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Once-in-a-Decade Talent

The tape of the NCAA national championship game had been scrutinized countless times across the league. General managers and head coaches alike had analyzed it down to the last detail. Could Reid possibly uncover something new?

Brett Veach had already reviewed the footage a dozen times or more, with the second-to-last touchdown of the game being etched in his memory—

Lance had sidestepped multiple tackles and even broken free mid-tackle, turning a chaotic play into a touchdown through sheer willpower.

It was undeniable—a player like Lance was every team's dream. But objectively, he was only one of several promising rookies this year, and the value of a running back had to be carefully weighed.

Managing a team with reckless abandon rarely ended well—Washington's all-in for Robert Griffin III was a cautionary tale.

"Coach, we've all seen this," Veach gently reminded him.

Reid shook his head, "No, we've all missed something."

"In that last series, Lance could've easily completed the touchdown himself, but instead, he blocked for Clark, giving his teammate an effortless score and leaving the defense completely unprepared."

Veach nodded, "Yes, I remember. That was Coach Saban's decoy play to set up the two-point conversion. They used Clark and Hurts to confuse the Clemson defense."

"Exactly," Reid agreed, fast-forwarding to the final two-point conversion. "We could only see that in hindsight, but who predicted it during the game?"

"No one."

"The Crimson Tide had a mobile quarterback who could run and pass, a tight end in Howard positioned to catch short passes, and Clark, who'd just scored. They had at least three, maybe four, potential offensive threats."

"But."

"Saban didn't hesitate. Even before the touchdown, he'd already committed to using Lance for the two-point conversion. Hurts, Clark, Howard—they were all decoys. From the start, the game-winning play was designed around Lance."

"Let's think about that."

"With five seconds left, the Crimson Tide could've chosen to kick the extra point to tie the game. Instead, Saban risked everything on a two-point conversion."

"And he trusted Lance with that responsibility."

"Is Saban crazy?"

"No, of course not."

Reid paused, turning to Veach. "In retrospect, we know that play was centered on Lance, with everyone else as a decoy. Now, watch Lance."

Veach blinked, struggling to follow Reid's line of thinking, but he turned to the screen out of respect.

"Look at Lance—see how calm, how composed he is."

"All of the NCAA—no, all of North America was watching that moment. Lance, only 21, had been playing football for just a year, yet here he was, carrying the weight of the Crimson Tide's undefeated season in his hands. One misstep, and he could've ruined everything."

"Yet Saban—a coach with countless championships under his belt—chose to place the season's outcome on a rookie. Why?"

"Because Saban saw what I see."

"A legend."

"Lance wasn't nervous. He wasn't uncertain. He was completely absorbed in the moment because he knew he'd succeed. It wasn't a matter of belief; it was certainty."

"He has the composure of a veteran. He knows how to lead a team, and he knows how to take responsibility. Derrick Henry didn't have that kind of resolve. Adrian Peterson didn't have it."

"Brett, we're looking at more than just a player."

Veach's gaze finally locked onto the screen, captivated by the figure on it.

The minutes until the draft ticked by, each one dragging on like an eternity.

Then, just before hearts began to burst from anticipation—

Under the spotlight, NFL commissioner Roger Goodell stepped onto the stage.

"Welcome to the 2017 NFL Draft. Tonight is monumental for players, teams, and fans alike—the new season begins here."

"The 2017 NFL Draft is officially open, with the first overall pick belonging to the Cleveland Browns. The countdown begins now."

Once Goodell started the clock, each team had precisely ten minutes to submit their pick, leaving room for possible trades or adjustments.

Ten minutes might seem sufficient, but not always.

If teams went over time, as the Minnesota Vikings did in 2003 and the Ravens did in 2011, the next team could select immediately, bumping the offending team to choose after.

320 minutes over 32 selections promised a long, grueling afternoon for players and fans alike.

First up, Cleveland Browns.

Eyes turned, anticipation thickening the air—

No one knew for sure how the Browns would decide.

Quarterback? Running back? Or would they stick to this year's defensive riches?

As expected, Cleveland's team manager, Sashi Brown, kept everyone guessing. Rumors flew in every direction, naming Lance, Watson, wide receivers, defensive players—all of them in contention. It was as unpredictable as a circus act, leaving analysts at a loss.

But surprisingly, the Browns didn't take long to decide. In under a minute, they submitted their pick. Clearly, they'd been decisive, unwilling to trade the first overall pick.

So who would shoulder the task of leading Cleveland's turnaround?

"Myles Garrett, defensive end, Texas A&M."

What?

What!

The room buzzed with shock.

It wasn't that Garrett wasn't worthy; he was widely seen as the best overall player in the draft, a standout even in this strong defensive class. Many experts agreed he deserved a top-three pick, if not first overall.

The surprise was that the Browns had done something almost unheard of—they'd made a sensible choice. After weeks of misdirection, Cleveland had opted for a solid pick rather than the flashy gamble many had expected.

In Philadelphia's Art Museum, Browns fans erupted, cheering and celebrating the long-awaited wisdom of their team.

Finally! Were they actually trying to improve?

From across the green room, Garrett caught Lance's eye through the crowd:

See you in the league!

Yet the draft continued, with the San Francisco 49ers holding the second pick—

That is, until Goodell dropped a bombshell.

"The San Francisco 49ers have just completed a trade. The Kansas City Chiefs now hold the second overall pick. The clock begins now."

What?

Wait, what?!

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Powerstones?

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