes were always fixated on him. Especially those of his father. That early, Dad would film his games on a camcorder and then the duo meticulously broke down the footage. If Greenard showed any weakness? If he let a smaller player hit him? Dad showed no mercy. It didn’t matter if Jonathan took a handoff 70 yards to the house in the same game.

Once Dad took over as coach, he handed film duties over to Jonathan’s sister. His critiques were never confined to what happened between the whistles, either. Mack Greenard Jr. would catch a “lackadaisical” Jonathan chewing his mouthpiece and lose it. “What are you doing?!” he’d ask. “Fix your pants or something. Look like a football player. Don’t look like a fucking kid out there.” Jonathan’s older brother played center which meant Mack would often set up pass-rushing drills in the middle of the kitchen. Dad beckoned “You better go as hard as you can!” and they’d work to an all-out sweat as dinner went cold.

Of course, this was only the beginning. Greenard would soon get tested in more profound ways throughout his life.

He knows he’s not sitting here without those roots.

“Kids don’t like to be coached or held accountable,” Greenard says, “and I feel like my Dad was that one who did. I’m that same person that I was as a child wanting to be the best, wanting to make sure I critique every little thing about my game.”

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Greenard was the Minnesota Vikings’ keynote signing before the 2024 season.

Two years later? He’s the keynote addition to a sterling Philadelphia Eagles defense.

The trade makes sense for both parties. The Vikings needed cap flexibility and have Dallas Turner, a 17th overall pick, ready for more snaps. The Eagles lost Jaelan Phillips in free agency to Carolina and wanted a Tier 1 edge rusher. GM Howie Roseman shipped off a pair of third-rounders to the Vikes and inked Greenard to a four-year, $98 million extension. With Jalen Carter and Jordan Davis caving the interior of the line, Greenard should see plenty of opportunities to wreck offenses. Both mammoth defensive tackles force offenses to slide protections, audible pre-snap and play on their heels.

Greenard has been spending time watching film with both players.

Now, Philly is banking on the Greenard of 2024 — 12 sacks, 42 pressures, 22 QB hits — taking another step.

Long before film sessions with his new Eagles teammates, yes, Greenard heard it all from his father.

All Jonathan wanted to do was relax between snaps as a 5-year-old and Dad wasn’t having it. Mack Greenard Jr. told him the offense might snap the ball when he’s fussing around with his mouthguard. Jonathan never met his grandfather but he’s positive Dad’s hardnosed discipline came from his own father’s time with the Navy. Youth football could feel militaristic at times.

Hard as Dad could be, he’d still spoil his youngest child. If Jonathan scored a couple touchdowns, he’d get a new video game. He calls himself the “baby” of the lot who got everything he wanted.

There was a ton of love. Tough love.

“If I didn’t have that and I was just allowed to do everything I wanted to do,” Greenard says, “who knows where the hell I’d be.”

All while Dad dealt with his own demons as a functioning alcoholic. He wasn’t physically or verbally abusive. Nor was he over-the-top “shit-faced,” son says. Simply, there was always a drink in his hands and he smoked cigarettes frequently. Looking back, Jonathan knows that’s why Dad pushed his three kids so hard. He didn’t want them making the mistakes.

Gradually, his health deteriorated.

By Jonathan’s freshman of high school, Dad could hardly walk. Diabetes started to develop and both his hip and knee went bad. It got harder and harder for Mack to attend his son’s games into 10th and 11th grade. After that junior season — when Jonathan still had zero D-I offers — Dad called him on the phone. His cough was hoarser this time and he admitted he was getting sick. The kids didn’t think much of it because Dad always bounced back. One week later, Mack was found unresponsive in his house.

Medics were able to revive him but when Jonathan got to the hospital on this Saturday in March 2014, he noticed a new emotion in his father: Fear.

“He was scared,” Greenard says. “That was the first time I saw my dad really scared. Like he had no control. You could see it in his eyes.”

Dad’s kidneys shut down and he got jaundice. His eyes were yellow.

The very next day, Greenard’s family needed to leave church ASAP. Dad’s health was nosediving. They all rushed over to the hospital and Jonathan can still picture his aunt in tears. The End was near. The next morning, Jonathan received the news while getting ready for school: His father had died from congestive heart failure. Mom was at work but thankfully his stepfather, Washington Varnum Jr., was in the house. Varnum gave Jonathan a huge hug.

Sixteen years old at the time, Greenard stayed at home and cried all day.

“That fucked me up,” Greenard says. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to think.”

The following morning, he could hear his Dad’s voice in his head. The same one imploring him to hit someone on the football field as a tyke.

He wiped his tears away and went to school.

“The world had to continue on,” Greenard says. “I had to continue to live a purpose out in my life and understand that wasn’t everything. As close as I was to him — from that point on — I had to take everything with a grain of salt. Understand that it’s OK to deal with emotions and feel what you feel, but then there’s a point in time where you have to press on. The show goes on and, honestly, if you’re being real, nobody cares. When you go through things, people care to a certain extent. But when you get to this point where everybody’s job is relying on you to do your job, you have to find a way to put those things to the side. You have to find a way to maneuver and be the best version of yourself because it’ll eat you up.”

Wallowing in sadness wouldn’t accomplish a thing.

Greenard pressed on with Varnum assuming a greater role in his life.

He fought his way onto Louisville’s football team and, here, you can see a distinct scar on his hand That’s from the first game of Greenard’s 2018 collegiate season. Against Alabama, he lasted all of six plays before tearing his wrist up and missing the entire year. The injury could’ve dashed pro hopes on the spot. Instead, he hatched a plan. He vowed to graduate… transfer to an SEC school… get drafted and that’s exactly what he did.

At Florida, in ’19, Greenard led the conference in both sacks (9.5) and TFLs (16).

That offseason into his rookie year, 2020, it was hard to find anywhere to work out through Covid lockdowns. The Houston Texans selected him 90th overall, a whole 88 selections after Ohio State’s Chase Young.

Then, after a quiet first season, more heartbreak rocked his world. On Feb. 1, 2021, Varnum passed away with Covid. A total shocker. And this was tough because Varnum was at his side this second phase of his life. Every step of college and the pros. “When he passed away,” Greenard adds, “it put it all even in more perspective.” Again, Greenard told himself to “keep pressing” and tried to take lessons from their crushing deaths. Unlike his biological father, Greenard has never smoked and rarely ever drinks. His stepfather was amazing — he’s still grateful for Varnum stepping up — but Greenard cites a poor diet.

That ’21 season, Greenard busted out with eight sacks. Through offseason foot surgery, he told himself: Nothing can stop you. And the greatest wake-up call of them all was finding out in January 2023 that he and his wife were having a baby. That’s when he repeated four words to himself: This has to work. The sight of his daughter served as a constant reminder that there was no other option. That ’23 season, Greenard racked up 52 tackles, 12.5 sacks, 22 quarterback hits and earned his whopper of a contract in Minnesota.

With the Vikings, he knew he’d have an opportunity to step in as a leader.

“I felt like my presence was going to be felt — not just on the football field but in the locker room and around everybody,” Greenard says. “The locker room was amazing. It worked out perfectly.”

Into ‘24, Greenard reached another level. The 6-foot-3, 259-pounder has always been slimmer than his contemporaries. For years, he was told he’s too small to play on the defensive line. Not strong enough.

Criticism he still hears today.

“You can look at me and say, ‘Easy day at the office,’” Greenard says. “OK, cool. You’ve got to see me all game. I love when I’m doubted. Being an underdog. I hate being overtalked. I hate being hyped up.”

Bittersweet emotions are inevitable. He lost two fathers in less than a decade and cannot imagine what they’d be thinking right now. The same Dad dissecting film of a 5-year-old juking defenders on camcorder video would beam as his son smiles for the camera while sacking quarterback Joe Flacco. There are many days Greenard wishes both were around to witness his ascent. Their deaths still hurt.

He never wants to be the reason “energy” in the building wanes because he takes pride in being a lightning bolt of positivity.

“Whenever you’re this person who’s high energy like I am all the time, as soon as you have a day where you’re just chilling — not even mad or sad — they’re going to think something’s wrong,” Greenard says. “And I don’t want that. I don’t want any pity parties at all. I always attack the day and try to be as positive as possible. Some days I fail at that.

“I’m human. It definitely does affect me. It still does.”

That’s when Greenard looks at his wife, his daughter and promises to do everything in his power to not only see her graduate from high school but see her kids graduate. He is effectively finding a way to use that pain for good.

His professional career is now peaking.

He received the coveted life-changing contract. He’s playing for a contender, surrounded by pros who’ll make his job easier. If Jonathan Greenard is everything Roseman expects — and asserts himself as one of the sport’s premier pass rushers — Philadelphia just may boomerang right back to a championship game.

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PHILADELPHIA — Here, if he wants water, all Drew Mukuba must do is make eye contact with the waitress across the diner and ask for a glass. She’s pretty rough around the edges — mid-70s, raspy voice, a tooth (or two) missing — but refers to all male patrons as “baby.” Best guess is that he’d receive water in three minutes tops. The clanking of plates and glassware synchronizes with Classix Philly 107.9 on the FM dial above. Flyers, Phillies and Eagles banners hang on the window. Life is good.

As a kid, growing up on the other side of the world, the process of acquiring one of life’s most basic essentials was painstaking. He lived in Zimbabwe up to the age of nine.

The nearest water pump to their refugee camp was approximately three miles away.

“I ain’t going to lie to you,” says Mukuba. “It was a walk.”

He’d trudge all the way to that pump, fill his bucket to the top and — by the time he returned home? — that bucket was only half full. No matter how hard he tried, it was impossible not to spill. There was no choice but to make three round trips at a time because the Mukubas needed water to cook, bathe, drink. Mom and Dad had six kids with a seventh in the future.

Everyone in their community made the same long walk.

Nobody viewed the exercise as perilous. Rather, protocol.

“This is life. This is my normal,” Mukuba says. “It’s the norm to me. It seemed normal looking around. But looking back? It’s insane.”

All memories remain vivid. Especially one burning desire to get to America.

All roads naturally steered Mukuba to the country’s birthplace: Philadelphia, Pa.

A perfect fit considering NFL life deemed normal here is insane everywhere else. This league’s ripe with fan bases that’d sacrifice their liver on the black market for just one championship and the desperate Bird Gang just might’ve boasted the most potential donors before triumphing over the New England Patriots in 2017. The coach was eventually fired. A new coach was hired. Philly clawed their way right back to another Super Bowl in 2022, lost by a field goal, then thoroughly flogged Patrick Mahomes and the Kansas City Chiefs in Super Bowl LIX.

Two rounds of confetti buy most franchises a lifetime of goodwill.

Not here. The 2025 season was consumed more like a brain-rot reality show on Netflix. Its content equal parts addictive and disturbing.

All shine glistening off the two Lombardis gave way to internal strife, the egging of an offensive coordinator’s home, wild Reddit theories and one report that the Super Bowl MVP quarterback was uncoachable. GM Howie Roseman went Full Howie, again, replenishing the roster with fresh blood. All chess moves help. A paradigm shift is now required beyond those transactions. Buffalo must learn how to attack on pure instinct, so Joe Brady is the new head coach. Green Bay seeks a killer instinct, and Javon Bullard is much obliged. Meanwhile, inside MetLife Stadium, Calvin Austin III is aiming to administer electroshock therapy to the New York Giants.

Spoiler alert: Expect more turmoil in Philly. More boos. The pressure ratchets up too high.

Mukuba digs the college atmosphere — how emotions swing violently both directions. “How they talk shit?” he adds, “it’s deeper than just football to them.”

Mukuba also knows the team itself cannot ride the same tidal wave as its constituents.

Calm is required. A deeper level of “appreciation.” For football, for the team-provided meal in the cafeteria, for everything.

“If I would say something to the team — or anybody — it’s to be thankful,” Mukuba says. “Because there’s a lot of people that don’t get to experience this. There’s a lot of people dying to get to the NFL. I know there’s somebody right now that would die to be in my position. Looking at how I grew up, what I was around, who I was being around, guys that didn’t make it? I’m a professional athlete. It doesn’t get any better than that. My job is to play football, something that I love to do. I couldn’t ask for more.

“A level of appreciation will take you a long way.”

The concept of dysfunction inside a locker room doesn’t register to someone growing up in such a primitive land.

His words are prescient for a club that resides in deafening, demanding terrain.

“Despite everything going on, you’re your own person,” he says. “You still have to go out there and do your job or you’re putting yourself in jeopardy. I like that mindset for everybody. In the NFL, you’re on your own. You’ve got to survive on your own. If you don’t take care of your own business — if you don’t do what you’re supposed to do? — it’ll get you gone.”

He doesn’t believe any inner-squabbling created distractions.

But even if it did? Even an issue arises this year? He jumps in.

“It’s none of your business. Do your job.”

Every defensive back is bound to face-plant in front of millions of viewers and every defensive player whose boss is named Vic Fangio is bound to experience the old-school coach’s rage. These film sessions are straight out of the 90s with humiliation in high supply. At one point last season, his voice bellowed Mukuba’s name with damning disdain.

It was at that exact moment Mukuba needed to make a choice.

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As the Second Congo War raged, an African conflict that resulted in an estimated 5.4 million deaths, Mom and Dad knew they needed to flee, to give their growing family a fighting chance at survival. Roughly 1,500 miles south, they settled into a Zimbabwe refugee camp. The goal? Gain asylum to the United States.

Three years in, Andrew (he prefers “Drew”) Mukuba was born. He spent the first nine years of his life right there in Harare, Zimbabwe.

“The hard times?” he begins. “You can’t forget the hard times. … At one point, I barely had anything.”

It was obviously safer than the Congo. But don’t conflate safe with easy. Survival still mandated all children take on specific tasks: sweeping the yard, doing dishes and, yes, those long walks to the water pump. Seven kids jammed into a one-bedroom house by Tetris’ing mattresses across all available floor space. Kids slept, woke up, thought nothing of it. “We never complained,” Mukuba says. “In the moment, it was just normal.”

Normal also included electricity shutting off without warning.

Thirty minutes. A day. A week. Three weeks straight. Nobody ever knew when it’d turn back on. The family resorted to using candles until those candles burnt out. Many days, the Mukubas lived in pitch black. A memory that reminds Drew of one favorite pastime. Instead of playing video games, his fun consisted of somehow creating light from an old DVD, wires and a battery. He tapped into parts of the brain kids in more developed country certainly did not.

All while temps climbed into the 90s. Forget AC units like the one booming above our table at Penrose Diner, two miles from The Linc. Zimbabwe was extremely dry with no bodies of water in sight. All the Mukubas could do was crack a door, leave a window open and hope for a breeze.

All while food was often scarce. He ate rice and beans on repeat.

Soccer was a go-to source of recreation. He’d play all day with other kids in the camp, with a dash of basketball and track. Cut off from the rest of the world, Mukuba had no clue the NFL existed. Mukuba didn’t even know football existed. Their television could only play DVDs. Unless you were in just the right area of town and tilted the antennae at just the right angle, channels were not an option.

So, no. He didn’t harbor any fantasies of playing pro sports. Simply emigrating to the United States was the dream. His parents spoke about this country as a land of opportunity. Both traveled Zimbabwe to work, save up money and, finally, they got the opportunity to fly west in 2012. Those early years in Austin, Texas, Mukuba’s mind was blown by the number of cartoons at his disposal on PBS Kids and CBS. Still, the states presented new challenges. He couldn’t speak a lick of English, which made it tough to find new friends. Whenever kids herded out to the playground, he couldn’t communicate. He was bullied.

Then, Mukuba was introduced to football. The shape of the ball made zero sense to him.

“Something shaped like an egg seemed weird,” he says.

It was love at first sight.

Drew and his brother started by buckling on bike helmets and crashing into each other at home — Drew playing on his knees since he was much taller. He didn’t know the rules. Nor was he on an official team of any capacity because Mom wasn’t sure how to sign him up. All Mukuba knew was that the objective of the sport was to get to the end zone as fast as you possibly could. The more familiar he got with the language, the more he could communicate during those elementary recess games. And one day, in fifth grade, Mukuba scored TD after TD after TD. Chickens, dogs, pigs, goats, elephants. His best guess is that he acquired this speed living amongst so many wild animals in Zimbabwe.

Watching on, the school’s gym teacher couldn’t believe his eyes. Shannon Crenshaw pulled Mukuba aside and asked if he’d want to play for his little league team.

“Shit,” Mukuba says, “the rest is history.”

Mukuba started playing and Crenshaw became a mentor for life.

By his freshman year of high school, he was taking football very seriously. He never complained about anything. Not when he saw his mother, Tshala Bilolo, getting up at 5 a.m. each day to work as a housekeeper at the Omni Hotel in downtown Austin to support her kids. His parents divorced in the states and she shouldered the load.

He’d soon receive his first college scholarship before playing one down of varsity football. After tearing his meniscus and transferring schools, he couldn’t play by Texas high school rules. It didn’t matter. At one camp that summer before his sophomore year, by his count, he allowed zero receptions on 13 passes thrown his way. Arizona special teams coordinator Jeremy Springer walked right up to him and offered on the spot. Mukuba’s mind was blown. Two days later, Arkansas called with an offer. Three days, Tulsa joined the party.

And when Mukuba got his chance to star at Lyndon B. Johnson High School, all powerhouses were in: Alabama, Tennessee, Ole Miss, Texas, etc.

Football inherently demands sacrifice. There’s an understanding that your body will ache (severely) the morning after. Mukuba felt a gravitational pull toward all pain, all hard work. He wasn’t fazed by practicing in triple-digit temps when there were full water bottles on the sideline. His best qualities represented the sport itself.

“The game of football,” he says, “is more than just football. It teaches you life lessons. It installs discipline. It installs teamwork. A lot comes with football. But for me? I’ve already had a lot of that stuff installed in me. I had discipline because of how I was raised. My culture. That’s something we harp on. That put me ahead of the football players because I already had those things in me. I naturally apply it to football.

“I was set to win. I was set to overcome whatever is in my way. Because I’ve dealt with a lot of difficult times, difficult moments in my life. Seeing what I’ve seen, what I went through, nobody was thinking what I was thinking at my age.”

A four-star recruit, he didn’t want to attend school close to home. This nixed Texas and Texas A&M. He didn’t believe LSU’s position coach one bit when he said Mukuba could start Day 1. (“Feeding me a whole bunch of bullshit.”) Clemson promised the chance to compete for a starting spot in the secondary. He liked that honesty. He also liked the idea of moving 15 hours away, even if it meant not visiting the campus until he moved in. Mukuba never had a chance to travel to Clemson during COVID restrictions his senior year. A “leap of faith,” he calls it.

Success was instant. Not only was Mukuba the first player Dabo Swinney ever signed without meeting face to face. He became the first freshman to start at the school since records were first kept in 1972, earning a slew of accolades: Freshman All-American, ACC defensive rookie of the year, third team All-ACC.

Then, his football world came crashing down.

Injuries compounded. He had a brace fashioned around a dislocated elbow. His meniscus, torn in high school, often throbbed. He sprained his ankle. The worst pain of all was a sprained MCL. Head to toe, Mukuba was a shell of himself as a sophomore at Clemson.

But he was on the field, so nobody cared. Nobody gives a damn about the fine print to a 72-yard touchdown against South Carolina.

On the field, he was overthinking everything. Off it, his social media accounts were bombarded. Unlike life in Zimbabwe, technology is unavoidable here. He read all the hate. Even Swinney, an eternal optimist, was ragging on him. “They don’t make Sophomore All-Americans!” Mukuba remembers him crowing. Living 1,000+ miles from home didn’t seem like such a great idea anymore.

“I fell into a dark hole,” Mukuba admits, “because I wasn’t playing my best football. Injuries were fucking me up. I was getting bombed on. I was getting my ass torn up on the Internet. It was crazy. I played some of my worst football.”

Mukuba, an introvert, was in no rush to spill his guts to either of his roommates.

Both, however, helped him realize he needs a life outside of football.

In America, he swiftly realized that the hero can became the goat and then the hero again at warp speed. Those who weather the storm are at a distinct advantage. Any defensive back is bound to get beat. Now that he plays for the Philadelphia Eagles? Yeah, he’s thankful for this turbulent 2022. After bouncing back in ‘23, he then opted for a change of scenery to reset “and start from ground zero” back in Texas. It was the best decision of his football life. In ‘24, Mukuba totaled 69 tackles (41 solo), five interceptions, a forced fumble and played hero for the Longhorns in the Peach Bowl. His interception in double overtime sealed a win over Arizona State.

“Every time I’ve had a setback,” he adds, “something good always came out of it.”

Such as the birth of his son through that Clemson roller-coaster. Right after a 31-24 OT loss to Florida State, he went for a walk with his girlfriend and… she said it was time. They rushed to the hospital, they became parents and Mukuba shrugs off those early witching hours. He was already operating on three hours of sleep with early lifting sessions. All three live together here in Philly.

His perspective — much like Josh Allen — changed with this new arrival.

“Now, you can’t be selfish. Now, decision-wise, you’ve got to be a lot wiser than you were before,” Mukuba says. “You don’t think for yourself. Now, I think twice before I do certain things that I know I feel iffy about — because I know it’s not just going to affect me.”

Philadelphia selected him in the second round and, in a Clemson repeat, Mukuba wasted no time introducing himself. In Week 2, the Eagles traveled to Kansas City for a Super Bowl rematch.

Like most ‘25 Eagles games, this was a grimy, low-scoring affair. On the sideline, Hurts pined for his D to create a turnover. Facing second and goal at the 6-yard line, the Chiefs were poised to take a lead in the fourth quarter. Seated here, Mukuba smiles wide and replays it all again. The Eagles prepared for this exact play during practice, he explains. They knew that when the running back looped around Mahomes in motion, the ball was going to tight end Travis Kelce. This is who Mahomes wanted in the red zone.

In truth, Mukuba admits he should’ve broken on the ball earlier. If Old Man Kelce simply catches the ball and falls down, it’s a touchdown. He dropped it. Mukuba cradled the interception, sprinted 41 yards the other direction and the Eagles scored a touchdown to go up 20-10. Inside the locker room, his phone buzzed nonstop with so many messages that it froze. None of the apps would even load. Mukuba needed to stay off his phone for several minutes before reading the several hundred texts and DMs.

Eagles players visited an elementary school that following week and kids went nuts at the sight of him.

“Man, you would have thought they saw Michael Jackson out there,” Mukuba says. “People just started looking at me different. A lot of opportunities outside of football started presenting themselves. Everything changed. People know who I am off of that one play. It was life-changing.”

On cue, our waitress opens up the blinds and a light shines directly on Mukuba. The NFL’s best can all pinpoint one specific moment their lives changed. Take the last two MVPs. Allen, in Year 2, on Thanksgiving Day, monster-trucked through the Dallas Cowboys defense for a fourth-down conversion that asserted both he and the Bills were for real. Matthew Stafford, as a rookie, famously threw a game-winning touchdown after suffering a separated and dislocated shoulder vs. Cleveland. One tipping point can launch a career.

Of course, this league can also KO you to the canvas at a moment’s notice. It’s a remarkably humble profession.

Mukuba learned this the hard way.

Every defensive player is destined to experience the Wrath of Vic. That’s how Zack Baun termed it during Super Bowl Week in New Orleans. One mistake. That’s it. One mistake and Vic Fangio, 68 in August, will magnify the error up on the big screen for maximum embarrassment. His respect must be earned. Mukuba says Fangio didn’t even talk to him his first two months with the team. That KC pick helped. But four weeks later, one nightmare performance against the New York Giants on Thursday Night Football put Mukuba squarely in Fangio’s crosshairs.

In a 34-17 loss to the Giants, Mukuba whiffed badly trying to tackle Wan’Dale Robinson near the sideline on the receiver’s 35-yard score, surrendered a catch on a key third down and had multiple coverage busts when the ball wasn’t thrown his way.

It was his turn.

“I fucked up that game,” he begins. “After that game? Vic was on my ass, man, for a whole three weeks straight until I got right. He was on my ass. … Vic didn’t like me that game.

“He’s just old school. He’s honest with you. He doesn’t care. He’ll tell you the God’s honest truth in front of everybody. Whoever. It doesn’t matter. He will speak his mind. And that goes back to that old-school coaching and old-school mindset he’s got. You might not want to hear it. You’re not going to want to hear it. But you’ve got to take it. You’re a grown man. You’re a professional athlete.”

Fangio didn’t gently pull him aside to discuss those plays. All gaffes were broadcast for all to see.

“It was really hard because it was in front of everybody,” Mukuba says. “But I took it as a challenge.”

This was Mukuba’s next gut-check moment.

He easily could’ve recoiled as Fangio barked in his ear those ensuing three weeks. Turned into a robot terrified of making a mistake. So many 21- and 22-year-olds are not strong enough mentally to handle harsh coaching. Especially today. College coaches are increasingly hesitant to criticize their own players in fear of losing them to the transfer portal. Piss off a five-star and he’ll kindly take his talents elsewhere. (“You don’t want to lose your best players in college,” Mukuba adds, “because you’ll lose your job.”) Fangio, conversely, isn’t distracted by such sensitivities.

Mukuba embraced his roasting. He didn’t try to split the atom overnight. After that horror show in East Rutherford, he instead targeted a specific aspect of his game each week with safeties coach Joe Kasper. Eye discipline. Body positioning. Studying receiver releases. Formation recognition. And one of his favorite fixes: Block destruction. At his size (5 foot 11, 186 pounds), Mukuba needed to find new ways to shed receivers. Power or speed alone wasn’t working, so he started taking better angles.

The better the rookie played, the stronger Philly’s entire D became. Fangio even gave him flowers publicly.

It’s no surprise the same coaching tact is deployed by DeMeco Ryans in Houston and Mike Macdonald in Seattle. Players hate you now, love you later and the net result is one of the best defenses in the league.

“A lot of guys respect Vic,” Mukuba says, “and believe in what he’s saying and trust what he says.”

Everything came to a screeching halt, of course. Mukuba broke his ankle in Week 12 against the Cowboys when a teammate’s body weight crashed on the outside of his leg. Adrenaline pumping, he walked off the field on his own. Ten minutes later, the safety couldn’t walk at all. His rookie season officially wiped out, Mukuba made a point to stick around the team as much as possible. Stay positive. He didn’t want to fall into another Clemson-like pit of depression. Instead, he turned himself into a student of the sport and started seeing a completely different game. The Eagles lost to San Francisco in the wild-card round of the playoffs, safety Reed Blankenship signed with the Texans and, now, Roseman is betting big on Mukuba’s ascent. A lot rides on his ability to take the next step.

And in 2026, he wants all the smoke. He wants everything Fangio has to offer because he knows it’s all designed to help him.

One NFL dynamic does surprise him. Mukuba can tell other young players get starstruck and act like fans. “Oh shit, that’s Jalen Hurts,” he says imitating them. “Oh shit, AJ Brown.” These are players you might’ve idolized but they’re not deities. They’ve got a job to do. Fall into a trance for a half-second, mesmerized by the talent across the line of scrimmage, and you’ll get beat for a touchdown. He refuses to put anyone in the NFL on a pedestal.

“Be you. You’ve got to be you,” Mukuba says. “You’re your own person too. You’ve got to respect the game and respect the person across from you. But shit, at this level? You’re here to do the same thing they’re here to do. Do your job, they do their job.

“You need a free mind to just play.”

Playing in I-95 traffic was a more enjoyable endeavor than watching the Eagles attempt to play offense much of last season. Out is Kevin Patullo, in is Sean Mannion as OC. Out is AJ Brown, in is Makai Lemon, Dontayvion Wicks and Hollywood Brown at wide receiver. Defensively, on paper, it’s hard to nitpick a weakness. Jonathan Greenard is one of the league’s most underrated edge rushers. A player we got to know in 2024. The core remains rock solid.

Mukuba believes the Eagles have all ammo required to get back to the Super Bowl.

Everyone must contribute, he notes, from the team nutritionist to the front office. “If one thing is off,” he adds, “a lot will be off.” No wonder he sees Roseman constantly. The GM is involved with everything to make sure there is no such leakage. Other scouts might’ve viewed Mukuba as a third- or fourth-round pick after his pedestrian 40 time. The Eagles fully understood what’s ticking inside and valued what they saw on tape. Ex-DBs coach Christian Parker, now the Cowboys’ DC, was a major advocate. (“He’s definitely going to hear it when we play them.”)

Until training camp begins, Drew Mukuba will spend time with his 2-year-old. He’s trying to get into fishing and golfing. He’s been loving all invites to all sporting events. Mukuba attended the first hockey game of his life when the Flyers made the playoffs and is planning on checking out World Cup games at The Linc. Unimaginable back at age 8. Mukuba knows there are droves of kids back in his home country still walking miles for water. That’s why he launched a nonprofit two months ago. Mukuba plans on flying back to Zimbabwe to pay it forward.

Their hard times will pay off. He’s proof.

“Since I was young, I’ve always had a different mindset,” Mukuba says. “It gives me an advantage over a lot of people.”

Ask what’s so different about the way he thinks and he points to his childhood. He was forced to grow up a decade earlier than kids in more developed countries.

“It helps me prepare,” he continues, “for whatever’s coming next.”

This spring day feels something like the calm before a storm. Nobody inside this diner recognizes the second-year safety, but they all will at some point this 2026 season. For better, for worse. That’s how life works for all teams that call this city home.

Turbulence is a guarantee.

He’s thankful for it.

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ORCHARD PARK, NY — The quarterback who spellbinds defenses with ballistic-missile arm strength, aerodynamic athleticism and one of the sport’s highest IQs has officially met his match. Many nights, Josh Allen is wide awake from 2 a.m. to 3 a.m. And precisely when he thinks his baby girl is fast asleep and starts to lay her back down, she wakes up.

Her eyes stretch wide open.

Dad cannot help but laugh.

“Because she’s me,” says Allen. “She is me and my wife. I don’t like to miss a good time. She wants to hang out with us.”

Whispering from another room doesn’t help. Both Allen and his wife, Hailee Steinfeld, have learned it’s best if the sound of their normal chatter serves as white noise to help their daughter ever… so… gradually drift off. They’re not outsourcing parenting duties to a cadre of nannies. Allen, with immense pride, dubs himself “The Diaper King.” So far, he has surrendered zero blowouts. With very disciplined diaper methodology, he’s hoping to extend this streak for months. Not a single onesie has bit the dust. The key, he explains, is to stretch each wing flap over as tight as possible. He’s hesitant to namedrop the brand of diaper, as if protecting a top-, top-secret play.

