The Book Report Total 6 Rec, 139 Yds, 2 TD Average 2 Rec, 46 Yds, 0.6 TD
Season Stats 16 Tkl, 2 TFL, 3 INT, PBU (76.8 PFF grade) Upcoming Schedule vs. #1 Texas A&M, at Missouri, vs. #8 Oklahoma, vs. South Carolina, at Arkansas, vs. #13 Florida, vs. Vanderbilt, at LSU, at Georgia Tech
The Big House on the Prairie Chapter Eight :: The Warden, Part Four
I’m not sure who gave me the nickname “The Warden,” but by the end of spring football, it had stuck.
It probably started during the one-on-one drills, when Coach Smart carved out long stretches of practice to drive competition into us like a hammer striking steel. Georgia wasn’t just about schemes and pressure packages—it was a dog-eat-dog culture, survival of the fittest. As our coaches liked to remind us, you don’t have to teach a dog how to eat.
Competition was everywhere, and no one was spared. Lose a rep in practice, and it wasn’t just the receiver letting you know—you’d get it from the whole offense, your own defensive teammates, hell, even the coaching staff. There was no hiding.
“Sorry ass nigga!” we’d scream across the cafeteria after practice. “You ain’t caught one ball all day! Bitch ass nigga just out there getting cardio!”
The intensity reminded me of the early days with Uncle Sam and Jeremiah, those long afternoons on the field where toughness was drilled into us as much as technique. By then, time—and maybe my success—had softened things between me and Uncle Sam. Keiyana was doing better too: back in school, taking her meds, off probation. Uncle Sam would text me every now and then, checking in. Still, we never fully got back to what we had before, when he felt more like a second father than an uncle even though we weren't actually related.
Georgia was a pressure cooker. Practices felt like games, and games felt like auditions for the next level. The reward came not just in wins, but in how you chose to blow off steam afterward. And I’ll be real: I blew it off hard. That summer, I went to more parties in a single week than I had in all my time at Oklahoma State combined. In Athens, the good times came to you. Girls didn’t even ask your name—just whether you were on the football team. Most nights, that was enough.
But as much fun as the lifestyle was, that wasn’t why I came to Georgia. I came to prove myself against the best. And in our first two games, we looked like we were exactly that. We steamrolled Florida State, and against Louisville, even though I gave up a touchdown, I made up for it with a clutch interception. The scoreboard said eight-point win, but to us, it never felt in doubt.
Then came Tulane. We were supposed to dominate, but college football doesn’t care about “supposed to.” Our offense sputtered, I gave up a touchdown in the third, and for a while it looked like we were about to embarrass ourselves. But like Denzel Washington once said, I wasn’t leaving without something. Two interceptions in the second half kept us alive, and we scraped out an overtime win.
It was a sobering moment: talent alone wasn’t going to carry us. For me, it was also the first spark of tension between our defense and our offense. We knew we were loaded—Ellis Robinson, Elo Modozie, Elijah Griffin, myself. Meanwhile, the offense was struggling to find rhythm. Quietly, I was grateful. Their struggles pulled attention away from the touchdowns I had surrendered in back-to-back weeks.
We were set to host Texas A&M, the defending national champions and the number one team in the country. They had tried to poach me in the portal, so there was a personal edge—I wanted to show them I’d chosen right. But more than that, I had a reputation to uphold. The Warden. Those two picks against Tulane looked good on paper, but Georgia wasn’t about looking good. Georgia was about defining moments. And this was the kind of game that could etch your name into history and carry it all the way to the NFL Draft.