The man would line up, move at roughly the speed of an unattended airport walkway, turn around eight yards later, and discover that the nearest defender had apparently been reassigned to another county.
Everyone knew what was coming:
Third-and-seven. Witten runs eight yards. Witten turns around. Witten catches ball. First down.
And the defense would react every single time like he had emerged from beneath the turf through an elaborate trapdoor system.
Jason Witten. Patient Zero.
Third and Witten
A Passive-Aggressive Playbook for Defensive Coordinators Who Remain Surprised That Tight Ends Can Catch Footballs
Q: Is there a large man standing beside the offensive tackle?
A: He may not be an offensive lineman.
Q: Did he begin lumbering toward the middle of the field?
A: Someone should accompany him.
Q: Is it third-and-seven?
A: He will run eight yards, turn around, and catch the football. This has been happening since Jason Witten roamed the earth. Plan accordingly.
Q: Did he initially pretend to block?
A: That was deception. He is now standing completely alone in the flat.
Q: Are you inside the 20-yard line?
A: Locate the enormous eligible receiver. He is probably near the end zone, where touchdowns are kept.
Q: Does your scouting report describe him as “not particularly fast”?
A: Irrelevant. He does not need speed because no one is covering him.
Q: Is the tight end unusually athletic?
A: You have ignored the slow ones for decades. You are woefully unprepared for this development. Godspeed.
Defensive philosophy: See tight end. Cover tight end.
That’s it. That’s the system. My consulting fee is $4 million per franchise, which remains substantially cheaper than whatever coordinators are currently being paid to gaze helplessly at a completely uncovered 250-pound man.