The Draft (7 page)

“All key members of the defense,” Blanchard muttered. There wasn't much disgust in his voice, but there was enough. Unlike a lot of older coaches, Blanchard had successfully transitioned his thinking when the era of free agency began. He understood the new rules and made the necessary adjustments. But he never liked them. Not just because they made it harder for a coach to maintain continuity on his roster, but also because they discouraged loyalty and rewarded greed. Teamwork and coherency were set aside for the pursuit of the dollar. Athleticism lost out over capitalism. For a man who had spent much of his career during the gridiron's golden era, it was a bitter pill. He could play by these rules, but he couldn't stand them.

“That's right,” Tanner continued. “And there are a few offensive starters who'll probably be gone, too.”

Blanchard shook his head. Connally asked, “So you're saying it's now or never?”

Tanner shrugged. “Pretty much. I don't want to sound melodramatic, but let's face it—it'll be a helluva long time before we see another chance to win a third consecutive championship. A
long
time. We'll be paying for the guys we have now for a while.”

“So it
is
now or never.”

“Yeah.”

Connally stood up—a familiar sign that he was done.

“Honestly, gentlemen, that's fine with me. I don't give a whit what happens after this season. We'll worry about that when the time comes. But for now, I want it understood that I want this third championship. I want it for the team, for the fans, for myself—and I want it so we can write the Ravens into the history books. You can argue with merchandising, you can argue with ticket sales, and you can argue with the building of new stadiums, but you cannot argue with history. I've got big plans for this organization, and they'll be a lot easier to execute if we have the prestige of a third Super Bowl victory behind us. I was counting on it—and frankly, I still am.”

He walked over to Jon and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Get it done, but don't give away the
entire
farm. At least not this year.”

Jon realized he was once again being asked to do the impossible.

“Sure, no problem,” he said.

3

The folder waiting
on his desk after lunch was enormous, particularly considering it had been assembled in just a few hours. But then there was plenty of printed material on the incredible Christian McKinley. The Ravens had a man whose primary job was to keep records on all the players who weren't Baltimore Ravens. Jon insisted on creating this position when he took over as GM. He knew a team had no chance of being competitive if it focused only on the players it already had. If, for example, a better kicker than theirs suddenly became available, he wanted to know about it. Or if a college kid they deemed draftable wasn't picked by any other team, Jon wanted to bring him in for a workout.

In the case of McKinley, gathering information wasn't all that tough. There was plenty of printed material available, as he was already more famous than most of the players who were already in the league. Jon put his feet up and flipped back the cover.

McKinley's smiling face jumped out at him from the cover of
Sports Illustrated.
He was black, handsome, large, and muscular. You couldn't tell much else from the picture. He wore a novelty jersey with a large question mark where the number would normally be. The headline read, “Who Will Win the McKinley Sweepstakes?” He had a ball tucked into the crook of his arm.

The article opened on a two-page spread that featured a closeup of McKinley's face plus the headline, “Wanted: Christian McKinley. Money No Object.” It began—

In a quiet antechamber just off the locker room at Michigan, Christian McKinley sits in a folding chair wearing nothing but a white towel. His hands are laced together under his chin in a pose of deep contemplation. He looks up, notices me standing there, and flashes the disarming smile that has become so familiar to his fans. He offers his hand and a warm greeting, and within seconds I have almost forgotten that I am in the presence of the young man being touted as the first great athlete of the twenty-first century …

Characteristic of
Sports Illustrated
, it packed a great deal of solid information into a relatively small space. It covered McKinley's playing abilities, both physical and mental, plus his background, both academic and personal. There were quotes from his family, friends, coaches, teammates, and opponents. It was a standard “introductory” article, a way of presenting the much-heralded prodigy to the rest of the world now that he was about to finish his college career and break onto the national scene. Jon remembered the piece; he'd read it a few months ago. Back then he thought about what a battle there would be to get McKinley and was thankful he didn't have to take part in it.

Behind the
Sports Illustrated
was McKinley's BLESTO report. BLESTO was an organization created in 1963 to gather information on thousands of college players each year, then offer it to the teams that subscribed to its service. The acronym stood for “Bears, Lions, Eagles, Steelers Talent Organization.” Most other NFL teams jumped on the BLESTO bandwagon eventually, but for reasons of tradition the name was not changed again.

