As kids, we all imagined what playing quarterback in our first NFL game would look like - fogged in faerie dust, with fantasies of pristine spirals spinning under a blue sky, warp-speed wideouts dashing down the sideline, the ball slips into his hands, an inch beyond the desperate wave of the defender.
Now imagine the minefield ahead of Daniel Jones.
His first NFL start is a thousand miles from MetLife, as the new centerpiece of a flagship franchise, replacing the most celebrated QB in team history. The Giants are 0-2. And he's expected to save a season already stuck on third and long.
The Giants have massaged the message since they drafted Jones with the sixth overall pick in the 2019 NFL Draft. We've seen slow-motion montages of Jones perfectly poised in shorts, with a flawless throwing motion, beads of Gatorade dripping from his passes, his equally untouched receivers snatching the passes to the hearty approval of the coaches.
Now Jones is being hurled into the crucible of live NFL action, against a decent Tampa Bay Buccaneers team, in the sweaty, late-summer heat of Florida's Gulf Coast. Jones won't wear a red jersey. His receivers will be hounded, while absurdly large, growling men claw at him in the pocket.
Since 1980, there have been 176 NFL teams that started 0-3. Only six of them have made the playoffs. These Giants will not be the seventh. But for now, Jones will play with a Messianic glow, the young, handsome face of the future, a superhero who has yet to harness his powers.
Big Blue doesn't have the secondary to blanket the better wideouts in the league. Their defensive line can't rush the opposing passer with proper speed. The Giants are averaging 15.5 points per game, 27th in the NFL. Their defense is allowing 31.5 points per game, tied for 31st in the league, on 441 yards per game (28th in the league). And they will be tasked with thwarting the 1-1 Bucs, under new head coach Bruce Arians, who is renowned for reviving aging or struggling quarterbacks, like Jameis Winston.
But this game is a ballot box on Jones. Depending on how he fares, he can add flavor to the team's first win, and even wipe the stink from a loss. If the Giants lose a close game and Jones plays anything like he did in the preseason, fans can at least feel they have the right pilot on a rickety plane.
As a mobile passer, Jones can help a group that has a revamped offensive line, but also a suspect group of wide receivers waiting for Golden Tate to return from suspension. They have a future Pro Bowl tight end in Evan Engram, a QB's friend when he doesn't have time to scan the field. And of course, they have Saquon Barkley, who may already be the best RB in the sport. But even someone of Barkley's ninja skills can't save an entire team.
Neither can Jones. The Giants are shoving him onto the field for symbolic purposes as much as (if not more than) tactical purposes. While the Giants have only scored 31 total points through two games (27th in the NFL), they have averaged 420 yards, sixth overall. And not all of those yards came from garbage time passing. The G-Men also average 140 yards on the ground, eighth out of 32 teams. But the truth is that Jones can only get better, while Eli Manning can only get worse.
Jones is replacing Manning for much the same reason Manning replaced Kurt Warner way back when. It turned out that Warner had a few more fine passes in his Canton-bound throwing arm, but he had to prove it in Arizona. Manning is older now than Warner was then. And it's not likely that Manning has suitors in a league that wants to nurture their franchise quarterbacks out of college. And with the medieval aura around the Giants the last few years, Eli may have to replace an injured Jones at some point this season.
But the Giants clearly drafted Jones for his familiar pedigree. He played at Duke, under David Cutcliffe, who has been a high-end mechanic to the fine-tuned Manning brothers, helping both Eli and Peyton with footwork and throwing motions and dropping the wisdom that only a QB guru can give.
Daniel Jones comes from that cloth. He's also built like Manning, and looks like Manning, down to the midtown haircut and measured way he chats with the media. The only major difference is Jones can run, while Eli's 40-yard-dash was timed by a sundial.
Daniel Jones doesn't have any of Eli's knowledge or experience or Hall-of-Fame bona fides. He could walk down 5th Avenue and nary a man would look twice. Jones has nothing that Eli hasn't already given you, except for hope. And for all the measurables - the marble and money of Madison Avenue, the billion-dollar teams and theme-park stadiums that could have their own area codes - breathing hope into a broken team is priceless.
Follow Jason on Twitter: @JasonKeidel
