Needa Pass Rush
04-23-2006, 04:14 PM
Consider this Mock's pre-draft reach-around. :~ohyah!:
Also, I would like to point out that the last time we got into Super Bowl mode was after we brought in a guy named Davis. TD sounded better then VD, but I think we should find a way to get Vernon in here and kick off another SB run.
Can I get a "Hell ya!!" ???
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/04/22/AR2006042201415.html
In the Name of the Grandmother
Through All His Success, Davis Remembers 'Ma'
By Les Carpenter
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, April 23, 2006; E01 http://media3.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/photo/2006/04/22/PH2006042201535.jpg
The gift had to be right, something she would never forget. After all, Adaline Davis had reared her grandson like he was her own, making him everything that he had become. He even called her "Ma."
So on her birthday two years ago, Vernon Davis did what only a college freshman would do. He had her name tattooed to the inside of his left arm. Then he raced home with his surprise.
And Adaline Davis did what any grandmother would do upon learning her precious little boy had permanently affixed her name in inch-high letters across his arm. She recoiled in shock, sent him away and spent the night turning restlessly in her bed.
But they had been through too much together, grandmother and grandson. A little ink seared into his skin could not undo the years of life lessons she had passed on. And when he said, "Every day I will look at my arm and think of you," she melted.
"You know that really meant a lot to me that he wrote my name in his arm like that," Adaline said. "I don't like it a lot. But it still was nice."
Saturday, Vernon Davis's name will be called during the NFL draft. Some predict he'll be taken during the second hour, meaning the 6-foot-3, 256-pound tight end from Maryland is about to become a very rich and famous man. But his story begins in a brick rowhouse on Emerson Street in Northwest Washington, where Adaline took in her daughter's oldest son. This is where a 2-year-old Vernon howled when Adaline tried to take him back to his mother and where eventually he just stayed, leaving only when it was time to go to college.
"Without her staying on me, I just wouldn't be where I'm at now," Vernon said.
She gave him direction; everybody says that. From the beginning, Adaline was a fortress, insisting the child respect his elders, never talk back and always set goals. Maybe she had to be like this, for the house was full. Adaline was always taking in children. And not just her own, but eventually most of Vernon's brothers and sisters as well as some from the neighborhood and of course the ones that other parents dropped off for a week when work got too hard or they needed a vacation. Asked how many, she silently counts.
After 15 she loses track.
"She set the character," said Craig Jefferies, Davis's football coach at Dunbar High.
Jefferies was startled when Davis arrived at Dunbar, already a giant, unsure he really wanted to play football. The boy was so polite, so easygoing. Jefferies was used to players who snapped at their coaches and tried to glide through high school on pure athletic talent. Davis didn't have their talent. But he had a smile. He was humble and he could run. The rest was Adaline.
The only path to greatness was hard work, she taught him. And when he decided he wanted to play football, he plunged in headfirst. He didn't have the best hands to be a tight end, but he spent his free days catching passes thrown by his little brother. He was tall but he wasn't strong, so he came to the weight room every day, sculpting his body. On holidays, when the other players were spending their days sleeping, Vernon was at the football field behind Dunbar, running sprints, climbing up and down the rows of bleachers.
But what impressed the coaches who came to recruit him was the way he talked to them, the way he asked questions and smiled and listened, even to the Division I-AA coaches who had no hope of landing a player who already had two scholarship offers from major colleges in the 10th grade.
"I think I have a shot at getting him," more than one coach said to Jefferies.
Jefferies would reply: "I hate to burst your bubble, but Vernon is like that with everybody. He makes everybody feel good."
And this was Adaline, too. Never treat anybody as less than significant. You never know what they might someday become.
From the day Vernon walked into the Maryland football offices, Dahlia Levin, the team's academic specialist, knew there was something different about him. He told her about his sisters, what each liked to do, what made them unique. Then he told her they were "beautiful" and "gorgeous."
No, Levin, thought, this player was definitely not like the others.
She was amazed by his patience. Many of the other players brushed through their work or stalled as much as they could. Vernon plunged into his first English class, determined to impress.
"He got an A," Levin said. "I'm probably breaking a million rules by saying that but I never saw someone work that hard."
It was easy to see his passions. His face would simply light up. And Levin quickly learned that Davis loved football -- often staying for two workouts when only one was mandatory -- and he also loved art. She noticed the second passion one day while making routine class checks -- making sure the players were actually attending their classes. He came out of an art class and he was smiling.
This led to a series of discussions between them. If he loved art so much, why not become an art major? Eventually he agreed, focusing on drawing, painting and sculpting. And it became quite a sight -- the lone football player towering over the other students, dreadlocks spilling across his face, in a room filled with aspiring artists. Almost always he was the only athlete there. He didn't care. This was something new, something he enjoyed.