Up close, I detect zero fatigue. No bags under his eyes. Nary a trace of exasperation.

The quarterback with an entire city on his back glides from the outdoor practice field to chairs waiting inside an empty fieldhouse. Allen is positively radiant.

All a striking contrast from the last time America saw him. The night of Jan. 17, 2026 supplied another round of medieval torture for all associated with the Buffalo Bills. Allen has never appeared this wounded in eight pro seasons. Moments after his team’s 33-30 overtime loss to the Denver Broncos in the AFC divisional round, Allen stepped up to the podium and sniffed away emotions best he could. He exhaled deeply, kept his eyes down, tapped the dais. Concealing the debilitating pain from yet another postseason stunner was an impossible task.

Tears poured. He pointed the finger at himself.

This is exactly where Go Long’s exclusive 1 on 1 with Josh Allen must begin. He was gutted that night.

How on earth can anyone harness all this raw emotion for good?

Half of me expects Allen to treat that night like a traumatic episode and refuse to relive the despair in any way. He does not. He is facing his new reality head-on.

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“Every year you go through something,” Allen begins. “Scottie Scheffler talks about it all the time — the absurdism of ‘Why do I want to win this so badly? What’s the point of going out there and winning?’ Because at the end of the day you win and it’s on to the next. You’re just trying to win again. Those emotions that go on, it’s like, ‘Damn it. Every year that’s gone by, we haven’t gotten it done.’ The fire inside of me continues to push and want to get over that hump. No matter how crazy it seems. I want to accomplish something. I’ve set my mind to it and I want to accomplish it and I’m going to keep trying until I do.”

When I ask Allen to articulate that fire inside, he points to the first seminal moment of his football life.

To being “the underdog” and “always overlooked.” Back to when the entire football world ignored him out of Firebaugh, Calif. His 1,000+ emails were rendered spam.

He humiliated every college coach who doubted him out of high school and every highbrow tweeter mocking him out of Wyoming. Josh Allen is an NFL MVP who has accrued more than a quarter-billion dollars in earnings and married a Hollywood actress. He has a daughter. He just turned 30 years old. The baby-faced prospect taking the draft stage at AT&T Stadium in Arlington, Texas now rocks a full beard. To locals, he’s blood. It’s no stretch to declare Allen — a quarterback most fans abhorred on draft night — the most beloved athlete in Buffalo sports history.

This 2026 season is the next seminal moment of his football life.

Thirty-year-old Josh is remembering 18-year-old Josh.

No quarterback in NFL history has more playoff wins without a Super Bowl appearance, and it’s killing him.

“Being in this position now — year after year, you don’t get it done — people start writing you off and putting you away,” Allen says. “I don’t want to be in that conversation of the one that didn’t get it. I don’t want to be the greatest to ever play to not get a ring. It’s not a great accomplishment, in my opinion. I’m going to keep working hard.”

“To get over that hump is going to be something special. I’m looking forward to doing that.”

He does not speak in hypotheticals. His belief is strong as ever.

New head coach, new stadium, new wide receiver at work. New wife, new baby at home. Playoff devastation has not battered Allen into submission. This sight of a blank canvas, writing his own story from age 30-on, has Allen feeling rejuvenated. No, “extremely rejuvenated.” He stares ahead. Up on the wall, is daily context. Four AFC Champion banners from the 90s hang, reminders of a franchise that forever falls short. To the right of those banners is another that reads: “On a mission.”

Only the sound of an AC unit humming above and Allen’s voice fill the indoor facility.

Allen has spoken often with Steinfeld about their children being able to see him play football. He wants to hold his daughter under one arm, while clutching the sport’s greatest prize, as confetti rains.

“This city winning a Super Bowl is the last greatest sports story in all of the world,” Allen says. “I really do believe that. I want to be the guy that does it.”

Through this organization’s annual march to the playoff guillotine, the 6-foot-5, 240-pound Allen has simultaneously cemented himself as one of the greatest statistical quarterbacks in January. Allen’s 101.5 passer rating trails only Patrick Mahomes, Kurt Warner and Bart Starr amongst passers with more than five playoff starts. He has thrown for 3,915 yards, rushed for 767 yards and scored 39 TDs with only six interceptions in 15 games. Thirteen Seconds is an all-time crime that haunted the Bills more than anyone knows. He was on a historic heater that ’21 season and we’ve chronicled the calamity here and here. Defense has been the issue. A tight coach. Themes covered ad nauseum in this space.

Plays that should go down as legendary — his TD strikes to Gabe Davis, his dropped bomb to Stefon Diggs, his fourth-and-5 prayer to Dalton Kincaid, his OT heave to Brandin Cooks — instead erode in the sands of time.

Yet, there’s no sugarcoating Denver. All the turnovers, the missed opportunities.

Two blunders stick with the quarterback: his fumble before halftime, his misfire to Dawson Knox. On the first, the Bills essentially gifted Denver three free points. Allen took off, tried to make a play, got stripped. On the latter — 16 seconds left, from the Broncos 32, down three, defenders closing in from the front and back — Allen rushed a throw just a hair and airmailed his wide-open tight end. “A couple of things that if you can go back and change ‘em,” he adds, “it might be a drastic outcome.”

He regrets the mistakes. He will not make the worse mistake by letting those gaffes sterilize his game. Creatives must create without fear of cancellation or condemnation. There’s no instructing Picasso to neatly color between the lines, no banning profanity from Dave Chappelle’s stand-up. Josh Allen became Josh Allen, blow-torching all doubters, because he’s always been willing to venture places no other quarterback can. Or will.

This offseason, he fine-tuned his deep ball. There are always mechanics to tweak.

But damn right, he’s forever a stuntman. No calculated actuary.

“I’m going to play football how I know how to play it until I can’t,” Allen says. “And when I can’t play it the way I want to play it, it’s probably when I’m done. But hopefully that’s still quite some time.”

So, nothing will keep him off the field. Allen has started 142 straight games, the longest active starting streak in the NFL. He could barely walk the final month of last season with a broken fifth metatarsal in his foot. To him, it’s not complicated. Like Brett Favre before him, the QB with an iron-man streak of 321 starts, he takes pride in being available for his teammates. He actively thinks about the blood and sweat everyone pours into this profession and winces through injuries that’d sideline peers.

Come Monday, he knows the pain will be unbearable. It’s his negotiation with the sport.

“I don’t want to let these guys down,” Allen says. “And when I’m not on the field, I feel like I’m letting them down. So, I do everything in my power to make sure throughout the week I can make my body usable for gameday.”

This interview could morph into a 401 human anatomy class with Allen detailing every body part dinged through the course of his career. He isn’t in a rush to feed any 275-pound edge rushers a bucket of chum. His physical toughness, however, is a direct extension of his roots.

Everything that makes him who he is. Everything he’s tapping into now.

The 2,000-acre family ranch in Firebaugh, Calif., he assures, was “in the middle of nowhere.” There was no hopping on a bike to pedal to a friend’s house. He fondly relives the days walking around on rocks barefoot and occasionally throwing those rocks at dumpsters. Once, his father couldn’t figure out why the windows of trucks on the property were shattered. It was Josh and Jason. The Allen boys found a couple of BB guns and fired away. Joel Allen always told his kids that “idle hands make for the devil’s work.” His kids played baseball, basketball, football, soccer, swam and even did karate and gymnastics. Anything to keep busy. To Josh, all sports sounded a lot better than moving irrigation pipe in the dead heat of summer.

Seeing Dad work those crops as temps crept into the 100s fed a different grit.

So did all epic battles with Jason.

Thirteen months younger, Jason pushed Josh “physically, emotionally, mentally.”

“We’d go at it every day,” Allen says. “We grew up not as great of friends. We competed so much to a point where it was like: ‘Just stay away from me right now.’ And that’s the brotherly love you should have. Now, I would give my life for my brother. But he pushed me as a kid. He was younger than me, but I always felt like he was bigger and stronger than I was. He was always better looking.” So I was like, ‘I’ve got to figure something out.’”

One spat during basketball practice led to shoving and Josh chucking the ball at Jason.

Jason was not pleased, punching his brother directly in the eye. The shiner lasted days.

Teammates bumrushed Josh off the court before the fight escalated into something worse, and Josh drove home. Josh forced his little bro to find his own way back. Stories like these are near and dear to Allen’s heart, the “best times” of his life. Stuff the two now laugh about when, you know, Josh is competing in pro-am events in the Pacific Palisades with Jason as his caddie and Tiger Woods as his partner.

What happened next, of course, is the thesis of a Canton speech one day. Allen received zero FBS offers out of Firebaugh. He was a 0-star recruit. Completely off the recruiting radar. After lighting up defenses in junior college, Allen sent hundreds upon hundreds of emails to every head coach, offensive coordinator and quarterbacks coach he could find on school registries and was still dismissed.

Allen knows thinking about this do-or-die juncture of his life — back when nobody knew him — helps him right now.

At Reedley (Calif.) College, he’d sit next to receiver Rafael Araujo-Lopes and send those emails all day long. Allen expected to hear from D-I powers, especially after throwing for 470 yards and seven touchdowns against Merced Community College. After the seventh score — a game-winner with 13 seconds left — he recalls Reedley OC Ernie Rodriguez, the one man who believed in him, saying he’d get offers from everybody.

“And,” Allen says, “that wasn’t the case.”

Picture the literal exercise of contacting schools. Picture a teenager copying, pasting and hitting send on email… after email… after email… 1,000 times only to hear nothing. Only for his name in the Sender column to be treated with the seriousness of a Nigerian Prince scammer. Mass rejection this extreme should’ve zapped Allen’s will and killed off all quarterback dreams. Allen jokes that the school’s Wi-Fi might’ve been choppy.

Silence spoke volumes. He wasn’t good enough.

Mass rejection this damning should’ve informed Allen to explore a Plan B.

He jumps in.

“I’m a firm believer in no Plan B because it distracts from Plan A,” Allen says. “That was my whole thing. I was like, ‘I’m going to figure it out.’ And I’ve always told myself in the NFL that there are two types of players: guys that figure it out and guys that get figured out. So I’ve always wanted to be in the first one there. Figuring it out.”

I ask Allen what stirred inside of him that everyone missed.

“You can’t measure certain things,” he says. “You can’t measure the want or the heart or the grit or the toughness. You can sit there and grade on physical attributes all you want. But there’s a whole other piece — that’s the science and the art to it. Somewhere in the middle, there’s a little something else and I feel like I’ve got that something else.”

This day, he provides further clarity on what exactly went down.

Eventually, two schools did call him: Eastern Michigan and Wyoming. Per JUCO rules, prospective recruits could visit schools in a two-week window. For some reason, both schools waited. And waited. Before Wyoming finally told him to visit because they had an offer for him. Two days later, Eastern Michigan called to fly him out. (“I’m like, ‘I can’t. I’m going to Wyoming. You could have done this earlier.’”) Eastern Michigan pulled its offer.

Naturally, Allen’s first collegiate start came against Eastern Michigan and they broke his collarbone. The next year, they beat his Cowboys again.

“But,” Allen adds, “I think I’d like to say I got the last laugh.”

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Moments after the Bills edged the Steelers in a critical 2019 AFC primetime game, Allen spotted a familiar face in the Pittsburgh crowd. It was Rodriguez, his Reedley OC, screaming at full throat. The quarterback shared this special moment on his Instagram account, crediting Rodriguez as the one person who believed in him out of high school. Without that foot in the JUCO door, Allen might’ve had no choice but to swap shoulder pads for those irrigation pipes.

Place a call to Rodriguez and the stories flow.

• His belief. Rodriguez witnessed an Allen throw to the right sideline in a playoff game his junior year of high school that made him come back for five games his senior year. He figured a quarterback this tall, this young with this strong of an arm had room to grow. Get him to 225-230 pounds — with these intangibles — and Allen could flourish. “He had this swagger to him,” Rodriguez says, “even at the high school level.”

• How Allen took over. Allen, as the No. 2, hounded the coach. Daily. “When’s my time? When’s my time? When’s my time?” Rodriguez told him to stay patient, inserted the QB for a couple of series in Game No. 2, the fourth quarter of Game No. 3 and everyone felt a change. “A surge of energy,” Rodriguez says. “A surge in confidence.” When he let Allen take the second series of Game No. 4, everyone knew it was time. Even the team’s starting quarterback. When the OC asked QB1 Sean Stell Jr. to go back in… he declined. He admitted Allen should stay in. “I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Rodriguez adds. “I swear to you. I said, ‘OK, you’re seeing what I’m seeing.’”

• His drive. Allen grew up a diehard fan of the Fresno State Bulldogs. His family often made the quick 40-mile trek east to tailgate and attend games. All he wanted was a shot as a walk-on and head coach Tim DeRuyter refused. Before Allen had an official practice with Reedley, he asked Rodriguez if they could get some work in. By total coincidence, the OC had his new QB meet up on a field just west of Bulldog Stadium. Proximity that no doubt served as motivation. While teaching Rodriguez things about his offense the OC didn’t even know, Allen could visibly see the team that essentially told him he was trash. And after the QB passed for 317 yards per start, rushed for 660 yards and scored 36 total TDs, Rodriguez begged DeRuyter to rethink this prospect. The coach refused, the quarterback never forgot.

• His character. When one Reedley offensive tackle got kicked out of his dorm and had no money and no place to live, Allen took him in. A couple of days turned into a full month. Allen didn’t ask for a dime. This is why Rodriguez knows Allen is obsessed with winning a Super Bowl. “The Super Bowl is the ultimate,” he says. “Winning MVP was cool. But he wants to celebrate it with the team. It’s always about his teammates.”

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All acrobatics Rodriguez witnessed at Reedley — the jukes, the hurdles, the 90 MPH fastball in baseball — rage on today. He’s north of 30. He has suffered broken bones in his foot, his hand and endured more physical (and mental) anguish than most quarterbacks endure in a lifetime. An alien from another galaxy could appreciate Allen. He turns drab OTA practices into spectacles. One day after our chat, there’s No. 17 in red rifling completions to DJ Moore, his new WR1, in the back of the end zone. Standing a few feet behind the back line, I’m certain my orbital bone will crack if any of these receivers let one ball whistle through their fingertips.

His horsepower is different.

His play style and leadership, too.

Fans love him because he plays the position the way they have in their backyards. The connection is visceral. Players love him because he carries himself no differently than a punter on the practice squad. Aura is not manufactured. When Allen is at his best, he cannon-blasts through the entire Kansas City Chiefs defense on fourth and 2, flexes both fists in the end zone and screams with one shoulder pad ajar. He both Space Jams the ball over the goal line vs. Arizona in the September sun and vaults horizontal to the pylon vs. San Francisco in a December blizzard. He executes a “Fat Perez Euro Step” TD celebration to uphold his end of a bet, trash-talks 6-foot-5, 295-pound Cam Heyward, creates new handshakes with new teammates.

Football doesn’t need to be a monotonous 9-to-5 drag. I relay a quote to Allen from one of his former teammates in our 2023 series. This longtime vet said Allen “wants to run through your face and establish the fact that he’s the biggest alpha male dog quarterback in the history of pro football” and that he’s “a freaking 10 year old who wants to have fun.”

Joy — Allen knows — is contagious inside a building.

“I don’t feel like I have to fake it or be performative or put on a face for anybody,” he says. “I live my life that way. I try to be the exact same person every day I step into this building. I hope that guys see that and feel that and it allows them to be as comfortable as they can be where they can let their mask down and be exactly who they are. If that’s a jokester, if that’s a serious person, if that’s in-between. Whatever it is. Being able to come in here and be like, ‘I love coming to work.’ Because I do. Genuinely, I drive in, I’ve got a smile on my face. I look at our new stadium and think, ‘That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. I get to hang out with my good buddies. I get to go golfing with them and continue to build that camaraderie.’ It truly is the best job in the world.”

This approach to the sport hints at what’s changing most.

Allen took part in all nine head-coaching interviews for a reason. The way he wants to play the sport fully aligns with the way Joe Brady intends to coach the sport. His energy mirrors Brady’s energy.

In the locker room, Brady posted a sign that reads: “Be you with us.”

“He wants your personality to show,” Allen says. “He wants you to celebrate with your teammates when we score, when we get interceptions. When I’m on the field, I do that. I throw a touchdown. To me, throwing a touchdown never changes. It is the coolest feeling in the world. It’s hitting a walk-off home run. It’s hitting a buzzer-beater. There’s nothing like throwing a touchdown in the NFL and getting to celebrate with your guys in the end zone because it’s not easy. You have to celebrate those times.”

As long as Allen’s the quarterback, there will be no proverbial sticks up proverbial asses in this building. He wants everyone to feel comfortable.

All players. All coaches. When Brady was hired as quarterbacks coach, he admitted to us in April that he was nervous. Far too rigid, too uptight. With one joke, Allen completely changed the temperature of the room. The two were off and running. It didn’t take long for Allen to realize this relationship was special. He was vulnerable with the coach, willing to share what worked and what didn’t work on offense.

Allen cites the fact that Brady’s offenses have ranked amongst the NFL’s best in various advanced metrics.

“He’s got a keen eye for certain things,” Allen says. “He’s extremely smart. He works his tail off. He’s in this building all the time. And he truly cares about this game so much. He cares about this team. Guys can feel that.”

No way is Allen beating his coach to One Bills Drive. Not with a newborn. When Brady’s alarm blares at 3, odds are he’s trying to rock a newborn back to sleep.

Upon arrival, everyone grasps the stakes. Heartbreak accumulates. Frustration mounts. A longtime coach has now been fired. Allen is well aware that most viewers will interpret anything shy of a Super Bowl appearance as a failure. Expectations to win — and win big — have never been higher for the Bills. Nobody knows when a championship window will close.

He hears the criticism and insists there’s nothing anybody could say that he hasn’t already told himself.

“I’ve already cussed myself out many a time for doing stupid things,” he says. “I’ve already put that expectation on myself. So the external pressure or the external factors? I don’t feel them because I don’t think they weigh as much as the pressure that I put on myself or the internal belief that I have in myself.

“And again, the camaraderie that we have in this locker room, I do not want to let these guys down.”

It’s real.

Players feel this.

Third-year back Ray Davis was stunned to learn Allen is 30 years old. Calling his QB “a wonderful human” and a “a great competitor,” Davis is adamant: Allen is still peaking.

“He’s aging backwards,” Davis says. “He’s getting better as he gets older and I think we’ve yet to see the best from him.”

All players claim they’ll run through a brick wall for their quarterback. In Orchard Park, you get the sense they’d actually do it. Affection for the QB runs deeper here than anything I’ve seen in 16 years covering the NFL. When Allen said he let his teammates down in Denver, and the quote was relayed to Dion Dawkins, Buffalo’s left tackle broke down. He couldn’t speak anymore, turning back toward his locker.

The doors to this quarterback’s home are always open and no teammate has witnessed Allen’s evolution closer than Knox, another freshly minted Girl Dad. Both still make a point to golf once a week, though fatherhood tends to strike with more force than a blind-side blitz. These days, the two share tales of sleepless nights and breakthrough moments. Like, say, the size of their daughters’ poops. Knox is floored by his friend’s ability to both master the smallest details in practice, while still keeping it light at the ping-pong table.

One of the major reasons Knox needed to stay in Buffalo at all costs was Allen.

“It could be so easy for him to have that air about him being a superstar,” Knox says. “It’d be easy for him not to have time for other guys. But he carries himself as a normal human being. He’s so genuine, so down to earth. His humility. It’s easy to talk to him. No one’s ever uncomfortable talking to him about something or hanging out with him off the field. That mix says a lot about his character and it’s what we love so much about him.

“I can’t imagine the weight of an entire city on your shoulders like he has. And he handles it so gracefully.”

Adds Davis: “He goes out there and puts it on the line every play. For a true leader to take the blame — knowing that it’s a team sport — that shows the type of man he is. He’ll take all bad criticism and keep it away from his team. That’s what you want as a leader. When you see him take the blame and cry for a team loss, it shows he put everything into it to try to get us the win.”

Unprompted, tears well up again. He cannot help it. One recent conversation comes to mind and Allen clears his throat to keep it together.

We’re discussing legacy now and Allen notes that the “Patricia Allen Fund” — named in honor of his late grandmother — surpassed $17 million in donations from 90,000 different people around the world. Money that helps critical care teams at the Golisano Children’s Hospital of Buffalo. One mother this offseason told Allen that equipment purchased through his fund saved her child’s life.

What began as routine visits to brighten up someone’s day organically turned into a surreal force of good.

“The coolest frickin’ thing in the world,” Allen says. “You have this mentality of leaving a place better than when you found it. My Dad’s always said that, too: ‘If you’re going to do something, do it with all your heart.’ That’s what I feel like I’m doing.”

He thinks about his football legacy, too. Decades from now, Allen knows how he wants to be remembered.

“The quarterback,” he says, “who got the job done here.”

Knox is more certain. He views a Super Bowl triumph as an inevitability.

“We’re going to win one,” the veteran tight end says. “And he’s finally going to be able to bring a ring and a Lombardi to this city — and it’ll be multiple Lombardis before he’s done.”

Pressure to win a championship intensifies with each defeat and, no, Allen does not want to go down in history as Dan Marino, Karl Malone, Charles Barkley, Ted Williams, Marcel Dionne, etc. A new season presents new challenges. Within his own division, Drake Maye has arrived. Within the conference, Patrick Mahomes, Lamar Jackson and Joe Burrow all return from injuries. Starting over is mentally taxing and what truly makes the quarterback Allen idolized as a kid the greatest ever. Tom Brady suffered soul-crushing defeats, dusted himself off and climbed the mountain again.

Those Mile High tears hinted at the debilitating toll these playoff losses take. Inside the visitor’s locker room, Bills owner Terry Pegula said he saw Allen with his head down, crying, inconsolable. “I walked over to Josh,” Pegula continued, “he didn’t even acknowledge I was there. He sat there sobbing. He was listless. He had given everything he had to try to win that game.” A scene that represented the living-and-breathing embodiment of an impenetrable playoff wall.

Change was obviously needed to relaunch this quarterback’s climb.

Pegula fired Sean McDermott. No relationship in sports matters more than the one between head coach and quarterback. Allen and Brady can forge the sort of bond that’s been missing. At Brady’s introductory presser, the quarterback glowed from the first row. General manager Brandon Beane again reshuffled the roster. This season, the Bills also move into new Highmark Stadium across Abbott Road. Allen is hopeful this structure, unlike the last one, does not reside on sacred Native American burial grounds. There’s no way to know for certain, though Seneca Nation observers were on site.

But the No. 1 reason the face of the franchise appears reborn is obvious. The birth of his child could not have come at a better time.

“I truly believe,” Allen says, “I’m stepping into the best version of myself.”

Josh and Hailee both are royalty in their respective fields. One could run for mayor and win in a historic landslide. The other has more than 20 million followers on IG. A peaceful, uninterrupted dinner at The Grange in Hamburg is an impossibility. As new parents, the two are relishing normalcy and privacy, declining to share the name of their child publicly. Together, they’ll cherish every milestone. Allen is ecstatic for their baby to turn the personality corner. He’s already seeing a wry smile. Rest assured, he makes it very clear shows like “Cocomelon” and songs like “Baby Shark” are permanently banned.

No longer is Josh Allen putting his body on the line for his teammates alone. He’s driven by a completely new why.

“It’s for this little being that’s looking up to me now,” he says.

All emotions from the last five months replay through his mind. Misery after the latest playoff loss. Ecstasy after the birth of his daughter. Everything in-between.

He smiles.

“I got my why,” Allen repeats. “My wife and my baby.”

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CLIFTON, N.J. — His eyes squint toward the wall to his right. There’s nothing but a busboy over there tidying up dishes. Dim lighting. No foot traffic. But staring that direction, Calvin Austin III slips into a time machine. We’re not inside a restaurant anymore. We’ve transported to the Memphis Tigers weight room. It’s 2017. Austin, the local kid, is a walk-on.

In the middle of the room, players could make smoothies and protein drinks. There were a few offices. And whenever the food arrived, only those on scholarship were permitted to proceed. It could be sandwiches from Lennys Grill & Subs or Sonic burgers. They got first dibs.

Walk-ons? Austin points at that wall. They’d patiently wait right there for their turn.

“Once they got their stuff,” Austin says, “then we could get our stuff.”

Usually, there was enough food. But this emasculating exercise established a clear caste system that crystallized exactly where Austin, the runt of the freshman class, stood in the program. Reality checks were supplied outside the building, too. From the line at Cook Out, Austin sent his sister a request for $6 on Cash App because that’s how much it cost for a burger, tenders, fries and a milkshake. She’d always send it right away. His pockets were bare.

One workout, Austin smoked the competition in sprints. The last rep, Austin “hit another gear” and coasted 10+ yards ahead of everyone else. A jarring expedition of pure speed that compelled one of the Tigers’ strength coaches to break tradition. He let the walk-on eat first with the scholarship players. Here, a rush of euphoria visibly fills Austin. In countless ways, he’s forever stuck in 2017 because nothing beat this literal hunger to succeed. Most NFL veterans understandably lament the fact that they missed out on NIL money. Not Austin. He’ll pass on $200K, the going rate for No. 3 and No. 4 receivers at Power 4 schools, for one Sonic burger. That satisfied his appetite back then.

“I’m so thankful to have missed out on prime NIL,” he says, “because I don’t know what my mindset would’ve become. I truly found myself.”

He’s 5 feet 7 3/4 inches tall and 165 pounds. One of the smallest players in the entire NFL. At Tommy’s Tavern + Tap, there’s no distinguishing this patron in a leather booth from anyone else. Austin sports a black crew with the words “Athletically Speaking” inscribed across the chest. Dreads droop to his shoulders. As he speaks, he thumbs the paper wrapping from his straw into a ball and speaks… fast. One story zips to the next at one high-octane pace. All with maximum enthusiasm. There’s a contagious vigor to Austin’s personality that represents the diametric opposite of everything produced inside of his new home.

Six miles away, MetLife Stadium has been more $1.6 billion penitentiary than palooza. Soul-sucking. Insipid. Being a bad football team is one thing — and these Giants are 74-129-1 since 2013 — but bad and boring creates entirely new depths of torture for all inhabitants. One of the NFL’s proudest franchises has been about as digestible as a shot of tabasco sauce.

Hope, however, is now renewed. The fusion of a Super Bowl-winning coach (John Harbaugh) who’s tallied 193 victories through his career, a swaggering young quarterback (Jaxson Dart) and a roster flush with promising young talent has vaulted the New York Giants into offseason darlings territory. After the draft, they were the most-bet NFC team to reach the Super Bowl. This could all combust, of course.

What these Giants need is a shock to the system. A signature Big Bang moment. A player who’ll bring life to MetLife.

They need Calvin Austin III.

He knows his football life has been a steady build toward this 2026 NFL season.

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A stunning New York City skyline is visible across the Hudson River. This is the big time. Austin will consciously sustain and weaponize his walk-on mentality because he’s forever the forgotten one. He’s the high school kid who rifled off 400 emails nationwide for one shot, only to receive hardly any replies online and utter garbage in-person. One D-I coach’s condescending voice still plays in his head. He’s the college kid humiliated in one of his first drills who learned how to morph what everyone deemed a fatal flaw — his size — into a “superpower.”

A superpower that changed the course of multiple NFL franchises in a millisecond.

Just like that, he transports again. It’s now Jan. 4, 2026 and the AFC title is on the line at Acrisure Stadium. All of 2 minutes and 20 seconds remain for his Pittsburgh Steelers to save their season against Baltimore. Austin wonders if this will be the last game for Aaron Rodgers and Mike Tomlin. As the kickoff sails into the end zone for a touchback, Rodgers plots with OC Arthur Smith with the receiver within earshot. He hears them ask each other how they can get Calvin Austin the ball and wants to pinch himself. (“Nobody can take that from me. They’re talking about me. Getting me the ball the first play of the drive.”)

The Steelers line up with three receiving options to the left and Rodgers knifes a slant to Austin on the backside for 16 yards.

Soon, it’s now third and 10 with 55 seconds left from the Ravens 26-yard line. I pull up the theatrics on my phone. We watch it together.

“You’re in the moment,” Austin recalls. “You understand the stakes. This is do or die. It’s now or never. The season is on the line.”

Pittsburgh again wants to work Austin as the lone receiver on the backside. Inside the huddle, Rodgers asks what route he wants to run. In his head, Austin’s thoughts race. If the Ravens play zone, he’d prefer to run a slant and nestle into a window. But if they go man, he can get vertical. The play clock ticks. Tension builds. No timeouts remain. A decision is needed, ASAP, and one Steelers offensive lineman cries out: “Just cook him!” Rodgers instructs Austin to run a stutter-go.

As Austin jogs to the line of scrimmage, he cannot tell if its Cover 3 or man. Rodgers barks an elongated “Green Nineteeeeeeen,” before a snappy “GreenNineteenSetHut,” and the second Austin explodes out of his stance he notices that cornerback Chidobe Awuzie’s eyes are glued to him. Fresh. Meat. “Respect him,” he says. “But I think we all knew what time it was.” Austin slammed his brakes on a stutter at the 21-yard line, Awuzie slipped to all fours, and off he accelerated for a touchdown. (The NFL later anointed this route of the year.)

Cradling the game-winning ball, Austin lounges in Row 1 with the fans and Pittsburgh hangs on to win, 26-24. Baltimore’s Harbaugh is fired and — two months later — there’s the coach calling Austin to say how nice it’ll be to share the same sideline in New York.

“I got him fired,” Austin quips, “so we could come together.”

One of the best coaches in the sport believes. For ages, there was only one person.

Harbaugh can shred him to pieces in front of the entire team. Roger Goodell can issue an indefinite suspension. NYC tabloids can splatter his face in clown’s makeup. Their scorn will never bother him because, to this day, the only person he strives to please is his father. Once he’s finished reliving his rise in vibrant detail, Austin walks along a sidewalk outside the restaurant.

I ask him for his father’s phone number. He lights up.

“Ask him why he believed in me? I honestly have no clue why.”

The plan

When Giants receivers were asked to submit photos for a slideshow introducing themselves to teammates, his decision was easy. Calvin Austin III chose the jersey that was comically large. His flowing No. 84 Memphis Tigers mesh could’ve doubled as a kite. It was 2XL. The last player to wear this was a tight end.

