I have been dying for Brock Purdy to fail. I don’t know why this is. I have nothing against Purdy or his team. But when Purdy took over for Jimmy Garoppolo in December, I was expecting him to live down to his status as the last overall pick in April’s draft. Within no time at all, that expectation blossomed into DESIRE. The Niners kept racking up wins with Purdy under center, and I unleashed my inner Football Knower in response every time. He’s only succeeding because Kyle Shanahan made the offense remedial for him. He’s got as—t arm and little-boy hands. He’s lucky that George Kittle hauled in that pass. Put pressure on this kid, and he’ll wilt.
Those are all things that I thought, said, wrote, tweeted, etc., etc. I believed, despite the NFL draft’s long history of being a crapshoot for QB selection, that pro scouts were still at least good at sorting out prospects by their potential. I believed that Purdy had none of it. I didn’t WANT him to have any potential, because part of me craves order much in the same way the NFL itself does. I wanted Purdy to fail because I wanted to be RIGHT about him failing. The internet has made me into an “I’m right” addict, like it has everyone else.
I’ve been wrong the entire time. Purdy has not failed. More importantly, it’s AWESOME that he hasn’t. Miraculous, even. It’s a joy to be wrong about Brock Purdy.
Because, all this time, I’ve been depriving myself of the NFL’s best storyline since the emergence of Kurt Warner back in 1999. If you don’t remember Warner’s background, there’s as—ty movie you can watch for that, with Shazam in the title role. Or, if you’re pressed for time, this is the top line: Kurt Warner went undrafted out of Northern Iowa, farted around in both the Arena League and NFL Europe before catching on with the Rams, got pushed into emergency duty when starter Trent Green went down right before the season started, won the goddamn MVP and the Super Bowl that same year, and then went to the Hall of Fame. Warner’s ascension was the kind of rare sports story that you refuse to believe is happening even AS it is happening, and Purdy’s success is beginning to unfold in a similar way. And if you — and by you, I mean me — can’t appreciate it, you’re failing in your duties as a sports fan.
Because, as corny as it sounds, Brock Purdy is the reason to watch sports to begin with. I hate saying that. I’ve been listening to colored guys fawn over little scrappy white men for so long that I reflexively blanch at ANY suggestion that I could have Wes Welker’s career if I simply worked out in a scuzzy gym for 18 hours a day and watched enough tape. I’ve seen Tom Brady’s dad-bod photo from the 2000 combine — you know the one — so many times that I actively rooted for Brady’s divorce earlier this season. And I instinctively recoil whenever the NFL does tell me to feel good about something, because I feel it’s already commoditized. It can be wise to think along these lines — but not always enjoyable. Hear sports cliches often enough and you become tethered to a much colder, clinical form of fandom. Talent rules all. Clutch play is an illusion. X player is worth only X amount of money. I have been told, both by teams and by players, that this is BUSINESS. And so I end up approaching a story like Purdy’s with a business mindset. Sure he’s generating nice returns now, but what happens when a Whole Foods moves in next door to him?
There’s a word for people who think this way, and that word is “dickhead.”
And unless we’re talking about Aaron Rodgers, I would prefer not to be a dickhead. Instead, I would prefer to at least occasionally be able to accept certain sports stories at face value, even if those stories stretch the limits of credulity. Sports Illustrated’s Conor Orr looked into the pre-draft training regimen that helped Purdy rise above his station as a competent, long-term starter at Iowa State. What Orr found was that Purdy managed to vastly increase his throwing speed, along with other physical traits, all in the span of a single offseason. Now that’s a real test of your ability to suspend disbelief. I had a big red ROIDS sign flashing in my mind as I worked my way through that copy. I reckon I wasn’t alone there. One anonymous NFL coach told The Athletic that Purdy had “surpassed his level of agility” from college and said, “I wonder what he did in the offseason.” But then I got to this passage from Sports Illustrated and felt the mildest of epiphanies:
“Why are we wasting so much pain and effort in finding quarterbacks who look like Josh Allen or Patrick Mahomes, when they are harder to find than a humble Twitter account?” Orr wrote. “Why are we assuming that someone like Purdy can’t get better, good enough to feed the glut of talent at the position currently blooming across football?”
There are, of course, statistical reasons to assume that Brock Purdy can’t get better. Few QBs of his standing ever have. But that’s why underdogs are underdogs. They excel despite the haters and losers. Real haters, not just ones they concocted in their own minds to pop off on Instagram. I’ve been one of those real haters for two months now, and I’m getting a little sick of myself for it. I’ve wasted a lot of pain and effort awaiting Purdy’s downfall, and it makes me wonder how I would have reacted to Warner had he come around now instead of during the pre-social media, pre-analytics days. Despite my hater cred, I don’t wanna be the guy who’s like “I can’t wait for him to suck so I can be right about him.” I wanna unleash my inner cheeseball and embrace all of the Cinderella stories, even the ones that aren’t wearing a Coppin State jersey in March. I wanna appreciate the birth of a legend as it happens and not be Johnny-come-lately to the good s—t.
Because if Purdy can beat a nearly invincible Eagles squad on Sunday, especially with both Deebo Samuel and Christian McCaffrey potentially hobbled by injuries, then we are absolutely talking about the birth of a legend. It doesn’t matter how Purdy’s success messes with the Niners’ long-term QB issues. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t win with panache. And it certainly doesn’t matter that he’s not even supposed to be here. No true underdog is ever supposed to be here, which is what makes them so fun to begin with.
So if you’re a Niners fan who’s still waiting for the bottom to fall out on this experiment — and I know there are still some of you out there — or if you’re a non-Niners fan who doesn’t want your Super Bowl tainted by the presence of a potential lemon QB, don’t be like me. Shut the business brain off and embrace this story for what it is, because it’s a great one. I hope it has a killer ending.