The goal of a BLESTO scout was to assemble a complete picture of each player, from basics such as height, weight, stats, past injuries, and speed in the 40-yard dash, to more abstract characteristics like strength, quickness, explosiveness, durability, character, general intelligence, and the ability to get along with teammates. The scout used a grading scale from 0.0 to 4.1, with 0.0 being the highest. Once all attributes were evaluated, the numbers were averaged into a final, overall grade. In BLESTO's history no player had ever achieved a perfect 0.0, but some came close. Among the elite class that managed to stay under 1.0 were John Elway, Tony Dorsett, and Troy Aikman. The lowest ever, 0.4, was achieved by O. J. Simpson while at Southern Cal in 1968.

And by Christian McKinley.

Jon shook his head as he reviewed the report—Arm strength, 0.3. Quick release, 0.5. Accuracy, 0.3. Field Vision, 0.4. The worst score, for his quickness in setting up before the throw, was 1.2. Still well above average. And the name of the scout who filled out the report was Bud Grant. Jon knew Grant well. Former director of player personnel for the Tennessee Titans back when they were the Houston Oilers. As tough a sonofabitch as there ever was. He played a major role in the acquisition of such legendary talents as Earl Campbell and Warren Moon. He never let kindness or pity cloud his judgment, which is why many trusted him. If a player didn't have it, Grant said so. And he wasn't saying Christan McKinley didn't have it. If anything, he was using these numbers to say this kid was going to be the next Joe Montana.

0.4.

Jon had seen thousands of BLESTO reports and never came across a player who'd achieved less than a 1.5. He never thought he would, either.

There was a stat sheet provided by Michigan. Jon had seen this before, too, but hadn't paid any attention to it. The numbers were surreal:

There was another sheet provided by Michigan, covering personal points. It was intended primarily as filler for the writers; fan magazine material. But Jon always made of point of reading through it. You could learn a lot about a person from the most seemingly insignificant details.

His father had been a college coach for more than thirty years. He still was, in fact, and had been part of six national championship teams. Christian carried his high school team to the state championship while maintaining a B average and holding down a part-time job. He was a cool, confident leader on the field, displaying a maturity beyond his years. His teachers said he worked hard and never caused any problems. So his character, it appeared, was as attractive as his playing abilities. He really was, in so many ways, the perfect quarterback.

Jon released a deep breath, forming his lips into a little circle as if he were blowing out a candle. This was going to be a struggle, and a costly one. And after it was all over, would he still have a job? This was a real issue. If he didn't get McKinley, a lot of people would be disappointed. The NFL had a low tolerance for failure, past glories notwithstanding. The “What have you done for me lately?” mentality was omnipotent. And if he did get McKinley, perhaps the price would be so high that the team would have to let him go to save face. Someone had to be the fall guy, and politics had to be considered. The list of people who'd kill to have his job was a mile long.

He put all the papers and articles and other material back into the folder. McKinley was still smiling at him from the cover of
Sports Illustrated.

“You're gonna get me fired, you sonofabitch,” he said, wanting to laugh but finding little humor in the fact that was probably at least half right.

4

Peter Connally didn't come
to the second meeting in the Ravens' conference room the following morning. Each of the other four—Jon, Kevin Tanner, Cary Blanchard, and Alan Mendel—came with his own set of notes and papers, and each with his own point of view, which was exactly what Jon wanted. He had the power to do this deal without outside approval or input, but he wouldn't. It would be foolish not to use their experience and their wisdom as a resource. He also preferred to rule by committee rather than dictatorship.

He unzipped his folder and removed his printout of the team's roster, which he kept on a spreadsheet on his PC, plus that of upcoming draft picks.

After handing copies around, he said, “OK, let's figure out what we can give up in order to get our man. We gotta go from last to first in the draft. No problem right?” The others grumbled.

“As you know, the first overall pick is currently the property of the San Diego Chargers. Let's face it, Skip has a lot of work to do over there.”

Skip Henderson started with the Colts in the 1950s as a gofer, and through the years was also an equipment manager, scout, film analyst, assistant coach, head coach, and, ultimately, general manager. He retired in 2001 but was lured back by the Chargers largely because he was close with the family that owned the team, and because they needed nothing short of a wizard to bring the organization back to glory.