But when the walk-on first stared at the name plate and saw “Austin III,” he beamed.

“You couldn’t tell me nothing,” Austin says. “Nobody could tell me nothing. At that point? I had almost made it.”

In truth, he didn’t mind waiting forever for a sandwich that year.

His mere presence inside the Memphis Tigers weight room was the realization of a dream.

Since age 8, the Memphis native imagined himself putting on this jersey.

He’d listen to Tigers games on 92.9 FM with his Dad both in the car and home. They attended games via $5 Kroger tickets. The names he rattles off no doubt sound like made-up television characters. To Austin, they’re heroes. One time, he met Duke Calhoun at a gas station. (“I was like, ‘Boy, that’s Duke Calhoun! I listened to him on the radio!’”) Calhoun earned an opportunity with the Giants in 2010 but was beat out by a fellow UDFA that spring named Victor Cruz. He raves about Carlos Singleton as more of a Paul Bunyan figure. (“Many people don’t know this. He was 6-8!”)

Of course, there was one other small detail. Through Austin’s entire childhood, ’06 to ’13, the Tigers were steaming garbage. They won four games or less six times. One shellacking, East Carolina’s Chris Johnson ran roughshod for 301 yards through the Memphis D. Austin sat exceptionally close to all carnage. So close he could see beads of sweat trickling down the players’ foreheads, hear what players were saying, truly feel everyone’s pain. Fans in attendance understood to head to the parking lots by halftime. Lest they do irreparable damage to their retinas.

As Austin trudged back to his vehicle, at Dad’s side, he repeatedly looked into the future.

“My whole mindset was, ‘You know what? I’m going to be a five-star recruit. I’m going to have all the offers — Alabama, Oregon — and I’m going to stay home and go to Memphis, change the whole program around,” Austin says. “Have the whole city saying, ‘Wow, he’s a hometown hero.’ Like DeAngelo Williams did.

“I was a real deal Memphis Tigers football fan.”

He pounds a fist into his hand.

Turning dream to reality was another story. This mission should’ve been aborted many times over.

Athletic gifts were obvious… early. As in, age 5. When everyone was in town for the baby shower of Calvin III’s younger sister, Dad orchestrated a pickup game at a local high school. Calvin II was the youngest of 11 siblings, which meant this particular field was full of nephews a decade older than Calvin III. In the huddle, he instructed his son to follow his lead block. But when Dad pitched the ball back, a funny thing happened. Son saw a gleam of daylight and instinctively cut back against the grain.

None of those teenagers could catch him. Everyone started calling him “Mr. Cutback.”

Soon after, Calvin III started studying the greats. Right down to how Deion Sanders covered receivers out of breaks.

The ensuing summer, Austin got into track where he soon starred in the 100, 200, 400 and long jump. At age 9, his jump of 16-4 took gold at the Junior Olympics. He realized his speed rivaled peers across the country.

He was also pint-sized.

He also attended Harding Academy, a small private Christian school with coaches who had no clue how to use him.

Austin played both ways through high school and got the ball on funky jet sweeps, pitchouts, screens, runs, even the Wildcat. He scored on kick returns and pick-sixes. But as a senior, he estimates only 12 or 13 of his receptions came as a traditional receiver. He never grasped the idea of passing concepts, never ran actual routes. After games, opposing coaches would tell Dad that the greatest defense against his son were his own coaches. Nor had the general idea of the “slot receiver” evolved much beyond White New England Patriot. College coaches weren’t giving much thought to how an electric talent like this could be unleashed.

Austin smiles and reaches for his phone. The screen is so spiderweb-cracked I can hardly make out what he’s trying to show me. But it’s his email inbox.

Thumbing along, he shows off a long, long, long list of emails sent to college coaches from 2015 and 2016. Austin reached out to every single school he could. He’d type “4.38 Nike Verified 40” in the subject headline, figuring the time would convince a coach to at least click open the email instead of rendering it spam. Inside, he included a link to his Hudl highlight reel. In all, Austin estimates that he sent approximately 400 emails. Most coaches completely ignored him. Some politely wrote back that they’re going to pass. Other times, he received an automated reply. No genuine emails from the heart come to mind.

He later texts me this video to illustrate:

The goal never wavered: rack up D-I offers from the best of the best and stay in Memphis. But it didn’t matter when he got to meet these same coaches in-person. He’d run a sizzling 40 as a DB or WR at a school’s camp, open some eyes and interest quickly died off.

Missouri once invited him on an informal visit because of an old Memphis connection. Austin knew they were merely pacifying him. Interest wasn’t legit. The summer of his junior year, he tore up the Memphis Tigers’ camp at receiver and even recalls head coach Mike Norvell using him as an example in front of everyone. Norvell praised his performance and applauded his academics. All words, all niceties. No offer was extended.

Generosity always cloaked doubt. He was friend-zoned at every turn.

On this car ride home, Calvin III was heartbroken. To him, it was an indisputable fact that he was the best athlete in the entire city. Why wouldn’t Memphis want one of their own? Dad told son to keep chopping wood, to stay upbeat, when he was equally incredulous in the back of his head. Why did they not offer him?! he thought. Eventually, Calvin II said it’d be smart to consider a Plan B in case Memphis never came around.

Yet camp to camp to camp — showcases for high school prospects — his son had every reason to lose hope in playing college football anywhere.

There was the camp at Middle Tennessee State in Murfreesboro, 239 miles away, the summer before his senior year. Longtime head coach Rick Stockstill asked Austin and two others to stay and catch passes from his son, Brent, the school’s starting QB the year before. It went so well that Dad remembers the coach telling them to cancel all plans to attend all future camps — they were scheduled to head 549 miles to Marshall the following week. They held tight. Anticipation bubbled. They expected an offer.

Crickets. They never even received a phone call.

Ivy League schools expressed interest. He flew to New York to participate at Columbia’s camp, then rented a car with his father to drive out to Boston for Harvard’s camp. That’s where he picked off eight passes at DB, set a broad jump record and still didn’t get an offer. He considered the University of Penn because of their strong track program. Tiny Holy Cross sold the fact that they helped get diminutive wide receiver Kalif Raymond to the pros. (We profiled Raymond here, icymi.)

One problem with those Ivy schools is that they weren’t full rides. Even if he received a technical “offer,” financial aid was required. The other problem was that they weren’t Memphis.

Still, he charged on. He attended another local camp that featured a bunch of small schools across the state of Tennessee at Dad’s urging. Dad convinced him that it only takes one set of eyes to somehow domino his dream into motion. At receiver, Austin smoked DBs in 1 on 1’s, produced another blistering 40 and, to his delight, recruiting coordinator Julius McNair asked to chat. He felt butterflies. Hope rushed through his body. OK, this wasn’t ‘Bama or Georgia. But Austin could sense his first real scholarship offer coming. UT-Martin’s McNair praised his route running, his speed and what he said next struck Austin with the warmth of a haymaker to the chin. This was the most cruel insult of ‘em all.

McNair recommended a Division III school, Rhodes College, eight miles down Sam Cooper Boulevard. Told him this would be a perfect fit because he was too small for D-I.

Austin held it together for the handshake and said goodbye. As soon as McNair left, he called his Dad from the field. And sobbed.

“I’m crying,” Austin says. “I’m hurt.”

Both felt helpless. Everyone believed he was too small to compete. At his size, he’d forever receive zero benefit of the doubt.

That’s why Calvin II leaned into a go-to slogan: “Let ‘em know who you are.” Dad implored son to force his hand, to “destroy perception” by killing the cornerback’s will. This was the darkest day… but it didn’t permanently crush Austin, it didn’t compel him to lower the bar. Part of this is innate. Calvin II insists his son was born with rare mental fortitude. Dad was a police officer for 27 years in Memphis. The final eight, he worked for the Internal Affairs Security Squad where his job was to read people. Calvin III, he’s convinced, was hungry to be something special since he took that cutback the distance as a 5-year-old. But nurture was also at work. He was armored for all slights, all disrespect because of a different sport.

Whereas football was subjective — and he was penalized for his size — track and field was certifiably objective. Your time is your time.

Track sharpened his mind and thickened his skin. He thinks back to when nerves first paralyzed him at a meet. He was 10. It was the Shelby Youth Sports track league and, by God, he loathed the 400-meter run. As his one all-out sprint around the track closed in, the anxiety was crippling. Calvin III told Calvin II he was sick, a total lie to escape the event. Dad let son sit in the car to calm down, compose himself and get ready for the 200.

Over time, son learned to face those fears. Track hardened him.

“When you’re out on that line, it’s just you,” Austin says. “And you know the result is however you practiced.”

No sport holds up a mirror into your soul like track. Coast in training? It’ll show. “When you get out there on that line on meet day? That result is you,” Austin continues. “There is no hiding.” On meet day, you’re waiting… waiting… waiting… until, finally, a voice over the speaker announces that your event is on deck. Nerves spike. Cottonmouth sets in. Your body knows damn well its about to get pushed to the point of collapse. Want to avoid this pain? That’s fine. Nobody in the stands will know if you only gave 80 percent. But you’ll be forced to live with that shame.

“If you can do track and have character and continue to push through your nerves,” Austin says, “you’re going to be well-prepared for life.”

In high school, Austin won nine state titles. Confidence grew. The Memphis track and field coach, Miles Smith, obviously wanted this nationally decorated athlete to stay in-state. Austin made it clear he wanted to participate in track and football and Smith got Norvell to agree to a “preferred walk-on” roster spot.

All along, there was only one person who believed he’d play at Memphis and, one day, the NFL.

His father.

“Nobody else,” Austin says. “He’s the one who always speaks life into me.”

This wasn’t an “I love you”-type of relationship early on. Son simply didn’t hear those words. Nor did he need to. On the police force, Calvin II often worked the night shift to coach his son in everything possible during the day. Soccer, basketball, flag football. Calvin III isn’t even sure when his father slept. “So love?” he says. “Maybe you don’t say it, but sacrificing sleep, waking up to coach little kids? That’s love.” Son was consumed by earning Dad’s respect. Discipline was common from a father who worked in law enforcement. Son didn’t do anything crazy at home. “But,” Calvin III adds, “the Bible says do not spare the rod. He didn’t spare the rod.”

Whenever he heard a rumble from his parents’ closet, he knew the belt was coming. A parenting method not exactly championed in literature today. If Austin has kids of his own one day, he jokes that he’ll have them do wall squats as punishment.

He also wouldn’t change a thing. Father and son grew exceptionally close. He can still picture Dad on his high school sidelines with a bucket hat on his head and a jar of pickle juice in his right hand to help him fight through cramps. Bill Belichick and/or Jerry Rice could declare Calvin Austin III the best player ever and it wouldn’t mean a thing if he let his father down. “To the point now,” Austin says, “where I have so much admiration and respect for that discipline. If something happens, yeah, call Coach Harbaugh. Call Roger Goodell. Don’t call my dad. Don’t call my Dad.”

The inverse is also true. If the entire world declared him trash — but Dad offered a hug? — he’d be just fine.

“My Dad is everything to me. Everything.”

His mind races back to another vivid memory. He’s 14. He’s about to race in the finals of club championships and anxiety returns. Tears start to well up and his father extends a hand. “Son,” he tells him, “I’m proud of you. Regardless of what the result is, I love you.” It’s the first time Calvin III recalls hearing those words.

His Gmail was a ghost town through 49 TDs, 3,492 all-purpose yards, that official 4.38 and numerous camps set ablaze.

Austin was undeterred. His foot was in the Memphis door and that was enough.

“Once I get there,” he told Dad, “I’m going to show ‘em who I am.”

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Dream realized

He had the jersey, albeit baggy. He had a sandwich, albeit delayed. Calvin Austin III was a Memphis Tiger. All the walk-on needed to do now was learn how to play wide receiver. Tricky considering he knew nothing about the position beyond Iverson’ing fools at the line of scrimmage. Austin studied tutorials on YouTube, but humiliation was inevitable.

He mutters the words “Skills and Drills” in scarring dread. This was when receivers ran routes vs. air. No defense. Easy enough.

On his curl route, Austin dropped not one, not two, but three passes in a row. Finally, the coaches had enough and ordered him to the back of the line to keep the drill moving. The fundamental act of catching an in-breaking route felt unnatural — the ball came out fast. This was the first time Austin ever caught a football from a quarterback with a real arm. Buried on the depth chart throughout his 2017 freshman year, Austin’s football future appeared grim. Most of the Memphis staff viewed Austin as scout-team filler, a small track guy.

Then, a second person started to believe.

A young quality control coach felt a gravitational pull toward him.

The closer David Glidden watched Austin, the more he realized the freshman’s sonic speed was accompanied by something else: desire. Glidden taught him the meticulous nuances of the craft: a “fastball” release, a speed release, a 1-2 curveball, a 1-2-3 changeup. He showed him how one move set up the next, and the next to create a pattern. He detailed how the linebacker, corner, safety created a “triangle” composition to read pre-snap.

Even while overseeing 100+ players, Norvell couldn’t help but notice this apprenticeship. Inside an offensive meeting, the head coach gave Glidden the floor. “You like Calvin?” he asked.

Glidden, as a GA, didn’t even have a seat at the table. His chair was pushed up against a side wall. With those three words, he knew his own reputation was on the line. So, he told the truth. He announced to the entire room that he believes Austin would become “a big-time player” at Memphis.

Other coaches in the room audibly laughed.

Norvell nodded his head, stored that intel away and moved onto the next order of business.

What made Glidden believe? What did he see that nobody else could? For starters, he was a 5-8 wide receiver himself at Oklahoma State from ’11 to ’15. He wasn’t nearly as gifted, as fast, as twitchy but Glidden recognized an inner flame dying for kindling when he saw one. Austin’s natural release off the line was also “extremely, extremely rare,” the coach says, and Austin possessed a “Gumby”-like ability to bend his body in ways impossible for larger receivers. A lot of kids understand what you’re saying, but can’t apply it. Teaching Austin the position was something like inputting data into a machine.

Glidden tapped into his own experience with Kasey Dunn at Oklahoma State, an OC he considers a receiver guru. Dunn’s style was straight to the point. Which fit Austin’s Point A-to-Point B explosion perfectly. To this day, Glidden instructs his players to study Austin’s releases on YouTube because there’s no fluff, no nonsense. “It’s quick, it’s sudden,” Glidden says. “He knows the quarterback doesn’t have all day to sit back there.”

He viewed Calvin Austin III through a refractor hundreds of other college coaches could not comprehend. Negatives were viewed as positives. To Glidden, there was immense value in both his size and a blank slate. Too often, coaches inherit players with horrid habits impossible to break. Austin had none. Austin was a freak athlete who could be molded.

“A thing that’s beautiful,” Glidden says. “You can’t ask for more as a coach when they’re talented, they’re willing to work and they’re coachable and you don’t have to break a bunch of bad habits to create new ones.

“It’s a thing of beauty. It’s the best-case scenario.”

Residing in scout-team purgatory, unaware of that meeting, Austin considered reshuffling his priority list.

After Year 1, Calvin III told Calvin II that he wanted to do full-time track in the spring. Maybe it was time to embrace the 100 and 200 and see how far this sport could take him. “Because in track,” Austin reasoned, “I’m that guy.” He certainly was not in football. Commit full-time to track and maybe he’d make nationals. Dad intervened. Dad thought back to those Mr. Cutback days and stated, point blank, that God put him on earth to play football.

Football would be No. 1. Track, No. 2.

Austin decided only to join the latter during the winter indoor season.

If Glidden was the first at Memphis to believe, Norvell awakened an animal inside.

One day, during his indoor track season, Austin was training at the facility. The Tigers football coach bumped into him, pleasantries were exchanged and Norvell asked how many passes he caught on the JUGS machine. Austin stammered. “Uhh… none.” Norvell didn’t cuss him out. He simply said “OK” and walked away.

“I understood everything he said,” Austin recalls, “by just shaking his head.”

That day forward, Austin religiously worked at the JUGS machine. Next time Norvell asked him this question, Austin answered the next breath: “200.” Without this nudge, no way he’s in the NFL. It’s why he calls Norvell one of the best coaches in the country.

Austin sniffed the field a little in 2018, taking one jet sweep 83 yards to the house in a 66-14 blowout over Mercer. His No. 84 jersey blew in the wind.

Into 2019, Year 3, Austin caught 17 balls for 315 yards with three TDs and no coaches on the Memphis staff were laughing anymore. He gives love to wide receivers coach John Simon for building on what Glidden started. “He really taught me how to be a football player,” Austin says. “How to be a receiver, how to catch, how to read the nose of the ball, how to get in the stance, how to break down with your arm, how to snap down, how to run routes.” Good timing. The NFL was concurrently reimagining small wide receivers as Tyreek Hill torched defenses from all contours of the gridiron.

At Memphis, Norvell gave credit where credit’s due. During one meeting, he pointed out that Glidden was the one who had conviction from Day 1. And, finally, Austin earned that coveted scholarship.

The next fall, the infamous COVID season, he detonated for a conference-best 1,053 yards and 11 touchdowns. No smokescreens, no gimmicks. Austin rarely ever took a handoff. Austin lined up as the X receiver on the boundary and cooked. His lack of size was no impediment. Scouts considered Austin a potential sixth-round pick — declaring early felt like a good idea to Dad. Especially with the injury risk. This time, son put his foot down. He needed to stay for one more season to play in front of the fans. That was the dream, right? He knew there were undersized kids up in those same stands he once occupied.

Before hitting publish on a post announcing his return, however, Austin heard from Dan Lanning at Georgia. The assistant coach said he talked to Kirby Smart and the Bulldogs had a spot on their roster for him. Further, Norvell was now at Florida State. They wanted him, too. Once upon a time, Calvin Austin III was dying for a flippin’ UT-Martin Skyhawks coach to want him. Now this? He didn’t consider either destination for one second. Instead, he said two words to his Dad: “I won.” The fact that the nation’s top programs were actively recruiting him was victory in itself.

“I’m Memphis ‘til the day I die,” Austin adds. “Nick Saban could have called me and said, ‘Calvin, please come to Alabama.’ I would have said ‘no.’”

On July 1, 2021 of his senior season, college athletes were officially allowed to profit on their Name, Image and Likeness (NIL).

Austin read the news and took the exact opposite opinion of 99.9 percent of his peers.

He told his Dad he didn’t want a dime. He didn’t even want to think about making money yet.

Memphis fans weren’t bailing at halftime anymore. Austin eclipsed 1,000 yards again that 2021 season. And when he pitched his game to NFL scouts, Austin bluntly stated that he eclipsed 1K in back-to-back seasons as a novice. He was still learning the position. After registering a 4.32 in the 40 at the NFL Combine and a broad jump twice his height (11 feet, 3 inches), Austin was drafted in the fourth round.

All along, his relationship with Dad only strengthened. If he was ever feeling “discombobulated” at halftime, Austin retrieved his cell phone right in the locker room and called him. Other times, Dad would even hurry down from the stands for a quick pep talk. Calvin II didn’t play college ball. But just hearing his voice — “Use your speed! Kill ‘em!” — got Calvin III back on track. Every time. “Because,” he adds, “that’s the voice I’ve always heard.”

Now, he’s a pro.

Calvin III may or may not still tap open his phone to check in with Dad during halftime of games.

After his shining moment — that Steelers TD to beat Baltimore — Austin couldn’t wait to connect. Hundreds upon hundreds of texts lit up the screen. All of those friends and family members could wait. Calvin III called Calvin II.

They screamed. They cried.

These tears were different.

“What can they say now?!” son sniped. “What can they say now?! They can’t say nothing!”

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Superpower

Nobody’s holding his hand and talking to him in a kindergarten teacher’s tone about attending a Division III school down the road anymore. It’s time to redefine the New York Giants. Calvin Austin casts a gentile disposition. He’s the man you’d want your daughter to marry. But that doesn’t mean he’ll meekly accept a crammed middle seat in Row 34. He’s dreaming big. Again.

“One thing I’ve come to realize,” he says, “is that my skillset is unique. And my speed? A lot of guys have speed or quickness. I have both.”

He has no worries about touches. If any offensive coordinator wants to win, he continues, you find a way to use your talent. He trusts Matt Nagy will find a way.

Austin has trained with some of the best wideouts in the sport.

“And my speed?” says Austin. “There isn’t anybody who has the speed I do. That’s no disrespect to anyone. It’s confidence. I have gas. And it’s not just vertical speed. I’ve got speed and can decel. I’ve got change of direction. I’ve got a release package. Yeah, we have a ton of receivers. Where do I fit in? I can play inside. I can play outside. And that’s something that people will see.”

Striking clarity for a man who had never run a real route before he could vote.

All adversaries at the line of scrimmage are nameless, faceless. There’s no cornerback Austin doesn’t believe he’ll… “kill,” he jumps in, finishing my sentence. He doesn’t care that his salary’s a few burgers north of the vet’s minimum. Through a four-year career, he’s seen peers in this league overlooked by players drafted higher or paid more money. Harbaugh is known as a coach who does not play politics. Subjectivity will no longer stunt his growth because nobody can declare Austin is incapable of wasting a taller cornerback when there’s 20 clips of him doing exactly that in practice.

What everyone but Dad declared a fatal flaw — his size — is now a superpower.

Take a Steelers-Eagles brawl in 2024. Darnell Washington, Pittsburgh’s woolly mammoth of a tight end, bench-pressed cornerback Darius Slay through the back of the end zone. And after the whistle, from the other side of the field, Austin saw three Eagles players surround one of his best friends. Instincts kicked in. He sprinted over. (“I wasn’t trying to play peacemaker.”) With one jolting two-hand shove he uprooted cornerback Quinyon Mitchell into the back wall and heard one of his favorite sounds in the sport. An audible gasp.

All aggression he traces back to childhood. Calvin III was batted around in all sports by cousins a decade older.

This spring, he compelled new Giants wide receivers coach Chad Hall to rewatch his blocking vs. the New York Jets. He cracked back on both middle linebackers and safeties. (“Stonewalling them!”) His voice speeds up. If anybody wants to understand this whole superpower thing, he advises we watch the All-22.

“I never feel my size,” Austin says. “My Dad cultivated my mindset. I say it’s a superpower because other people underestimate it.

“I’m bringing the force to them! When I get to crack back on a linebacker, that’s when I show my character. People see this. That’s what I feel my superpower is. I get to show my character with my size. ‘OK, watch. Yeah, I’m finna run full speed and not stop and put my shoulder and head into this guy’s chest.’ A lot of guys don’t have that mindset. That’s who I am. It’s my superpower because people wouldn’t expect of me to be the way I am.”

He lists off three fellow bantams: New England’s Pop Douglas, Houston’s Tank Dell and Baltimore’s Zay Flowers. Pound for pound, Austin contends he’s the NFL’s toughest wide receiver. After winning the Ed Block Courage award in Pittsburgh, ex-coach Mike Tomlin praised his grit to the entire team.

Right here, the longtime Steelers coach decreed, is a player who’ll sprint headfirst into a fire.

Austin reminisces fondly at those Steelers days, name-dropping vets who took his game to another level. Diontae Johnson stressed the need to run every route at 100 mph because corners will then live in fear of his speed humiliating them deep, thus opening up routes underneath. He has no clue how the Steelers WR room would’ve even breathed without the leadership of Allen Robinson, whom he calls one of the best receivers of this generation. A foot injury shelved Austin as a rookie. Into ’23, for whatever reason, ex-OC Matt Canada tried to pigeonhole him as a gadget guy. In ’24 and ’25, used as a legit wideout, Austin caught 67 balls for 920 yards with seven touchdowns.

Now, he’s a Giant. Watching Jaxson Dart from afar, Austin told himself he’d love to play with a QB like that. (“I like my quarterback to be cocky, popping it. Let’s go to war with him.”) He’s only getting started with Dart. But the two threw together in Cali before OTAs and Austin already notices a massive shift in personality at quarterback. Rodgers is 42; Dart just turned 23. An age difference this vast manifests on the field. Rodgers is one of the smartest humans, period, he’s ever met. (“He’s too smart almost.”)

Two-way communication with Dart is refreshing.

“With Aaron, he’s a Hall of Famer. You’re going to have to do things how he wants,” Austin says. “With Jaxson, you can put your own little sauce on it. He puts his own little sauce on it. And you can come together to create something. That’s a big thing. I’ll be like, ‘Hey Jax, this dude right here, listen, if he’s on me? I don’t care what they say, throw it to me.’ Or Jax will say, ‘Hey Cal…’”

This is the most dynamic quarterback he’s ever caught passes from, a playmaker capable of hanging in the pocket to let routes develop downfield. Quite the departure from a pair of Canton-bound relics (Rodgers, Russell Wilson) and Kenny Pickett.

A Giants roster that’s been so rotten for so many years is now infused with a quarterback (Dart) who flawlessly executed the Flawda, Rakai and Thriller dances in the end zone after touchdowns, a running back (Cam Skattebo) who’d smash into light poles as kid, an absurdly talented wideout (Malik Nabers) who’s the first Giant to wear No. 1 since Ray Flaherty in 1935 and a defense teeming with pass rushers. One (Brian Burns) is known as “Spiderman.” One (Abdul Carter) had the audacity to request Lawrence Taylor’s No. 56. One (Arvell Reese) is described by ex-pro Chris Simms as a “psycho” who looks at dumbbells and grows muscles. Don’t forget about Kayvon Thibodeaux, either.

Austin — at receiver, at returner — can light the match.

First up, Dallas.

The scriptwriters were kind. Calvin II and Calvin III grew up diehards. When he was 7 years old, Austin recalls the Cowboys playing their best whenever he did chores around the house. So for the team’s wild card game against Seattle that ‘06 season, he helped Dad paint the entire bathroom. All game, they painted. And watched. Painted. And watched. Painted and… oh no. There’s Tony Romo fumbling the hold of a chip-shot field goal with 1:19 remaining. Calvin III owned Jason Witten and Troy Aikman jerseys, knew the team’s full depth chart like the back of his hand and even submitted a question to the mailbag of the team’s website once. There was a player in the arena league that Austin was convinced Dallas should sign.

Now, he can serve as a Cowboy Killer and signal a new era in the NFC East.

Juke a cornerback into the dirt for a touchdown in front of 82,500 fans inside MetLife and everything will change inside this spiritually dilapidated stadium.

“Quick,” he says, nodding. “Quick. … I’m excited. Obviously I played there against Jets, but I mean, who really want to go to the Jets game? I’m ready to go to a Giants game, man. Giants game.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

Life outside of football is basic. He’s got three American Bullies. He’ll fish occasionally. He’s into nature — Calvin III and his girlfriend love going on walks. This week, he was texting the family group chat that he wants everyone to live on their own compound someday. He’d love to settle down in the country with a ton of land and animals. For now, he cannot wait to immerse himself in NYC and New Jersey. Kids tend to stare at Austin’s stature in astonishment, unable to comprehend how an adult barely taller than themselves can get clobbered on a football field and bounce back up. When Austin posted a goodbye to the city of Pittsburgh on IG, the post received more than 80K likes and 3K comments. It blew his mind. He bonds with fans at a deeper level because he’s so accessible. Austin responds to at least half of his direct messages from total strangers.

Now that he’s in the Big Apple, Austin plans on staying visible. He’ll volunteer any chance he gets. Not the stuff mandated by the team, either. He gives back when no cameras are present.

“I’m not too big or mighty,” Austin says. “That’s what I’m looking to bring to here. Be one with the people. Be one with the fans. I know it gets crazy here and stuff. But we’re all humans. I don’t take nothing to heart. It’s a fan being a fan. If I see that fan, I’ll make them a fan of maybe not as a player, but me as a person.”

The fastest route to the heart of Gotham sports fans is quite simple.

Win.

Pose a simple question — How great can you be? — and Austin refuses to make lavish proclamations because doing so would be a deviation from all sweat and tears that got him here. In his brain, he’s still a walk-on waiting for a sandwich. All he envisions is running crisper routes, catching the ball with more authority, improving. This day, he’s fresh off an extra workout with Troy Pelletier, the man who has trained Saquon Barkley because it never feels right if he doesn’t do something extra. That’s what led to the most significant touchdown of his life.

Once again, he thinks back to that night in January. And Dad.

“Those moments, you can’t replace them,” Austin says. “This was our dream. … If somebody told him, ‘Hey, your son one day, you’re going to be watching him on TV like this and he’s going to have a game-winning touchdown.’ He would have said, ‘Man, get out of here.’”

Austin pauses. Reconsiders.

“Honestly, he probably would have believed it, knowing him.”

That’s why he’d like an outsider to pose that question to his father. Calvin II knew something that hundreds of coaches across the country did not… but what? I ask Dad.

“What they didn’t see in Calvin,” he says, “is his hunger. He’s so hungry. He wants to show the world his talent and that he can do it. Give him an opportunity.”

A few more stray stories from those old football and track days are rattled off. Like his son, Calvin II barely catches his breath.

He bursts with pride.

He sounds like a man who knows precisely what happens next in this story.

“This year, the sky’s the limit for him,” Calvin II says. “I’m telling you, he’s been showing everywhere he’s went.

“He’s going to show in New York, too.”

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ICYMI:

On my way to Gate F7 at the Fort Lauderdale–Hollywood International Airport last night, I had to do a double take. Right there — plain as day — was a gentleman in a New York Jets hat.

Still regret not asking him one question: “Why?”

His Jets, of course, own the longest playoff drought in pro sports.

Yet, this sight also represents the beauty of pro football. This is what makes the league unlike any other. One week ago, the NBA held its lottery. With a such strong crop of prospects on tap, roughly one-third of the league actively tried to lose games through the 2025- ‘26 season. Disgraceful, unwatchable, yet understandable. In basketball, clubs must do everything possible to land a singular game-changer. One trudge to 17-65 inches you closer this direction. But odds are, you’ll stink again. In football, conversely, there is real parity. Bad teams can turn it around — quick.

Long ago, owners decided to spread the wealth around to all 32 teams in the broader interest of the league. That helps. And while there’s certainly a team here ‘n there that’ll set its cruise control at 35 MPH by Week 17 and 18 and piss off a star like Maxx Crosby, tanking is no grave concern.

Football, by nature, is a team game. Shaking up the roster one offseason can directly lead to wins. Or, at least hope.

