PRO DAY AND THE INEXACT SCIENCE OF NFL SCOUTING
After so many years, and so many trips, these college football practice facilities all begin to look the same. They all have the same brushed steel and wood interiors—masculine and calibrated to intimidate and impress. The same security keypad. The same heavy glass doors. The same more-attractive-than-necessary receptionist. The same impressive photos and jerseys of players from Good Old State U who have gone on to live their dreams in the NFL. The same trophies. The same banners boasting program achievements.
For one day each year, these facilities play host to a very select group of NFL guests—scouts, coaches, and general managers who descend upon the place and commence watching film, interviewing coaches and trainers, and trying, ultimately, to take the risk out of what is at its essence an extremely risky endeavor on which teams lose untold millions of dollars each year (see: Leaf, Ryan, and countless others). For an NFL club, spending millions on volatile college kids in the NFL draft is bad business, but it’s the kind of bad business that teams need to become reasonably good at. Hence, Pro Days, hosted on campus, in which scouts can get a look at every draftable player from a given school.
A few years ago I secured an invite to Central Michigan’s Pro Day, the year that they had a surprise first-round draft choice named Joe Staley, whose pro-day workout literally changed his life.
The scouts began arriving before dawn. Being that it was Michigan in the spring, it still felt like winter, as there was a chill in the air and a heavy frost on the ground. The Oldsmobile Aleros and Kia Spectras pulled up past the empty concrete bowl of Kelly-Shorts Stadium and, one by one, bleary-eyed serious-looking men emerged, all stamped and affiliated in officially licensed team gear. They weren’t so much individuals as symbols of the teams they represented, and the men they were there to watch weren’t so much individuals as they were collections of numbers—heights, weights, vertical jumps, bench reps, and 40-yard-dash times. Dehumanization, it seemed, was in the air.
Their process would be similar, regardless of team. They would have access to private rooms for viewing Central Michigan’s film, as well as specific film cut-ups of each player in whom they had an interest. They would receive access to the training room, where they would be able to speak to team trainers about any lingering injury issues, or simply ask the trainer if said player was a decent guy. Often these off-the-beaten-path interviews reveal a great deal more about the athlete than did talking to the athlete himself—schooled as he is in the manly art of talking a lot while revealing nothing. “Does he play through pain? How does he treat people in the program?” These are the questions that can reveal the actual substance of a man’s character.
Oddly enough, that day’s events would be formative for a number of the men involved. Central Michigan’s head coach during the 2006 season was Brian Kelly, who shortly afterward accepted a head coaching job at the University of Cincinnati. He’s currently the head coach at Notre Dame, where he took his overachieving squad to a BCS Title Game in 2012.
Another man with a lot on the line—in fact, the man I was there to write about—was defensive end Dan Bazuin. A quiet, genuinely humble (which is saying something), gentle-giant, Bazuin hailed from the tiny town of McBain, where his parents were farmers. He projected as a classic overachiever who got the most out of his 6-foot-3-inch, 272-pound frame and used it to set school and Mid-American Conference records for sacks. Bazuin didn’t like to talk. He wasn’t gregarious. He didn’t walk around like he owned the place. He didn’t have that detached strut that most elite athletes have perfected. He also didn’t fake being humble, which in my imperfect opinion is way more aggravating than actual arrogance. These are all reasons I rooted heavily for him that day. He was a good kid who, again in my imperfect opinion, deserved whatever good came his way.
After film viewing and training room visits, the scouts were herded to Central’s large weight room, featuring 7,100 square feet of state-of-the-art training gear. Here, players are officially weighed and measured, so that their program height and weight (traditionally overinflated) can be tested against reality.
“When I came to CMU, I was 215 pounds and played tight end,” said Staley in the team’s official media guide. “Since coach Longo (strength coach) came, I’ve put on almost 80 pounds but haven’t lost any of my speed. I may be an offensive lineman, but I can still run like a tight end. Our training is specific for each position, so that what we do will carry over onto the field.”1
Like Griffin’s alma mater, Central Michigan was an example of the kind of program that constantly did battle against marquee football-factory brethren for respect, coveted television slots, and recruiting talent. Subsequently they could often be seen in off-peak time slots on the ESPN family of networks. There were lots of Tuesday and Thursday night games to work around, but for Kelly, the tradeoff was worth it.
“Our goal heading into year three of this program was to increase exposure at the national level, and with this schedule and these television opportunities, we have certainly done that,” he said.2 It was that exposure, and that success, that Kelly would parlay into a job just one rung higher on the ever-changing coaching food chain.
