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CHICAGO
Jeff Howe of The Athletic sees progress in QB JUSTIN FIELDS:
Matt Eberflus just had to be sure.
So as Eberflus was preparing to take over as Bears head coach during the offseason, he called his quarterback-proficient coaching friends around the NFL to get their perspective on Justin Fields. Eberflus, who spent his first 13 seasons in the league as a defensive coach, wanted to see if his pre-draft assessment of Fields had been in line with those in his trusted network.
“Everybody said they loved the man — hard worker, very smart, got a really strong arm, throws a great deep ball — and all of those things are true,” Eberflus told The Athletic. “What they said of their evaluation, it’s still true to this day.”
Fields’ rookie season was a mixed bag, understandably so. The Bears roster had plenty of holes, and coach Matt Nagy and general manager Ryan Pace spent the season on the hot seat before they were fired. The offensive scheme had also been trending in the wrong direction for three seasons.
But now, with increased stability due to the arrival of Eberflus, offensive coordinator Luke Getsy and general manager Ryan Poles, along with improved confidence with an extra year of professional experience, Fields is in position to make a jump and perhaps solidify himself as a franchise quarterback.
“As Justin learns the offense,” Eberflus said, “he’s taking a step every single day and improving on everything from footwork to reads to ripping out the call, adjusting the call within the call, taking command of the offense, and he’s done an outstanding job.”
Fields spent the offseason working with Sean McEvoy and Quincy Avery at QB Takeover in Atlanta, joining his longtime throwing coaches in February for a six-week stretch and then another couple of weeks in April. He often worked out with Deshaun Watson, Tyrod Taylor and Malik Willis, among others.
Their biggest focus was on consistency. Fields showed off his high-end talent at times, but he also missed plenty of opportunities, either because he was late on a read or held the ball too long waiting for someone to break open rather than anticipating the play.
“You obviously saw some flashes of some really good things, some really good throws, some really good off-schedule playmaking ability,” McEvoy told The Athletic. “You just want to be able to see that more often. Really what you’re looking at is the times when he was late or the times when he didn’t recognize something quickly enough, times when his footwork was off. So, OK, what can we focus on to give you the consistency of your best plays more often? That’s the mindset and focus out of the gate.”
The footwork was a major point of emphasis, whether it was off-platform throws, moving to his left, escaping the pocket, bootlegs and play-action concepts. These attributes are important for nearly every quarterback, especially those who are playing in the Shanahan-style offense that Getsy runs.
“He looked super fluid,” McEvoy said. “His arm looked strong.”
Plus, like any young quarterback, Fields needs to make quicker reads. That includes improved anticipation but also playing within the offense — don’t hang onto the first receiver longer than necessary, and cycle to the second and third reads if the opportunity presents itself.
That’s been a focus with Eberflus’ staff, as well.
“He’s been working on his mechanics inside the offense,” Eberflus said. “He’s learning a new offense, and he’s learning how to time up his feet with the passes. It all starts from the ground. (Quarterbacks coach Andrew) Janocko and Getsy have been doing a really good job working with him on timing up his feet with the passing game. He’s improved immensely on the footwork.”
Fields played 12 games as a rookie, starting 10, and completed 58.9 percent of his passes for 1,870 yards, seven touchdowns and 10 interceptions. He also rushed for 420 yards and two touchdowns.
Fields dealt with a couple of injuries, too. He missed two games with cracked ribs and the final three games due to an ankle issue.
It wasn’t exactly a smooth rookie season for multiple reasons, but a better environment now — albeit for a Bears roster that is still very much in a rebuilding mode — should be conducive to growth.
“You see the confidence, the understanding of, ‘Hey, I belong here,’” McEvoy said. “It’s not maybe as overwhelming in terms of getting drafted, showing up in training camp, learning the speed of the NFL, what the expectations are, how to be a pro. Those first few months, then obviously for Justin getting thrown in there, working through starting, getting hurt, the way his season went, then a head coach and coordinator change, that whole thing, it was just a lot.
“His ability to reset and restart the offseason, now go into it with the focus of, ‘This is my team. I’m the QB here,’ a quiet confidence of understanding, ‘I’m ready for this. I’m able to learn and already have grown from the challenges I went through last year.’ I think he’s going in with a different mindset.
“I think that’s the biggest thing you’ll see early, the confidence of just playing the position.”
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Pro Bowl LB ROQUAN SMITH feels unvalued by the new Bears regime and has asked for/demanded a trade. Tyler Sullivan of CBSSports.com offers some destinations:
Roquan Smith’s time with the Chicago Bears may soon be coming to an end. The All-Pro linebacker officially requested a trade out of the organization on Monday due to a lack of productive contract talks. Smith is entering the final year of his deal and noted that the Bears “new front office regime doesn’t value me.” The 25-year-old also said the organization has not been negotiating in good faith to this point and triggered his trade request.
With Smith now on the block, our attention turns to where he may be suiting up next in the NFL. Whatever team acquires Smith would be getting one of the best, young off-ball linebackers in the league. He is one of just six players in league history to have 500 or more tackles, 10-plus sacks, and five or more interceptions in his first four seasons. With that in mind, he should have plenty of suitors.
