*One Man's Trash

woelkers · (This post was last modified: 06-22-2021, 06:04 AM by Tesla.)

Cameras flash as star cornerback Cedric Wilkins II, redshirt sophomore from the University of Alabama, steps to the podium of Tuscaloosa’s buzzing press hall. The Sugar Bowl hero flashes a wide smile, bright enough to justify the sunglasses he neglected to remove, and taps the microphone to dull the rumbling of the gathered media.

“I think we all know why we’re gathered here today,” he claims confidently, effortlessly capturing the room’s undivided attention. “This morning, I spoke at length with Coach Saban, and informed him of my intent to declare for the Developmental Simulation Football League Draft”.

“This is not a decision I have taken lightly,” Wilkins continued, “but I feel at this point I have accomplished all I can at the University of Alabama, and to take the next step, I have to move to the next level. Thank you all, and roll Tide”.

As I watch Wilkins at work, preparing himself both mentally and physically for his waiver wire contract and prospect bowl performance, I find myself consistently returning to the same thought: I’ve never seen a cornerback play the game so smoothly. Every move he makes feels almost choreographed, as if he planned his course of action even before the snap.

Wilkins is no perfect player, of course; he seems to have trouble reading a receiver, so a cleanly-run route beats him more often than you like to see, and he tends to try to play flashier than he should, which we have all seen lead to disaster. But there is something special about Cedric Wilkins II all the same. He is more than just a football player; he is an artist, and the gridiron is his canvas. He has near game-breaking speed, enough that no coverage is ever truly broken when he takes the field, and when he has an opportunity with the ball in his hands, he dances his way to an impressive return more often than not.

I smile and nod as Wilkins trots my way, ultimately satisfied with what I’ve seen from him. I have no doubts he continues to be a project, a player still waiting to be developed to the next level and beyond, but he has garnered a great deal of support from the Crimson Tide faithful, and for good reason. His talent, though raw, is obvious from the moment his cleats hit turf; all he needs is some room to grow.

“My father was a garbage man,” Wilkins begins as I settle in to hear a bit about his journey. ”My mother, she didn’t work; only had one child, but for her, that was one too many for her to want to be anywhere but home. So, there was never much money to go around. We got by, but we definitely made some sacrifices. My classmates caught onto the fact that I ain’t come from much, and they took to calling me Junkyard Dog”. I can see the weight of this chapter of his life on his face; he sighs heavily, then continues, “we ain’t really have anybody ‘cept each other, so family meant everything to me. Still does mean everything to me”.

“Pop, he worked long hours most of the time; really all he could do to put food on the table. But when he wasn’t, he spent every spare second he had with me, tossing the pigskin and talking about life. He balled through a couple years of high school, but he blew his MCL just before his junior year, was never quite the same. Still loved the game, though, and he did everything he could to share his love of the game with me. And, obviously, it stuck”.

Wilkins smiled as he handed me a photograph he had in his hand. “That’s from my first game of high school ball,” he says proudly, as I scan a picture of him and an older man, undoubtedly his father. “I had never been able to play before that season; we never had the money. But he wanted his boy to play ball if I wanted to, so he took every extra hour he could get, scraped together just enough to get me on the field. Team ain’t really take me seriously ‘til I pulled in two picks that game; Pop was real proud. I remember he said to me, ‘Son, you just showed them fools what a junkyard dog can do’. I let that drive me every day”.

I handed the photograph back to him, and he held it in his hands; the senior Wilkins obviously meant a great deal to the junior. “I miss Pop every day, man,” he says to me, not quite crying, but eyes decidedly wet. “He never missed a game while he was here, even while I was just a redshirt at ‘Bama. Just wish he could have had the chance to really see me shine with the Tide”.

Wilkins’ father passed the day of his first game taking the field as the starting returner for the Crimson Tide, a fact that Wilkins wouldn’t learn until after the game. With the assumption his father was watching in his head, Wilkins put on a show, taking two kick returns for touchdowns in his debut; the next week, even after missing several days of practice, he scored another three in his father’s memory. “People say I’ll probably have another pair of games like that again,” Wilkins notes, his face turned away from me, “and I’d bet they’re right. I love this game, and I give it my all every day, but nobody motivated me like my Pop did”.

While analysts are technically correct to note that Wilkins never showed quite the same electricity he did in his first couple games returning for the Tide, it would be wrong to suggest that he did not continue to have flashes of brilliance with the ball in his hands; he finished that season with thirteen return touchdowns and a pick-six, far from an unimpressive performance for a redshirt freshman, and this past season, he continued the trend with eight more return touchdowns and two pick-sixes in his new role as the team’s starting nickelback.
“I know people have questions about how my talents are going to translate to the next level,” Wilkins says, frowning slightly, “but the fact of the matter is, you can teach me to read an offense, you can teach me to follow a route, you can teach me all of that. But you can’t teach speed, you can’t teach mobility, all these things I’ve got already. I’m raw talent, for sure, but ain’t nobody should underestimate what a junkyard dog can do”.

I smiled as those last words hung in the air between us; Cedric Wilkins II, if nothing else, was born to fight for his dinner; a front office worth anything should think twice before overlooking this junkyard dog, because I know just from the look of him there’s nothing he can’t do.