Hope is the NFL’s greatest currency. It’s neatly packaged and sold from February to August. That fella in the Jets hat can dream big dreams. Like, say, eight new starters on defense manufacturing at least one interception this 2026 season.

Woody Johnson will discover a brand new way to poison the well, but there’s always one surprise team out there. Seeing Sam Darnold atop that Super Bowl dais surely was not easy for Kevin O’Connell, but I like how the Minnesota Vikings proceeded this offseason.

Prognosticating which team leaps forward and which team falls back is one topic explored in Part II of the May Mailbag.

Other questions broached…

• On the pod, I discussed/debated the Green Bay Packers’ defections with Mike Tanier. That conversation continues below. Has corner been adequately addressed?

• Does Matt LaFleur have another gear?

• How do Ed Oliver, Greg Rousseau and Terrel Bernard — well-compensated holdovers — fit into Jim Leonhard’s new Bills defense.

• The Bears — yes, those Bears — won the NFC North in 2025. We give Ben Johnson a bouquet of flowers for refusing to believe all those turnovers on defense were sustainable. But was this the correct pivot?

• Which free agent still on the market could help a contender?

• CTE concerns are real. The NFL is championing flag football. What does the future of the sport look like?

• What is the most underpaid position in football?

Before we get to all your questions, here’s some cool news to share. The Associated Press Sports Editors (APSE) announced the winners of its annual writing contest. In the C category, our piece on Jordan Poyer placed fifth in Long Features, our deep dive on the New England Patriots took second in Explanatory and our collection of columns (including this one on Jerry’s Cowboys) also took second.

Our reporting is always a credit to readers, above all. Go Long exists because of you. This spring, I’ve been traveling the country for another round of features ahead of the 2026 season. We’ve got huge plans.

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Part I is here, icymi.

Let’s combine a pair of Packers-related inquiries to start…

Hi Tyler,

Now that the offseason is moving into minicamp, it feels like the Packers may have taken a step back compared to other teams in the NFC North It started with the decision to re-sign Matt LaFleur — he seems like a strong coach Monday through Saturday, but that hasn’t always translated on Sundays.

They were also relatively quiet in free agency, and once again drafted a cornerback who didn’t record many interceptions in college and isn’t known as a strong tackler. On top of that, their overall depth appears weaker compared to other teams in the division.

Steve Livermore

De Pere, WI

and…

Greetings T,

Eager to hear your thoughts on what the Packers did in the draft.

On the surface, I would give them a B (the ratings by all the pundits are humorous; NO ONE will know how any team did until the balls are in the air).

They addressed needs at CB, edge rusher, DT, OL, kicker (I say addressed not solved). They’ve made some strategic moves with current players (extensions), got 4 extra 2027 draft picks with trades, letting players walk, etc.

So I kinda like what they’ve done.

Thoughts?

Best,

Mark Matlock

Bluffton, SC

One image clogs my mind as I read these emails from two our OG subscribers.

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Good afternoon, readers.

I hope everyone had an excellent Mother’s Day.

Could spend thousands of words on my own. Little do readers know just how much my Mom does for Go Long behind the scenes — unbelievably selfless, loving, compassionate, drops everything at a moment’s notice to help. I am beyond blessed. We can all agree the mothers in our lives deserve more than one day of our sincere appreciation.

Meanwhile, in sports, I’m still waiting for Game 2 of Sabres-Canadians to start. Let me know when this series resumes. Anthony Edwards is making me eat my NBA hate. Damn, he’s fun to watch. The New York Knicks are apparently an offensive juggernaut. And, of course, Vrabel-Russini photos continue to drop.

A perfect time to mailbag.

The May inbox is full. We’ll divvy up into two parts.

First up, your questions on…

• The 2026 Buffalo Bills offense. How will it look different?

• NFL Draft. It’s blown up to comical extremes.

• NIL. College players make more money than you think. How does this affect NFL team-building?

• 18 games feels inevitable. There’s one way for the NFL to add another game without being pigs.

• Kyle Shanahan’s war vs. the draft consensus brings me back to when I wrote a story that enraged the 49er coach.

• Another look into those Bills HC interviews.

Thanks for participating, all. Let’s get to it.

Hey Ty, great stuff as always. The Beane 1 on 1 was interesting.

What do people around the league think of Joe Brady’s scheme and Buffalo skill players outside of Josh and James Cook? Who are they game-planning for on offense?

Derek C

Strong, direct question. You’ve all heard from Brandon Beane and Joe Brady. Each supplied more detail than I was expecting on where the Bills have been and where the Bills are heading. All fine, all dandy.

To your point, Derek: How are the Bills perceived outside of this building in Orchard Park, NY?

People across the NFL have many thoughts.

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ORCHARD PARK, NY — Emotions have been spiking to histrionic extremes. From the moment one football shifted from the hands of a Buffalo Bills wide receiver into the hands of a Denver Broncos defensive back, and this team lost in OT, it’s been loud. Very loud. Right through the firing of one longtime head coach and the hiring of a new one. But it’s those emotions that also make pro football unlike any sport in the country.

Especially in title-starved Western New York.

Because here’s the funny thing.

On the most important point, Brandon Beane is one of you. Beane agrees with his constituents 100 percent. The president of football operations central to everything inside this building views a trip to the Super Bowl as the full expectation this 2026 NFL season. It’s all he thinks about. The last time we sat in this room, Beane used knifing language to drive this point home. He had just hired Joe Brady as head coach. I brought up the fan reaction. “If I’m wrong, the moving company will be at my house,” he said then. He knew he’d regret choosing anyone else to appease the outside. It wasn’t about winning a press conference. “It’s about winning games over there,” he said, pointing toward the new stadium.

Win, and fans will cheer.

Winning is all that matters for a team that’s been in the playoffs eight of the last nine years.

Then, it was time for Beane to work on this roster.

It’s been three months. Now that free agency and the draft have passed, Go Long sat down with Beane again to discuss all changes to personnel. Among topics discussed:

• DJ Moore. A year ago, the GM strongly defended the WR room as constructed. This offseason, he wasted no time chasing a new No. 1. What changed? What made Moore the target?

• Draft philosophy. As suggested ‘round here, the Bills could’ve hunted down a premium talent at the top of the draft. Instead, they traded down. Why?

• 2026 draftees. Insight into what made T.J. Parker, Davison Igbinosun, Jude Bowry and Skyler Bell the Bills’ top four selections. Clemson pass rushers haven’t exactly panned out in the pros — what makes Parker different?

• Cornerback. It was always more of a need than we thought and Igbinosun was the pick. One trait particularly stood out. (“If he walked in and Deion Sanders was at corner, and he was behind him, he would have the mindset: ‘I’m going to beat him out.’”)

• Hits and misses. What are the draft lessons learned through both? (Hint: Finding the correct DNA is not easy.)

• New vets on D. One specific game last year told Beane everything he needed to know about Bradley Chubb. (“Character is revealed not when things are going well. True character is revealed when things aren’t.”) The Bills welcome CJ Gardner-Johnson’s energy and hope its contagious. Dee Alford’s rise in the sport is unique.

• Keon Coleman. Turns out, Beane wasn’t BS’ing when he (repeatedly) backed the former 33rd overall pick. Teams reached out on the receiver’s availability and the Bills shut those talks down. Who’s the Keon Coleman that Beane sees others may not?

Most of all, we get a peek inside the GM’s mind. This marks his 10th year at the helm. Such a year… to year… to year climb takes a toll. But more than ever, he’s refusing to shut it off at home. He’s still the Dad who refused to let his kids win in sports.

Nor is Beane oblivious to criticism outside of these walls.

You’ll want to stick around for his perspective on it all.

One objective stays at the forefront of mind.

Go Long subscribers can access our hourlong Q&A conversation below.

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You’re able to take a deep breath now. It’s been nonstop. I was going to say since the season ended, but it really has been since training camp.

Beane: They call this the “offseason.” It’s really not. There’s a lot of names for it. I just call it the “roster-building season” once the season’s over. That always starts with staff changes. If you change a coordinator or whatever. Obviously this year we had a change of head coach, which meant a full staff change. But it’s nonstop when the season ends. Definitely through the draft. At this point, other than rookie camp, you get your weekends back, which is nice. So you’re at least back to Monday through Friday life for a little bit. We try to really get this team — while they’re here training, plus making sure if we need to swap anybody out and we feel like somebody’s not working or they’re not what we thought they were — let’s make sure we get this 90-man roster as deep and competitive as we can.

I was trying to put myself in your shoes. It’s been a decade. These have been heartbreaking playoff losses. I know the schedule keeps rolling, one thing into the next, but that can’t be easy. The other day, I’m sitting in my living room and we’ve got this robin that keeps bashing its head on our window. We’ve tried everything and it’s still bashing. I’m thinking, “I wonder if Brandon feels like that.” You’ve been right on the doorstep. How do you handle that emotion through all this?

Beane: Listen, as a competitor, you always want to win. And if I shoot a bad round of golf, it’s like, “Alright, what did I do wrong? What could I do better? Where do we need to focus on? What do we need to practice? What do we need to do?” The only way to go is be honest about it and then keep moving and try to find ways. You’ve got to be better, so you’re hopefully helping to make your group better. And that’s the challenge to all of our staffs — whether it’s the trainers, equipment guys, the scouts. All of us. To win a title, everyone’s got to be on accord. Yeah, you’ve got to get a bounce of a ball here or there. And sometimes maybe it could have been just that, but you’ve got to control what you can control and try and compartmentalize that. I internalize it as my chip is deeper, my hunger is burning even more. And not that I was ever not working long hours. But I find myself, even at home, I struggle to turn it off. Even more now than when I took the job.

What does that look like? How so?

Beane: You’re constantly trying to find an inch here, an inch there to help put your team over the top. And you become wiser on things. And so you say, “You know what? I need to spend a little more time with this person. Even though that’s not necessarily in my daily calendar to do that, that can help this team.” Anything that can help this team. “You know what? I need to get on the phone. Even though I’m at home, I need to get on the phone with a couple of people — I didn’t have time (earlier) today — to discuss some things.” You can sit for hours. But where I find myself going into Season 10. It’s like this thing, “work smarter, not harder.” I do want to work smart, but I think it’s the competitive drive. Joe’s been using it, and I agree with it, to the team: competitive stamina. Keeping that going.

Listen, no one’s more angry that we haven’t got it done at myself than me. And I’ll always be that way. I don’t need outside motivation. I don’t need that. If we go in there right now and we play ping-pong, I’m going to try and whip your ass. And if you beat me, I’m going to try and figure out what you did and how you beat me. And I’m going to tell you to get your ass back over here soon and we’re going to come back at it until I can beat you. And so as long as Terry Pegula and the Pegula family allows me to do this job, that’s what it’s going to be.

Philosophically into this draft, obviously everybody’s trying to get inside your head. How are you approaching this? We’ll get into DJ Moore. You used your second-round pick on a wide receiver before the game of musical chairs started. But you could have gone the other direction. If you have X amount of first round grades, I don’t know how many did you have?

Beane: I’m not going to say the number, but it wasn’t enough.

You could say, “Do I package these picks to get that one premium player who might be the difference? Who might have star potential?” Howie Roseman and the Eagles did that this year with Makai Lemon, and he’s done it in the past.” You traded back three times and take T.J. Parker. Then you come up to take a corner. What went into that decision to not move up the board for one of those guys and matriculate the way you did?

Beane: Part of it is the assets you’re going in with and where do you have to move and who is that guy? We don’t have a second. So you have a late third. To move 10 spots, it’s probably going to cost you your third, fourth, fifth. We’ve got more holes. That one player, he can’t play corner, he can’t provide a rush, you can’t do it all.

You could trade a first next year. Go to that extreme.

Beane: Yeah, you can do all that stuff. There’s all different ways and there’s no right or wrong way. It’s just how we view this draft and where this roster is. And again, that’s the decision that I believe was best for this team. When you make moves to go back, you still don’t know exactly what’s going to be there. You have some ranges where you think the grade-level of players will be, based on how you’ve built your board. And that was the calculus in making these moves. Understanding the board. Understanding the league and where we thought the value of this draft would be. And we thought there was value in the middle rounds of this draft. And so when we started on Saturday, we had five picks in the fourth and fifth round, including the first pick of the day. We started the draft with three picks in the top 126, and we turned that into five picks in the top 126. And so the reason we thought that is some of the players that we’re able to come away with.

Now, time proves. The answer to the test is in the coming years. Was there one player that we think would have made this vast difference that could have covered up our need at a multitude of positions? Not only just for this season, but for years to come. We have to constantly be looking at not only what do we need now but what do we need in ‘27, ‘28? Whose contracts are we no longer going to be able to afford? Whose career arc is starting to go the other way? Who has injury issues that people on the outside may not even know that we’re not sure if they have more than two years left to play. So that’s the game I’ve got to play here in trading a bunch of future assets. To me — as long as we have Josh Allen — we want to go into every year with a legit chance to compete for a championship. And you know, I think we could jeopardize that if we got too crazy. I’ll trade anything. I ain’t afraid to do that. To me, I don’t want to be reckless. And that’s the balance you’re weighing. I want to be aggressive. I always want to be aggressive, but I don’t want to cross that line to being reckless.

You have been aggressive. You did something before anybody in the NFL did anything at wide receiver with DJ Moore. Trading the second for the fifth. Paying him $27.5 million a year. This is a big-time move. What made him your target?

Beane: I thought DJ, he’s a guy we followed all the way back from the draft process. A guy I checked into at the trade deadline last year. And of course when you’re looking at options and you’re talking through, Joe Brady quickly reminds you, “Yeah, he had one of his better years with me in Carolina.” He really loved DJ. So he knows his makeup, his wiring even better than I know it to be because mine is from what I understand of him and from the people I know in Carolina and from the people through the draft process at Maryland. But his skillset, he’s been a No. 1. Some people may say “His production dropped. He’s not a No. 1.” There’s probably 1As, 1Bs. Where is he in that? I don’t know. I’m not going to worry about that. What I know is he’s a player that still has plenty of talent. His production dropped, but you don’t see a drop in his speed, in his athleticism, his hands, his ability to run routes. And I would emphasize if you watched a lot of his targets a lot of his production came in “got to have it” moments. The ball seemed to go his way. And so all of that told me that this guy can still help us now. And it’s not like it’s a one-year rental. He can help us now and for the foreseeable future.

You can look at his numbers and you can look at his age (29) and think he’s a declining player. But when you really look at it, he was kind of getting phased out. Maybe the ball was a little inaccurate those first three quarters of the game. How deep did you dive into, “Where is DJ Moore right now at his point of his career?” Because wide receivers — when they kind of tilt past 30 — you don’t know where it’s going to go.

Beane: We watched a ton of his play when he’s not even getting the ball. What does he look like? Was he open? Is he beating routes or is he now struggling to beat press coverage? All the things that you’re going to ask him to do. We saw no decline in his play. We know he’s football smart. We know his DNA. We know he loves ball. We know he’s a great teammate. He checked a lot of boxes. And then when you look at what your options are in free agency, and then you look at how things stack in February and early March on your draft board. At that time, it’s not a final draft board, but you do take inventory of your draft board at all positions as you look across your board where you want to improve your roster. I felt like at Pick 60, there’s not going to be a guy like DJ Moore hanging around. And not only that, we got a fifth-round back for it that, again, we thought there was going to be value in this draft still in the fifth round. Time will tell, but it made too much sense when you put it all together to not make the move for DJ.

The way one of his wide receiver coaches explained his game was that he’s “unconventional” as a wide receiver because he can do a million different things and that works well with an unconventional quarterback. With Josh. Is there something to that?

Beane: There probably is. You can use him on screens. You can use him vertically. You can use him all over the field. It’s not like teams can do one thing and necessarily take what he does best away. And the longer he has that skillset, the more teams will have to gameplan against him. And that’s what you want. When you look at a player, one of the first things you ask about a skill player is — and skill can be rushers, too — “Is this a guy that we have to gameplan for? Is this a gameplan guy?” You have to know when DJ Moore is in the game and where he’s at on the field. You’re only going to have so many of those on your roster, but we think we added a guy that opposing teams are going to have to say, “We need to know where he’s at.”

One year ago, we sat here and talked about “everyone eats.” You believed you had enough weapons. Is this what you realized over the last 365 days? That you need that dude who people need to gameplan for? Nut-cutting time. January. Third down.

Beane: Yeah. You want guys that — when it’s third down — A, have the ability. And B, don’t shy away from it. They want the ball. To use a basketball term. They want the ball in their hands at the end of the game. We all know our quarterback thrives with the ball in his hands. You want to give him as many other weapons in “gotta have it” moments like what we saw the Bears doing. He thrives in that situation.

So at No. 35, you go TJ Parker. You passed on two nose tackles that some folks hypothesized, hand up, you might take. What made him the pick? What do you love most about TJ Parker?

Beane: He’s a three-down player. We think he has shown plenty of rush. His sack production was down this year, but that can be for a lot of reasons. You don’t want to overreact to that. We did a two-year study on a number of these rushers and D-Lineman in this draft — outside ‘backers now in our new system. And when you look at that, you saw a guy that can play three downs, can play the run, can help you get there. It’s like receiver. There’s some where these guys are, they’re like DPRs (designated pass rushers): super fast, get off the ball, maybe they’re a tick higher as a rusher, but they don’t provide three-down value. And we wouldn’t have shied away from some of those guys. But you have to get to third down before you can rush. And I think not only does TJ help you get to third down, he’s strong, he plays physical, can play through. He doesn’t always have to win by going around. He can win with some speed. But he’s got speed to power. He’s got a three-down skillset. No matter when he’s on the field, he can help you get off or ultimately create a turnover if you get a sack-fumble.

A military kid.

Beane: Yep, military family. His dad’s from North Carolina. He grew up in Alabama and said he was down to Auburn or Clemson. Those were his two. We did a lot of background on all these guys. But with him, we really felt good with the makeup, the character, the work habits. And feel like adding a guy like him, you can’t have enough players like that. A perfect guy here that we added this offseason is Bradley Chubb. And Chubb was a captain in Miami. So you’ve got a guy right there for this guy to learn from and grow and help acclimate to the NFL game.

I didn’t realize he had more TFLs than games played — 41 1/2 and he played in 39 games. But Bob McGinn at our site did a story once talking to a lot of scouts about the “Clemson Curse.” A lot of these pass rushers, and not just pass rushers. A lot of players coming through Clemson haven’t necessarily panned out in the pros. It’s not fair to TJ or anybody to pigeonhole and say…

Beane: You’ve got Dexter (Lawrence) and Wilkins and they’ve had some guys. The Terrell brother in Atlanta, we’ll see about the other one that just got taken there. There is definitely a Clemson label. And it does make you check any time something doesn’t work somewhere. But no, we feel like this young man has the DNA, the mindset that can be successful here.

You do need to do your own digging because — when he’s talking to NFL teams — Dabo Swinney tends to say a lot of really nice things about everybody.

Beane: They’re always recruiting. That’s their job. I would probably do the same thing.

When you get to know a guy, teams all do it differently. We’re hearing after the draft how secretive the Rams were with Ty Simpson, whereas other teams don’t give a damn. Bring him in on the visit, tell the world we like this guy and maybe people think it’s a fake. Or a fake on a fake. When you’re digging into somebody, do you concern yourself with outside perception and what teams might be thinking as you bring somebody in on a visit, as you’re talking to a guy a lot?

Beane: Listen, if there was a player that I’m like, “If anyone ties us to this player, we’re going to lose him” — for whatever reason — then, yeah, I understand the Ty Simpson thing. But us picking at 26, to me, we had plenty of ways we could go with that pick. We were truly trying to take the best player. The best player overall that we could take to help this team. And so it didn’t have to be on defense, it didn’t have to be on offense. And so truly at 26 in this draft, I couldn’t have told you before it started which way it was going to go. Because you don’t truly know how it’s going to fall. And there were guys that we’re like, “Maybe he could fall, maybe not” on the offensive side. Defensive side, same thing. You set your board and you let the board talk back to you as the picks are coming off of what you need to do and that’s where we made the decision to move back.

Sometimes, it’s staring at everybody and we don’t really realize it. Like cornerback. At Kansas City, Christian Benford goes down with another concussion. They go right after Kaiir Elam. At Denver, Tre’Davious White goes down and they go after Dane Jackson. And that’s after they go after Darnell Savage. And Tre White played 71 percent of your snaps originally. That wasn’t the plan. So this was a position of major need all along.

Beane: I was unaware that people were like, “What are they doing?” I mean, we’re adding good football players. But I’m not going to put a billboard out and say our No. 1 need is corner. But the position coming into the draft that I was most unnerved about, or keeping me up, was corner. We’ve had playoff losses for various reasons. We haven’t lost these games for the most part, for one thing or another. People may say you lost this game for an official’s call or the spot. Well, maybe if we did something else earlier different it doesn’t come down to that play or this play. If you go back and look, how many playoff games here were we playing with the corners that were the penciled-in starters at the beginning of the year? And what you can see is that very good quarterback play with bright offensive minds — which generally goes a long way in the playoffs — if you’ve got a weakness out there on the perimeter, those are the hardest people to hide. And you can probably hide one a little bit. You get two, you’ve got no chance to hide ‘em. And so that’s where you almost have to look at your third corner, he’s going to start games for you. He may play big games for you. Even if he’s not a starter, you need to have the best thing you can available because you can play a great season, you can go 14-3, but if you’re down one of your guys, that could be the reason you lost when you had everything else mapped out the way you wanted.

And Davison Igbinosun, he’s got some attitude. He said, “I tackle with my whole life.” It seems like he’s got an edge and you need that out there. Did you like that spunk to him?

Beane: Definitely. The DNA of him, you watch his play, you put him where you put him. But the DNA and doing the research, I was at Ohio State’s pro day, so I was able to firsthand talk to his coaches and people around the program. And we already had him on a 30 visit — I probably didn’t need that at that point, but we already had him scheduled. Let’s let the rest of the building meet him more. But what kept resonating is football character, football DNA. This guy eats, sleeps, breathes the sport and the competitiveness. If he walked in and Deion Sanders was at corner, and he was behind him, he would have the mindset: “I’m going to beat him out.” That’s going to be his mindset. And you don’t do anything to get in the way of that. Let the chips fall where they fall. Competition. Rising tides lift all boats. He’s going to add competition to our room and he’ll make Christian and Maxwell and everyone else in that room even better.

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Was there a conversation there at the pro day with a coach? A story that resonated with you?

Beane: I talked to Coach Day a little bit about him. (Former Steelers GM) Kevin Colbert does some consulting at the program. I’ve been around him some and he really spoke very highly of his character and just affirmed a lot of things we heard from the scouts.

If you want to get creative on defense — wreak havoc, a lot of different moving parts — does it help to have a combative cornerback on the boundary?

Beane: At the end of the day, we weren’t just looking for one skillset. He is a bigger, longer cornerback. It wasn’t that, “Hey, we have to have this.” We put him where his value was. We were excited that he was available. But there were other corners who have a different skillset that were attractive also. Guys that we thought with the skillset they have could come in and be guys that, if you need them to start, you’re not going to have a significant drop-off. He kind of fell into that bucket.

Jermod McCoy fell obviously — with the bone plug. I’ve never heard of that. His knee, I imagine you guys looked into it pretty deep because he was sitting there as well. You weren’t alone. The entire league passed him over more than anyone expected. What is the process that goes into that? How do you weigh the pros and cons when you’ve got a really talented cornerback and this health unknown? This was a chance you did not take. You traded the pick to the Raiders.

Beane: You meet on these guys medically every year. You’re mitigating risk in everything you do. Every player comes with risk. Risk that they’re not good enough. Risk that they don’t love it enough. Risk that, in this case, there’s medical concerns. How much is the risk? Is the risk a one-year risk? Is the risk that he’ll never — and I’m talking about any player — is the risk that the player will not make four years of a deal. OK, well, some guys won’t make four years of a deal because they’re not good enough. So you’re weighing all that and you put players on the board. And sometimes there’s guys who medically you have to take off. Sometimes there’s guys medically you lower on your board, which in this case, Vegas showed that they lowered him on the board. He’s a very high talent. Every pick has some type of risk.

I’m not a doctor. We have excellent doctors and we trust what these guys say and their opinions. I don’t want to get into a specific player. But with any player, we make determinations where we’re comfortable with the risk of that player. And you’re also weighing that player’s risk vs. what else is on the board at the time. And saying, “You know what? That player has this risk, this player’s on the board.” So you do that with every pick. But even if you get to a medical decision in the draft of, “Hey, we dropped this player because of this. Talent-wise, what we saw in film is here, but what our docs may be telling us is maybe the talent is down closer to here,” for this position of wide receiver or whatever you want to go to.

But you’re going to bed that night before Day 3 of the draft knowing it’s going to be Jude Bowery?

Beane: We had a list of names in a similar vein, but I would say from a position premium like that, we kept coming back to him. We had our scouts look at the names that we were considering at various positions. He was the top tackle we were considering. There were positions with other players. I had them all send us a note overnight of which player they were most convicted on and why. And then we talked about it as well. And there was a lot of sentiment. Not all. There was a lot of sentiment that Bowry made the most sense. Especially when you consider the premium of the position. Joe Brady brought up a good point about the Pittsburgh game last year. And if you don’t have viable tackles, it’s hard to run your offense. And he felt very confident with “Vandy” and Alec doing that last year. We obviously lost Vandy. We still do believe in Grable and Lundt’s an up-and-coming player. But I think, for Bowery, what fired us up is the versatility to also go inside and compete at guard. So we like his skillset and he doesn’t necessarily have to come in here and start right away. But we do think in time he could potentially have the skillset to compete to start.

And who are we to argue with Steve Smith if he likes a receiver? I’m not going to cross that gentleman. But he loves Skyler Bell. You’re watching all these receivers over the last X amount of months, but when did he pop? When did you see something in Skyler that made you stop what you’re doing.

Beane: Skyler is one of those guys that kept growing on me and our group. Really felt like his skillset was a great addition to what we needed to do. And we were excited that he was available there and was not sure he would still be there at that point. But it was a quick decision as the picks are coming, as they’re winding down to you that if he’s there, he would be the guy. You love that he can play outside, can play inside. He’s got run after catch, contested catches. There’s a lot of different ways you can use him. He’s football smart. If you want to be able to play multiple positions and you have the physical skill set, you’ve got to mentally make sure you can do it as well.

You just watch his play. He plays with an attitude. He’s not afraid of the moment. Very productive. You’re never going to shy away from production like that.

I think he’s the second-highest wide receiver you’ve ever drafted. You could say you traded a pick for Stefon Diggs and a pick for DJ Moore.

Beane: Everyone conveniently forgets, speaking of aggressive, that’s another. Diggs is another aggressive move. We’ve made a lot of aggressive moves.

When you look back at all of your drafts — what worked, what didn’t work — what is one lesson you learned from a hit and one lesson you learned from a miss?

Beane: From a hit, it’s to trust your instincts. Trust where you value the player. Even if you’re hearing outside noise that this player isn’t good enough or shouldn’t be drafted high, trust your instincts. Do that. And when someone’s trying to tell you who they are from a DNA standpoint, that’s where we’ve missed on guys. It’s not that they physically couldn’t do the job. It’s, “How much do they love football?” and being convinced from contacts at a school. When the play doesn’t show you they necessarily always love ball, it’s inconsistent. But I can think of a player where we’re convinced that the light is on now. It kind of came on late for them. You’re getting the right guy. But you still haven’t really seen that. So you’re taking a chance on a guy — someone’s telling you that. So that’s probably a miss that you go back on and say, “Well, we’re taking someone’s word for it.”

Like you’re talking about with Dabo, they’re going to sell their program. They’re going to sell their player.

Trust your instinct. The instinct was, “Well, we still haven’t seen it.” But you kind of take that shot.

This must be more difficult than ever. These guys are surrounded by agents at what, age 16, 17. They’re getting paid. You’ve got to figure out who genuinely loves this violent sport. Because you’re going to face adversity at some point out there. Who can handle it? Who can’t? Is it harder than ever with NIL, guys getting paid? You’ve got to sit down with somebody, look them in the eyes. How do you figure that out?

Beane: The hardest part of college scouting in general is the DNA, the person, what you’re getting and then if they go to multiple schools. Because a player leaves and sometimes it’s still good at that school that they left. A lot of times it’s not. And maybe it’s sour grapes from them. Maybe that’s truly who the kid was there, but he did mature at the next school. So you’re trying to put pieces together and that’s the hardest part. Like I was just saying, trust your instinct. But you’ve got to do the work on the DNA. And I feel very confident in our scouting staff and our eyes as a group of what the player can and can’t do and from a physical skillset. As I said, I think the biggest part is, “What is the DNA inside here? What is the drive? Do they love football and they would be playing it for nothing? Or is it just more about what comes with football?” And maybe they were already content with the NIL money. Maybe they’ve already hit their peak because they’ve lost some of that drive and that’s what you’re trying to put together and you’re never going to bat a thousand. You know that going in. But you hope you have way more hits than misses.

This seems like a theme in free agency, too. You mentioned Bradley Chubb was a captain. Dee Alford went D-II, CFL and was working the night shift at FedEx. C.J. Gardner-Johnson. Is that something you were looking for and what do you see these three bringing a reconfigured defense?

Beane: Leadership definitely from Bradley. You feel presence. You feel leadership right away. You felt that on the visit with him. A guy who’s very comfortable in his skin. Not pretentious and you’ve seen him have the C on his chest before. Character is revealed not when things are going well. True character is revealed when things aren’t. And you watch him on that Dolphins team and he wreaked havoc against us down there last year when we lost that game. They didn’t have anything to play for. Their GM had just been fired. They traded some players and he went out there and balled out and ultimately helped them defeat us. So you put that in a room.

Dee Alford’s a guy who’s from a small school in Tennessee — Tusculum. And then no offers, no nothing. CFL. Working in FedEx during COVID. That’ll never erase from that young man’s mind — what he did to get there. That guy’s got a chip, whether he made 5 million a year or 25 million a year. And so you can’t have enough of that. I don’t think Dee’s going to get up and give a big speech or anything. But his competitiveness, his grit, his toughness.

And then CJ, we’re all familiar with CJ around the league. Not every stop has been perfect. But you’re adding a dog. And when I say a dog, it’s no fear, tough, attitude. I do think there’s leadership in there. You’re hoping you’re getting a more mature version of that, of knowing how to harness. Because when guys have that edge? He oozes competitive dog. When they have that edge, and they can reign it in the right way, it’s contagious, it’s infectious. And so that’s the hope with signing a guy like him.