Below, we highlighted a handful of destinations that could make sense for Smith as he embarks on a new chapter of his career.
5. Dallas Cowboys
Jerry Jones is never afraid to make a big splash, so we can never count the Cowboys out when a player of Smith’s caliber goes on the block. Leighton Vander Esch re-signed with Dallas this offseason on a one-year, $2 million deal, so they aren’t committed to the former first-round pick long-term despite him currently sitting atop the depth chart at the middle linebacker spot. Vander Esch has also had durability problems throughout his career, so this is very much an area the Cowboys could look to improve upon as they head into a 2022 campaign where expectations are sky high.
Inserting a player of Smith’s caliber could also free up superstar linebacker Micah Parsons and have him spend more time coming off the edge as a pass rusher, thus raising the overall ceiling of Dallas’ defense.
Not only that but creating a young core that consists of Parsons, Smith, and cornerback Trevon Diggs could be pillars of the Cowboys defense for the next decade.
4. Miami Dolphins
The Dolphins were one of the teams that cannon-balled into the offseason and made several blockbuster moves, including the signing of star tackle Terron Armstead and trading for wideout Tyreek Hill. Most of those big additions were made on the offensive side of the ball, but they could use a major addition on defense as well, particularly at inside linebacker. Currently, Elandon Roberts and Jerome Baker are headlining that group, and Smith would be a clear upgrade for either one, although he’d likely slot in over Roberts and be paired with Baker.
Smith would fit in nicely with a Miami defense that has budding stars like defensive tackle Christian Wilkins and a secondary that consists of safety Jevon Holland along with cornerbacks Xavien Howard and Byron Jones (currently on PUP).
Miami is clearly trying to compete as early as this season if quarterback Tua Tagovailoa can fully tap into his first-round potential and the addition of Smith on defense would help them in that quest as they take on a highly competitive AFC.
3. New England Patriots
The Patriots have a number of questions on the offensive side of the ball — mainly how they’ll function in the departure of offensive coordinator Josh McDaniels — but don’t sleep on the need at linebacker either. It’s been a rather transformative offseason at that position with the club moving on from Dont’a Hightower, Kyle Van Noy, and Jamie Collins, who were all once pillars to Super Bowl rosters.
Now, Ja’Whaun Bentley is slated to be the starting middle linebacker and there’s not much depth behind him. As we enter the third week of training camp, linebacker Cameron McGrone has been working on the scout team, and Jahlani Tavai was dealing with a right leg injury before returning to practice Monday. Neither of those two instill much confidence at this stage and Smith could be the type of addition that Bill Belichick deems to be not only worth it considering the linebacker’s age and talent, but necessary.
However, New England is currently backed up against the salary cap, so they’d need to do some serious gymnastics to make a Smith trade work.
2. Denver Broncos
The off-ball linebacker spot is one of the weaker areas on Denver’s roster, so Smith would be a logical addition for a team that loaded up this offseason by trading for Russell Wilson and is poised to make a Super Bowl run. Alexander Johnson began the year as Denver’s starting inside linebacker before suffering a season-ending pectoral injury in Week 6. He’s still a free agent, so it doesn’t seem like the Broncos have much interest in a reunion, leaving Jonas Griffith and Josey Jewell as its top two inside linebackers.
Smith would immediately jump above both of them on the depth chart and could be the final piece on defense to put them over the top. Smith in the middle of the defense with Bradley Chubb and Randy Gregory coming off the edge, while the likes of corner Patrick Surtain II and safety Justin Simmons lurking in the secondary would make this a scary defense on a weekly basis.
That said, Denver would need to clear some salary cap space to create room for Smith, and there’s the question of whether or not they have the assets to actually acquire him after dealing with Wilson.
1. Baltimore Ravens
While many may be overlooking Baltimore heading into 2022 due to the 8-9 campaign from a year ago, that was largely due to the onslaught of injuries they faced. Now that they’re back to full strength across the roster, this is a dark-horse team that could make some serious noise in the AFC. Offensively, they have an MVP-caliber quarterback in Lamar Jackson, and boast plenty of star power on defense, but are a bit thin at middle linebacker.
32-year-old Josh Bynes is currently in line to be the team’s starting middle linebacker after starting 12 games for them last year and re-signing with the club this offseason. Smith not only would be an instant upgrade, but he’d be an answer for them for the foreseeable future.
As an aside, Smith could also pick up the mantle left by Ray Lewis and be Baltimore’s next great middle linebacker, which is in a similar vein to what he enjoyed about playing in Chicago with their long history of linebackers. Similar to New England, however, the Ravens would need to massage their books to make this work under the salary cap. |
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DETROIT
Are the Detroit Lions going to become America’s Team for 2022? They certainly have heart and fire. A rave review of Episode 1 of Hard Knocks from ClickOnDetroit.com:
– Detroit has been buzzing about the Lions being on Hard Knocks for weeks, and the first taste of the series absolutely did not disappoint.
The first episode of the HBO series aired at 10 p.m. Tuesday (Aug. 9), and it had a little bit of everything. There was laughing. There was crying. And there was a whole lot of swearing.
Anyone who follows the Lions should definitely watch the episode, but if you don’t have HBO, or you’d rather just get the highlights, I broke down my top takeaways from episode one below.