"Vernon has broken all the perceptions about athletes," Levin said. "I used to speak to his professors and they all sang his praises about how he was shattering their stereotypes."
She has one of his paintings. It hangs on her living room wall. It came from an assignment in one of his classes; he was asked to read an editorial and paint a picture based on what he had just read. Davis selected an editorial on Israeli-Palestinian relations. He painted a globe with flames coming from around Israel and huge, angry clouds looming above and from those clouds came a dove, a fierce glare in its eye, that appeared to be hurtling toward earth.
The interpretation: Peace is coming but it won't be easy.
"I think Vernon is a very spiritual person," Levin said.
Adaline never wanted to be rich, even though her grandson is about to become wealthier than they could have imagined. She never understood how people could horde money, stashing it away and not sharing it with those in need. If she had money she'd just be giving it away. She worries about people who are homeless or have just come out of jail with no place to go, no way to make a living. What happens to them?
And maybe this is her one last lesson for Vernon. She hopes he will set up a foundation to help people, much in the way she helped him when he was a child. She figures he probably will. Vernon was never one to leave people behind.
Already he's making commercials. It seems with his smile he is a natural for selling things. Under Armour, the apparel manufacturer, has hired him to be a spokesman for its new line of gear. So has EAS, a supplement company.
It seems all those lost days running the bleachers at Dunbar and catching passes thrown by his little brother have finally paid off. He stunned everybody at the NFL combine in February by running the 40-yard-dash in 4.3 seconds and dominated every weightlifting and running statistic for tight ends. Several coaches in the highly secretive world of draft preparation nonetheless have said off the record that it was the most impressive showing they had ever seen from any player ever at the combine.
And the teams, charmed by Vernon, have been moving him up their draft lists.
A couple of weeks ago, the phone rang at the house on Emerson Street. Adaline picked it up and heard Vernon crying on the other end.
Her heart dropped.
"What's wrong?" she shouted.
Through his tears, Vernon said the NFL had called. They were inviting him to New York for the draft -- an honor bestowed upon only the most elite prospects. It was the affirmation that everything he had done, all the extra work, had finally paid off.
"Why didn't you tell me when you first called, then I could have cried with you," Adaline said.
Then together they did.
The football player and the grandmother who lives forever on his arm.
Also, I would like to point out that the last time we got into Super Bowl mode was after we brought in a guy named Davis. TD sounded better then VD, but I think we should find a way to get Vernon in here and kick off another SB run.
Can I get a "Hell ya!!" ???
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/04/22/AR2006042201415.html
In the Name of the Grandmother
Through All His Success, Davis Remembers 'Ma'
By Les Carpenter
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, April 23, 2006; E01 http://media3.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/photo/2006/04/22/PH2006042201535.jpg
The gift had to be right, something she would never forget. After all, Adaline Davis had reared her grandson like he was her own, making him everything that he had become. He even called her "Ma."
So on her birthday two years ago, Vernon Davis did what only a college freshman would do. He had her name tattooed to the inside of his left arm. Then he raced home with his surprise.
And Adaline Davis did what any grandmother would do upon learning her precious little boy had permanently affixed her name in inch-high letters across his arm. She recoiled in shock, sent him away and spent the night turning restlessly in her bed.
But they had been through too much together, grandmother and grandson. A little ink seared into his skin could not undo the years of life lessons she had passed on. And when he said, "Every day I will look at my arm and think of you," she melted.
"You know that really meant a lot to me that he wrote my name in his arm like that," Adaline said. "I don't like it a lot. But it still was nice."
Saturday, Vernon Davis's name will be called during the NFL draft. Some predict he'll be taken during the second hour, meaning the 6-foot-3, 256-pound tight end from Maryland is about to become a very rich and famous man. But his story begins in a brick rowhouse on Emerson Street in Northwest Washington, where Adaline took in her daughter's oldest son. This is where a 2-year-old Vernon howled when Adaline tried to take him back to his mother and where eventually he just stayed, leaving only when it was time to go to college.
"Without her staying on me, I just wouldn't be where I'm at now," Vernon said.
She gave him direction; everybody says that. From the beginning, Adaline was a fortress, insisting the child respect his elders, never talk back and always set goals. Maybe she had to be like this, for the house was full. Adaline was always taking in children. And not just her own, but eventually most of Vernon's brothers and sisters as well as some from the neighborhood and of course the ones that other parents dropped off for a week when work got too hard or they needed a vacation. Asked how many, she silently counts.
After 15 she loses track.