Do you see that dog in Keon Coleman? Into Year 3?

Beane: I think so. I see a guy who’s not trying to tell it to you, but he’s just showing it to you with his actions. I see a calm, confident… I know it wasn’t good enough in the past. And it wasn’t not good enough on the field. Off the field led to lack of opportunities and production on the field. And so I see a guy who knows what’s at stake, who wants the respect and trust of his teammates and his coaches. And the fans. He wants that. He’s a human. He doesn’t want to be hearing about himself on social media or the media. I see a guy who’s driven and is out to prove something. We want to help him do that.

Even then, part of me was thinking, “He’s going to get traded.” You were consistent every step of the way all offseason. There’s the Seattle game. Bullying Riq Woolen, a 6-4 corner. He’s blocking him, posterizing him. But in your head, what’s your vision? What do you see Keon Coleman doing at his best at wide receiver for the Buffalo Bills?

Beane: He’s versatile. He can play outside and he can be a big slot. I think he can win, like that play against Riq Woolen. Above the rim, back shoulder. He can even get better at that. That would have happened more had things not transpired the way they did and his opportunities dropped. You have to handle all those things. Part of those reasons are why you have to make decisions and trade for a DJ Moore. The competition in the room has increased. But that makes everyone better. I think Keon will make DJ and Josh Palmer and Shakir and all those guys better and they’ll make him better. That’s what you want at all positions. So I don’t have any numbers or statistics. He’s going to fit into this group. He’s going to help us. He’s going to get a jersey. Whether he’s the starter, whether he’s the No. 1 backup, he’s football smart. He loves ball. He’s got good hands. We’ll find roles and jobs for him to help this team.

I did a pod with Stevie Johnson at the Super Bowl and he was telling Keon Coleman to reach out to him. Looks like he’s training with him. What has Keon been doing day-in and day-out? I imagine this is a relationship you’ve been smoothing over since early in the offseason.

Beane: I know he went out there with Stevie and worked with him and Stevie was obviously very successful in the league and a self-made man with where his draft status was (7th round) to the success he had in the league. But Keon worked last offseason. He came back here ready to roll. He had a dynamite camp. I just feel like the look is there and it’s never been his lack of willing to work. It’s not. That’s never been an issue. He worked last offseason. He refocused this offseason. He got through the mess of what the outside distractions were and he decided that he’s going to control what he can control. And you sense a young man growing up and maturing and that’s why you don’t want to trade a guy like that. We’re big into developing young men and watching him grow. We can all get better. I’m sure you’re a better writer today than you were three years ago or five years ago. I hope I’m doing a better job now than in 2020 or 2017, whatever year you want to pick. Because you’re constantly learning and, if you’re not, then you’re not doing your best. You’re not doing your job. We all have to constantly be learning it. I’m proud of Keon with where he’s at. He’s not making excuses. He’s just head down and doing his job and I’m rooting for him and I want to see him succeed. He still has to go do it.

We talked about it right here. You understand the expectations. People want the Super Bowl. It doesn’t seem like you’ve shied from it or that Joe has shied from it. How are you approaching that reality?

Beane: No one outside can put more pressure on me than me. No one. I want to win at everything I do. And like I said, if we go in there and play ping-pong on the table, I’m going to try to whip your ass. That’s just the way it is. You can ask my kids. I was not the Dad that let my kids win — right or wrong. That’s my mindset. I can’t change how I’m wired. And that’s why I said earlier that I struggle now more than ever turning it off because I want it so bad. Because when you’re that close, all you know to do is just keep your head down and keep that competitive drive to Joe’s term, competitive stamina, and keep kicking at that door. At some point, we’re going to kick it down. I hope to be a part of the Bills when that happens.

Like you said after hiring Joe: “If I’m wrong, I’ll fucking take my job and I’ll fucking go home.” You’re not hiding from it.

Beane: No, no, no. I am so grateful to be here for this team, for this fan base, for this owner and his family. And one thing I can promise you is that when my day’s done here, I’m going to be so thankful for the opportunity and you always want to make sure you left things better than when you got them, but I want to make sure that I bring a championship here and that I’m a part of helping us do that. And as long as my key card works, that’s what you’re going to get out of me.

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ICYMI:

Here’s our post-draft chats with Brandon Beane from 2024 and 2025.

Also:

ICYMI:

Inside this piece:

• Why Carnell Tate is exactly what the Titans need.

• Howie Roseman plays a different game. Again.

• The Patriot Way!

• Another smart draft in… Cleveland?

• Caleb Downs → Dallas.

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Cameras panned into the Tennessee Titans draft room. Somewhere in the back, you could see Brian Daboll. The team’s new offensive coordinator wasn’t front and center as his team’s No. 4 overall selection neared. In that exact moment, you couldn’t help but wonder what curse words were cycling through his mind. Arizona had just selected running back Jeremiyah Love.

Surely, the rebuilding Titans would take a defensive player at No. 5.

Then, the name dropped.

Carnell Tate. Wide receiver. Ohio State.

Love this pick for a Titans team on the hunt for relevancy. And not only because an angel gets its wings every time mock drafts are burnt to smithereens.

If you had the misfortune of watching the Titans through the 2025 season, I apologize. It was a harrowing experience. Out is Brian Callahan. In is Robert Saleh.

This season’s all about figuring out whether or not 2025 No. 1 pick Cam Ward is the future.

Love would’ve unquestionably helped on that quest, but Tate is the next-best consolation. All 11th hour nitpicking of the Buckeyes wideout felt like paralysis by analysis. Turn on any Ohio State game and you see a 6-foot-2, 222-pound weapon who makes everything look easy. His routes are poetic. Not rigid, not labored. With subtle cuts up field, Tate routinely wasted DBs. The definition of football speed. “I saw him run by this guy, I saw him run by that guy,” one scout told Bob McGinn. “He runs by whoever he needs to get past.” It’s rare that a 20-year-old looks this polished.

His hands are smooth. He doesn’t fight the ball. Tate high-pointed acrobatic catches in traffic.

Watching Tate get separation at the top of routes reminded me of covering a young Davante Adams in Wisconsin. There’s a timely burst a stopwatch fails to capture.

Ohio State is a wide receiver factory, too. Brian Hartline’s work with everyone who’s passed through Columbus helped get him the head job at South Florida.

In theory, Ward now has a true weapon to grow with in Daboll’s offense.

“He’s a bigger, vertical guy,” Titans GM Mike Borgonzki said. “The route running is very efficient. I thought he had exceptional ball skills to be able to track the football, his catch radius, downfield. He’s going to be a great fit in this offense. Tate has the ability to play big downfield. All these contested catches downfield. His ability to go up and catch the football, contort his body in certain ways, I think is going to be great for Cam.”

Borgonzki referenced that “burst” deep. He sees it off the line of scrimmage, too.

Explosion is sorely needed in Nashville.

Passing on a defensive player at No. 4 overall makes more sense the closer you look at Saleh’s track record, too. In San Francisco, he made a habit of getting production out of players drafted beyond the first round. Fred Warner, perhaps the best linebacker in the NFL, was the 70th overall pick. Linebacker Dre Greenlaw went No. 148. Cornerback Deommodore Lenoir (No. 172) and safety Talanoa Hufanga (No. 180) both were fifth-rounders. Azeez Al-Shaair shared his wild undrafted story with us last season. One preseason hit with the 49ers changed his life. Saleh saw a special something inside of Al-Shaair.

Hell, recognizing anyone on the 49ers’ defense last season was a challenge. Ninety percent of coaches fail miserably with that injury-ravaged group. San Francisco was one win from the No. 1 seed.

Saleh did not see a need to use top-5 capital on a defensive player. He even got to work on that defense at the tail end of the first round, trading back in for Auburn edge rusher Keldric Faulk, one of the youngest players in the draft. Borgonzki sees shades of Arik Armstead.

Tennessee has a long way to go to brawl with the three teams in its own division, but I wouldn’t bet against Saleh ensuring AFC South games are bloodbaths. Closer you look, it’s obvious he got a raw deal in New York. He’ll have no problems fixing this defense as draft classes stack up.

Ward, Tate, Daboll, even free-agent add Wan’Dale Robinson now supply tangible hope on offense.

In college, Tate was the No. 2 receiving option. In the pros, he’ll be the No. 1. That’s uncommon. Tate also admits he had no idea he could go this early in the draft.

But he doesn’t lack confidence. Nor should he.

“I bring any and everything to the table. I’m a complete receiver. I do it all.”

Howie does it again

Pittsburgh broke the all-time record for single-day attendance at the NFL draft on Thursday night, per Adam Schefter. A reported 320,000 fans descended upon the Steel City. The city was rocking when it was time for the Steelers to make their selection at No. 21 overall, too.

Terrible Towels took over the crowd. “Renegade” blared. Legends past were all on-hand.

If only those Steelers fans knew what was happening behind the scenes. As revealed after the fact, Steelers GM Omar Khan was on the phone with Makai Lemon when the Philadelphia Eagles called to inform the wide receiver they had traded ahead of Pittsburgh — at No. 20 — to select him. A wild scene in the green room.

The Steelers settled for Arizona State tackle Max Iheanachor. Born in Nigeria, Iheanachor moved to Compton, Calif., at 13 and played football for the first time in 2022 in junior college. He’s a project. He was not Khan’s first choice.

Howie Roseman, the Eagles GM, got the last laugh. Every year, we see general managers freak out and give up too much capital to get their guy. Roseman’s been with the Eagles since 2000. He has a feel for what’s real, what’s smoke and always know when to snake his way up the board. Since January, all we’ve heard is that this is the year to trade down. Roseman wisely defies convention. On draft day, he often waits for a talented player to slide… slide a little more… and pounces.

In ‘21, he traded with the Cowboys to land DeVonta Smith. In ‘26, he traded the Cowboys the 114th and 137th picks to slide up from No. 23 to No. 20 for Lemon. Clearly, it was worth it.

I also like the strategy of aggressively chasing one of the three best wideouts in the draft. There’s a noticeable drop-off after Tate, Jordyn Tyson and Lemon. Maybe Lemon isn’t the prototypical “X.” Philly is still positioned nicely for life after A.J. Brown.

Here’s their weaponry around Jalen Hurts:

• RB Saquon Barkley

• WR DeVonta Smith

• WR Makai Lemon

• WR Dontayvion Wicks

• WR Hollywood Brown

• TE Dallas Goedert

There’s no excuses for the team’s highly compensated (and maligned) franchise guy. Hurts must start throwing the football over the middle of the field with receivers who specialize in precisely that.

There are scouts who see Amon-Ra St. Brown-like scrappiness to USC’s Lemon.

Three years ago, there wasn’t much hype around the wide receiver class, either. Nobody was even taken until the 20th pick. Jaxson Smith-Njigba is now the richest receiver in the game. Zay Flowers and Jordan Addison have panned out. With one trade, Roseman made sure he got himself into a similar sweet spot of the draft.

The key? Not passing on Justin Jefferson for Jalen Reagor. That decision surely weighs on Roseman’s mind.

The Patriot Way

In another universe with another owner, the New England Patriots could punish Mike Vrabel. This whole thing only gets grosser. Three weeks ago, the head coach thought he could swiftly make this all disappear by dismissing photos with Dianna Russini as “laughable.” So much for that. This smugness might’ve been what compelled someone else to bring a new round of photos to light with the New York Posts’ "Page Six releasing new pics of the two kissing at a NYC bar on Thursday. Apparently this extramarital affair has lingered on for at least six years, right through the birth of her children and Vrabel moving from Tennessee to Cleveland to Foxborough.

Scummy cheaters are nothing new in pro sports, but there’s a shocking level of brazenness to what Vrabel and Russini carried out. Both had the audacity to insist we ignore our lying eyes. Never mind the fact that they were interlocking fingers… at a $2,160/night, two-person bungalow… two hours from the owners meeting. (Addressed last week here.) Russini resigned from her (extremely lucrative) position at The Athletic. Her career as a reporter appears over.

So, what about Vrabel? While this is not apples to apples, you cannot help but wonder how he benefitted from this arrangement. Speaking of those Eagles, there sure was a lot of A.J. Brown reporting from The Athletic’s top NFL investigator last season, reporting that figured to benefit New England. I cannot imagine Roseman is thrilled with this week’s developments.

Then, there’s the issue of his own team. First came indignant defiance, the belittling of anyone who’d take those Sedona photos seriously. This week, we saw a somber, guilt-filled Vrabel tell us that he addressed the matter with the team.

Next, a midnight report indicated he’s going to miss Day 3 of the draft to seek “counseling.”

Right on cue, the next day, the second round of photos drop and Vrabel decided to hold another press conference. Words were spoken. Substance, however, was not in short supply. He claimed the initial “laughable” comment was meant to protect his family and didn’t provide a coherent answer as to why Saturday was best for a therapy session. Apparently it’s Family First… just not Rounds 1 through 3. Football is most important on those days. Asked if he’d need to step away from future football obligations, he left the door open.

However you slice this, Vrabel’s credibility takes a colossal hit. Affairs unfortunately happen in the world. But this was an NFL head coach parading around out in the open — humiliating his family — while harping on the virtues of faith. There will be players who no longer take him seriously. I’m mildly surprised he wasn’t encouraged to take a leave of absence this offseason and let Josh McDaniels run the team until further notice.

Maybe that’s because his boss cannot take a moral high ground.

These Patriots are owned by a billionaire who enjoyed the happy ending heard ‘round the world.

New England has won more than any team this century. This is also the franchise of Orchids of Asia and Spygate and Deflategate and Aaron Hernandez. If there’s something football to take away from this all, it’s the lack of a moral compass from this franchise as a whole. Vrabel did phenomenal work with these Patriots, as documented. This team was in a bad, bad place post-Belichick. But all of this cheating, lying and public conceit leaves a permanent stain.

No Huddle

• Caleb Downs fell to the 12th overall pick. He’s a safety. He also may go down as one of Jerry Jones’ finest draft picks ever. Hard to see the Buckeye DB failing. DC Christian Parker will find ways to weaponize him.

• Miami’s starting from scratch and it makes sense to select a left tackle to protect Malik Willis. Still, I was surprised to see new coach Jeff Hafley take Alabama’s Kadyn Proctor. Several scouts around the NFL question his passion, a red flag for a coach who says he wants players that sincerely love this sport. (One scout to McGinn: “Had the transfer portal issue where he kind of quit on the team and was going back to Iowa and then he came crawling back and his teammates accepted him.”)

• Rueben Bain Jr. fell to No. 15 overall. He was dominant at Miami with 9.5 sacks and 15.5 TFLs. His style of play blends well with the longer Al-Quadin Muhammad. Both are violent. Both give Todd Bowles’ sagging pass rush some bite. Credit to Real Football co-host Jim Monos for hinting at a Bain slide. He’s a historical outlier. Teams pass on edge rushers with short arms for a reason — the NFL is a totally different game.

• The Buffalo Bills traded back three times. After dealing a second-rounder for DJ Moore, they wanted to recoup picks. Prediction here is that Brandon Beane and Joe Brady find one of those space-eating nose tackles for Jim Leonhard’s defense. Two are still on the board: Ohio State’s Kayden McDonald and Georgia’s Christen Miller. More intel here.

• Love the NFL cutting back the time to pick. Eight minutes is perfect. Keep this thing moving.

• Shedeur Sanders? Deshaun Watson? Spergon Wynn? No clue who ends up starting the most games for the Cleveland Browns at quarterback. It’s an evergreen concern. But after refueling the roster with a ton of young talent last spring (DT Mason Graham, LB Carson Schwesinger, RB Quinshon Judkins, TE Harold Fannin Jr.), they’re off to another promising start. The Browns were able to trade down — as widely speculated — and still get Utah tackle Spencer Fano. At No. 24, they then added explosive KC Concepcion. Going offensive line, then wide receiver was a smart order of operations for this team. At this point last year, guilty as charged. I thought passing on Travis Hunter would be a mistake. That take is starting to look dead wrong as Cleveland meticulously reloads. It’s nothing flashy. They’ve got some underrated personnel men who know what they’re looking for. (Now, about that QB…)

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Happy NFL Draft Week! Cannot wait to see Western New Yorkers out at Wayland Brewing Company this Wednesday evening for a night of poddin,’ beers and football. (Imagine we’ll have a Sabre goal or two to discuss, too. Holy hell. What a Game 1.)

I’ll also have a running live chat all three days of the draft so we can all hang out virtually.

Miss our two-parter on new Buffalo Bills head coach Joe Brady? Here it is in full below.

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Part I: ‘I’ll set my jaw’

ORCHARD PARK, NY — Staring down, he taps his foot on the hard carpet underneath his soles. There’s no cushion, no give at all. The sight of something so dull transports Joe Brady back in time. All the way back to Jan. 6, 2013. He was a college senior with exactly zero coaching prospects at the national coaching convention in Nashville.

He was also exceptionally naïve.

Brady knew that his buddy, DJ Mangas, had a hotel room at the convention’s Gaylord Opryland resort and figured he was good to go. The two were college teammates at William & Mary and Mangas, now coaching at D-III Hampden-Sydney, assured Brady he could tag along. Surely, this meant two beds for two guests. Yet when he showed up, Brady realized there were three Hampden-Sydney coaches bunking in this room.

He was the outsider.

There were no blankets to spare. Mangas threw him a pillow.

Brady taps his foot again.

“I was literally on this,” he says.

Somehow, Brady was more distressed during the day than at night. In his mind? Landing a full-time job was a slam dunk at this monstrous convention. Brady had two boxes of business cards printed up and Brady was already emailing his cover letter and resume to coaches coast to coast. He was the overzealous job seeker initiating conversation with everyone. In his mind? It’d only take one. Just one coach amongst the hundreds of D-I, D-II and D-III coaches in attendance to believe.

“Basically doing what the high school kid does with his highlight tape,” Brady says. “Will anybody give me an opp?”

Uh, no.

All cards, all resumes were treated with the tender love and care of junk mail and those annoying fliers pinned underneath a windshield.

He left town thinking he may never coach.

“It was depressing,” Brady says.

Thirteen years later, he landed the most prestigious sports job on the market. The college kid who just might’ve sold his soul to work 100 hours a week as a graduate assistant for Timbuktu Tech is the new head coach of the Buffalo Bills. Nine coaches in all interviewed for the position — Terry Pegula, Brandon Beane and the Bills brass chose the man in their building with zero head-coaching experience on that updated resume. Brady inherits a perennial title contender piloted by an MVP quarterback. A future Hall of Fame quarterback. He was hired to accomplish exactly what his predecessor could not.

Get to a Super Bowl. Win a Super Bowl.

How does he handle this pressure? He points to those three nights in Tennessee.

“By remembering,” he says, “that I slept on a floor in a hotel room.”

He thinks back to defying his coaches as the sixth wide receiver on the high school depth chart. It got him to college. He thinks back to teaching himself how to write scouting reports in ‘13. It got him his first job. He thinks back to how his relationship with quarterback Josh Allen first bloomed. A partnership was born.

“Don’t change who you are just because you got another opportunity,” he continues. “I work with the same mindset.”

That’s a man who walked into the building this morning wearing shorts. It was 15 degrees and snowing. Tall ‘n pale ‘n perpetually bounding room to room on the strength of far too many energy drinks, it doesn’t appear as if his eyebrows have ever tilted in 45-degree rage. Don’t let kindness fool you. In the cutthroat terrain of pro football, Joe Brady has always been a carnivore who seizes the moment. Everyone may think they know the man who’s been calling plays for 2 ½ seasons. Fans love nothing more than the mysterious unknown and Brady — by a landslide — was the most known candidate interviewing to replace Sean McDermott. News of his hiring was initially treated by locals like receiving a new pair of socks on Christmas morning. Well, if those socks were first soaked in the old stadium’s urinal trough on a hot summer day.

There’s always been more to this coach than the wide receiver screen you hate or hook and ladder you love.

Who is Joe Brady?

He’s hesitant to answer, describing himself as a “close-to-the-vest guy.” An introvert. Until one story flows to the next, and the next, and the next, and two hours pass. A portrait sharpens this conversation with Go Long. He’d go even longer if not for his assistant texting that he’s due for a meeting. Time will tell if a total reset was needed. One fact is indisputable. This 36-year-old from South Florida is a striking contrast from the man he’ll replace precisely where it matters for this team at this time. Presented with an opportunity, he does not vacillate and overanalyze until that opportunity passes him by.

Brady attacks.

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His press conferences will likely meander. Brady jokingly crowns himself the worst person to ever speak at a podium because his only goal in that setting is to protect his players.

“I’ll take the blame. I’ll eat it. I’ll praise when it’s good and, when it’s bad, I’ll take it,” Brady says. “But with my guys, I curse a lot. I’m passionate. There is an edge to me that I choose not to show to the outside world.”

That edge is the real story.

An intense confidence rooted in what nobody sees.

“I know how hard I work, how hard the coaching staff works, how hard the players work,” Brady says. “You need an edge going into that game. I’ll set my jaw. I want everybody to know that we’re going to try to make it a game they don’t want to play. I need that persona, that mindset. It’s not fake. It’s who I am.”

Hesitate for one second in high school, in college, in the pros and Brady knows for damn sure he isn’t sitting right here.

He starts the only place he can. The good ‘ol days of youth sports when Dad coached him in everything.

“Man,” Brady begins, “he was hard as hell on me.”

Joe Brady III routinely threw Joe Brady IV out of games, benched him, punished him and… yeah. It was warranted. Son was a ticking time bomb. Son admits his temper ran boiling hot because, plainly, he despised losing. Thinking back, he’s not sure parents even deploy this form of discipline anymore. But if he threw his bat in a baseball game, Brady was told to sit down and write six words repeatedly. I will not throw my bat. I will not throw my bat. I will not throw my bat. A real-life Bart Simpson in detention.

Drives home from practices and games were always contentious.

One baseball season, Brady vividly remembers hoping someone other than his own father drafted him.

Switching back ‘n forth between different sports got tiresome, so he admits his mindset “probably sucked.”

He gives Dad a hard time but relives all of this with immense reverence. Today, Brady hopes he’s home in time for his son’s bedtime routine when he knows his own father was back to throw a ball around every single day. All Joe III wanted for Joe IV is the father-son relationship he never had — and the football future he let slip way. Dad was a star running back in high school, briefly enrolled at Clemson and it didn’t last long. He planned on transferring to Florida State, to walk onto Bobby Bowden’s team, but those plans fizzled. Son only says that Dad “was a knucklehead idiot.” In sum, he didn’t have parents instructing him to suck it up through hard times.

He quit. A lifelong regret.

Eventually, Dad ran his own company but he made a point to tell Joe that if he ended up working for him at Brady Fire Equipment, then he failed as a parent. He pushed him.

Adds Brady: “He wanted me to do more.”

Day-to-day pressure that presented a young Joe Brady with a choice. He could repel, rebel, refuse such a life.

Instead, the two became exceptionally close. Brady knew his father’s heart was in the right place.

South Florida was the perfect sports breeding ground, too. This is where dreams become reality. Thinking back, one reason Brady believes he relates to players and coaches from all backgrounds today is geography. Outside of baseball tournaments in Cooperstown and North Carolina, he never left the state. All while sports constituted his entire life. His grandfather was an original season ticketholder for the Miami Dolphins. The Joes must’ve talked about something other than sports at some point in life, but nothing comes to mind.

To this day, Dad is his most trusted consigliere.

Never matters what time it is. Brady calls him after every practice. If the Bills face the New York Jets that week, they dissect the defense. Joe II isn’t afraid to offer a suggestion or two. Back when Brady was the offensive coordinator at LSU, Dad drew up a triple-option play on the board he thought his son should implement. The ball is handed off to a running back and that running back reads the defensive end. He can either keep it or pitch it back to the quarterback.

Son politely informed his father that LSU’s quarterback was Joe Burrow. Two simple words then had him fuming.

Son dismissed such a design as… “old school.”

“Man,” says Brady, shaking his head, “that pissed him off.”

That fall, naturally, Oklahoma’s Lincoln Riley ran this exact play with quarterback Kyler Murray and Dad texted the video to his son quickly as his thumbs permitted. Old school, huh? Joe IV reminded him that Burrow and Murray are quite different. But later, as the Buffalo Bills’ playcaller this past season, you guessed it, Brady had running back Ty Johnson leading quarterback Josh Allen through the hole in a game vs. the Pittsburgh Steelers. Dad brought it up again.

“He’ll be wrong,” Brady says, “but I don’t know if he’ll admit when he’s wrong.”

The same day the Bills smashed those Steelers, 220 miles away, Brady’s wife gave birth to a baby girl.

He missed it all.

He wants to be a present father to his two kids. It won’t be easy as the new head coach of the Buffalo Bills.

Quarterback was the position he played his entire life. Quarterback was his destiny. In another lifetime, Joe Brady and Geno Smith engage in 48-45 shootouts galore in South Florida. The two attended rival high schools. Those dreams, however, were swiftly dashed ahead of Brady’s freshman year.

Don’t pan your pregame binoculars toward Brady expecting to see whistling fastballs delivered between the numbers of receivers. To this day, he struggles to throw a football. That’s because during a camp at St. Thomas Aquinas, Brady threw out his shoulder. “Dead arm,” he calls it. He paid the price for throwing with all arm — no lower body torque at all — in both football and baseball.

This injury also served as the first major tipping point in his football life.

Brady switched to wide receiver. (“My Dad was just so pissed. You know, here’s this tall, goofy kid: ‘You’re not going to be a wideout.’”) On the JV team, Brady scored touchdowns on his first eight receptions. (Dad was now all-in.) Moving up to the varsity team, there was only one problem. Into his junior year, during a camp in Orlando, a coach called for five wides and didn’t mention his name. The coaches at Everglades High School did not view Brady as one of the five best receivers on his own team. “This is not good,” Brady told himself.

He didn’t transfer, instead choosing to stay ready.

The first drive of the first game that 2006 season — against local power Chaminade–Madonna — one receiver suffered an injury. And before a coach on the sideline even called the name for a replacement, Joe Brady rushed onto the field. Didn’t think twice. Didn’t care. All animalistic instinct told him to go. First play, the quarterback threw him a hitch for eight yards. Brady stayed in the game. Brady caught another pass, then another, and led his team in receiving this 34-13 defeat.

Yes, on the sideline, he was chastised for insubordination.

Yes, he was sent right back to the bottom of the depth chart into Week 2.

He proved a point, too.

That week, Brady was eating a bowl of pasta and meatballs when a coach informed him he’d be starting because a handful of his teammates got in trouble. He scored a touchdown in a 14-7 win over Nova, again led Everglades in receiving and — suddenly — the name Joe Brady ranked near the top of receiving stats in talent-rich Broward County.

Division I football became a realistic destination. He was even asked to do an interview on Miami television.

After fielding questions from a local station, walking back, Brady’s hamstring and glute felt tight. He didn’t think it was a big deal. Brady tried to practice and informed his coach he couldn’t even move. He underwent testing at the hospital, was sent home and nobody was too concerned. The next morning, he tried to get out of bed and fell. He couldn’t even stand on that leg. More testing revealed that Brady needed to be transported to the children’s hospital. ASAP. He had a staph infection, MRSA, and it had gotten into his bloodstream.

On the drive, he asked a paramedic if this was bad. The gentleman did exactly nothing to quell his fears. “There’s a chance you can lose your leg,” he deadpanned.

Brady freaked out, understandably.

“Wait, what?!” he replied. Don’t tell me that!’”

Here at Bills HQ, he points through the window toward a nearby car. Walking that short distance, about 20 feet, would take him 15 agonizing minutes. Nobody knows what caused the infection.

From the hospital that Friday night, he watched his own interview on TV.

Then, the game.

It was heartbreaking.

“For me, I had football,” Brady says. “I was so proud of staying with it, staying locked with it, finally getting an opportunity to go, staying ready when my time came. I was ready. And then finally when I was able to get the opportunity, it was taken away.”

He spent two full weeks in the hospital and lost close to 15 pounds. But with loss, came a totally new perspective on life: Appreciation. One sprint onto the field led to one ball thrown his direction and a sliver of success. Brady realized right then just how much he loved football. Needed football. So he quit baseball altogether to pour all focus, all attention into excelling on the gridiron at Everglades.

“A huge moment in my career,” Brady says, “that is so small.”

One school took notice: the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. On his visit, Brady watched highlights of future NFL assistant coach Chad Hall tearing up Notre Dame for 142 yards on 32 carries. Head coach Troy Calhoun had just taken over after coordinating the Houston Texans offense and made it seem as if the Falcons were modernizing into a pro-style offense that’d allow him to flourish out wide.

Brady chose the Air Force and, soon enough, was doing running back drills himself.

He also had broken his wrist in a high school all-star game before stepping foot on campus. Brady didn’t tell anybody because he figured he could tough this out. His first scrimmage with the Falcons, he broke it again and needed surgery.

Football — again — was snatched from him. Only, this time, there was no kicking his feet up on a hospital bed. Brady continued to push his body through hell as a cadet in basic training. He admits he didn’t exactly do his research on day-to-day life at the Air Force. Brady didn’t even eat the first three days of basic training because he didn’t know how to properly ask for food.

Fun was limited. Military life is not the normal freshman college experience.

“But I wish everybody would have to go through a basic training,” Brady says. “When you go from being an 18-year-old to being on your own, and you can’t think for the next eight weeks, it breaks you a little bit. So much of who I am was a product of my upbringing and then the rebranding once I went to the academy.”

If football was going to stay central to his life, though, another aggressive move on the chess board was required. ASAP. One member of Brady’s squadron had the same football aspirations as him, suffered an injury, then never sniffed the field again. A cadet who now attended the Air Force for military purposes only. It spooked Brady. He was here for one reason — football — and feared future recruiting waves would wash him away, too. So, he decided to transfer.

Dad was livid. Dad saw his own life repeating in his son. “Like, ‘Oh my God, this is my life. I can’t F up my son’s life in the same moment,’” Brady recalls. But if there’s a theme to his rise, it’s the melodic blend of hardship and instinctual conviction.

With Dad’s assistance — perhaps too much assistance, he jokes — Brady transitioned to William & Mary.

Leaning back, Brady cannot help but crack a smile and laugh. He did not suddenly live happily ever after.