Dan Campbell: Part crazy, part awesome
Remember Campbell’s introductory press conference, when he talked about biting knee caps and kicking people in the teeth and whatnot?
“We’re going to kick you in the teeth,” he said. “When you punch us back, we’re going to smile at you, and when you throw us down, we’re going to get up, and on the way up, we’re going to bite a kneecap off. We’re going to stand up, and it’s gonna take two more shots to knock us down. On the way up, we’re gonna take your other kneecap. Then we’re gonna get up, and then it’s gonna take three shots to get us down. And when we do, we’re gonna take another hunk out of you.”
Well, a three-win season wasn’t enough to curb Campbell’s enthusiasm. The man is still equal parts awesome and crazy — heck, maybe even a little more of the latter.
Tuesday’s episode opened with four straight minutes of Campbell wisdom. Except this time he wasn’t biting knee caps, he was yanking opponents into the ocean and drowning them.
“There’s a number of teams, as it equates to, just bear with me, the ocean, right?” Campbell said. “There’s a number of teams, they just barely get to the water. You’ve got to get in the water to compete. A number of teams, that’s all they get to. Then there’s a number of teams, they are in the shallows, and they come in a hurry, man, and they are all over your a–. They are all over your a–, and they strike and move. They strike and move, and they’re dangerous, man. You’ve just got to get ahold of them, though. If you can just get ahold of them, and you start dragging their a– to the deep, dark abyss, you can drown them, and that’s what we’ve got to be. That’s who we have to be, cause that’s our domain. That is our domain. Because we’ll tread water as long as it takes to f—— bury you. We’ll go as long as it takes, because we can, and we choose to.”
Now, that’s the “crazy.” But don’t forget about the “awesome.”
There’s the quirky sort of awesome, which was on display when Campbell did up-downs with the team. But more importantly, he obviously has a genuine, trusting relationship with his players and coaches.
“All I think about is you guys,” Campbell said.
There can’t be a quote that better sums up this man. He definitely doesn’t go a single moment between August and January without thinking about football.
Campbell has a monumental task ahead of him — remember, this isn’t only a 3-13-1 team, it’s a franchise that hasn’t known an ounce of success in the Super Bowl era. But after Hard Knocks, I have a feeling his support among fans will only grow.
Aidan Hutchinson shouldn’t quit his day job, but ‘Billie Jean’ was fun
No scene was talked about more leading up to Tuesday’s episode than rookie Aidan Hutchinson’s rendition of “Billie Jean,” by Michael Jackson.
It lived up to the hype because it was hilarious to watch the No. 2 overall pick dance and sing in front of his teammates. He was a great sport, but Hutchinson probably shouldn’t trade in his pads for a microphone anytime soon.
The best part was near the end, when the whole team started to join in. That was really cool.
The speech heard ‘round the world
I can’t say enough about the speech Jamaal Williams gave during a team huddle. Sure, he probably brought out his best content for the Hard Knocks cameras, but it didn’t feel like Williams was just putting on a show. He seemed genuine.
Williams can be as funny and charismatic as anyone in interviews, but during this scene, he had fans ready to run through a wall.
“I want to let y’all know, man, today is the minimum effort,” Williams said. “Tomorrow, we’re going to come back even better. I know we started out slow. I know we’ve got pads on the first day back. I know we’re looking at coach (like he’s) crazy, but we’ve got to believe in him, you know what I mean? He’s gonna put us in the right position. We’ve just got to come out here and be dogs.
“We’ve got to come out here and know. We’ve got to be champions. If today, y’all think this is it, this ain’t it. We’ve got to keep going. Do not give up. Do not feel like you’re tired. When you’re tired, think of last year, and think of that f—— record. Every time I get tired or I think I can’t go no more, I think of that f—— record. That ain’t us.
“We can make it. We’ve got to believe. We’ve got to be mentally strong. When we’re tired, that’s when we’ve got to put our fundamentals together. That’s when we’ve got to be more focused. When we’re tired, look across the field and see how tired they are. That should give you more effort to be like, ‘I’m gonna beat his a–. I’m gonna get fundamentally strong.’
“Everybody’s great when they’re not tired, but champions is when they’re tired, that’s when the real champions come out. That’s when a real dog comes out. Cause if you’re going to p— like a puppy, stay on the porch and let the big dogs eat. Let them on the f—— field.
“Have some heart. I get emotional about this. I’m about to cry, cause I care about y’all. Last year wasn’t it. Last year f—— got me angry, p—– for this year. I’m trying to be better for y’all. When you see I’m tired, I’m gonna keep going. Remember your why. Remember why you play football. I want you to give everything you got — everything.
“Do your best, let’s go. Lions on three.”
Players coaching players
There was an interesting montage with Campbell’s assistant coaches that emphasized how long each spent playing in the NFL. It drew attention to how much playing experience the Lions have on their staff.
Overall, Lions coaches have more than 80 combined seasons’ worth of professional playing experience. Campbell obviously made it a point to surround himself with coaches who played for a long time.
“They were gritty guys,” linebackers coach Kelvin Sheppard said. ”They were kind of not the flash players on the team, but more the glue players on the team.”