"She set the character," said Craig Jefferies, Davis's football coach at Dunbar High.
Jefferies was startled when Davis arrived at Dunbar, already a giant, unsure he really wanted to play football. The boy was so polite, so easygoing. Jefferies was used to players who snapped at their coaches and tried to glide through high school on pure athletic talent. Davis didn't have their talent. But he had a smile. He was humble and he could run. The rest was Adaline.
The only path to greatness was hard work, she taught him. And when he decided he wanted to play football, he plunged in headfirst. He didn't have the best hands to be a tight end, but he spent his free days catching passes thrown by his little brother. He was tall but he wasn't strong, so he came to the weight room every day, sculpting his body. On holidays, when the other players were spending their days sleeping, Vernon was at the football field behind Dunbar, running sprints, climbing up and down the rows of bleachers.
But what impressed the coaches who came to recruit him was the way he talked to them, the way he asked questions and smiled and listened, even to the Division I-AA coaches who had no hope of landing a player who already had two scholarship offers from major colleges in the 10th grade.
"I think I have a shot at getting him," more than one coach said to Jefferies.
Jefferies would reply: "I hate to burst your bubble, but Vernon is like that with everybody. He makes everybody feel good."
And this was Adaline, too. Never treat anybody as less than significant. You never know what they might someday become.
From the day Vernon walked into the Maryland football offices, Dahlia Levin, the team's academic specialist, knew there was something different about him. He told her about his sisters, what each liked to do, what made them unique. Then he told her they were "beautiful" and "gorgeous."
No, Levin, thought, this player was definitely not like the others.
She was amazed by his patience. Many of the other players brushed through their work or stalled as much as they could. Vernon plunged into his first English class, determined to impress.
"He got an A," Levin said. "I'm probably breaking a million rules by saying that but I never saw someone work that hard."
It was easy to see his passions. His face would simply light up. And Levin quickly learned that Davis loved football -- often staying for two workouts when only one was mandatory -- and he also loved art. She noticed the second passion one day while making routine class checks -- making sure the players were actually attending their classes. He came out of an art class and he was smiling.
This led to a series of discussions between them. If he loved art so much, why not become an art major? Eventually he agreed, focusing on drawing, painting and sculpting. And it became quite a sight -- the lone football player towering over the other students, dreadlocks spilling across his face, in a room filled with aspiring artists. Almost always he was the only athlete there. He didn't care. This was something new, something he enjoyed.
"Vernon has broken all the perceptions about athletes," Levin said. "I used to speak to his professors and they all sang his praises about how he was shattering their stereotypes."
She has one of his paintings. It hangs on her living room wall. It came from an assignment in one of his classes; he was asked to read an editorial and paint a picture based on what he had just read. Davis selected an editorial on Israeli-Palestinian relations. He painted a globe with flames coming from around Israel and huge, angry clouds looming above and from those clouds came a dove, a fierce glare in its eye, that appeared to be hurtling toward earth.
The interpretation: Peace is coming but it won't be easy.
"I think Vernon is a very spiritual person," Levin said.
Adaline never wanted to be rich, even though her grandson is about to become wealthier than they could have imagined. She never understood how people could horde money, stashing it away and not sharing it with those in need. If she had money she'd just be giving it away. She worries about people who are homeless or have just come out of jail with no place to go, no way to make a living. What happens to them?
And maybe this is her one last lesson for Vernon. She hopes he will set up a foundation to help people, much in the way she helped him when he was a child. She figures he probably will. Vernon was never one to leave people behind.
Already he's making commercials. It seems with his smile he is a natural for selling things. Under Armour, the apparel manufacturer, has hired him to be a spokesman for its new line of gear. So has EAS, a supplement company.
It seems all those lost days running the bleachers at Dunbar and catching passes thrown by his little brother have finally paid off. He stunned everybody at the NFL combine in February by running the 40-yard-dash in 4.3 seconds and dominated every weightlifting and running statistic for tight ends. Several coaches in the highly secretive world of draft preparation nonetheless have said off the record that it was the most impressive showing they had ever seen from any player ever at the combine.
And the teams, charmed by Vernon, have been moving him up their draft lists.
A couple of weeks ago, the phone rang at the house on Emerson Street. Adaline picked it up and heard Vernon crying on the other end.
Her heart dropped.
"What's wrong?" she shouted.
Through his tears, Vernon said the NFL had called. They were inviting him to New York for the draft -- an honor bestowed upon only the most elite prospects. It was the affirmation that everything he had done, all the extra work, had finally paid off.
"Why didn't you tell me when you first called, then I could have cried with you," Adaline said.
Then together they did.
The football player and the grandmother who lives forever on his arm.