One week into spring ball under Jimmye Laycock at this FCS school, he broke his foot running a route… against air. Because of course he did. Brady knows how this all sounds and agrees he was an injury-riddled mess. Initially, he thought this was only a sprained ankle. As the new guy going full Rudy Ruettiger to make an impression on the staff, no way was Brady reporting this injury to the training staff. Fresh off that broken wrist, he didn’t want anyone thinking he was brittle. He played doctor. He treated himself. Inside his dorm room, Brady Googled various remedies and learned all about RICE (rest, ice, compress, elevate) in a slapdash attempt to fix himself.

Soon, Brady had no choice but to seek help.

He spent all of spring ball in a walking boot.

The good news? Brady never suffered another injury. Bad news? Brady barely sniffed the field. His name was never invoked by coaches for dynamite plays to be deployed on Saturdays. Rather, a hint of disdain on the scout team. When William & Mary prepared to face the ACC’s North Carolina Tar Heels, Brady snatched an in-breaking route and defensive coordinator Bob Shoop lost his mind. Brady imitates Shoop’s scratchy voice here to a T. “Repeat the play!” the coach shouted. “If Joe Braaaaa-deee is catching balls on us, what do you think North Carolina’s going to do?!”

Says Brady: “I was like, ‘Damn, Shoop!’”

NFL ball was not an option. Sorry, pops.

In four seasons with the Tribe, he caught all of three passes for 34 yards.

“Balling,” he says. “I can name all those catches.”

When Brady thought he’d finally get a shot at substantive offensive snaps, into his junior year, William & Mary brought in a wide receiver who was clearly more talented: Tre McBride. Rather than treat McBride as a dragon to slay or toil in self-pity, Brady (again) manufactured an opportunity. He genuinely tried to coach up a kid out to render him obsolete. McBride was skeptical. At first, he couldn’t trust a teammate who was this helpful, this generous. But for Brady, the relationship was an awakening. He understood exactly how to run routes — releases off the line, stems at the top of routes, etc. — but physically could not do it.

Now, in a way, he could play vicariously through a 6-foot, 210-pound weapon from McDonough, Ga. McBride heeded every morsel of advice, took Brady’s spot, and blossomed into one of the school’s best offensive players ever. After catching 64 passes for 809 yards with four scores, he was drafted by the Tennessee Titans and kicked around the league for five teams.

Too often, Brady would get knocked off a route, ask “What should I do differently?” and simply hear a coach tell him to do something different.

He embraced life teaching the why. This was a calling.

“The moment,” Brady says, “I was like, ‘Alright, I need to coach.’”

Of course, Brady was also a double major at William & Mary, the second-oldest institution of higher education in the United States next to Harvard. This school’s been around since 1693. Undergrads don’t kill themselves over midterms and dissertations here to become a coach. They’re seeking six- and seven-figure jobs at Fortune 500 companies, not shameless QC gigs demanding 100 hours a week for humiliating pay. Sane third parties on campus — professors, classmates, etc. — considered this a harebrained master plan.

“Like, what a waste of education,” Brady says. “And I don’t mean that in a negative way. But you don’t go to William & Mary to be like, ‘Hey, I’m going to go be a coach now.’ I could have just done that anywhere.”

Yet, he craved the sport’s entry-level serfdom and all insomnia, all microwavable dinners that came with it.

Which brings us back to that concrete-soft carpet.

He’s one of 32 head coaches. Elite company. The face of an organization. But if this was Joe the Janitor or Joey Ticket Sales, there’s a good chance a member of the Buffalo Bills’ security staff would stop this employee in his tracks on the walkway to ask a.) why he’s up at 3:20 a.m.; and b.) why he’s wearing shorts in freezing temps.

This is no performance for social media. It’s who Joe Brady’s always been. Ask any player inside this Buffalo Bills locker room about Brady and they’ll inevitably cite his magnetic energy. How he’s a relentless tidal wave of positivity.

For a team led by the same man the last nine years, it’s severely needed. And natural.

I ask Brady where this all comes from, and he points to this all being an innate passion.

“When people are around me,” he says, “I think they can feel that. I’m not trying to be energetic. I’m not trying to be a hoo-rah guy. I’m trying to be myself. But people can feel that. I’m getting to live my dreams and do exactly what I want to do and, honestly, where I want to do it. That makes it easy. You get to come to work and it’s not like I have to be like, ‘Ugh. Here we go. I’m going to have to put on a show today.’ Yeah, I drink a lot of caffeine, but there’s no fake…”

A lot of caffeine, as in… how much today exactly? Well, Brady needed to get his blood drawn so it’s been a mild morning. An espresso, caffeine gum and, finally, Gatorade Fast Twitch No. 1 are powering him through. The caffeine element of this energy drink beverage is real — each bottle contains 200 mg of caffeine. He’ll typically drink three or four per day. And two Espresso’s. And two MEG Caffeine Gum pieces.

That’s the offseason.

During the season, those numbers all go up.

Brady does replenish his system with ample H2O, and the team nutritionist assures he’s got nothing to worry about. The same probably cannot be said for the coach calling himself “C12” in Foxborough.

Moments later, he’s still thinking about that “energy” question and pinpoints a day he’ll never forget — Jan. 6, 2013 — because it was the same day rookie Robert Griffin Jr. tore up his knee in the NFC wild card. His buddy, DJ Mangas, grew up a diehard Washington Redskins fan and they watched this game on at TV at the Gaylord Opryland Resort in Nashville on Day 1 of that American Football Coach Association (AFCA) convention.

Those fruitless three days were the turning point of his entire life.

Mangas, a year older, was already coaching quarterbacks at D-III Hampden-Sydney. Brady toted a bag of nice clothes, business cards and a notebook with the expectation, teetering on a full-fledged guarantee, that he’d land a job of his own in this psychotic world of coaching. Upon arrival, he realized he wouldn’t even have his own bed. Two of Mangas’ fellow coaches packed in the room, too.

Hampden-Sydney DC Wes Dodson had booked the room for himself, Mangas and fellow assistant Ahmaad Smith.

The convention rotates to a new city each year. Many speeches are given. Notepad in hand, Brady took copious amounts of notes. (Still has those notes, too.) He remembers Shannon Dawson, West Virginia’s offensive coordinator, discussing wide receiver technique. The previous year, Tavon Austin and Stedman Bailey tore up the Big 12. A coach from North Dakota State, Craig Bohl, was honored as the FCS Coach of the Year. At one point, the ex-William & Mary DC Shoop took a crew to a nice breakfast spot. He now coached at nearby Vanderbilt.

Wisdom was shared by all. Brady was a sponge.

Brady was also here with one goal in mind: Get a damn job.

He received a tinge of interest from FCS Marist and D-II Findlay (Ohio) before both admitted they couldn’t seriously consider him because he was still in school.

Room to room, Brady encountered mobs of young coaches gunning for jobs and promotions — a humbling reminder that he was not alone. Any 23-year-old seeking a job can feel like a guppy lost in a sea of candidates. Schools and schools of coaches swim into the same speeches… engage in the same small talk… take the same notes. An intimidating scene. Those pre-NIL days, stacks of cash weren’t piled in the coffers. “Analyst” positions weren’t concocted out of thin air. Colleges had a finite number of positions available.

“Oh my goodness,” says Dodson, now the head coach at D-III LaGrange. “There’s just so many people. That’s what people don’t understand. The coaching profession is not easy to get into because there’s more coaches than there are jobs.”

Dodson remembers booking the room. Details are hazy. He, too, had slept on his share of floors and chairs over the years. But even though he had coached at William & Mary himself in the past and his stepson played at the school, Dodson never met Brady before. Never even spoke to him before the kid showed up.

Brady’s energy stood out. He was “on the run” nonstop.

To this day, with pride, Dodson tells colleagues: “Joe Brady slept on my floor.”

“You can tell people that are always willing to just go and talk to people — they’re going to make something of themselves,” Dodson says. “They’re not afraid to go get something if they want it. That’s what you do as a young coach. Any way you can find a room to sleep in, you find a way. And that’s what he’s done. He found a way.”

Still, in the moment, the trip felt like one gigantic swing and miss. Nobody at this de facto job fair understood the Real Joe Brady. Upon landing back to Williamsburg, Va., he could’ve pivoted and put his education to use. Coaches across America most certainly threw his business cards into the trash. He only received a handful of automatic replies on email. Three collegiate receptions at a small school don’t exactly send a bat signal. Everyone in life must come to grips with football passing them by. It’s sad.

Yet, Brady did not bail. Brady refused to stay discouraged for long. Much like a 17-year-old quarterback on the other side of the country, in Firebaugh, Calif., reaching out to every Division I football coach he possibly could and hearing nothing back this same year.

He took a deep breath and looked around. The Tribe hired a new OC in Kevin Rogers this spring. Brady viewed this as another chance to learn. The longtime coach had Donovan McNabb at Syracuse and Brett Favre with the Minnesota Vikings. Brady loitered around Rogers’ office as much possible, soaking up as much knowledge as he could. Right around then, one of the Tribe’s assistant coaches on defense, John Bowes, took a new job at Fordham.

Brady walked into Laycock’s office to say he wanted a job. “He laughed at me,” Brady recalls, “and told me to get the hell out of his office. ‘Beat it geek,’ in so many words.” It wasn’t personal. Laycock explained to his backup wide receiver that this isn’t something he does. Never before had Laycock hired one of his players directly to the staff.

“Well,” Brady told him, “I’d be a great first.’”

Brady kept hanging around… hanging around… and chipped in with spring ball.

The reason Laycock shunned his own players fresh off the graduation stage is that he didn’t want assistants coaching their buddies. He believed in a healthy separation between church and state. There’s a first for everything. Both DC Scott Boone and D-Line coach Trevor Andrews thought Brady had potential. Put him on defense, they told Laycock, and he would be with a totally different crew. Boone saw a promising “football junkie.” The head coach started warming up to the idea and, as graduation loomed, informed Brady that he was bringing in three coaches to essentially audition for a linebackers position. He’d be one of the candidates.

At some point, Laycock would then decide who gets the job.

He told Brady to get the heck out of dodge after graduating. Relax. Recharge his batteries.

Yeah, right. No chance was Brady going to decelerate now.

All coaches on staff hit the recruiting trail and Brady stayed right inside the football offices preparing for his one shot. He studied the Tribe’s playbook to biblical proportions, teaching himself defensive football. He looked ahead, too. Brady authored detailed scouting reports on every single one of William & Mary’s 2013 opponents. He knew diddly poo about playing linebacker, but Brady applied what he did know — offense — to each report. The Tribe’s first opponent was West Virginia. The year prior, his old high school foe in Miramar, Fla. (Geno Smith) lit up defenses. He explained how the Mountaineers incinerated defenses.

Brady knows himself, too. He would’ve gone insane back home in waiting mode.

All instinct told him to stay right there inside those offices and teach himself how to break down tape.

“So when those coaches came back, everything was ready for them,” Brady says. “Just go. Just go. Why am I going to go away and let two other guys have an opportunity at the job?’ And I didn’t sit there and think like, ‘Oh, if I’m sticking around, it’s going to be my job.’ But, one, where am I going to go? I get to be in the office and learn the defense. I looked at it as, ‘Here I am as an offensive coach. I can bring value. I might not bring any value as a defense. I probably didn’t know anything like looking back. But I thought I could bring value as an offensive-minded guy on defense.”

Nobody told Brady to sprint onto the field for that eight-yard hitch at Everglades.

Nobody advised he sleep on a hotel floor.

Nobody made him stay at school and prepare scouting reports.

He sees an opportunity, smells blood, leaves zero doubt.

“I got the job, basically, by not leaving,” Brady says. “I was the grinder. You figure out what everybody needs and do that. Your job is to try to make everybody’s life easier.”

When coaches returned to campus, the reports were done. They were stunned. Brady remembers Boone putting it bluntly to the head boss. “Shit,” he said, “we might as well hire him.”

Brady watched clinic tape of Penn State’s Tom Bradley to learn this funky new position. He had talent in his room. Luke Rhodes has been the Indianapolis Colts’ long-snapper for 10 years and counting. It also helped that the DC, Boone, coached linebackers.

Cite the harsh reality of this industry to Boone — how those clinics are flooded with candidates — and he interjects.

“There’s a bunch of guys that want to coach, but there’s not that many guys who want to be a coach,” says Boone, now a special teams coach at Duke. “We talk about it all the time. There’s guys who are fans with whistles and guys who are coaches. And guys who are coaches don’t get caught up in all the things: the gear, the trips, the travel, the hotel. They get caught up in the ball.

“You can’t dip your toe in it. You’ve got to jump in with your full body. And Joe — early — was one of those guys.”

Endorsing Brady was a no-brainer — because of this work ethic — but then his offensive acumen popped. Defensive coaches thought they knew what offenses were trying to accomplish on certain plays. Inside meetings, Boone says, the young Brady often corrected them. “That’s not really what is happening,” he’d say. “They’re doing this to create this matchup.” He was right. That season, William & Mary’s defense held opponents to 10 points or less in six games.

Boone saw a young coach dying to learn and evolve. Every day.

“That’s probably why his track has been as fast as it has,” he says.

No kidding. When Boone headed to Nevada into 2014, Brady assumed autonomy over those linebackers for a full season and his career then took off like a rocket ship.

To Penn State as a grad assistant. Shoop, the coach needling him as a player, was the DC who helped bring him to Happy Valley.

To the New Orleans Saints as an offensive assistant. He treasured access to an all-time great coach (Sean Payton) and quarterback (Drew Brees).

To LSU as the pass game coordinator. Pressure was high. Heading into that 2019 season, Brady knew that his boss, head coach Ed Orgeron, was squarely on the hot seat with an 11-11 record through two seasons. If his offense stunk it up? Coach O was getting fired. Brady had never called one play before in his life. “Just like that guy running out on the field,” Brady recalls. “Don’t change who you are just because you got another opportunity.” LSU humiliated defenses weekly en route to a national title. Burrow enjoyed one of the finest seasons in college football history. Just like that, he was the new boy wonder in this profession.

To the Carolina Panthers as an OC. The same season his greatest weapon (Christian McCaffrey) barely played and his quarterback play was bottom tier, Brady squeezed 1,000-yard seasons out of four players: D.J. Moore, Robbie Anderson, Curtis Samuel and Mike Davis. But this 1 ½-year run was a crash-landing to that proverbial carpet. A nightmare. Brady’s tone changes from biographical to introspective thinking back to his time as the youngest active offensive coordinator in the league. Ego entered the equation.

The 30-year-old Brady thought he needed to act a certain way and admits he did not make his job about the players. Scheme dictated all in his mind.

“If I try to be someone that I’m not, if I try to act like someone that I’m not, if I try to think I have all the answers, I’ll fail,” Brady says. “And in elements of myself, I did that in Carolina. I told myself if I ever get that opportunity again, I’m not going to do that.

“That’s not who I am. Don’t get me wrong, I love going into the office and drawing stuff up. But when I’m with my guys, I need them to know that it’s not about the scheme. We’re going to win because of you guys.”

Coaches can go through their 30s, their 40s, their 50s and never accept that players should take precedence over plays. This concept is a central theme in Michael Silver’s excellent “The Why is Everything.” Kyle Shanahan quickly gained notoriety as the sport’s most inventive play designer, but it took years for the San Francisco 49ers brainiac to value the gifts of individual players ahead of those X’s and O’s devised in the middle of the night. Bring up Shanahan’s name and Brady points out a key distinction.

Shanahan was winning and winning before finally evolving.

“I had to fail for that to happen,” Brady says. “How many times did Shanahan fail? The best thing that ever happened to me was getting fired.”

Brady did not want to chase another OC gig. Not yet.

He needed a total reset and coaching quarterbacks for the Buffalo Bills made perfect sense. Everyone else in town — OC Ken Dorsey, QB Josh Allen, etc. — knew the offense better than him, which forced Brady to open his eyes and reexamine offensive football. One thing went right in Carolina. Sam Darnold, one of his rotating Panthers QBs, must’ve enjoyed something about his coaching. Because if Darnold trashed his name to Allen, a close buddy, no way he gets this job.

Heading into Orchard Park, Brady knew all about Allen, the player.

He didn’t know Allen, the person.

That changed immediately.

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Part II: ‘They’ve got to play us’

ORCHARD PARK, NY — He never got nervous as a player. Joe Brady quips he didn’t see the field nearly enough.

As a coach, however, this is his unequivocal strength. Livelihoods are on the line — weekly — and he’s Joe Cool. Those closest to the Buffalo Bills’ new head coach barely see him break a sweat.

“I try not to be rattled because, one, my players see that,” Brady says. “Two, if I’m prepared, like I believe I do, everything will take care of itself.”

Granted, this was not the case Day 1 Meeting 1 as the team’s quarterbacks coach in 2022.

Brady remembers being far too rigid explaining how the Bills would do this and do that. Listening intently, Josh Allen could sense trepidation. As the conversation shifted to changes the Bills would be making in their protections, the team’s QB1 cracked a joke. Brady will leave details up for your imagination. The new coach mentioned a particular number aloud, and Allen chimed in. (“I’ll leave it at that.”)

Laughs filled the room and Brady felt himself loosen up — instantly. This was exactly what he needed.

Josh Allen can throw the football a country mile, bulldoze through linebackers and decimate defenses with a videographic memory. This ability to read a room off the field, however, rivals any skill he brings on it.

“Like, ‘Alright, this guy’s a little uptight in his first meeting. I can calm him down a little bit,’” Brady recalls. “And that’s what he does to any room he walks into, in this whole building. It’s all natural. It’s real. Not many people can have that pulse and be what that room needs. Not in a fake way.”

A season and a half later, Brady was elevated to offensive coordinator.

On a Monday, the Bills lost to the inferior Denver Broncos at home and fell to 5-5.

On a Tuesday, Brady was told he’s the new OC.

On Saturday, he walked into his most important meeting since that first address to the QBs. Brady now stood in front of the entire offense. He wanted guys to know he was ready for this moment, so he shared that story from his high school days. The time he sprinted right onto the field to catch a pass and forever change his life. He wouldn’t be where he is today without this conviction. (“They were probably all asleep,” jokes Brady.) And when it was time to discuss what amounted to a must-win vs. a talented New York Jets defense, he didn’t cast Quinnen Williams as a modern-day Mean Joe Greene, didn’t prop Sauce Gardner up on a pedestal, didn’t discuss this Jets unit at all.

Instead, Brady looked around the room and pointed at specific players in his own room.

Whoever’s on the other sideline needed to contend with the Buffalo Bills.

He reminded everyone: “It’s about us.”

Buffalo then put a nail in the Jets’ coffin with a 32-6 blowout win. After throwing an 81-yard touchdown to Khalil Shakir, a mic’d up Allen snarled: “I feel like I’m fucking back.” Fueled by a resurgent offense, those Bills came within an inch here, a few inches there of playing in the AFC Championship Game. The next season, 2024, Allen won league MVP. The next, 2025, the Bills lost in overtime of the divisional round in Denver.

Sean McDermott was fired.

It’s time for the next most important speech of Brady’s football life.

He won’t lose the plot.

Outside, a blizzard has engulfed Western New York. This climate should gobsmack opponents. Outside, across Abbott Road, that sparkling new stadium will host arguably the greatest player in the sport: Josh Allen. The new philosophy of this organization is quite refreshing. You need to play in Orchard Park. You need to play Josh Allen. Coaches can handle all minutiae, all nitty-gritty crafting of a gameplan and relay that information accordingly. There’s no need to build up any opponent as intergalactic. When it’s time to address the entire team — a roomful of players he’s gotten to know as human beings — Brady will hammer this point home.

“In front of the mass,” Brady says, “when you focus on the other team too much, you lose sight. I want the guys to know going into that game, ‘It is about us.’ They’ve got to play us and not the other way around.”

Because here’s another NFL truth: Players forever take on the personality of their head coach. Brady is not high strung like others in this profession. Imagining himself in that next speech, he brings up Josh Allen, Dion Dawkins and Spencer Brown on offense and Terrel Bernard, Bradley Chubb and Christian Benford on defense and asks aloud: “Why am I going to walk into that game nervous?”

This is where he derives his brazen confidence, his edge.

Everyone will.

He doesn’t plan on coaching scared, so his players won’t play scared.

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Nobody wanted Joe Brady at that Nashville coaching convention. The William & Mary reserve who caught all of three passes in college willed himself into the cutthroat world of football coaching.

Nobody wanted Josh Allen out of Firebaugh, Calif. He received precisely zero scholarships out of high school, then sent an email to 1,000+ colleges after JUCO. Only Wyoming responded.

Now, this is the HC-QB combination leading the organization. Kindred spirits who both know what it’s like to swipe right until their thumbs bleed without a single connection. The two can relate at a deeper level. Finally, the Bills have alignment where it matters most.

Head Coach and Quarterback must be in lockstep for any team to have a puncher’s chance.

The relationship between Allen and Sean McDermott was never rosy. As first examined in ’23, and explored again post-firing, the head man’s calculus never changed. McDermott did not view No. 17 as the center of this team’s universe, which created unnecessary roadblocks. Those close to this relationship cite those snow angels on ESPN as a red herring, repeating that their personalities were oil and water. Echoing members of the Bills coaching staff past, current sources in the building insist McDermott did not understand he was in possession of one of three greatest players on the planet.

It was bizarre and it took Terry Pegula a while to grasp in full. Eventually, the team’s owner identified the disconnect.

That’s why Allen was granted a seat at the interview table.

The choice was Brady.

At his introductory press conference, Brady professed his love for the quarterback. There’s no denying the fact that — as it pertains to the team’s $330 Million Man — the team’s new head coach gets it.

OK, so Allen is now a married man who’ll turn 30 years old next month. He’s a father of a new baby girl. He’s no longer Shane Gillis 24/7/365 inside the locker room. Jokes about a certain reproductive organ are on the decline. But rest assured. Allen still has his fastball. To this day, Brady is hesitant to answer any question posed by his quarterback because there’s always the distinct possibility that it’s a set-up. “Dude,” the QB will say through a poker face. “I’m asking you a question.”

Brady answers. Brady falls into the trap.

This was a refreshing union for the coach. Granted, Sam Darnold was always liable to drop a Michael Scott “that’s what she said” in the quarterback room. After spending so much time around the ultra-serious, ultra-buttoned up Drew Brees and Joe Burrow, part of Brady wondered if that’s how all of the elites needed to carry themselves at the position. Allen was no cookie cutter. Allen was proof that you can be one of the guys… and lead.

“And he can do things that no one in the world really can do,” Brady adds. “There’s a lot of power to that, but he wants to be coached and he’s a human. I have a lot of love for that man.”

This relationship only strengthened over time.

Allen was extremely close to a coach before, then saw that coach (Brian Daboll) take a head-coaching job with the New York Giants. GM Brandon Beane told us he believes Allen was careful not to get too close to Brady in fear of losing him to another team. All good teams with defensive-minded head coaches rifle through OCs. “It hurt him when Daboll left as the mentor, the father figure, the friend,” Beane said. “He had a great relationship with Joe but might not have let himself get quite as vulnerable as he did with Daboll because I think last year he thought Joe was going to leave.”

Brady turned down the New Orleans Saints job in 2025, then earned this Bills job in 2026.

(Note: For more on this decision to hire Brady, here’s our February piece following a sitdown with Beane and president of business operations Pete Guelli.)

Brady’s vantage point? He saw a quarterback who desired a coach that both cared for him and held him accountable. Allen was tight with Daboll off the field, true. They’d hang out on the back deck late into the night. It was father-son. Daboll could also go scorched earth on him during a game.

“When you’re a player of his level,” Brady says, “you always have to be mindful of who’s real and who’s not. That’s the element that naturally takes time. Even myself, I don’t trust easily. I’m not going to walk into that first team meeting and think I’m going to have everybody’s respect right away. That’s earned. Coaching Josh Allen was no different. I didn’t expect that first meeting where Josh was going to be like, ‘Yep, I’m going to do whatever you say and believe in you and you got all the answers.’ It was like, ‘We’re going to work through this together.’”

Skeptics decry the Brady hire as safe and/or placating the quarterback.

If anything, the opposite is true.

Bringing in a head coach starting at square one with Allen — totally hitting the reset button on such a consequential relationship — could’ve further delayed the quest toward a ring at best or blown up at worst. Brady’s now been in town for four years and two months. From that fragile first meeting to today, he’s gotten to a place where he can rip the quarterback when he should be ripped. Lift him up when he needs lifted.

Remember: Brady grew up on Dad’s tough love himself. Every special HC-QB combo is laced with just the right amount of healthy friction. No different than a successful marriage. I loved this analogy from the excellent Patrick Bet-David in “Your Next 5 Moves.” Show me a husband and wife who never fight, he writes, and that’s a relationship destined for destruction.

If a quarterback knows your intent is pure, it’s a lot easier to have the harsh and necessary dialogue. Pick any famous duo through time. Mahomes-Reid, Brady-Belichick, Favre-Holmgren, Montana-Walsh, Bradshaw-Noll. All had depth.

Brady expects total transparency.

“There’s going to be times on the sideline where we’re going to yell at each other,” Brady says. “There’s a lot of times we don’t agree. That doesn’t change how we feel about one another. We both set a level of accountability to one another. There’s a standard of how it should look. As long as we both can take the blame and we’re not pointing the fingers at one another, we’re good to go. I’ve made bad calls, he’s made right. I’ve made calls and he’s gotten to the wrong play. He’ll own it, I own it and we move on to the next play.”

A far cry from a head coach who wasn’t thrilled that Allen received the bulk of credit (a real thing) and once went ballistic on that quarterback for building a house in Orchard Park. But let’s not digress.

Indeed, there’s an sharp increase in emotional intelligence at One Bills Drive. Players are saying the quiet parts out loud. The day Brady was introduced as head coach, lineman Alec Anderson said: “He wants us to know that we don’t have to have our assholes so tight around him all the time. We can go walk around and be our personalities.” X’s and O’s do matter. The Bills will attack January football with more schematic ferocity. First, Brady knows he must connect with everyone on a level that transcends those X’s and O’s.

He wants to know the person more than the player. Their own sleeping-on-the-hotel-floor defining moment.

He points to James Cook, a man of few words. Where some people may interpret Cook’s stone-cold demeanor as “not caring,” Brady knows better. The two grew up 25 miles apart. “Talk to him out on the football field,” Brady says, “and he’ll say whatever he needs to say.” He cites quarterback dinners. Attending these each Friday night deepened his bond with Allen and the backups. He saw how they interacted with their wives and girlfriends.

“It’s everything,” Brady says. “If you only care about the player, you’re only reaching half of them. There’s so much more. Knowing where they come from. Knowing, ‘Alright, this guy might not communicate a lot. But it’s OK because I know who he is and his personality. When he does this, you reach him in this way.”

For 32 head coaches, life away from football often resembles sporadic clicks of a camera.

Seattle Seahawks head coach Mike Macdonald stated that he spends a half-hour with his son during the week, with a tint of pride. As if it was ample time.

Coaches usually sound like aliens from another planet on the topic of work-life balance. The industry is inherently psychotic. Brady grew up with a (very) involved father and, dammit, he’s trying to thread this impossible needle with a 3-year-old and 5-month-old. Here, Brady admits there’s a ton of guilt in knowing his kids aren’t getting the best version of himself. He hasn’t come up for air since the Bills’ 33-30 overtime loss at Mile High, from interviewing for three different head-coaching vacancies… to scoring this gig amongst nine candidates… to filling out his first coaching staff… to free agency to, now, preparing for the NFL draft. (“No complaints there!”) His dream’s been fulfilled. But recently, Brady was scrolling through pictures from the family’s vacation at the beach last summer — the last time his family spent a string of uninterrupted days together.

Seeing how much his son has grown since then was “depressing,” he admits. Coaching can make any man’s life feel like the Adam Sandler movie, “Click.” Time’s stuck on fast forward. You miss birthdays, buzzer-beaters, daddy-daughter dances, milestones you’ll never get back.

Yet, this is the business Joe Brady has chosen.

Hell yeah, he enjoys it. Every minute of it. He knows there are millions of people who work endless hours at jobs they hate. He gets to watch football.

So, he finds a way.

This spring, Brady has been setting his alarm for 3 a.m. each morning. This gets Brady to the facility by 3:20. That way, he’s working while his kids sleep for three more hours. Wait until 6 a.m. and he knows he wouldn’t be back home until 10. Finding those hidden hours ensures Brady can take over all bath and bedtime proceedings. His baby girl still needs Mom, but Jordan is Dad’s responsibility. And all fellow fathers? Joe Brady is you. He, too, knows the perils and pitfalls of the nightly witching hour. Wait too long, break routine a smidge, and chaos awaits. “Absolute madness,” he jokes. He’ll read book, after book, after book, after book, after book, often turning off the lamp and using his iPhone flashlight as a reading light to ever… so… gradually… see his son’s eyelids finally close for the night.

Brady encourages his assistant coaches to bring their kids to work if they want. As long as they’re not in meetings, he’s got no problem with it. His own son loves it at One Bills Drive. The result, he hopes, is a healthy work environment for all.

No way could Joe Brady have predicted this as his life inside that crammed hotel room 13 years ago. Back when he had zero clue if he’d ever work in coaching. He was one of many. He can still remember the other young coaches at the convention dying to enter this crazy world. A handful blazed a trail. Justin Rascati, the QBs coach at James Madison, was present. Now, he’s the pass game coordinator for the Cincinnati Bengals. Matt Guerrieri, a GA at Duke, is now the safeties coach at Ohio State University. Josh Grizzard was a GA at Duke, too. He’s the pass game coordinator for the Philadelphia Eagles.

The small-school coach honored in Nashville that year, Craig Bohl, took the job at Wyoming before then taking a chance on a hard-throwing gunslinger from Firebaugh.

And at the NFL Combine this past February, Brady ran into a familiar face. It was Ahmaad Smith. “Last I saw you,” Smith told him, “you were sleeping on the floor.”

OK, so Macdonald’s comment might’ve been a tick extreme… but not that extreme. Nobody in the NFL flinched when the clip went viral because everyone understands that winning demands sacrifice.

The 2026 season begins soon.

Brady wants what Macdonald’s Seahawks currently have.

It’ll require more than a nocturnal life.

Modern playoff games almost always boil down to one or two plays. The chasm between winning and losing is razor thin.