Aaron Glenn vs. Duce Staley
One of my favorite parts of the show was the battle between defensive coordinator Aaron Glenn and assistant head coach/running backs coach Duce Staley.
The segment started with Staley telling Glenn how much he loves him in front of the entire team. Then they went out on the practice field.
“I wanna f— you up between the lines,” Staley told Glenn.
The back-and-forth between them as the offense and defense went at each other was fun to watch. Glenn got a few words in, but Staley definitely stole the show.
Battle of first-round picks
The most interesting battle on the field is between the team’s 2022 first-round pick and 2021 first-round pick.
Penei Sewell is coming off a strong rookie season after the Lions selected him No. 7 overall in last year’s draft. He’s expected to be a critical part of what should be an elite offensive line.
Hutchinson, meanwhile, hasn’t even played an NFL game yet, but by all accounts, he held his own against Sewell and improved from the first week of camp to the second.
As Sewell put it in a post-practice interview, “Iron sharpens iron.”
Tackling
Campbell and his defensive staff put a major emphasis on tackling, and it sounds like they did so earlier than players expected.
”I swear to God I’m not a lunatic,” Campbell said when he talked to his players about doing live tackling the first day back.
He said the team’s defensive philosophy is built on two pillars: pursuit and tackling. Based on the first episode of Hard Knocks, the latter is the top priority. |
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LOS ANGELES RAMS
Sean McVay admits he has had a big money extension signed and sealed for quite some time. Charean Williams of ProFootballTalk.com:
Sean McVay said last month, at the start of training camp, that contract talks between his representation and the Rams were in “a good place.” On Tuesday, the Rams coach confirmed he already has a new deal.
He added that talks continue between the team and General Manager Les Snead, which McVay cites as the reason his deal wasn’t announced.
“I was talking in regards to Les and I have always been a pair,” McVay said in a live stream of the news conference. “We wanted to be able to kind of announce that when both of us got them done. Mine is done. Les is in the process of that.
“The partnership for us, I said you guys will know when we both get done. That was kind of how I had addressed it. Since [it] comes up again, it is something that we’ve been taken care of, but it is very important for Les and I to kind of have that represented as we’re a partnership and a pair.”
That’s not at all how McVay addressed it, and it was only because of an ESPN profile of McVay posted Tuesday that revealed the 36-year-old coach already had received his raise. A $20-million-per-year courtship from Amazon and a Super Bowl victory led to his “exponential” wealth increase.
“I feel good,” McVay said. “It was kind of always really good dialogue that existed. These things, they take time, but I think it is important [that] out of respect for the process, we wanted it to be able to be announced when both Les and I got done, because of the partnership, and I think it’s only gotten better as we go. That’s kind of where it’s at right now.”
Maybe McVay didn’t intend for ESPN’s Seth Wickersham to reveal the deal was done, but McVay can blame only himself for scooping the team’s planned announcement.
Of course, it isn’t the first time the Rams have failed to announce a contract extension for their head coach. They did the same thing with Jeff Fisher in 2016.
The Wickersham piece is long. Here are some highlights:
SEARCHING FOR A vodka soda, Sean McVay walks me through the expansive refurbished kitchen of his new 9,000-square-foot house in a double-security-gated Hidden Hills community that also is home to Drake, Miley Cyrus, the Jenners and Kardashians just up the 101 Freeway from Los Angeles. It’s a May afternoon, in the spring after he got everything he ever wanted. He and his soon-to-be wife, Veronika Khomyn, have just moved in. Boxes are scattered. Shelves and walls and rooms are vast and mostly empty; a soft echo accompanies conversation. He just got home from work and wants to unwind. Where the vodka sodas are stored, he’s unsure. He walks to a built-in cabinet and presses the door. It doesn’t open. He presses it again. Nope. He moves to another. It opens, but it’s empty.
“Where …?” he asks.
He wheels into a pantry area and scans a shelf. Success. He then heads to the backyard, which has an infinity pool and a TV tuned to an NBA game. It’s golden hour, the air cool but the ground warm. To the side of the patio is his home office. A Lombardi trophy is on one of the desks. At 36, McVay is the youngest head coach ever to win one. In the coming months he’ll receive a proclamation of recognition from his hometown city council in Atlanta, and his alma mater, Miami University in Ohio, will announce that it’s going to build a statue of him.
He stares at the scenery and takes a pull off his drink.
Only recently has McVay been able to catch his breath after the most fun and stressful months of his life. There was, of course, the Super Bowl win over the Bengals. Then an opportunity to leave coaching for the booth, if he so desired. Wedding planning, after delays due to the pandemic. The dull panic that the Rams are behind the rest of the league, after the long playoff run in the longest season in NFL history. And then the texts: Veronika is Ukrainian and still has family outside of Lviv, an initial and repeated target. Both of them check their phones constantly during the night. Half of Veronika’s family won’t be able to attend the wedding at the Beverly Hills Hotel, including her dad. It’s been surreal for McVay to reach the pinnacle of his profession, watch his wealth exponentially increase, move from one beautiful home into another, all set against the backdrop of war. A lot of feelings are in the air, some that McVay can articulate and some that he can’t, but today as he stares at the new house, he’s reflective.
“Still can’t believe we live here,” he says.
