Alright, so today I’m gonna share a bit about something I was tinkering with. You know how these NFL Combine numbers get thrown around, and everyone becomes an expert overnight? Well, Bucky Irving’s 40-yard dash time, that 4.55, it really got under my skin. People were writing him off, or making all sorts of excuses. It was a real circus.
My Own Little Investigation
So, I figured, let me take a look myself. Not like I’ve got some high-tech sports lab in my garage. Nah, it was just me, my old laptop, and a bunch of game footage I’ve hoarded over the years. My son walked in, saw me squinting at the screen with a notepad, and asked if I was finally trying to understand “the youths.” Smart kid.
First thing I did was pull up his official combine 40. Watched it over and over. Okay, the start wasn’t like a lightning bolt, not like some of these track guys trying to play football. But then, I switched gears. I started digging into his actual game film from Oregon. You know, where he’s actually playing football, dodging grown men trying to take his head off, not just running in a straight line in pajamas.
This is where it got interesting, and frankly, a bit annoying.
Because on tape, the guy just plays fast. It’s that whole “game speed” versus “track speed” thing everyone talks about, but it’s more than just a catchphrase. I started trying to time little bursts in-game. Ten yards here, a cutback there. It’s a total pain, let me tell you. The camera angles are all over the shop, you rarely get a clean, sustained view from the sideline. It’s like trying to assemble furniture with instructions written in a language you don’t speak, using a picture that’s blurry.
- Getting clean timings? Almost impossible.
- Comparing it to a sterile 40 track? Apples and oranges. Big, juicy, field-grown apples versus those tiny, waxy, decorative oranges.
It reminds me of this one time I was trying to get my car’s AC fixed. The dealership, those so-called “experts,” told me I needed a whole new compressor unit. Quoted me a fortune. I took it to this old guy my neighbor recommended, works out of a small shop. He poked around for ten minutes, found a loose wire, charged me twenty bucks. Twenty! Sometimes, the official story, the big flashy numbers, they just don’t tell you what’s really going on under the hood.
What I Think I Found
So, I spent a good chunk of my weekend on this. My wife just shook her head, said I should have taken up fishing. Maybe she’s right. I even, and I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this, tried to mimic some of his movements in my backyard. Just to feel it out. My dog got very confused, thought it was playtime. My knees, however, sent me a very clear memo that my scouting days are long over.
What I kept seeing on film wasn’t straight-line speed, though he had enough of that to break away. It was his acceleration in short areas, his balance, how he could make these subtle shifts and cuts without losing much speed. That’s the stuff that doesn’t show up when you’re just sprinting forty yards with no defenders around. The combine is like a beauty pageant for athletes. Looks good, but does it tell you if they can actually do the job when things get messy?
Honestly, it makes you wonder about the whole evaluation process sometimes.
Why am I telling you all this? Because I think we, as fans, and maybe even some folks who should know better, get way too hung up on these isolated numbers. That 4.55 became a brand on him: “Bucky Irving, the kinda slow running back.” But then you watch him navigate a crowded line of scrimmage, make a linebacker look silly, and pick up a tough first down, and that brand just peels right off. It’s like judging a book by one word on the cover.
So, my little “practice session” with Bucky Irving’s 40? It didn’t unearth some magic, hidden metric. It just hammered home something I’ve always believed: you gotta trust your eyes. You gotta watch how these guys actually play the game of football. These drills, these numbers, they’re just a tiny piece of a much bigger puzzle. And sometimes, they’re the piece that doesn’t quite fit right, no matter how hard you try to jam it in there. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to put some ice on my everything. This “analysis” stuff is a young man’s game.