Coaches who master split-second decisions are at the advantage. It’s why the Bills put all candidates through rigorous game-management testing. If one game goes haywire, that’s understandable. Nine years’ worth of January failings is a trend that bakes into the subconscious of an entire organization. Doom becomes the expectation. This is what Pegula was referencing by that “proverbial playoff wall.” I get the general populace going berserk over his Keon Coleman dig. Most people are offended by their own shadow nowadays. But the press conference quote that should’ve caught fire was when the owner got real on McDermott.

“It’s not an easy decision. Trust me,” Pegula said. “But what is success? Is success being in the playoffs seven years in a row with no Super Bowl appearance?”

He let those words hang in suspense.

Nobody knows yet how Brady handles this imperative aspect of the game because there’s no way to simulate fourth and 2 from midfield with 1:35 remaining in front of 60,000 fans. He knows this.

All holistic messaging, however, is supported by action.

During his interview for the job, Brady used the word “attack” often. Up in the booth as a playcaller, he explained, it drove him mad when communication to Allen shut off at the 15-second mark of the play clock and defenses started to disguise and deceive. He wants opposing playcallers to feel this raw helplessness, to scream “F—k!” in horror like he would. Coaches who faced this Bills D years past also informed the team’s brass during the interview process just how stagnant and predictable their defense was to face presnap.

Bend-don’t-break logic doesn’t fly against quarterbacks capable of killing you with a thousand paper cuts.

On 52 non-kneeldown drives in their last six playoff defeats, the Bills have surrendered 25 TDs, 13 field goals and 3.83 points per drive while creating only three turnovers and forcing only 12 punts with one missed field goal.

Offensively, expect changes. Gameplans in the past could become too hyper-focused on the opposition. If the Bills faced an elite passer — like Patrick Mahomes, for example — the edict from above was often to play keepaway. Play safe. Nerves were obvious in the head coach ahead of those Kansas City Chiefs playoff games. Several sources inside the building still diagnose those 13 fateful seconds at Arrowhead Stadium (and the game’s bizarre aftermath) as the moment that broke this franchise’s psychology.

The roster is much different. Now, the head coach is different.

It’s worth noting that Brady wasn’t even around for the team’s debilitating 2021 divisional playoff loss in KC and that he only has glowing things to say about his former boss.

Finally, Buffalo can start anew.

Walking the halls those other six days of the week, Brady won’t resemble a Tin Man. He’s the opposite of tight. He’s the first to point out that this doesn’t mean he won’t make mistakes. His hope is for the Bills to possess enough “competitive stamina” to forget whatever happened the previous day, to shake off an inevitable last-second loss instead of letting it become the team’s identity. Speeches. Play style. Personnel. He plans on doing everything in his power to make such a fearless mentality infectious. Starting… now. Players are officially back for offseason workouts.

It’s “two-fold,” he adds. Brady needs the Bills defense to bring this energy.

“And if we talk about ourselves (on defense) like we’re on a level of Patrick Mahomes and Joe Burrow, then we’re going to be able to play with that mindset,” Brady says. “If we just talk about like, ‘yeah, they’re above us and they’re so much better than us,’ we might start second-guessing: ‘Can I go make that play?’ And that’s why I want the personalities of the guys that are going to come in with that mentality. And it’s not only about Josh Allen, but damn, we got Josh Allen.”

Through the free agency frenzy, Brady sat in on all transactions (and near transactions).

Watching Beane work the phones agent to agent to agent was vertigo-inducing.

There were times the head coach thought the GM should hang up on agents jerking the Bills around. As he learned, there are layers to the job. That agent pissing off the Bills may represent someone in their building. Or another player they’re pursuing.

“I enjoy coaching way more now,” Brady says, “because there’s no way in hell I could do that.”

The head coach is thrilled with all moves made to smash that wall. Before March, Brady calls the idea of acquiring this talent a “pipe dream.”

Player to player, Brady details what has him excited.

He sees himself in Dee Alford. After the signing, Brady caught up with the team’s new nickel cornerback and learned this Division II product who played in the CFL was out of a job throughout COVID. He worked the night shift at FedEx, trained, stayed ready, got his shot and earned this NFL life. (“This is the type of guy that I want on my team.”) Brady worked with DJ Moore in Carolina, of course, and knows the Bills need a separator in the room. (“Ecstatic to be able to work with him and put him in our crew. I was pumped about that one.”)

Back to his days as a Saints grunt, Brady has made a habit of taking notes on players that gave him fits. Safeties Harrison Smith and Budda Baker earned high praise. Back then, intel was chronicled in a literal notebook. Today, he keeps a running file on his tablet.

Chauncey Gardner-Johnson made the file. He wants this championship swagger on his defense.

Bradley Chubb was a player he took a ton of notes on. Brady and new DC Jim Leonhard view the ex-Bronco, ex-Dolphin as a perfect scheme fit who’ll stay on the field all four downs. The head coach expects Greg Rousseau and Chubb to shut down the edges vs. the run and — another year removed from a torn ACL — for Chubb to invigorate this pass rush. Perhaps most importantly? There was a “C” on his chest. The more Brady spoke to people, the more he realized Chubb was a captain for reasons beyond his play. (“He’ll do wonders for this locker room, this organization.”)

Now, the honeymoon is over.

Last week, I touched base with one ex-Bill who shed light on the HC-QB dynamic in Part III our ’23 series. With five exclamation points, he assures via text that players love Brady. Now, it’s simple. He listed off four unknowns. We’ll see if Brady can handle the surface-of-the-sun heat associated with the job, manage games late, truly lead a roomful of grown men through hard times and surround himself with assistants who’ll cover his blind spots. On this final point, Brady was ecstatic to land longtime New Orleans Saints lieutenant Pete Carmichael as his OC. When Brees is enshrined into Canton, Brady knows the quarterback will be thanking Carmichael. “An absolute stud,” Brady says. “He’s ours now. He was the most important get for me.”

Like the spring of 2013 at William & Mary, Brady applied his offensive brain to defense in hiring Leonhard to stress opposing playcallers.

No coach knows how he’ll handle the job until they’re in the job.

This ex-player’s advice? Be humble “and get out of the damn way.”

“It’s about Josh, the locker room and that city,” this player says. “If he understands that, he will win a trophy. If he thinks it’s about him and he’s special, he will fail to.”

The city is dying for that trophy. One generation endured four straight Super Bowl defeats. The next, a 17-year playoff drought. Now, they’ve got a future Hall of Fame quarterback with nothing to show for it. No QB in NFL history has won more playoff games (eight) than Allen without an appearance in the big game. Brady is fully aware that reaching the Super Bowl is officially the year-to-year expectation.

When I ask what makes him the man for this moment, he admits he hasn’t even thought about the Lombardi Trophy.

When he won a national title at LSU, he never touched the hardware. Never even saw it up close.

He’s sure he’ll feel something if he ever hoists the sterling silver this February.

“I’ve been here long enough to see the impact that it would have on the guys that I coach and this freakin’ city,” Brady says. “That means way more to me. That drives me. I get to coach football, but the people that I get to do it for is what matters to me. And we have such a good locker room. I’ve been fortunate that I’m in a place that I already know the people, both outside the building and in the building. The expectations that this city has? It’s what I have.”

When Brady walked into new Highmark Stadium recently, he was awestruck. It hit him. For as long as this building exists, he is the one calling the first play. Briefly, Brady allows himself to look into the future. The new man in charge may be a refreshing gust of calm who embraces all JA17-centric math, who gets all 53 players to stay in attack mode, who’s prepared for every conceivable scenario.

The ball will be kicked off. The play clock will start winding down. In that exact moment, the gravity of his reality will become very real.

“I won’t be nervous,” he says with a pause. “But an emotion will hit me.”

Sleeping on a mattress — not on a hotel floor — should guarantee maximum focus. (With the help of a Fast Twich or four.)

Perhaps a variation of Dad’s triple option is the ticket.

That is, of course, assuming a backup wide receiver on the sideline isn’t overcome with the sudden urge to sprint onto the field.

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All 12 parts of Bob McGinn’s 42nd annual draft series:

• Part 1, WR: Who’s the next star wideout?

• Part 2, TE: Kenyon Sadiq and the hunt for matchup nightmares

• Part 3, T: Why Francis Mauigoa ‘n co. may define the 2026 NFL Draft

• Part 4, G/C: Why this is the year to draft a center

• Part 5, QB: The Fernando Mendoza Question

• Part 6, RB: Notre Dame’s Jeremiyah Love? ‘The best NFL prospect in this draft

• Part 7, DL: Secure your space-eater

• Part 8, Edge: Deep 2026 class promises to torment quarterbacks

• Part 9, LB: How should an NFL team unleash Arvell Reese?

• Part 10, CB: McCoy? Delane? Hood? Inside the debate at the top...

• Part 11, S: Why Caleb Downs, a ‘slam dunk,’ is one of the best players in the NFL Draft

• Part 12, ST: The kicking revolution is here

Read Part I here.

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ORCHARD PARK, NY — He never got nervous as a player. Joe Brady quips he didn’t see the field nearly enough.

As a coach, however, this is his unequivocal strength. Livelihoods are on the line — weekly — and he’s Joe Cool. Those closest to the Buffalo Bills’ new head coach barely see him break a sweat.

“I try not to be rattled because, one, my players see that,” Brady says. “Two, if I’m prepared, like I believe I do, everything will take care of itself.”

Granted, this was not the case Day 1 Meeting 1 as the team’s quarterbacks coach in 2022.

Brady remembers being far too rigid explaining how the Bills would do this and do that. Listening intently, Josh Allen could sense trepidation. As the conversation shifted to changes the Bills would be making in their protections, the team’s QB1 cracked a joke. Brady will leave details up for your imagination. The new coach mentioned a particular number aloud, and Allen chimed in. (“I’ll leave it at that.”)

Laughs filled the room and Brady felt himself loosen up — instantly. This was exactly what he needed.

Josh Allen can throw the football a country mile, bulldoze through linebackers and decimate defenses with a videographic memory. This ability to read a room off the field, however, rivals any skill he brings on it.

“Like, ‘Alright, this guy’s a little uptight in his first meeting. I can calm him down a little bit,’” Brady recalls. “And that’s what he does to any room he walks into, in this whole building. It’s all natural. It’s real. Not many people can have that pulse and be what that room needs. Not in a fake way.”

A season and a half later, Brady was elevated to offensive coordinator.

On a Monday, the Bills lost to the inferior Denver Broncos at home and fell to 5-5.

On a Tuesday, Brady was told he’s the new OC.

On Saturday, he walked into his most important meeting since that first address to the QBs. Brady now stood in front of the entire offense. He wanted guys to know he was ready for this moment, so he shared that story from his high school days. The time he sprinted right onto the field to catch a pass and forever change his life. He wouldn’t be where he is today without this conviction. (“They were probably all asleep,” jokes Brady.) And when it was time to discuss what amounted to a must-win vs. a talented New York Jets defense, he didn’t cast Quinnen Williams as a modern-day Mean Joe Greene, didn’t prop Sauce Gardner up on a pedestal, didn’t discuss this Jets unit at all.

Instead, Brady looked around the room and pointed at specific players in his own room.

Whoever’s on the other sideline needed to contend with the Buffalo Bills.

He reminded everyone: “It’s about us.”

Buffalo then put a nail in the Jets’ coffin with a 32-6 blowout win. After throwing an 81-yard touchdown to Khalil Shakir, a mic’d up Allen snarled: “I feel like I’m fucking back.” Fueled by a resurgent offense, those Bills came within an inch here, a few inches there of playing in the AFC Championship Game. The next season, 2024, Allen won league MVP. The next, 2025, the Bills lost in overtime of the divisional round in Denver.

Sean McDermott was fired.

It’s time for the next most important speech of Brady’s football life.

He won’t lose the plot.

Outside, a blizzard has engulfed Western New York. This climate should gobsmack opponents. Outside, across Abbott Road, that sparkling new stadium will host arguably the greatest player in the sport: Josh Allen. The new philosophy of this organization is quite refreshing. You need to play in Orchard Park. You need to play Josh Allen. Coaches can handle all minutiae, all nitty-gritty crafting of a gameplan and relay that information accordingly. There’s no need to build up any opponent as intergalactic. When it’s time to address the entire team — a roomful of players he’s gotten to know as human beings — Brady will hammer this point home.

“In front of the mass,” Brady says, “when you focus on the other team too much, you lose sight. I want the guys to know going into that game, ‘It is about us.’ They’ve got to play us and not the other way around.”

Because here’s another NFL truth: Players forever take on the personality of their head coach. Brady is not high strung like others in this profession. Imagining himself in that next speech, he brings up Josh Allen, Dion Dawkins and Spencer Brown on offense and Terrel Bernard, Bradley Chubb and Christian Benford on defense and asks aloud: “Why am I going to walk into that game nervous?”

This is where he derives his brazen confidence, his edge.

Everyone will.

He doesn’t plan on coaching scared, so his players won’t play scared.

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Nobody wanted Joe Brady at that Nashville coaching convention. The William & Mary reserve who caught all of three passes in college willed himself into the cutthroat world of football coaching.

Nobody wanted Josh Allen out of Firebaugh, Calif. He received precisely zero scholarships out of high school, then sent an email to 1,000+ colleges after JUCO. Only Wyoming responded.

Now, this is the HC-QB combination leading the organization. Kindred spirits who both know what it’s like to swipe right until their thumbs bleed without a single connection. The two can relate at a deeper level. Finally, the Bills have alignment where it matters most.

Head Coach and Quarterback must be in lockstep for any team to have a puncher’s chance.

The relationship between Allen and Sean McDermott was never rosy. As first examined in ’23, and explored again post-firing, the head man’s calculus never changed. McDermott did not view No. 17 as the center of this team’s universe, which created unnecessary roadblocks. Those close to this relationship cite those snow angels on ESPN as a red herring, repeating that their personalities were oil and water. Echoing members of the Bills coaching staff past, current sources in the building insist McDermott did not understand he was in possession of one of three greatest players on the planet.

It was bizarre and it took Terry Pegula a while to grasp in full. Eventually, the team’s owner identified the disconnect.

That’s why Allen was granted a seat at the interview table.

The choice was Brady.

At his introductory press conference, Brady professed his love for the quarterback. There’s no denying the fact that — as it pertains to the team’s $330 Million Man — the team’s new head coach gets it.

OK, so Allen is now a married man who’ll turn 30 years old next month. He’s a father of a new baby girl. He’s no longer Shane Gillis 24/7/365 inside the locker room. Jokes about a certain reproductive organ are on the decline. But rest assured. Allen still has his fastball. To this day, Brady is hesitant to answer any question posed by his quarterback because there’s always the distinct possibility that it’s a set-up. “Dude,” the QB will say through a poker face. “I’m asking you a question.”

Brady answers. Brady falls into the trap.

This was a refreshing union for the coach. Granted, Sam Darnold was always liable to drop a Michael Scott “that’s what she said” in the quarterback room. After spending so much time around the ultra-serious, ultra-buttoned up Drew Brees and Joe Burrow, part of Brady wondered if that’s how all of the elites needed to carry themselves at the position. Allen was no cookie cutter. Allen was proof that you can be one of the guys… and lead.

“And he can do things that no one in the world really can do,” Brady adds. “There’s a lot of power to that, but he wants to be coached and he’s a human. I have a lot of love for that man.”

This relationship only strengthened over time.

Allen was extremely close to a coach before, then saw that coach (Brian Daboll) take a head-coaching job with the New York Giants. GM Brandon Beane told us he believes Allen was careful not to get too close to Brady in fear of losing him to another team. All good teams with defensive-minded head coaches rifle through OCs. “It hurt him when Daboll left as the mentor, the father figure, the friend,” Beane said. “He had a great relationship with Joe but might not have let himself get quite as vulnerable as he did with Daboll because I think last year he thought Joe was going to leave.”

Brady turned down the New Orleans Saints job in 2025, then earned this Bills job in 2026.

(Note: For more on this decision to hire Brady, here’s our February piece following a sitdown with Beane and president of business operations Pete Guelli.)

Brady’s vantage point? He saw a quarterback who desired a coach that both cared for him and held him accountable. Allen was tight with Daboll off the field, true. They’d hang out on the back deck late into the night. It was father-son. Daboll could also go scorched earth on him during a game.

“When you’re a player of his level,” Brady says, “you always have to be mindful of who’s real and who’s not. That’s the element that naturally takes time. Even myself, I don’t trust easily. I’m not going to walk into that first team meeting and think I’m going to have everybody’s respect right away. That’s earned. Coaching Josh Allen was no different. I didn’t expect that first meeting where Josh was going to be like, ‘Yep, I’m going to do whatever you say and believe in you and you got all the answers.’ It was like, ‘We’re going to work through this together.’”

Skeptics decry the Brady hire as safe and/or placating the quarterback.

If anything, the opposite is true.

Bringing in a head coach starting at square one with Allen — totally hitting the reset button on such a consequential relationship — could’ve further delayed the quest toward a ring at best or blown up at worst. Brady’s now been in town for four years and two months. From that fragile first meeting to today, he’s gotten to a place where he can rip the quarterback when he should be ripped. Lift him up when he needs lifted.

Remember: Brady grew up on Dad’s tough love himself. Every special HC-QB combo is laced with just the right amount of healthy friction. No different than a successful marriage. I loved this analogy from the excellent Patrick Bet-David in “Your Next 5 Moves.” Show me a husband and wife who never fight, he writes, and that’s a relationship destined for destruction.

If a quarterback knows your intent is pure, it’s a lot easier to have the harsh and necessary dialogue. Pick any famous duo through time. Mahomes-Reid, Brady-Belichick, Favre-Holmgren, Montana-Walsh, Bradshaw-Noll. All had depth.

Brady expects total transparency.

“There’s going to be times on the sideline where we’re going to yell at each other,” Brady says. “There’s a lot of times we don’t agree. That doesn’t change how we feel about one another. We both set a level of accountability to one another. There’s a standard of how it should look. As long as we both can take the blame and we’re not pointing the fingers at one another, we’re good to go. I’ve made bad calls, he’s made right. I’ve made calls and he’s gotten to the wrong play. He’ll own it, I own it and we move on to the next play.”

A far cry from a head coach who wasn’t thrilled that Allen received the bulk of credit (a real thing) and once went ballistic on that quarterback for building a house in Orchard Park. But let’s not digress.

Indeed, there’s an sharp increase in emotional intelligence at One Bills Drive. Players are saying the quiet parts out loud. The day Brady was introduced as head coach, lineman Alec Anderson said: “He wants us to know that we don’t have to have our assholes so tight around him all the time. We can go walk around and be our personalities.” X’s and O’s do matter. The Bills will attack January football with more schematic ferocity. First, Brady knows he must connect with everyone on a level that transcends those X’s and O’s.

He wants to know the person more than the player. Their own sleeping-on-the-hotel-floor defining moment.

He points to James Cook, a man of few words. Where some people may interpret Cook’s stone-cold demeanor as “not caring,” Brady knows better. The two grew up 25 miles apart. “Talk to him out on the football field,” Brady says, “and he’ll say whatever he needs to say.” He cites quarterback dinners. Attending these each Friday night deepened his bond with Allen and the backups. He saw how they interacted with their wives and girlfriends.

“It’s everything,” Brady says. “If you only care about the player, you’re only reaching half of them. There’s so much more. Knowing where they come from. Knowing, ‘Alright, this guy might not communicate a lot. But it’s OK because I know who he is and his personality. When he does this, you reach him in this way.”

For 32 head coaches, life away from football often resembles sporadic clicks of a camera.

Seattle Seahawks head coach Mike Macdonald stated that he spends a half-hour with his son during the week, with a tint of pride. As if it was ample time.

Coaches usually sound like aliens from another planet on the topic of work-life balance. The industry is inherently psychotic. Brady grew up with a (very) involved father and, dammit, he’s trying to thread this impossible needle with a 3-year-old and 5-month-old. Here, Brady admits there’s a ton of guilt in knowing his kids aren’t getting the best version of himself. He hasn’t come up for air since the Bills’ 33-30 overtime loss at Mile High, from interviewing for three different head-coaching vacancies… to scoring this gig amongst nine candidates… to filling out his first coaching staff… to free agency to, now, preparing for the NFL draft. (“No complaints there!”) His dream’s been fulfilled. But recently, Brady was scrolling through pictures from the family’s vacation at the beach last summer — the last time his family spent a string of uninterrupted days together.

Seeing how much his son has grown since then was “depressing,” he admits. Coaching can make any man’s life feel like the Adam Sandler movie, “Click.” Time’s stuck on fast forward. You miss birthdays, buzzer-beaters, daddy-daughter dances, milestones you’ll never get back.

Yet, this is the business Joe Brady has chosen.

Hell yeah, he enjoys it. Every minute of it. He knows there are millions of people who work endless hours at jobs they hate. He gets to watch football.

So, he finds a way.

This spring, Brady has been setting his alarm for 3 a.m. each morning. This gets Brady to the facility by 3:20. That way, he’s working while his kids sleep for three more hours. Wait until 6 a.m. and he knows he wouldn’t be back home until 10. Finding those hidden hours ensures Brady can take over all bath and bedtime proceedings. His baby girl still needs Mom, but Jordan is Dad’s responsibility. And all fellow fathers? Joe Brady is you. He, too, knows the perils and pitfalls of the nightly witching hour. Wait too long, break routine a smidge, and chaos awaits. “Absolute madness,” he jokes. He’ll read book, after book, after book, after book, after book, often turning off the lamp and using his iPhone flashlight as a reading light to ever… so… gradually… see his son’s eyelids finally close for the night.

Brady encourages his assistant coaches to bring their kids to work if they want. As long as they’re not in meetings, he’s got no problem with it. His own son loves it at One Bills Drive. The result, he hopes, is a healthy work environment for all.

No way could Joe Brady have predicted this as his life inside that crammed hotel room 13 years ago. Back when he had zero clue if he’d ever work in coaching. He was one of many. He can still remember the other young coaches at the convention dying to enter this crazy world. A handful blazed a trail. Justin Rascati, the QBs coach at James Madison, was present. Now, he’s the pass game coordinator for the Cincinnati Bengals. Matt Guerrieri, a GA at Duke, is now the safeties coach at Ohio State University. Josh Grizzard was a GA at Duke, too. He’s the pass game coordinator for the Philadelphia Eagles.

The small-school coach honored in Nashville that year, Craig Bohl, took the job at Wyoming before then taking a chance on a hard-throwing gunslinger from Firebaugh.

And at the NFL Combine this past February, Brady ran into a familiar face. It was Ahmaad Smith. “Last I saw you,” Smith told him, “you were sleeping on the floor.”

OK, so Macdonald’s comment might’ve been a tick extreme… but not that extreme. Nobody in the NFL flinched when the clip went viral because everyone understands that winning demands sacrifice.

The 2026 season begins soon.

Brady wants what Macdonald’s Seahawks currently have.

It’ll require more than a nocturnal life.

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Modern playoff games almost always boil down to one or two plays. The chasm between winning and losing is razor thin.

Coaches who master split-second decisions are at the advantage. It’s why the Bills put all candidates through rigorous game-management testing. If one game goes haywire, that’s understandable. Nine years’ worth of January failings is a trend that bakes into the subconscious of an entire organization. Doom becomes the expectation. This is what Pegula was referencing by that “proverbial playoff wall.” I get the general populace going berserk over his Keon Coleman dig. Most people are offended by their own shadow nowadays. But the press conference quote that should’ve caught fire was when the owner got real on McDermott.

“It’s not an easy decision. Trust me,” Pegula said. “But what is success? Is success being in the playoffs seven years in a row with no Super Bowl appearance?”

He let those words hang in suspense.

Nobody knows yet how Brady handles this imperative aspect of the game because there’s no way to simulate fourth and 2 from midfield with 1:35 remaining in front of 60,000 fans. He knows this.

All holistic messaging, however, is supported by action.

During his interview for the job, Brady used the word “attack” often. Up in the booth as a playcaller, he explained, it drove him mad when communication to Allen shut off at the 15-second mark of the play clock and defenses started to disguise and deceive. He wants opposing playcallers to feel this raw helplessness, to scream “F—k!” in horror like he would. Coaches who faced this Bills D years past also informed the team’s brass during the interview process just how stagnant and predictable their defense was to face presnap.

Bend-don’t-break logic doesn’t fly against quarterbacks capable of killing you with a thousand paper cuts.

On 52 non-kneeldown drives in their last six playoff defeats, the Bills have surrendered 25 TDs, 13 field goals and 3.83 points per drive while creating only three turnovers and forcing only 12 punts with one missed field goal.

Offensively, expect changes. Gameplans in the past could become too hyper-focused on the opposition. If the Bills faced an elite passer — like Patrick Mahomes, for example — the edict from above was often to play keepaway. Play safe. Nerves were obvious in the head coach ahead of those Kansas City Chiefs playoff games. Several sources inside the building still diagnose those 13 fateful seconds at Arrowhead Stadium (and the game’s bizarre aftermath) as the moment that broke this franchise’s psychology.

The roster is much different. Now, the head coach is different.

It’s worth noting that Brady wasn’t even around for the team’s debilitating 2021 divisional playoff loss in KC and that he only has glowing things to say about his former boss.

Finally, Buffalo can start anew.

Walking the halls those other six days of the week, Brady won’t resemble a Tin Man. He’s the opposite of tight. He’s the first to point out that this doesn’t mean he won’t make mistakes. His hope is for the Bills to possess enough “competitive stamina” to forget whatever happened the previous day, to shake off an inevitable last-second loss instead of letting it become the team’s identity. Speeches. Play style. Personnel. He plans on doing everything in his power to make such a fearless mentality infectious. Starting… now. Players are officially back for offseason workouts.

It’s “two-fold,” he adds. Brady needs the Bills defense to bring this energy.

“And if we talk about ourselves (on defense) like we’re on a level of Patrick Mahomes and Joe Burrow, then we’re going to be able to play with that mindset,” Brady says. “If we just talk about like, ‘yeah, they’re above us and they’re so much better than us,’ we might start second-guessing: ‘Can I go make that play?’ And that’s why I want the personalities of the guys that are going to come in with that mentality. And it’s not only about Josh Allen, but damn, we got Josh Allen.”

Through the free agency frenzy, Brady sat in on all transactions (and near transactions).

Watching Beane work the phones agent to agent to agent was vertigo-inducing.

There were times the head coach thought the GM should hang up on agents jerking the Bills around. As he learned, there are layers to the job. That agent pissing off the Bills may represent someone in their building. Or another player they’re pursuing.

“I enjoy coaching way more now,” Brady says, “because there’s no way in hell I could do that.”

The head coach is thrilled with all moves made to smash that wall. Before March, Brady calls the idea of acquiring this talent a “pipe dream.”

Player to player, Brady details what has him excited.

He sees himself in Dee Alford. After the signing, Brady caught up with the team’s new nickel cornerback and learned this Division II product who played in the CFL was out of a job throughout COVID. He worked the night shift at FedEx, trained, stayed ready, got his shot and earned this NFL life. (“This is the type of guy that I want on my team.”) Brady worked with DJ Moore in Carolina, of course, and knows the Bills need a separator in the room. (“Ecstatic to be able to work with him and put him in our crew. I was pumped about that one.”)

Back to his days as a Saints grunt, Brady has made a habit of taking notes on players that gave him fits. Safeties Harrison Smith and Budda Baker earned high praise. Back then, intel was chronicled in a literal notebook. Today, he keeps a running file on his tablet.

Chauncey Gardner-Johnson made the file. He wants this championship swagger on his defense.

Bradley Chubb was a player he took a ton of notes on. Brady and new DC Jim Leonhard view the ex-Bronco, ex-Dolphin as a perfect scheme fit who’ll stay on the field all four downs. The head coach expects Greg Rousseau and Chubb to shut down the edges vs. the run and — another year removed from a torn ACL — for Chubb to invigorate this pass rush. Perhaps most importantly? There was a “C” on his chest. The more Brady spoke to people, the more he realized Chubb was a captain for reasons beyond his play. (“He’ll do wonders for this locker room, this organization.”)

Now, the honeymoon is over.

Last week, I touched base with one ex-Bill who shed light on the HC-QB dynamic in Part III our ’23 series. With five exclamation points, he assures via text that players love Brady. Now, it’s simple. He listed off four unknowns. We’ll see if Brady can handle the surface-of-the-sun heat associated with the job, manage games late, truly lead a roomful of grown men through hard times and surround himself with assistants who’ll cover his blind spots. On this final point, Brady was ecstatic to land longtime New Orleans Saints lieutenant Pete Carmichael as his OC. When Brees is enshrined into Canton, Brady knows the quarterback will be thanking Carmichael. “An absolute stud,” Brady says. “He’s ours now. He was the most important get for me.”

Like the spring of 2013 at William & Mary, Brady applied his offensive brain to defense in hiring Leonhard to stress opposing playcallers.

No coach knows how he’ll handle the job until they’re in the job.

This ex-player’s advice? Be humble “and get out of the damn way.”

“It’s about Josh, the locker room and that city,” this player says. “If he understands that, he will win a trophy. If he thinks it’s about him and he’s special, he will fail to.”

The city is dying for that trophy. One generation endured four straight Super Bowl defeats. The next, a 17-year playoff drought. Now, they’ve got a future Hall of Fame quarterback with nothing to show for it. No QB in NFL history has won more playoff games (eight) than Allen without an appearance in the big game. Brady is fully aware that reaching the Super Bowl is officially the year-to-year expectation.

When I ask what makes him the man for this moment, he admits he hasn’t even thought about the Lombardi Trophy.

When he won a national title at LSU, he never touched the hardware. Never even saw it up close.

He’s sure he’ll feel something if he ever hoists the sterling silver this February.

“I’ve been here long enough to see the impact that it would have on the guys that I coach and this freakin’ city,” Brady says. “That means way more to me. That drives me. I get to coach football, but the people that I get to do it for is what matters to me. And we have such a good locker room. I’ve been fortunate that I’m in a place that I already know the people, both outside the building and in the building. The expectations that this city has? It’s what I have.”

When Brady walked into new Highmark Stadium recently, he was awestruck. It hit him. For as long as this building exists, he is the one calling the first play. Briefly, Brady allows himself to look into the future. The new man in charge may be a refreshing gust of calm who embraces all JA17-centric math, who gets all 53 players to stay in attack mode, who’s prepared for every conceivable scenario.