McVay is a young man but a veteran coach, with hair always gelled, forearms always swollen, scruff always at two-day growth — he shaved himself clean once and “it scared Veronika,” he jokes — and eyes that default to a sort of worried look. He leans back into his white patio couch, trying to enjoy the life he’s built through a game that he bent to his will — and that he knows might destroy him. He still has unfinished work from today, because there’s always unfinished work — passing-game film to break down, which he’ll do either tonight or in the morning, depending on how the evening goes.
“Dropback install,” he says. “Got 208 clips to go through.”
THE MORNING AFTER he won Super Bowl LVI, McVay woke up and looked in the mirror. Running on fumes and semi-hungover, he saw his career, and his life, with weird clarity, as if he had finally understood something essential about himself. He had imagined and considered what it would feel like to join the exclusive list of coaches with at least one ring. After losing Super Bowl LIII to New England in 2019, he had sat with Veronika in a near-catatonic state. “I can’t believe it,” he kept saying, mostly to himself. He told his family not to worry; they worried anyway. The game itself was a blur, a schooling by Bill Belichick so thorough and traumatic that to this day, McVay hasn’t watched it in full. He felt he coached “like an amateur … so in over my head,” and he swore that it would never happen again.
It didn’t. But McVay’s first glimpse of himself after L.A.’s 23-20 win over the Bengals was odd. He didn’t feel like a better coach, aside from having accumulated the knowledge of having coached another game, another book in a growing library. He didn’t feel like the living truth of his outstanding résumé: that he, in only five years — without a day under .500; with playoff wins over Pete Carroll, Bruce Arians and Sean Payton; with his own football tree, four head coaches strong — has a chance to be one of the greats, maybe the greatest ever.
No, like Vince Lombardi and Belichick on mornings after some of their championships, McVay felt grateful and humble, reduced at the moment when his presence to the world was bigger than ever, overwhelmed with the reality that his life would change and benefit from events beyond his control. He knew that if not for defensive coordinator Raheem Morris’ counsel during dark times in the winless month of November, if not for the brilliance of Aaron Donald, Matthew Stafford and Cooper Kupp in high-leverage moments, if not for overcoming his own mistakes, none of this would have happened.
Months after that morning, as he sits at a table and describes it, McVay is certain of one thing: If they had lost to the Bengals, he definitely wouldn’t have this new house. Would Amazon have courted a two-time Super Bowl loser, offering a booth job for $20 million a year, after word on the street was that he had finally burned himself out coaching? McVay isn’t convinced. Either way, he wasn’t ready to leave his job, and he received a raise.
Otherwise, he’d still be in his previous home, high in Encino Hills with a view of San Fernando Valley, a place he loved but that both he and Veronika had outgrown — or, rather, his fame had outgrown. It was in a dense neighborhood. People would buzz, asking for autographs or money. A burglar had once stolen more than $100,000 of stuff, and McVay had to build a fence and hire security. This feels like more of an adult house. McVay wanted to bring the basketball hoop from the pool to the new place, but it felt childish. “Gotta leave it,” Veronika told him.
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The problem is, he knows.
“I’ll be sitting here when I’m 60,” he says during another quiet moment, with deep resignation. “And we’ll be saying, how the f— are you still coaching?”
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Sean knew as a young adult that he would pursue a career in sports. But when he told people he wanted to coach, his parents and some friends saw all of the warning signs, with his compulsive personality coupled with a spectacularly unhealthy profession. Did he want to be his grandfather or his father? He decided on both — with his own belief that someday, however noble and naive, he might find a way to make life in pro football palatable.
A string of leg injuries in college at Miami University ended Sean’s life as a receiver, accelerating his coaching career. He landed an entry-level gig at Jon Gruden’s Tampa Bay Buccaneers in 2008. He left college before classes ended, finishing remotely. Cindy went with him to Tampa to help him find a place to live. He had to learn the basics and had a long way to go. The first time Sean stood in front of the staff to draw the O’s for an offensive play, Gruden cut him off. “Your circles are the s—tiest f—ing circles I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Still, McVay was hooked on coaching. In 2010, he joined Mike Shanahan’s staff in Washington, starting as a quality control coach before moving to tight ends coach for Kyle Shanahan, who was offensive coordinator. From Mike, McVay learned how to set a vision for an entire football operation, with no detail too small. From Kyle, he learned how to reimagine offense, exploiting holes in the defense that others couldn’t see. When that staff was fired and McVay stayed on with new head coach Jay Gruden as offensive coordinator, he learned how a leader can provide not only opportunities — McVay was only 27 years old — but also protection. Washington went 4-12 that year, and Gruden publicly took the blame for the poor offense, shielding McVay. If McVay had been blamed, his entire reputation would have been altered. The rising star would have been tagged as another overmatched legacy hire.
The next season, when the offense improved, Gruden credited McVay’s design and execution. Buzz ensued. McVay’s rise had been fast, but he was proud that even with family connections, he hadn’t skipped any steps, from grunt work to position coach to coordinator. He felt like he had willed and whittled 20 years of work into 10, and it set him up for head coach interviews in January 2017 at age 30. After the Rams meeting, McVay called his parents, at 2:30 a.m. in Atlanta.
