The storm of the offseason continued to rage—no less thrilling than the regular season. Explosive news broke daily. Rumors swirled endlessly.
The chaos of the 2017 season shattered every prediction, igniting the fiercest competition the NFL had ever seen. Everyone had a shot.
Naturally, competitive teams couldn't sit still. Their momentum stretched from free agency all the way into the draft.
Last year, the Kansas City Chiefs shook the league with their bold moves. GM Brett Veach's high-stakes gambit brought the franchise its first title in 48 years. Other general managers gained courage from his success.
Especially now, in what many dubbed "the Year of the Quarterback." After the drama of Kirk Cousins and Alex Smith in free agency, all eyes turned eagerly to the draft.
Unfortunately, thanks to last year's wheeling and dealing, the Chiefs' first-round pick had changed hands multiple times—San Francisco to Chicago, then to Buffalo.
So, on Day 1 of the draft, the defending champs were completely absent.
Still, the Chiefs—and everyone else—watched closely. This year wasn't just a quarterback-heavy draft. It was also loaded with linebacker talent.
The draft lived up to expectations: twists, surprises, and nonstop drama.
With the No. 1 pick for the second year in a row, the Cleveland Browns stood in the spotlight once again. Surrounded by a deep QB class, they were spoiled for choice. Pre-draft analysis pegged three finalists:
Baker Mayfield (Oklahoma), the reigning Heisman winner.
Sam Darnold (USC), strong, steady.
Lamar Jackson (Louisville), dynamic and determined.
Any choice among them was defendable. Whoever they picked was likely to become the cornerstone of yet another Cleveland rebuild—their eleventh in ten years.
The spotlight beamed.
Inside the green room, cameras zeroed in on all three quarterbacks. Darnold looked humble, Mayfield confident, Jackson resolute.
The world was buzzing—but only Lamar Jackson knew:
He was going to be the No. 1 pick.
Why?
No reason. He just knew it.
In 2016, he lost the Heisman to Lance. In 2017, to Mayfield. Twice, he had fallen just short. He'd had enough. Enough of being told he was talented but not a leader. Enough of hearing, "He's no Lance."
To hell with that.
Especially after watching Lance's trick play touchdown to Kelce in the Super Bowl, Jackson nearly lost it.
He, Lamar Jackson, was going to be the No. 1 pick. He would lead the lowly Cleveland Browns to glory. He would take on hell-mode difficulty and prove he was better than Lance, better than Mayfield, better than anyone.
He would become the greatest quarterback in NFL history—
Period.
He clenched his fists, sat up straight. He was ready.
Then…
Roger Goodell walked onstage.
Holding the No. 1 pick, Cleveland didn't need to strategize. They could pick whoever they liked. But this year, they were especially cautious. Two-thirds of their allotted time passed before they turned in the card.
Behind the scenes, tension was palpable.
Then Goodell made the announcement, setting off the draft's first explosion and foreshadowing a wild year ahead.
"Baker Mayfield…"
Mayfield? It really was Mayfield. Of course it was Mayfield.
Amid the shock, cheers, and groans, Lamar Jackson sat frozen. Barely clinging to composure, he forced himself to remain seated—unlike Deshaun Watson the year prior, who stormed out.
But Jackson couldn't bring himself to clap. His face was blank. He didn't smile.
The chaos had only just begun.
It was a historic QB class. Even after the shakeups in free agency, teams were desperate for fresh blood.
And history was made.
The 2018 draft tied with 1999 for the second-most first-round quarterbacks in NFL history, behind only the six selected in 1983.
Five quarterbacks were picked in the first round:
3rd overall, Jets: Sam Darnold (USC)
7th, Bills: Josh Allen (Wyoming)
10th, Cardinals: Josh Rosen (UCLA)
One after another.
But not Jackson.
Once again, a repeat of Rodgers' and Watson's humiliations. Once a potential No. 1 pick, Jackson was being ignored.
Post-combine, multiple scouts and coaches questioned Jackson's passing ability. Some suggested he should switch to wide receiver to leverage his athleticism. Jackson refused—he saw that suggestion as an insult.
The real issue wasn't Jackson—it was the NFL's fear of mobile quarterbacks.
Injuries had derailed Colin Kaepernick and Robert Griffin III. Cam Newton and Russell Wilson had both declined. The once-promising new generation of mobile QBs had fizzled, making teams wary.
Mayfield had mobility too, but his passing was polished. Darnold, Allen, and Rosen were all pocket QBs.
Still, Jackson's athletic gifts were undeniable. As a dual-threat QB, he had real potential.
But his stock plummeted.
Pick 20… not him.
Pick 25… still not him.
Pick 30… nothing.
The agony dragged on for nearly five hours. Everyone assumed no team would take the risk. Jackson seemed destined to fall to Round 2 or 3.
Then—finally—movement.
Originally, the No. 32 pick belonged to the Super Bowl champion Chiefs. But last year, they traded it to the 49ers. Then they got a first-rounder from the Bears—only to trade that to the Bills.
Now, the Ravens, who had already picked a tight end at No. 25, traded up with the 49ers for the 32nd overall pick.
And with it, they made a bold call:
"Lamar Jackson…"
At last.
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Powerstones?
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