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 BLESTOâs 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 reportâArm 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 didnât have it, Grant said so. And he wasnât saying Christan McKinley didnât 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 whoâd 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 hadnât 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 didnât get McKinley, a lot of people would be disappointed. The NFL had a low tolerance for failure, past glories notwithstanding. The âWhat have you done for me lately?â 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 whoâd 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.
âYouâre gonna get me fired, you sonofabitch,â he said, wanting to laugh but finding little humor in the fact that was probably at least half right.
4
Peter Connally didnât come to the second meeting in the Ravensâ conference room the following morning. Each of the other fourâJon, Kevin Tanner, Cary Blanchard, and Alan Mendelâcame 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 wouldnât. It would be foolish not to use their experience and their wisdom as a resource. He also preferred to rule by committee
And by Christian McKinley.
Jon shook his head as he reviewed the reportâArm 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 didnât have it, Grant said so. And he wasnât saying Christan McKinley didnât 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 whoâd 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 hadnât 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 didnât get McKinley, a lot of people would be disappointed. The NFL had a low tolerance for failure, past glories notwithstanding. The âWhat have you done for me lately?â 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 whoâd 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.
âYouâre gonna get me fired, you sonofabitch,â he said, wanting to laugh but finding little humor in the fact that was probably at least half right.
4
Peter Connally didnât come to the second meeting in the Ravensâ conference room the following morning. Each of the other fourâJon, Kevin Tanner, Cary Blanchard, and Alan Mendelâcame 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 wouldnât. It would be foolish not to use their experience and their wisdom as a resource. He also preferred to rule by committee
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