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THIS PAST JANUARY, on the day after the regular season ended, when franchises jettison failing coaching regimes, Veronika asked Sean, “What would you do if you were on one of those teams that wasn’t winning and you might get fired?”
“Well, that just wouldn’t f—ing happen,” he replied. “Why would you ever think that way?”
He knew it sounded cocky, as if he were somehow immune to the fate of all coaches, even elite ones. But underneath it was a stark fear, not of being fired — he knows that it’s part of his chosen life — but of the losing that would precede it. Before the Super Bowl, McVay found a deeper admiration for Bengals coach Zac Taylor, his buddy and former quarterbacks coach. Taylor stomached six total wins his first two seasons before guiding the Bengals to the final game. “I’ve never really had to lead in circumstances that were real adversary,” McVay says now.
McVay has only won, just enough to keep him sane. In his first year, the Rams — an organization that had gone 14 years without a winning season and was slow to appeal to fans in a new market — went 11-5, led the league in scoring and hosted a playoff game. But McVay was essentially a glorified offensive coordinator rather than a complete head coach, calling plays, trying to establish a culture and not in the weeds on defense or special teams.
In college, McVay had interned at KTVU-San Francisco, where his dad was the general manager. He watched how Tim led an organization, how he knew the names of every staffer, something he learned from John, who learned it from Walsh. Tim “showed me a path, whether I realized it or not, of being able to lead in a way that’s authentic to my personality,” Sean says now.
He tried to apply it to his new job. Even if he excelled with his eye for creating space and confusion on offense — and even if he was “a phenomenal leader” who took “extreme ownership and accountability,” says Green Bay head coach Matt LaFleur, at the time the Rams’ offensive coordinator — it was still brutal at times. Rams executives were stunned at how McVay, after being jovial all offseason, seemed to switch personalities as soon as the games began. If a staffer or executive stopped by his office, McVay sometimes said, “What the f— do you want?” But on the spectrum of raging head coaches, McVay was still on the generally decent end, and he’d usually later apologize.
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And to think: “Ignorance was bliss,” McVay ‘says. If he truly knew all of the pains of the job … the time management, contract disputes with coaches and players, staff nitpicking and arguing with him on every decision, the way McVay himself used to do with Jay Gruden … he might not have survived. During one practice, there was a disagreement between offensive line coach Aaron Kromer and LaFleur. McVay entered the fray, weighed in, backed Kromer and went about practice, not thinking much of it.
Later that day, LaFleur entered his office, livid that McVay had sided with Kromer. “You showed me up in front of the players,” LaFleur said. “With all due respect, you should just fire my ass right now.”
McVay felt his blood pressure rise. The Rams were playoff-bound — and LaFleur, one of his best friends, was complaining about this?
“You know what?” McVay replied. “I f—ing hate this job. I’m f—ing quitting. F— this s—. I hate myself. I hate that I’m treating you like this …”
“No!” LaFleur said. “You can’t do that!”
– – –
The Rams went 9-7. It was McVay’s worst season. “So miserable,” he says. He let it carry over into 2020, when the Rams went 10-6. McVay was trying to grow into a total head coach. McVay won, but he began to lose faith in the quarterback on whom he had once bet his career, Jared Goff. As Goff struggled, McVay coached him harder. It backfired, destroying the quarterback’s confidence, about which McVay still feels guilty. He felt his intentions were right but the execution was wrong, and he retreated inward, trying to fight his internal storm alone. He worked more from home, not only due to COVID-19 protocols, not only due to the efficiency of it, where nobody could stop by, but also because he felt it was how he could best get his head right — all while feeling on the verge of a breakdown. “It was just that constant torment hanging right here,” McVay says, touching his stomach. “Like you have a f—ing problem and you’ve got to fix it, but you don’t know how to f—ing fix it. Nobody puts more pressure on themselves than I do of me, but I think a lot of that pressure is a result of when I lose sight of what matters. If I had listened to the advice I give our players all the time, I would eliminate a lot of my own internal struggles.”
After losses, Veronika would drive Sean and his parents home, his mood so dark it became atmospheric. “Worrisome for a parent,” Cindy says. Veronika would mostly be silent. “I never know how he’s going to be, because sometimes he’s upset after a win,” she says. “He likes us to be around but not ask too many questions.” Cindy would ask them anyway, diving into the game’s critical plays. Tim would try to offer perspective — that the Rams were winning, on their way to the playoffs again …
“I don’t want to f—ing hear it right now, Dad. I don’t want to hear any pep talks.”
McVay would eventually calm down. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he’d tell his family. They’d share a few drinks before hitting the sack. Still, Tim knew his son well and felt that Sean was losing his way. Then, sometime in the middle of the night, the McVays would hear Sean tiptoeing to his home office, too sick to sleep.
“WHO THE F— wakes up at 3:45 in the morning on a Tuesday in the offseason?” McVay says in his Rams office in Thousand Oaks. It’s dark and quiet. He has a cup of instant coffee, two bottled waters and two flavored seltzers. On the wall behind him is a sign that says URGENT ENJOYMENT.
“Cheesy as hell,” he says. “But a reminder for myself.”
