Be Dan Jackson for a minute.
Slide that big “47” over your neck and walk a mile in his cleats.
It’s the year of our Lord 2021, national championship year, and you’re on the field with arguably the greatest college defense of all time. To the left of you, to the right of you: recruiting royalty. Future NFL All-Pro millionaires.
And there you are. Scruffy Dan Jackson. Dubbed “Dirty Dan” not because of your play but because of your chin, populated as it is by a lethargic assortment of whiskers. What are you even doing here? Squirting water bottles? Nope. Unlikely as it sounds . . .
Couple or three years ago, you were a pretty good high school running back at North Hall near the big lake. Nice, religious kid. You played in the worship band at church. Your college football aspirations stretched no higher than Mercer. The recruiting sites bestowed their stars and their feverish blue-chip prognostications elsewhere.
You went ahead and enrolled in Athens, because why the hell not be where you loved being. You did have a walk-on invitation—you know, come get your butt kicked daily so the talented kids can improve. You signed up. Butt was kicked. You “redshirted,” which was an eye-roller because nobody was keeping track of your eligibility.
You redshirted again, worked your butt off on the scout team, and actually started to kick occasional butt. Ran some sprints, beat some blue-chip guys, raised some eyebrows.
Suddenly, and this was big—third year, the DB room cleared out, while you were grabbing a Mountain Dew from the Coke machine. You turned around and it’s just you and some dudes. Where are, you know, the real defensive backs who will play in genuine football games?
Next thing you know, you're at practice, playing against, not with, the scout team.
Your moment came when you barreled in from nowhere on an Arkansas punt at the goal line, just the way you practiced it. You popped the spheroid high into the air, then stood in the end zone, comically looking everywhere for the ball. Zeus found it for a huge touchdown that shook the stadium in Richter Scale numbers.
It kept happening. You ended up starting several games for this "generational" defense. You led it in tackles a couple of times. And after a while, fans just accepted that you were supposed to be there. It didn’t occur to many that you were the Stetson Bennett of the D side. Just in a quieter way. No fan forums were erupting in civil wars over your getting on the field. Nobody was offended that you bore the number of a three-time All-American. Given the legendary status of the side you were playing on, it may actually have been a more unlikely story. But "Dan Jackson" doesn't have the crazy ring to it that "Stetson Bennett IV" does.
Now you’re actually funding your own scholarship with NIL money. Unbelievable. There’s talk of Kirby getting you a no-joke official schollie. But hey, it’s all good. No complaints, really. This ride is a wild one, free or not, and you, Dan Jackson, are going to savor every moment.
One other replay for the memory books. You’re in the final moments of what will absolutely be the most amazing memory of your life. You're sprinting down the field with that 4.48 laser-timed speed on what you already realize will be a never-forgotten play, up there with Belue to Scott. You’re Kelee Ringo’s wing man as he roars toward the goal line to put a mammoth exclamation point on a national championship explosion. Just as Kelee's about to cross, you converge with one more Bama guy who has a slight angle. He won’t get there anyway—the angels are with us on this one—but you make one more full-body pop for 2021. A pop for the ages, every atom in your body committed to it. You and the Bama dude knock each other into next week.
But next week isn’t a bad place to be. You put a ring on it. People are starting to recognize you around campus. There's another mass departure, and again, there you stand. One of the vets who will tell the stories. Still with some football to play.
Be Dan Jackson for a minute. Soak it in. Do that and you’re likely to feel a little better about the health and wellbeing of this college football thing.
Slide that big “47” over your neck and walk a mile in his cleats.
It’s the year of our Lord 2021, national championship year, and you’re on the field with arguably the greatest college defense of all time. To the left of you, to the right of you: recruiting royalty. Future NFL All-Pro millionaires.
And there you are. Scruffy Dan Jackson. Dubbed “Dirty Dan” not because of your play but because of your chin, populated as it is by a lethargic assortment of whiskers. What are you even doing here? Squirting water bottles? Nope. Unlikely as it sounds . . .
Couple or three years ago, you were a pretty good high school running back at North Hall near the big lake. Nice, religious kid. You played in the worship band at church. Your college football aspirations stretched no higher than Mercer. The recruiting sites bestowed their stars and their feverish blue-chip prognostications elsewhere.
You went ahead and enrolled in Athens, because why the hell not be where you loved being. You did have a walk-on invitation—you know, come get your butt kicked daily so the talented kids can improve. You signed up. Butt was kicked. You “redshirted,” which was an eye-roller because nobody was keeping track of your eligibility.
You redshirted again, worked your butt off on the scout team, and actually started to kick occasional butt. Ran some sprints, beat some blue-chip guys, raised some eyebrows.
Suddenly, and this was big—third year, the DB room cleared out, while you were grabbing a Mountain Dew from the Coke machine. You turned around and it’s just you and some dudes. Where are, you know, the real defensive backs who will play in genuine football games?
Next thing you know, you're at practice, playing against, not with, the scout team.
Your moment came when you barreled in from nowhere on an Arkansas punt at the goal line, just the way you practiced it. You popped the spheroid high into the air, then stood in the end zone, comically looking everywhere for the ball. Zeus found it for a huge touchdown that shook the stadium in Richter Scale numbers.
It kept happening. You ended up starting several games for this "generational" defense. You led it in tackles a couple of times. And after a while, fans just accepted that you were supposed to be there. It didn’t occur to many that you were the Stetson Bennett of the D side. Just in a quieter way. No fan forums were erupting in civil wars over your getting on the field. Nobody was offended that you bore the number of a three-time All-American. Given the legendary status of the side you were playing on, it may actually have been a more unlikely story. But "Dan Jackson" doesn't have the crazy ring to it that "Stetson Bennett IV" does.
Now you’re actually funding your own scholarship with NIL money. Unbelievable. There’s talk of Kirby getting you a no-joke official schollie. But hey, it’s all good. No complaints, really. This ride is a wild one, free or not, and you, Dan Jackson, are going to savor every moment.
One other replay for the memory books. You’re in the final moments of what will absolutely be the most amazing memory of your life. You're sprinting down the field with that 4.48 laser-timed speed on what you already realize will be a never-forgotten play, up there with Belue to Scott. You’re Kelee Ringo’s wing man as he roars toward the goal line to put a mammoth exclamation point on a national championship explosion. Just as Kelee's about to cross, you converge with one more Bama guy who has a slight angle. He won’t get there anyway—the angels are with us on this one—but you make one more full-body pop for 2021. A pop for the ages, every atom in your body committed to it. You and the Bama dude knock each other into next week.
But next week isn’t a bad place to be. You put a ring on it. People are starting to recognize you around campus. There's another mass departure, and again, there you stand. One of the vets who will tell the stories. Still with some football to play.
Be Dan Jackson for a minute. Soak it in. Do that and you’re likely to feel a little better about the health and wellbeing of this college football thing.