In the weight room, as each player was weighed and measured, it was oddly quiet. It’s customary in weight rooms for rap or heavy metal music to be throbbing. That morning, there was nothing but the sound of a player’s name being called, and that player stepping to a platform to have his arms, hands, and entire body measured, and then be placed atop a scale. Often the player would remove headphones, stand for the measurements, and then put the headphones right back on. Their nerves were palpable. For the scouts, the events took on an air of grim resignation, as if they all realized how unusual it was to travel around the country, en masse, in this fashion, to weigh and measure college kids, but if one of them decided to stay home, that would be the day in which something amazing was discovered.
Bazuin measured a shade under 6 feet 4 inches tall—a little short by NFL defensive line standards. Staley measured over 6 feet 5 inches tall and just a few scant years ago was setting high school records in track, where he was a 200-meter-dash specialist.
After measurements, players began to slide beneath a bar weighted with 225 pounds—two “big plates” on each side of the bar. For most of these athletes, 225 is child’s play, but it’s a standard NFL metric just because football is a game with (unlike baseball) so few standard metrics that translate to on-field performance. As Bazuin slid under the bar and began to churn out reps, the rest of the room was stationary, save for a large group of men in NFL gear hovering over the bar and writing notes. Somebody, somewhere, shouted “let’s go Danny!” He racked the bar loudly and the next man up slid in.
Even at Central, there was a hierarchy. The players—like Bazuin, Staley, and center Drew Mormino—who had been fortunate enough to be invited to the NFL Combine, wore their Combine sweatshirts like badges of honor. They had the advantage (or disadvantage?) of having been evaluated like this before. Their sweatshirts bore NFL-assigned serial numbers such as OL 419. The others, like seniors Doug Kress and Mike Ogle, stood like cattle . . . hoping . . . praying, for a glance or word of encouragement from an NFL scout . . . anything from anyone who could validate their dream. If only they, too, could be a number.
Robert Griffin III made a statement by refusing to submit himself to a private workout with the Indianapolis Colts, owners of the number one overall pick in the NFL draft. Part of being an elite prospect means that a player can retain, and sometimes even exert, his individuality. Colts owner Jim Irsay insisted via his Twitter feed that the club hadn’t made up its mind about Andrew Luck, which may or may not have been true.
“The decision by Griffin and his agent—CAA’s Ben Dogra—should be praised,” wrote NFL.com columnist Ian Rapoport. “Griffin’s refusal to be used by teams to create leverage against other prospects, perhaps for contractual reasons, should be celebrated. In addition, Redskins fans finally found a player who is simply dying to be the face of their franchise.”3 For his part, Dogra said in the NFL.com piece: “In pretty much every case, it makes no sense . . . But in this one, it ends all speculation. This kid is legit. No need to waste his time or the franchise’s time.”4
It is, no doubt, a bold and different move by Griffin. It could be understood in one of several ways. One, Griffin was convinced that Indianapolis was taking Luck, and was just doing due diligence or trying to exercise negotiating leverage by working him out. Or perhaps Griffin was non-verbally stating his desire to come to Washington and be the face of their franchise. It’s not quite the same as LeBron compiling an All-Star team with the Miami Heat, but it is another example of an athlete with leverage using it to his full advantage. Typically, in the NFL draft process, an athlete is at the mercy of the system and must go and play where he is drafted. Few—like Bo Jackson or John Elway—have dared to manipulate the system to their own ends and been successful. The move proves that Griffin has moxie, and has an ironclad belief in his own abilities.
Griffin’s only public display of arm talent—he didn’t throw at the combine—is at his Pro Day. Blue-chip prospects will often host their own Pro Days, but Griffin instead opts to participate in Baylor’s event, doing only the throwing drills.
Though historically private affairs, ESPN has taken to covering the higher-profile Pro Days, and this one certainly qualifies.5 As is typical for him, Griffin is portrayed as relaxed and completely in command of his surroundings. He wears an Adidas shirt already emblazoned with one of his catchphrases, “No Pressure, No Diamonds.” He is about the business of building a brand identity before even taking an NFL snap.
One of Griffin’s greatest strengths is that he always seems happy and confident. He moves about the Pro Day with a sort of half-grin on his face—the grin that people often wear when they know something juicy or intriguing that the rest of the room doesn’t. Since his sensational season and his Heisman, he already moves like a person who is used to having rooms full of people looking at him and talking about him. He seems neither put off nor especially stressed out by this reality. On the contrary, he seems to thrive on it.