– – –
Sleep has always been a struggle for McVay, and his heroes have never needed much of it. He witnessed Gruden arriving at 3:30 a.m. He watched as Mike and Kyle Shanahan spent long days over months reinventing offense to utilize Robert Griffin III, then long days over a week to switch to a completely different style for Kirk Cousins. He’s gotten beers with Belichick, and is floored by his staggering football knowledge attained by singular devotion and ethic. The templates from those men reinforce McVay’s own cadences and obsession and “competitive stamina,” he says. The more he learns about football, the more he has to learn.
McVay’s lack of sleep is one of the main topics of discussion with his father, who not only is worried about his son but also believes that he will make better decisions if fully rested. “It’s not a badge of courage for you to get 3-4 hours,” Tim once told Sean. “For you to be at your best, you have to prioritize sleep.”
At first, Sean was dismissive. “I don’t need that much. I wake up at 2:30 and I’m just laying there. Why should I just lay there?”
But Sean tried to adjust. He listened to a podcast about banking sleep over the course of the week, averaging out to seven hours a night. On Monday through Thursday during the season, the goal is four to six hours. But sometimes he’s up at 2:30 anyway, no alarm, “mind racing,” and so he goes to the office. On Fridays and Saturdays, he aims for eight hours to be rested and sharp on game day. After games, he’s either too keyed up or too pissed off — and not just after losses — to turn off his brain.
Then he starts the week all over again, watching film, not just to check a box but to reach that magical realm of focus when time seems suspended and background noise all but disappears. It sometimes takes a while. McVay has always been envious of Belichick and Shanahan, “cyborgs” who can concentrate for hours, he says. McVay can’t. People are always interrupting him. His phone is always buzzing; answering texts and emails only creates more texts and emails. He has to clear his mind and then reset. He used to disappear to the sauna, until he learned that his phone could withstand the heat. So now he hits the steam room, where phones don’t function well. Then he dives back into film study, helping him win 67% of his regular-season games and 70% of his playoff ones, a life that feels sustainable or not, depending on the day.
“I’m not going to burn out coaching,” McVay insists. “That’s not going to happen.”
Are his parents worried about him burning out?
“Yeah,” Tim says.
“Of course,” Cindy says.
– – –
SAME TOPIC BUT different day, Veronika overhears our conversation and smiles out of the side of her mouth, knowing where it’s headed. The costs in Sean’s life are also costs in her life, and even if she signed on for it, even if it’s brought blessings beyond belief, even if she graduated from George Mason with a degree in international business and earned a master’s in global management from Arizona State and now has her own career in real estate, McVay still feels guilty about it — and guilty about his competing desires, as if he’s cheating both his personal and professional lives if he attempts to find balance.
On this June evening, two days before their wedding, papers are scattered on the counter, detailing seating assignments and schedules for the reception. Yesterday they signed their marriage license.
“Not having second thoughts yet?” Sean asks her.
“Too late now,” she says.
“When did you first realize I’m crazy?” he asks during a different quiet moment.
“First date,” she says.
They got serious in 2016, when they were both in Washington. After the Rams hired McVay, his buddies begged him to stay single for the first year. They had a plan: All of them would share a home in the hills and hunt around town as a pack, a football Entourage. It was a staggering misread of McVay’s ambition. He wanted to be a great coach, only a great coach. Veronika was essential to that plan. McVay asked her to move to L.A. with him, the unofficial-official beginning of their marriage. She not only helped enrich his life but also simplified it. In Washington, McVay was a prolific but unhappy dater. She provided not total balance, because that’s impossible in the NFL, but “a bit more balance,” McVay says.
Veronika didn’t care about football — when he introduced her to various team owners at a league party, she was unfazed — but she did care about its role in Sean’s life. Whether the Rams won or lost didn’t affect her soul, her sense of self, her essence, like it did for him. She is patient and supportive — patiently supportive. Cindy once told her that she would have been a better mother to Sean if he had handled games the way Veronika does, with steady calm. McVay might not be happy all the time in this job, or even a lot of it, but he’s happier with Veronika and has had his best professional years since they fell in love.
“Not by coincidence,” he says.
Veronika was with Sean in Cabo San Lucas in January 2021 when he at his darkest, so down as to be broken. The Rams had just lost to the Packers in the divisional round. He had hit a wall with Goff, and knew he needed to move on from him, but didn’t know how — not with the four-year, $134 million extension that Goff had signed a little over a year earlier, a deal McVay had championed.
Smart opposing coaches, especially in New England, were as impressed with how McVay managed to solve for Goff’s limits as they were confused by the contract the quarterback received. Everything McVay wanted to be seemed to be slipping away, and he was not blameless. He later fired a few staffers he had invested in, and even if he felt it was the right decision, he still felt guilty. Then, McVay’s mood perked up: He found out that Stafford was vacationing at the same resort — and that he wanted out of Detroit.
They met for drinks poolside, talking football. A bond forged over sun and booze. McVay returned to his hotel and, “a few tequilas in,” he says now, hopped on a FaceTime with Rams brass, unleashing a plea that’s now legendary around the team’s office. “Here’s the f—ing deal, OK? We can sit here and exist, and be OK winning nine to 11 games, and losing in the f—ing divisional round and feel like, ‘Oh, everything’s OK.’ Or, we could let our motherf—ing nuts hang, and go trade for this f—ing quarterback, and give ourselves a chance to go win a f—ing world championship. You ready to f—ing do this or what?”
