Josh Allen, reborn
The heart and soul of the Buffalo Bills sits down with Go Long for an exclusive 1 on 1. As he enters the next stage of his football life, Josh Allen has more clarity than ever.
Go Long sat down 1 on 1 with Buffalo Bills quarterback Josh Allen.
The former MVP opens up on everything.
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.
“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.”
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.”
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.”
This rejuvenation is welcome news, and it’s precisely why the coach had to change. It’s just human nature.
At a certain point, the baggage just becomes too much.
It's so refreshing to see a rejuvenated Josh soaking in all the life changes in the offseason. This is certainly a different Josh than the one we've seen sitting dejectedly on the sidelines all too often during the past few seasons. I can't wait to see him unleashed with a decidedly more aggressive and creative playbook along with a quick connection with DJ Moore.