A Letter, from Professor Blue of the Stampede Blue community, to the Esteemed and Honorable representative from Georgia State, Mr. Ulrich John:
Dear Mr. Ulrich John,
The following letter is not going to be all that positive, and I apologize for that on the front end. I am frustrated, you see, but not at you. In fact, the complaints found herein are not YOUR fault at all. However, as you are directly related to them, I saw fit to let you know that you will be under more pressure than your average seventh round pick. You will be under said pressure because your name is Ulrich John.
It is not that I do not like the name...I do. It sounds like a cross between a German metaphysical poet and a member of the Jamaican bobsled team, so at least you got that going for you. No, Ulrich John...the pressure is on because of what your name is not.
For example, your name is not Antonio "Tiny" Richardson. As I was perusing some photos of rookie mini-camp on Colts.com yesterday, I kept thinking "Why is that tight end wearing 68?" That is, of course, against the rules. I kept having to remind myself that instead of drafting a proven talent like Tiny Richardson with our seventh round pick, we drafted a beanpole on stilts. Tiny Richardson, by contrast, looks like he just ate a defensive end and did a quick workout thereafter.
To everyone's surprise, Tiny Richardson was available to the Colts in the seventh round. He had a first round grade (FIRST ROUND!) early in the draft process, then started slipping as teams apparently found something. But this was the seventh round...home of high risk, high reward. If you are going to take a seventh round left tackle, it had better be Tiny.
When Tiny Richardson played against Jadeaeaeaaeeveeon Clowney, he shut him out...two years in a row. Now, I can't tell you Clowney's stat line and I'm too lazy to look it up, but in my 20/20 imagination it was 0-0-0-2 (zero tackles, zero sacks, zero times in the QB's zip code, two trips back to the locker room to change his pants). Clowney is now in our division, so humor me in this scenario:
Castonzo goes down against the Texans. We have to shuffle the o-line and Mewhort, who had been playing well at left guard, has to kick out to left tackle. Thomas comes across from right to left, and Hugh Thornton actually has to play. Trent Richardson resumes his old habit of running into Thornton's buttocks, and the details are sketchy from here but at some point Andrew Luck dies.
Now, in my moments of grief, am I going to be glad that we have a 290-pound developmental left tackle on the practice squad? By no means! Instead, I am going to stop random passersby Ancient Mariner style and lament how it could have all been prevented by inserting Tiny Richardson and carrying on as planned.
Do you see my point, Ulrich John? And your name did not have to be Tiny Richardson. In fact, I spent waaaayyyy too many hours watching film on other prospects when I could have been grading papers, landscaping my yard, or, say, teaching my daughter how to read. Instead, I watched film of college kids playing football, and many I wanted were still on the board when we drafted you. So I would have been happy if your name was Ahmad Dixon, or Shayne Skov, or Dion Bailey, or Craig Loston, or Anthony Steen, or Kenny Ladler, or Carrington Byndom, or James Stone, or Jackson Jeffcoat, or Mister Cobble, or Christian Jones, or Adrian Hubbard, or James Hurst, or Yawin Smallwood, or Marcus Roberson, or Max Bullough, or DeAndre Coleman, or Brandon Coleman, or Ty Zimmerman, or David Fluellen, or Henry Josey, or Ricky Tjong-a-Tjoe, or Morgan Breslin, or Gabe Ikard, or James Gayle, or Cody Hoffman, or Silas Redd, or Lonnie Ballentine.
Brad Wells wanted to draft Michael Sam. So, between the two of us, that's 30 players Brad and I deemed worthy of the seventh round pick. Not one of them was named Ulrich John. And before you say "Well, who are you?" and question my credentials, please make note of the fact that I watch college football and have YouTube. I know what I'm talking about, baby. This pick did not fall in line with the draft mantra "Best Player Available."
But it is not your fault, Ulrich John. You did not draft yourself. You would have been content to sign on with someone, go to camp, and call it a day. Instead, you now have pressure...lots of pressure. You need to have a better career than literally everyone mentioned above. If you do not, Mr. Grigson has got some 'splainin' to do. And one final piece of advice...eat a cheeseburger...or two...every meal...for the next two months. If your weight at camp does not start with the number 3, so help me I will throw a conniption fit.
Professor Blue of the Stampede Blue Community