And what’s interesting from a leadership standpoint is that his teammates don’t appear to resent him for the attention he’s receiving. Like many great leaders, Griffin leads, primarily, by being awesome at what he does and enabling others to do things like win, get drafted, and get paid. Other Baylor prospects clearly benefited from the national spotlight’s glare on their quarterback. This, of course, makes it much easier to lead in other ways, as does his legendary work ethic. If nothing else, Griffin’s teammates see that he’s willing to put in as much or more work as they do, making his stardom not only tolerable but welcome. What’s unique about Griffin is that he seems equally adept at leading with his words and his actions.
He leads his receivers through a warm-up, and in doing so works with Baylor’s center to show the scouts in attendance that he’s comfortable taking a snap from center and dropping back—something he didn’t do much of in college, operating almost exclusively from a shotgun formation. He eventually runs his backs and receivers through a 73-pattern workout showcasing a variety of drops and rollouts, and a variety of short, intermediate, and deep throws. He throws with velocity and accuracy on nearly every throw.
It should be noted that these scouts already know that RG3 can play. There’s almost nothing he can do at his Pro Day to improve his stock. Griffin to the Redskins is almost a foregone conclusion. However, as much as his on-field production, they’re looking at how he leads, and his interactions with teammates and coaches. Griffin seems to lead effortlessly. He also sets up his own drills, even dragging tackling dummies into place on his own.
Music throbs through the Baylor indoor facility as a variety of current and former players, media, and scouts are on hand. The crowd includes, conspicuously, Redskins head coach Mike Shanahan and owner Daniel Snyder. For what it’s worth, they will attend Luck’s Pro Day at Stanford the following day.
His last play is a throwback with wide receiver Kendall Wright hitting the streaking Griffin on a deep seam route. It is the icing on a nearly flawless performance. As the workout concludes, it’s clear that Griffin has done what he nearly always does, which is impress everyone in his vicinity. The classic Michael Jackson track, “Thriller,” plays appropriately in the background, because Griffin has thrilled. His calm is preternatural and almost unnerving.
“We had a lot of fun—that’s what it’s supposed to be,” Griffin told reporters after the workout. “It’s not supposed to be stressful. . . . That’s what we try to do—lighten the mood. Have guys smiling, having fun. . . .
“My fiancée was a Broncos fan, too, so she was kind of weirded out by the whole situation, just ’cause the coach that she watched growing up was sitting right in front of her,” he said of a preworkout dinner with Mike Shanahan. “But Shanahan’s a great great coach, great mind, and it would be an honor to play for him.”6
At Central Michigan, after bench presses and vertical jumps in the weight room, the players and scouts were herded into the indoor practice facility, and onto the bright green AstroTurf, for what has become the crown jewel of NFL talent evaluation: the 40-yard dash.
Bazuin, at 266, weighed a little lighter than his program weight of 272 and stood on his 40-yard dash time from the NFL Combine. A scout from the Baltimore Ravens secured an unused section of the field and ran him through a series of linebacker drills, thinking that Bazuin may be better suited to a stand-up role as an outside linebacker, as he may be too light to put his “hand in the dirt” as an NFL defensive lineman. The big, quiet man lumbered and puffed through the drills.
On another section of turf, the throng gathered for the all-important 40-yard dash. Even though these affairs are timed electronically, there is still a good deal of homespun superstition in NFL circles. Because of this the scouts all gathered together, nearly on top of one another, at the 40-yard line, all poised with their electronic stopwatches in hand, all convinced that their handheld times would somehow be more valid and accurate than whatever the automatic timing device generated. After each player ran his 40, the process devolved into spirited dialogue among the scouts as to what the time actually was. The irony of several middle-aged men who had flown into town, rented cars, slept in hotels, and would repeat the process over and over so that they could quibble about tenths of seconds occurred to no one.
Michael Lewis’s sensational book Moneyball shone a light on some of the ridiculousness of baseball scouting, including its rootedness in tradition and its propensity for ignoring players who don’t “look the part.” Football, it seems, is still waiting for its Moneyball moment. Draft history would dictate that over 50 percent of the quarterbacks drafted in the first round each year are busts, meaning that either Robert Griffin or Andrew Luck could potentially be an NFL washout.
Big Joe Staley cried the first time his coach told him he would have to switch from tight end to offensive tackle. As he settled in to run his 40, millions of dollars were on the line. At 5.0 or slower, he’d be just another MAC prospect with potential. With a time of 4.9 or faster, he would be catapulted into the “first round discussion.”
