Let the record show that the same year an Arizona kid led his team to the Super Bowl, The Arizona Republic had to publish two stories explaining who he is and why he matters.
Are you people crazy?
One of the most improbable stories in not just Arizona sports history, but NFL history, is unfolding before our eyes, and we need local sports explainers to knock our noggins and wake us up?
As incredible as it seems, there are actually Arizona Cardinals fans who are furious that someone put Brock Purdy’s name on Valley billboards to celebrate the local kid made good.
“He’s not a Cardinal! He’s not a Cardinal!”
Oh, pipe down.
Not so many years ago, this “not a Cardinal” was an 11-year-old boy in Queen Creek suiting up for a team called “Special Forces” in the San Tan Youth Football League.
At right tackle.
Now he’s quarterbacking the San Francisco 49ers to the Super Bowl.
And that’s not even what makes this story incredible.
Brock Purdy is one of the most underestimated people on planet Earth. After high school he was skipped over by the major college football programs and then, after college, was taken last in the 2022 NFL draft.
There’s a name for the last person taken in the NFL draft — “Mr. Irrelevant.”
He’s a walking, talking joke.
He’s the guy who had better have a Plan B, ha, ha, because his dreams of playing pro ball are about to end — brutally.
He’s going to get cut in training camp, ha, ha. Then he’ll be lining up with all the other pimple-faced schlubs at the jobs fair.
Ha. Ha. Very funny. Unless you’re that guy.
They even have a trophy for Mr. Irrelevant.
No, it’s not the Heisman Trophy. It’s the “Lowsman Trophy,” and depending on your perspective, it’s a metal caste of either a running back fumbling the ball or a receiver dropping a pass. It’s hard to tell.
What it isn’t is a compliment. It’s the consolation prize that says you stink.
In 2022, the NFL told Brock Purdy he stinks.
In 2023-24, Brock Purdy quietly walked onto a football field and told the NFL they’re damned fools.
And they’re not the only ones.
A week ago, Brock Purdy led a remarkable comeback against the Detroit Lions in the NFC championship game. Down 17 points, he brought the Niners back with his arm and legs and won a game that would have been lost by most NFL QBs.
That became a problem for the stable of national commentators dubbed the “Brock Purdy hate train.” They had spent the prior week telling their large audiences that Brock Purdy is underwhelming, overrated and out of his league.
Now they had to abase themselves before those audiences and offer mea culpas.
Fortunately for them, the sports world was distracted.
Social media was abuzz over photos and videos of Brock Purdy entering and later exiting the Niners locker room.
He’s no style maven, they laughed.
He was wearing jeans, a black T-shirt and light tan jacket. Older Americans might remember the look as J.C. Penney’s casual.
“In an era where guys Gameday ‘Fits’ get more attention (than) their play on the field, Brock Purdy arriving in the ‘Stonewashed Jean 7th grade Social Studies substitute Teacher’ look is absolutely perfect,” tweeted Chris Law, a sports TV and radio producer.
Pretty soon, school teachers were embracing him.
To explain Brock Purdy, you again have to reach back in time.
It’s as if John-Boy Walton had just put on helmet and shoulder pads and made it to the Super Bowl.
This modest, unpretentious kid who played football at Gilbert Perry High School was one of the nicest kids in and outside of the classroom.
“He was known throughout campus as being a great person,” his former Perry High Coach Preston Jones told KTVU Fox 2 in the Bay Area. “I mean we’re talking cafeteria workers, custodians, security guards. They all knew Brock and loved Brock because of what he did.”
My nephew played on that Perry High team, and when his parents talk about Brock Purdy, they don’t talk about the athlete. They talk with gratitude about the person — the responsible, humble young man who was a friend and good example to all his teammates.
“They don’t make perfect people,” said his coach. “But he’s about as perfect a kid as I’ve had the privilege of coaching.”
This week, somewhere in the wee twilight of Walton’s Mountain, you can almost hear the children's voices:
“Good night, Jim-Bob.”
“Good night, Elizabeth.”
“Good night, John-Boy. Go, Niners!”
Phil Boas is a columnist for The Arizona Republic. Email him at phil.boas@arizonarepublic.com.
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