The ball will be kicked off. The play clock will start winding down. In that exact moment, the gravity of his reality will become very real.

“I won’t be nervous,” he says with a pause. “But an emotion will hit me.”

Sleeping on a mattress — not on a hotel floor — should guarantee maximum focus. (With the help of a Fast Twich or four.)

Perhaps a variation of Dad’s triple option is the ticket.

That is, of course, assuming a backup wide receiver on the sideline isn’t overcome with the sudden urge to sprint onto the field.

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ORCHARD PARK, NY — Staring down, he taps his foot on the hard carpet underneath his soles. There’s no cushion, no give at all. The sight of something so dull transports Joe Brady back in time. All the way back to Jan. 6, 2013. He was a college senior with exactly zero coaching prospects at the national coaching convention in Nashville.

He was also exceptionally naïve.

Brady knew that his buddy, DJ Mangas, had a hotel room at the convention’s Gaylord Opryland resort and figured he was good to go. The two were college teammates at William & Mary and Mangas, now coaching at D-III Hampden-Sydney, assured Brady he could tag along. Surely, this meant two beds for two guests. Yet when he showed up, Brady realized there were three Hampden-Sydney coaches bunking in this room.

He was the outsider.

There were no blankets to spare. Mangas threw him a pillow.

Brady taps his foot again.

“I was literally on this,” he says.

Somehow, Brady was more distressed during the day than at night. In his mind? Landing a full-time job was a slam dunk at this monstrous convention. Brady had two boxes of business cards printed up and Brady was already emailing his cover letter and resume to coaches coast to coast. He was the overzealous job seeker initiating conversation with everyone. In his mind? It’d only take one. Just one coach amongst the hundreds of D-I, D-II and D-III coaches in attendance to believe.

“Basically doing what the high school kid does with his highlight tape,” Brady says. “Will anybody give me an opp?”

Uh, no.

All cards, all resumes were treated with the tender love and care of junk mail and those annoying fliers pinned underneath a windshield.

He left town thinking he may never coach.

“It was depressing,” Brady says.

Thirteen years later, he landed the most prestigious sports job on the market. The college kid who just might’ve sold his soul to work 100 hours a week as a graduate assistant for Timbuktu Tech is the new head coach of the Buffalo Bills. Nine coaches in all interviewed for the position — Terry Pegula, Brandon Beane and the Bills brass chose the man in their building with zero head-coaching experience on that updated resume. Brady inherits a perennial title contender piloted by an MVP quarterback. A future Hall of Fame quarterback. He was hired to accomplish exactly what his predecessor could not.

Get to a Super Bowl. Win a Super Bowl.

How does he handle this pressure? He points to those three nights in Tennessee.

“By remembering,” he says, “that I slept on a floor in a hotel room.”

He thinks back to defying his coaches as the sixth wide receiver on the high school depth chart. It got him to college. He thinks back to teaching himself how to write scouting reports in ‘13. It got him his first job. He thinks back to how his relationship with quarterback Josh Allen first bloomed. A partnership was born.

“Don’t change who you are just because you got another opportunity,” he continues. “I work with the same mindset.”

That’s a man who walked into the building this morning wearing shorts. It was 15 degrees and snowing. Tall ‘n pale ‘n perpetually bounding room to room on the strength of far too many energy drinks, it doesn’t appear as if his eyebrows have ever tilted in 45-degree rage. Don’t let kindness fool you. In the cutthroat terrain of pro football, Joe Brady has always been a carnivore who seizes the moment. Everyone may think they know the man who’s been calling plays for 2 ½ seasons. Fans love nothing more than the mysterious unknown and Brady — by a landslide — was the most known candidate interviewing to replace Sean McDermott. News of his hiring was initially treated by locals like receiving a new pair of socks on Christmas morning. Well, if those socks were first soaked in the old stadium’s urinal trough on a hot summer day.

There’s always been more to this coach than the wide receiver screen you hate or hook and ladder you love.

Who is Joe Brady?

He’s hesitant to answer, describing himself as a “close-to-the-vest guy.” An introvert. Until one story flows to the next, and the next, and the next, and two hours pass. A portrait sharpens this conversation with Go Long. He’d go even longer if not for his assistant texting that he’s due for a meeting. Time will tell if a total reset was needed. One fact is indisputable. This 36-year-old from South Florida is a striking contrast from the man he’ll replace precisely where it matters for this team at this time. Presented with an opportunity, he does not vacillate and overanalyze until that opportunity passes him by.

Brady attacks.

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His press conferences will likely meander. Brady jokingly crowns himself the worst person to ever speak at a podium because his only goal in that setting is to protect his players.

“I’ll take the blame. I’ll eat it. I’ll praise when it’s good and, when it’s bad, I’ll take it,” Brady says. “But with my guys, I curse a lot. I’m passionate. There is an edge to me that I choose not to show to the outside world.”

That edge is the real story.

An intense confidence rooted in what nobody sees.

“I know how hard I work, how hard the coaching staff works, how hard the players work,” Brady says. “You need an edge going into that game. I’ll set my jaw. I want everybody to know that we’re going to try to make it a game they don’t want to play. I need that persona, that mindset. It’s not fake. It’s who I am.”

Hesitate for one second in high school, in college, in the pros and Brady knows for damn sure he isn’t sitting right here.

He starts the only place he can. The good ‘ol days of youth sports when Dad coached him in everything.

“Man,” Brady begins, “he was hard as hell on me.”

Joe Brady III routinely threw Joe Brady IV out of games, benched him, punished him and… yeah. It was warranted. Son was a ticking time bomb. Son admits his temper ran boiling hot because, plainly, he despised losing. Thinking back, he’s not sure parents even deploy this form of discipline anymore. But if he threw his bat in a baseball game, Brady was told to sit down and write six words repeatedly. I will not throw my bat. I will not throw my bat. I will not throw my bat. A real-life Bart Simpson in detention.

Drives home from practices and games were always contentious.

One baseball season, Brady vividly remembers hoping someone other than his own father drafted him.

Switching back ‘n forth between different sports got tiresome, so he admits his mindset “probably sucked.”

He gives Dad a hard time but relives all of this with immense reverence. Today, Brady hopes he’s home in time for his son’s bedtime routine when he knows his own father was back to throw a ball around every single day. All Joe III wanted for Joe IV is the father-son relationship he never had — and the football future he let slip way. Dad was a star running back in high school, briefly enrolled at Clemson and it didn’t last long. He planned on transferring to Florida State, to walk onto Bobby Bowden’s team, but those plans fizzled. Son only says that Dad “was a knucklehead idiot.” In sum, he didn’t have parents instructing him to suck it up through hard times.

He quit. A lifelong regret.

Eventually, Dad ran his own company but he made a point to tell Joe that if he ended up working for him at Brady Fire Equipment, then he failed as a parent. He pushed him.

Adds Brady: “He wanted me to do more.”

Day-to-day pressure that presented a young Joe Brady with a choice. He could repel, rebel, refuse such a life.

Instead, the two became exceptionally close. Brady knew his father’s heart was in the right place.

South Florida was the perfect sports breeding ground, too. This is where dreams become reality. Thinking back, one reason Brady believes he relates to players and coaches from all backgrounds today is geography. Outside of baseball tournaments in Cooperstown and North Carolina, he never left the state. All while sports constituted his entire life. His grandfather was an original season ticketholder for the Miami Dolphins. The Joes must’ve talked about something other than sports at some point in life, but nothing comes to mind.

To this day, Dad is his most trusted consigliere.

Never matters what time it is. Brady calls him after every practice. If the Bills face the New York Jets that week, they dissect the defense. Joe II isn’t afraid to offer a suggestion or two. Back when Brady was the offensive coordinator at LSU, Dad drew up a triple-option play on the board he thought his son should implement. The ball is handed off to a running back and that running back reads the defensive end. He can either keep it or pitch it back to the quarterback.

Son politely informed his father that LSU’s quarterback was Joe Burrow. Two simple words then had him fuming.

Son dismissed such a design as… “old school.”

“Man,” says Brady, shaking his head, “that pissed him off.”

That fall, naturally, Oklahoma’s Lincoln Riley ran this exact play with quarterback Kyler Murray and Dad texted the video to his son quickly as his thumbs permitted. Old school, huh? Joe IV reminded him that Burrow and Murray are quite different. But later, as the Buffalo Bills’ playcaller this past season, you guessed it, Brady had running back Ty Johnson leading quarterback Josh Allen through the hole in a game vs. the Pittsburgh Steelers. Dad brought it up again.

“He’ll be wrong,” Brady says, “but I don’t know if he’ll admit when he’s wrong.”

The same day the Bills smashed those Steelers, 220 miles away, Brady’s wife gave birth to a baby girl.

He missed it all.

He wants to be a present father to his two kids. It won’t be easy as the new head coach of the Buffalo Bills.

Quarterback was the position he played his entire life. Quarterback was his destiny. In another lifetime, Joe Brady and Geno Smith engage in 48-45 shootouts galore in South Florida. The two attended rival high schools. Those dreams, however, were swiftly dashed ahead of Brady’s freshman year.

Don’t pan your pregame binoculars toward Brady expecting to see whistling fastballs delivered between the numbers of receivers. To this day, he struggles to throw a football. That’s because during a camp at St. Thomas Aquinas, Brady threw out his shoulder. “Dead arm,” he calls it. He paid the price for throwing with all arm — no lower body torque at all — in both football and baseball.

This injury also served as the first major tipping point in his football life.

Brady switched to wide receiver. (“My Dad was just so pissed. You know, here’s this tall, goofy kid: ‘You’re not going to be a wideout.’”) On the JV team, Brady scored touchdowns on his first eight receptions. (Dad was now all-in.) Moving up to the varsity team, there was only one problem. Into his junior year, during a camp in Orlando, a coach called for five wides and didn’t mention his name. The coaches at Everglades High School did not view Brady as one of the five best receivers on his own team. “This is not good,” Brady told himself.

He didn’t transfer, instead choosing to stay ready.

The first drive of the first game that 2006 season — against local power Chaminade–Madonna — one receiver suffered an injury. And before a coach on the sideline even called the name for a replacement, Joe Brady rushed onto the field. Didn’t think twice. Didn’t care. All animalistic instinct told him to go. First play, the quarterback threw him a hitch for eight yards. Brady stayed in the game. Brady caught another pass, then another, and led his team in receiving this 34-13 defeat.

Yes, on the sideline, he was chastised for insubordination.

Yes, he was sent right back to the bottom of the depth chart into Week 2.

He proved a point, too.

That week, Brady was eating a bowl of pasta and meatballs when a coach informed him he’d be starting because a handful of his teammates got in trouble. He scored a touchdown in a 14-7 win over Nova, again led Everglades in receiving and — suddenly — the name Joe Brady ranked near the top of receiving stats in talent-rich Broward County.

Division I football became a realistic destination. He was even asked to do an interview on Miami television.

After fielding questions from a local station, walking back, Brady’s hamstring and glute felt tight. He didn’t think it was a big deal. Brady tried to practice and informed his coach he couldn’t even move. He underwent testing at the hospital, was sent home and nobody was too concerned. The next morning, he tried to get out of bed and fell. He couldn’t even stand on that leg. More testing revealed that Brady needed to be transported to the children’s hospital. ASAP. He had a staph infection, MRSA, and it had gotten into his bloodstream.

On the drive, he asked a paramedic if this was bad. The gentleman did exactly nothing to quell his fears. “There’s a chance you can lose your leg,” he deadpanned.

Brady freaked out, understandably.

“Wait, what?!” he replied. Don’t tell me that!’”

Here at Bills HQ, he points through the window toward a nearby car. Walking that short distance, about 20 feet, would take him 15 agonizing minutes. Nobody knows what caused the infection.

From the hospital that Friday night, he watched his own interview on TV.

Then, the game.

It was heartbreaking.

“For me, I had football,” Brady says. “I was so proud of staying with it, staying locked with it, finally getting an opportunity to go, staying ready when my time came. I was ready. And then finally when I was able to get the opportunity, it was taken away.”

He spent two full weeks in the hospital and lost close to 15 pounds. But with loss, came a totally new perspective on life: Appreciation. One sprint onto the field led to one ball thrown his direction and a sliver of success. Brady realized right then just how much he loved football. Needed football. So he quit baseball altogether to pour all focus, all attention into excelling on the gridiron at Everglades.

“A huge moment in my career,” Brady says, “that is so small.”

One school took notice: the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. On his visit, Brady watched highlights of future NFL assistant coach Chad Hall tearing up Notre Dame for 142 yards on 32 carries. Head coach Troy Calhoun had just taken over after coordinating the Houston Texans offense and made it seem as if the Falcons were modernizing into a pro-style offense that’d allow him to flourish out wide.

Brady chose the Air Force and, soon enough, was doing running back drills himself.

He also had broken his wrist in a high school all-star game before stepping foot on campus. Brady didn’t tell anybody because he figured he could tough this out. His first scrimmage with the Falcons, he broke it again and needed surgery.

Football — again — was snatched from him. Only, this time, there was no kicking his feet up on a hospital bed. Brady continued to push his body through hell as a cadet in basic training. He admits he didn’t exactly do his research on day-to-day life at the Air Force. Brady didn’t even eat the first three days of basic training because he didn’t know how to properly ask for food.

Fun was limited. Military life is not the normal freshman college experience.

“But I wish everybody would have to go through a basic training,” Brady says. “When you go from being an 18-year-old to being on your own, and you can’t think for the next eight weeks, it breaks you a little bit. So much of who I am was a product of my upbringing and then the rebranding once I went to the academy.”

If football was going to stay central to his life, though, another aggressive move on the chess board was required. ASAP. One member of Brady’s squadron had the same football aspirations as him, suffered an injury, then never sniffed the field again. A cadet who now attended the Air Force for military purposes only. It spooked Brady. He was here for one reason — football — and feared future recruiting waves would wash him away, too. So, he decided to transfer.

Dad was livid. Dad saw his own life repeating in his son. “Like, ‘Oh my God, this is my life. I can’t F up my son’s life in the same moment,’” Brady recalls. But if there’s a theme to his rise, it’s the melodic blend of hardship and instinctual conviction.

With Dad’s assistance — perhaps too much assistance, he jokes — Brady transitioned to William & Mary.

Leaning back, Brady cannot help but crack a smile and laugh. He did not suddenly live happily ever after.

One week into spring ball under Jimmye Laycock at this FCS school, he broke his foot running a route… against air. Because of course he did. Brady knows how this all sounds and agrees he was an injury-riddled mess. Initially, he thought this was only a sprained ankle. As the new guy going full Rudy Ruettiger to make an impression on the staff, no way was Brady reporting this injury to the training staff. Fresh off that broken wrist, he didn’t want anyone thinking he was brittle. He played doctor. He treated himself. Inside his dorm room, Brady Googled various remedies and learned all about RICE (rest, ice, compress, elevate) in a slapdash attempt to fix himself.

Soon, Brady had no choice but to seek help.

He spent all of spring ball in a walking boot.

The good news? Brady never suffered another injury. Bad news? Brady barely sniffed the field. His name was never invoked by coaches for dynamite plays to be deployed on Saturdays. Rather, a hint of disdain on the scout team. When William & Mary prepared to face the ACC’s North Carolina Tar Heels, Brady snatched an in-breaking route and defensive coordinator Bob Shoop lost his mind. Brady imitates Shoop’s scratchy voice here to a T. “Repeat the play!” the coach shouted. “If Joe Braaaaa-deee is catching balls on us, what do you think North Carolina’s going to do?!”

Says Brady: “I was like, ‘Damn, Shoop!’”

NFL ball was not an option. Sorry, pops.

In four seasons with the Tribe, he caught all of three passes for 34 yards.

“Balling,” he says. “I can name all those catches.”

When Brady thought he’d finally get a shot at substantive offensive snaps, into his junior year, William & Mary brought in a wide receiver who was clearly more talented: Tre McBride. Rather than treat McBride as a dragon to slay or toil in self-pity, Brady (again) manufactured an opportunity. He genuinely tried to coach up a kid out to render him obsolete. McBride was skeptical. At first, he couldn’t trust a teammate who was this helpful, this generous. But for Brady, the relationship was an awakening. He understood exactly how to run routes — releases off the line, stems at the top of routes, etc. — but physically could not do it.

Now, in a way, he could play vicariously through a 6-foot, 210-pound weapon from McDonough, Ga. McBride heeded every morsel of advice, took Brady’s spot, and blossomed into one of the school’s best offensive players ever. After catching 64 passes for 809 yards with four scores, he was drafted by the Tennessee Titans and kicked around the league for five teams.

Too often, Brady would get knocked off a route, ask “What should I do differently?” and simply hear a coach tell him to do something different.

He embraced life teaching the why. This was a calling.

“The moment,” Brady says, “I was like, ‘Alright, I need to coach.’”

Of course, Brady was also a double major at William & Mary, the second-oldest institution of higher education in the United States next to Harvard. This school’s been around since 1693. Undergrads don’t kill themselves over midterms and dissertations here to become a coach. They’re seeking six- and seven-figure jobs at Fortune 500 companies, not shameless QC gigs demanding 100 hours a week for humiliating pay. Sane third parties on campus — professors, classmates, etc. — considered this a harebrained master plan.

“Like, what a waste of education,” Brady says. “And I don’t mean that in a negative way. But you don’t go to William & Mary to be like, ‘Hey, I’m going to go be a coach now.’ I could have just done that anywhere.”

Yet, he craved the sport’s entry-level serfdom and all insomnia, all microwavable dinners that came with it.

Which brings us back to that concrete-soft carpet.

He’s one of 32 head coaches. Elite company. The face of an organization. But if this was Joe the Janitor or Joey Ticket Sales, there’s a good chance a member of the Buffalo Bills’ security staff would stop this employee in his tracks on the walkway to ask a.) why he’s up at 3:20 a.m.; and b.) why he’s wearing shorts in freezing temps.

This is no performance for social media. It’s who Joe Brady’s always been. Ask any player inside this Buffalo Bills locker room about Brady and they’ll inevitably cite his magnetic energy. How he’s a relentless tidal wave of positivity.

For a team led by the same man the last nine years, it’s severely needed. And natural.

I ask Brady where this all comes from, and he points to this all being an innate passion.

“When people are around me,” he says, “I think they can feel that. I’m not trying to be energetic. I’m not trying to be a hoo-rah guy. I’m trying to be myself. But people can feel that. I’m getting to live my dreams and do exactly what I want to do and, honestly, where I want to do it. That makes it easy. You get to come to work and it’s not like I have to be like, ‘Ugh. Here we go. I’m going to have to put on a show today.’ Yeah, I drink a lot of caffeine, but there’s no fake…”

A lot of caffeine, as in… how much today exactly? Well, Brady needed to get his blood drawn so it’s been a mild morning. An espresso, caffeine gum and, finally, Gatorade Fast Twitch No. 1 are powering him through. The caffeine element of this energy drink beverage is real — each bottle contains 200 mg of caffeine. He’ll typically drink three or four per day. And two Espresso’s. And two MEG Caffeine Gum pieces.

That’s the offseason.

During the season, those numbers all go up.

Brady does replenish his system with ample H2O, and the team nutritionist assures he’s got nothing to worry about. The same probably cannot be said for the coach calling himself “C12” in Foxborough.

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Moments later, he’s still thinking about that “energy” question and pinpoints a day he’ll never forget — Jan. 6, 2013 — because it was the same day rookie Robert Griffin Jr. tore up his knee in the NFC wild card. His buddy, DJ Mangas, grew up a diehard Washington Redskins fan and they watched this game on at TV at the Gaylord Opryland Resort in Nashville on Day 1 of that American Football Coach Association (AFCA) convention.

Those fruitless three days were the turning point of his entire life.

Mangas, a year older, was already coaching quarterbacks at D-III Hampden-Sydney. Brady toted a bag of nice clothes, business cards and a notebook with the expectation, teetering on a full-fledged guarantee, that he’d land a job of his own in this psychotic world of coaching. Upon arrival, he realized he wouldn’t even have his own bed. Two of Mangas’ fellow coaches packed in the room, too.

Hampden-Sydney DC Wes Dodson had booked the room for himself, Mangas and fellow assistant Ahmaad Smith.

The convention rotates to a new city each year. Many speeches are given. Notepad in hand, Brady took copious amounts of notes. (Still has those notes, too.) He remembers Shannon Dawson, West Virginia’s offensive coordinator, discussing wide receiver technique. The previous year, Tavon Austin and Stedman Bailey tore up the Big 12. A coach from North Dakota State, Craig Bohl, was honored as the FCS Coach of the Year. At one point, the ex-William & Mary DC Shoop took a crew to a nice breakfast spot. He now coached at nearby Vanderbilt.

Wisdom was shared by all. Brady was a sponge.

Brady was also here with one goal in mind: Get a damn job.

He received a tinge of interest from FCS Marist and D-II Findlay (Ohio) before both admitted they couldn’t seriously consider him because he was still in school.

Room to room, Brady encountered mobs of young coaches gunning for jobs and promotions — a humbling reminder that he was not alone. Any 23-year-old seeking a job can feel like a guppy lost in a sea of candidates. Schools and schools of coaches swim into the same speeches… engage in the same small talk… take the same notes. An intimidating scene. Those pre-NIL days, stacks of cash weren’t piled in the coffers. “Analyst” positions weren’t concocted out of thin air. Colleges had a finite number of positions available.

“Oh my goodness,” says Dodson, now the head coach at D-III LaGrange. “There’s just so many people. That’s what people don’t understand. The coaching profession is not easy to get into because there’s more coaches than there are jobs.”

Dodson remembers booking the room. Details are hazy. He, too, had slept on his share of floors and chairs over the years. But even though he had coached at William & Mary himself in the past and his stepson played at the school, Dodson never met Brady before. Never even spoke to him before the kid showed up.

Brady’s energy stood out. He was “on the run” nonstop.

To this day, with pride, Dodson tells colleagues: “Joe Brady slept on my floor.”

“You can tell people that are always willing to just go and talk to people — they’re going to make something of themselves,” Dodson says. “They’re not afraid to go get something if they want it. That’s what you do as a young coach. Any way you can find a room to sleep in, you find a way. And that’s what he’s done. He found a way.”

Still, in the moment, the trip felt like one gigantic swing and miss. Nobody at this de facto job fair understood the Real Joe Brady. Upon landing back to Williamsburg, Va., he could’ve pivoted and put his education to use. Coaches across America most certainly threw his business cards into the trash. He only received a handful of automatic replies on email. Three collegiate receptions at a small school don’t exactly send a bat signal. Everyone in life must come to grips with football passing them by. It’s sad.

Yet, Brady did not bail. Brady refused to stay discouraged for long. Much like a 17-year-old quarterback on the other side of the country, in Firebaugh, Calif., reaching out to every Division I football coach he possibly could and hearing nothing back this same year.

He took a deep breath and looked around. The Tribe hired a new OC in Kevin Rogers this spring. Brady viewed this as another chance to learn. The longtime coach had Donovan McNabb at Syracuse and Brett Favre with the Minnesota Vikings. Brady loitered around Rogers’ office as much possible, soaking up as much knowledge as he could. Right around then, one of the Tribe’s assistant coaches on defense, John Bowes, took a new job at Fordham.

Brady walked into Laycock’s office to say he wanted a job. “He laughed at me,” Brady recalls, “and told me to get the hell out of his office. ‘Beat it geek,’ in so many words.” It wasn’t personal. Laycock explained to his backup wide receiver that this isn’t something he does. Never before had Laycock hired one of his players directly to the staff.

“Well,” Brady told him, “I’d be a great first.’”

Brady kept hanging around… hanging around… and chipped in with spring ball.

The reason Laycock shunned his own players fresh off the graduation stage is that he didn’t want assistants coaching their buddies. He believed in a healthy separation between church and state. There’s a first for everything. Both DC Scott Boone and D-Line coach Trevor Andrews thought Brady had potential. Put him on defense, they told Laycock, and he would be with a totally different crew. Boone saw a promising “football junkie.” The head coach started warming up to the idea and, as graduation loomed, informed Brady that he was bringing in three coaches to essentially audition for a linebackers position. He’d be one of the candidates.

At some point, Laycock would then decide who gets the job.

He told Brady to get the heck out of dodge after graduating. Relax. Recharge his batteries.

Yeah, right. No chance was Brady going to decelerate now.

All coaches on staff hit the recruiting trail and Brady stayed right inside the football offices preparing for his one shot. He studied the Tribe’s playbook to biblical proportions, teaching himself defensive football. He looked ahead, too. Brady authored detailed scouting reports on every single one of William & Mary’s 2013 opponents. He knew diddly poo about playing linebacker, but Brady applied what he did know — offense — to each report. The Tribe’s first opponent was West Virginia. The year prior, his old high school foe in Miramar, Fla. (Geno Smith) lit up defenses. He explained how the Mountaineers incinerated defenses.

Brady knows himself, too. He would’ve gone insane back home in waiting mode.

All instinct told him to stay right there inside those offices and teach himself how to break down tape.

“So when those coaches came back, everything was ready for them,” Brady says. “Just go. Just go. Why am I going to go away and let two other guys have an opportunity at the job?’ And I didn’t sit there and think like, ‘Oh, if I’m sticking around, it’s going to be my job.’ But, one, where am I going to go? I get to be in the office and learn the defense. I looked at it as, ‘Here I am as an offensive coach. I can bring value. I might not bring any value as a defense. I probably didn’t know anything like looking back. But I thought I could bring value as an offensive-minded guy on defense.”

Nobody told Brady to sprint onto the field for that eight-yard hitch at Everglades.

Nobody advised he sleep on a hotel floor.

Nobody made him stay at school and prepare scouting reports.

He sees an opportunity, smells blood, leaves zero doubt.

“I got the job, basically, by not leaving,” Brady says. “I was the grinder. You figure out what everybody needs and do that. Your job is to try to make everybody’s life easier.”

When coaches returned to campus, the reports were done. They were stunned. Brady remembers Boone putting it bluntly to the head boss. “Shit,” he said, “we might as well hire him.”

Brady watched clinic tape of Penn State’s Tom Bradley to learn this funky new position. He had talent in his room. Luke Rhodes has been the Indianapolis Colts’ long-snapper for 10 years and counting. It also helped that the DC, Boone, coached linebackers.

Cite the harsh reality of this industry to Boone — how those clinics are flooded with candidates — and he interjects.

“There’s a bunch of guys that want to coach, but there’s not that many guys who want to be a coach,” says Boone, now a special teams coach at Duke. “We talk about it all the time. There’s guys who are fans with whistles and guys who are coaches. And guys who are coaches don’t get caught up in all the things: the gear, the trips, the travel, the hotel. They get caught up in the ball.

“You can’t dip your toe in it. You’ve got to jump in with your full body. And Joe — early — was one of those guys.”

Endorsing Brady was a no-brainer — because of this work ethic — but then his offensive acumen popped. Defensive coaches thought they knew what offenses were trying to accomplish on certain plays. Inside meetings, Boone says, the young Brady often corrected them. “That’s not really what is happening,” he’d say. “They’re doing this to create this matchup.” He was right. That season, William & Mary’s defense held opponents to 10 points or less in six games.

Boone saw a young coach dying to learn and evolve. Every day.

“That’s probably why his track has been as fast as it has,” he says.

No kidding. When Boone headed to Nevada into 2014, Brady assumed autonomy over those linebackers for a full season and his career then took off like a rocket ship.

To Penn State as a grad assistant. Shoop, the coach needling him as a player, was the DC who helped bring him to Happy Valley.

To the New Orleans Saints as an offensive assistant. He treasured access to an all-time great coach (Sean Payton) and quarterback (Drew Brees).

To LSU as the pass game coordinator. Pressure was high. Heading into that 2019 season, Brady knew that his boss, head coach Ed Orgeron, was squarely on the hot seat with an 11-11 record through two seasons. If his offense stunk it up? Coach O was getting fired. Brady had never called one play before in his life. “Just like that guy running out on the field,” Brady recalls. “Don’t change who you are just because you got another opportunity.” LSU humiliated defenses weekly en route to a national title. Burrow enjoyed one of the finest seasons in college football history. Just like that, he was the new boy wonder in this profession.

To the Carolina Panthers as an OC. The same season his greatest weapon (Christian McCaffrey) barely played and his quarterback play was bottom tier, Brady squeezed 1,000-yard seasons out of four players: D.J. Moore, Robbie Anderson, Curtis Samuel and Mike Davis. But this 1 ½-year run was a crash-landing to that proverbial carpet. A nightmare. Brady’s tone changes from biographical to introspective thinking back to his time as the youngest active offensive coordinator in the league. Ego entered the equation.

The 30-year-old Brady thought he needed to act a certain way and admits he did not make his job about the players. Scheme dictated all in his mind.

“If I try to be someone that I’m not, if I try to act like someone that I’m not, if I try to think I have all the answers, I’ll fail,” Brady says. “And in elements of myself, I did that in Carolina. I told myself if I ever get that opportunity again, I’m not going to do that.

“That’s not who I am. Don’t get me wrong, I love going into the office and drawing stuff up. But when I’m with my guys, I need them to know that it’s not about the scheme. We’re going to win because of you guys.”

Coaches can go through their 30s, their 40s, their 50s and never accept that players should take precedence over plays. This concept is a central theme in Michael Silver’s excellent “The Why is Everything.” Kyle Shanahan quickly gained notoriety as the sport’s most inventive play designer, but it took years for the San Francisco 49ers brainiac to value the gifts of individual players ahead of those X’s and O’s devised in the middle of the night. Bring up Shanahan’s name and Brady points out a key distinction.

Shanahan was winning and winning before finally evolving.

“I had to fail for that to happen,” Brady says. “How many times did Shanahan fail? The best thing that ever happened to me was getting fired.”

Brady did not want to chase another OC gig. Not yet.

He needed a total reset and coaching quarterbacks for the Buffalo Bills made perfect sense. Everyone else in town — OC Ken Dorsey, QB Josh Allen, etc. — knew the offense better than him, which forced Brady to open his eyes and reexamine offensive football. One thing went right in Carolina. Sam Darnold, one of his rotating Panthers QBs, must’ve enjoyed something about his coaching. Because if Darnold trashed his name to Allen, a close buddy, no way he gets this job.

Heading into Orchard Park, Brady knew all about Allen, the player.

He didn’t know Allen, the person.

That changed immediately.

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Read Part II here.

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