Staley looked gigantic, squeezed into a spandex track suit, but as he uncoiled from his stance, and his footfalls were audible on the squishy turf, we all had the feeling we were watching something special. As he crossed the line, dozens of stopwatches beeped in almost-unison. Staley’s electronic time was 4.7 seconds, making him faster than most of Central’s running backs and linebackers. For comparison’s sake, both Tim Tebow and Cam Newton ran 4.7s at the NFL Scouting Combine.
Staley, in 4.7 seconds, had made himself a millionaire. In 4.7 seconds he vaulted past Bazuin as CMU’s elite prospect, and would eventually leapfrog his teammate into the first round of the NFL draft.
I drove deep into the northern Michigan countryside a few months later to watch the 2007 NFL Draft in a pole barn with Dan Bazuin’s family on the family farm. They were gracious and kind hosts, and their lack of cagey Little League Dad-ness will never be forgotten. I had an unusual feeling about the entire proceeding and until now have failed to put my finger on it. The whole thing felt, well, sensible. As the second-round wound down, Dan Bazuin left the party and went fishing.
Bazuin’s teammate Joe Staley would become an immediate fixture at left tackle for the San Francisco 49ers, and a perennial Pro Bowler. Bazuin, a second-round draft choice of the Chicago Bears in 2007, would (due perhaps to injuries, perhaps to being overmatched) never play a down of regular season football in the NFL. He is remembered as a “bust,” while the rest of the Central Michigan Chippewas present at that Pro Day have been forgotten altogether.
The quarterback class of 2007 offers an especially cautionary tale. In seven rounds, there were eleven quarterbacks selected, and all of them, for the most part, have been NFL failures, proving that even though a class may be relatively weak, teams—no doubt feeling pressure from ownership or their fan base—will still pick quarterbacks.
The first pick of that draft, JaMarcus Russell (Raiders), may go down as the biggest quarterback bust in NFL history. For what it’s worth, in 2007 Russell was sensational at his Pro Day. He ran a 4.8-second 40-yard dash at 256 pounds, and impressed the man who would become his first NFL employer, then-Raiders head coach Lane Kiffin. “Obviously, I’m very impressed,” Kiffin said. “We were very impressed. He had a great day. He seems very first class, very easy to get along with. No doubt he was a great leader here. That’s why everybody wants him now.”7
Russell, it was said, had prototype size, a cannon for an arm, and played in a “pro-style” offense at LSU. Still, I had some doubts. He only started two full seasons at LSU, and only attempted 797 passes, and there were whispers about his work ethic and commitment to the game.
Since 2007, Russell has started 25 NFL games and thrown only 18 touchdowns. He’s currently out of football and proved to be anything but the “great leader” Kiffin saw at LSU. The second quarterback selected in the first round, Brady Quinn, has fared only slightly better, making 20 starts, and throwing 12 touchdowns. I say better only because Quinn is still employed, as a backup in Kansas City, after stops in Cleveland and Denver.
While it would be a stretch to call any of 2007’s quarterbacks “successful,” perhaps the most potential rests with Kevin Kolb, who has started 21 games and thrown 28 touchdown passes. While he didn’t prove to be the answer in Philadelphia, he’ll get another shot as a starter in Arizona. Kolb, for what it’s worth, played collegiately for Griffin’s college coach Art Briles, then at the University of Houston. One of the knocks on Kolb was that he played in a “gimmicky” college offense. One of the advantages to that gimmicky offense (Briles was a shotgun-spread innovator) is that it allowed him to throw a ton of passes as a college player. This is true of Griffin as well.
On paper, Kolb is an example of a player who has everything scouts look for. He’s 6 feet 3 inches tall. He was a four-year starter for Briles at Houston, and he attempted an astonishing 1,565 passes, completing at a 61.6 percent clip, for almost 13,000 yards. So has he simply been the victim of bad circumstances thus far in the NFL? Of a Philadelphia team that never had quality receivers and was on its way down by the time he arrived? Maybe. Were Russell and Quinn the victims of being drafted into bad organizations (Oakland and Cleveland) devoid of playmaking talent and mired in a culture of losing? Probably.
Griffin, for his part, completed passes at a 67 percent clip in Briles’s college offense, and brought the added dimension of a run threat. So will he end up more like JaMarcus Russell or Kevin Kolb or, preferably, neither? Is he a “safe” investment . . . or is there such a thing as a safe investment at the quarterback position where failure seems to be a 50/50 proposition? Only time and the ever-fluctuating list of surrounding circumstances will tell.