Laughs followed, not pushback. Stafford was an obvious upgrade. And within days, he was a Ram. That acquisition, coupled with the Rams’ general indifference to high draft picks, prompted them to be labeled as the NFL’s first superteam since John McVay’s 1994 49ers — all-in for one year, championship or nothing. Sean chafed at the label but not the stakes. The Rams started 7-1, then lost all three games in November, just the second time in McVay’s career that he had lost three straight. Throws that Stafford had hit in his sleep in September and October suddenly became pick-sixes. McVay likes to deploy a hurry-up attack when his offense struggles, but injuries to receivers and new players in new positions essentially killed that option. McVay started down a familiar dark path.
“It was a f—ing joke how pissed and how — I can’t even articulate. The disgust. The sickness. The constant pit in your gut. You have to fight what you’re feeling. You have to get up and lead and really authentically be able to demonstrate the strength that I think is a responsibility and necessity for a good leader — while not minimizing that I’m a human being too, and I f—ing hate this s—.”
McVay didn’t want his mood to affect the entire building, so he often retreated to his home office. It created a void. The team didn’t crack — cornerback Jalen Ramsey’s leadership helped — but it was in danger of it. It needed more of McVay at a time when he was barely hanging on. The only coach who could tell this to McVay was Raheem Morris, one of his best friends since their Washington days.
Morris is a ruthless competitor but knows that there’s something bigger than football at stake, which McVay intellectually understands but often struggles to practice. Years ago, McVay’s Rams beat the Falcons, where Morris was an assistant, and Cindy and Tim hosted a postgame party at their Atlanta house. Morris arrived with his family, smiling and gracious. Cindy later asked Sean whether he would have shown up if the roles were reversed. “Sure,” he said. Then he fessed up. “No.”
One day in November, Morris asked McVay, “You all right?”
Both men knew the answer. Morris reminded McVay that he gets lost inside his own head, alienating himself.
“Think anybody else knows?” McVay asked.
“Absolutely,” Morris said.
“Sometimes people need you,” Morris told McVay. “Sometimes when your voice is around, you give people comfort. Make them feel better. You make them want to go play.”
McVay had forgotten something essential about himself, something that is as responsible for his success as his ambition, his ethic and near photographic memory, the way he imagines formations and anticipates action and is able to simplify those ideas into teachable concepts: He’s magnetic. People like talking to him and enjoy his presence, at least when he’s at his best, and they like how he can laugh at himself, especially after he screws up. It not only gives the rest of the team permission to admit mistakes, but it also reminds everyone that they’re all imperfect and in it together.
McVay had grown accustomed to people quieting when he entered a room, aware and wary of the boss. He reminded himself that he has always told the team that “it doesn’t have to be miserable in the pursuit of greatness,” and resolved to embody it, making himself more available. He watched videos of Tom Brady’s postgame news conferences after losses in 2020, looking for clues into the positive mindset required to rally and win it all.
And on the Monday before the three-game skid ended, McVay met alone with Stafford. An impromptu meeting turned into a two-hour session. “It was basically like we were each other’s counselor,” McVay says. The most hyped union in the offseason had reached an impasse. They were true friends — McVay not only went to Stafford’s house for Easter but even brought his parents — but both felt insecure, and were internalizing the pressure, almost afraid to acknowledge its existence.
“This isn’t too much,” McVay told Stafford. “But it’s a f—ing lot.”
Stafford spoke, and as he did, McVay realized that he had lost sight of an important tenet as a playcaller: to simplify the quarterback’s job. Stafford’s presence had given McVay a passer whose talent was equal to the coach’s play innovation, but both men felt enough outside pressure, and the constant throwing on offense added to it. McVay promised Stafford that they’d run the ball more, then added: “Who gives a f— what everyone else says? Let’s enjoy it, let’s compete to the best of our ability, let the chips fall where they may, but nobody is going to get more criticism and scrutiny than we are.”
“It was as honest and as good a conversation as I’ve had with a coach or teammate ever in my football career,” Stafford says now.
– – –
THAT AFTERNOON, McVay stands at a counter holding a folded piece of thin cardboard. It’s the playcalling sheet from the biggest game of his life, titled: Game #21 Bengals Super Bowl 2/13/22. The type is tiny. Plays are broken down by situation, down and distance and level of disaster, with one category called GBOT: Get Back on Track.
Along the bottom are handwritten reminders. “Notes to myself,” he says. “Nobody else sees this but me.”
See the game one play at a time
Trust Yourself & Everyone Around You
LMMAIOYP (Lord Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace)
Present & Still is Key
Patient & Joy
He hangs on joy for a moment. “I actually did a pretty good job of that,” he says.
He looks it over, a document that explains so much about who he is and wanted to be, the pinnacle of something, worthy of preservation. The card’s ink is smeared, its edges wrinkled, vaguely worn and damaged. I suggest that he should frame it before it’s too late.
“Ha,” McVay says.
Nope, not now. He wants it handy, needs it handy, should the Rams face the Bengals this season. “For reference,” he says as he carries it back to his office. Maybe it’s wise, or tragic, but most of all, it’s inevitable. |
