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Be directed to the lobby screen; There is no specific way to turn on footsteps in fortnite on ps4. How to turn on footsteps fortnite 692.5k views discover short videos related to how to turn on footsteps fortnite on tiktok.Six years ago, all Mac Jones had was a picture.
You’ve seen it before.
A tall, shirtless quarterback stands in light gray shorts against a dark backdrop at the NFL combine. He wears no socks, no shoes, only a glare fixed between his messy brown hair and unmistakable chin dimple. To his right, a white sign rests on an easel, listing his name, height and weight.
It’s a portrait of average, no muscle definition or hint of physical ability in sight. A superstar laid bare before he was born.
Tom Brady still hasn’t lived it down.
As an overlooked high school recruit from Jacksonville, Jones kept Brady’s combine photo with him at all times. He didn’t see himself in Brady so much as a path to a dream. So when college coaches would side eye Jones in person, trying to reconcile the skinny passer before them with the supposed 6-foot-2 gunslinger they’d come to recruit, he showed them the way.
Flashing the famous photo, Jones would point and say: “If this is the greatest quarterback ever, I’ve still got four or five years to get there.”
Over time, Brady’s ascent from kid at the combine to greatest ever has been overplayed as an all-time underdog story.
Before he became a sixth-round rookie in 2000, Brady was an athlete worthy of being selected in the 1995 Major League Baseball draft and starting for a top-5 college football team. He hailed from a supportive, athletic family. Jones likewise comes from a sports family, his parents both tennis players turned partners in their own law firm. He was worthy of 24 FBS scholarship offers out of high school, after which he graduated with a 4.0 GPA and two degrees from Alabama, all while speaking parts of three languages.
Without football, Jones would be just fine. Yet through the power of Brady’s example, and an internal drive to match, Jones has earned the chance to follow him in New England. This is no coincidence.
“That picture to Mac meant he doesn’t need to be the biggest, fastest or strongest,” said Jack Lundgren, a confidant and high school teammate. “He just needs to be the smartest, and throw the ball well.”
In college, Jones modeled his footwork after Brady’s. He stole elements of Brady’s game preparation. He studied every piece of Brady’s passing mechanics, down to how he contorts his off-hand.
Like Brady, Jones fought off a 5-star recruit to start his final collegiate season. Then he won a national title in the same stadium Brady ended his Michigan career with an Orange Bowl victory. Brady is his hero, so much that on his fourth day as a pro, Jones tweeted a sponsored video of himself playing the Madden NFL video game at 1:42 a.m.
His Patriots against Brady’s Bucs.
“It’s unfair to Mac comparing the two, but there are definitely similarities on and off the field,” said Senior Bowl director and former Patriots scout Jim Nagy. “Having been around both guys, they’re wired very much the same. … Calling Mac smart does not do him justice. He’s on a totally different level mentally.”
To be clear, Jones is not Brady. He does not want to be Brady. And he will never approach the seven-time champion’s legacy, no matter how hard he strives or how much avocado ice cream he devours. Yet he is nonetheless tracking to replace Brady, a development that surprises no one close to the affable 22-year-old whose aw-shucks exterior belies a fiery competitiveness and preternatural self-assurance.
Because the power of being Mac Jones does not lie in the obvious physical or the hidden mental. It lives at their intersection, within his striking ability to make belief materialize on a football field; from completing passes he’s released before receivers snap off their routes to vaulting himself into college football lore after three years of waiting, working and dreaming.
Still, now at the height of his power, concerns over Jones’ limitations and potential in the modern NFL are legitimate. He was viewed as the fifth-best quarterback in the draft, a judgment affirmed by his status as the fifth quarterback taken. He said he secretly hoped to fall to New England, despite widespread speculation he would go third to San Francisco.
Once the 49ers passed, Jones waited. So did Bill Belichick. Eventually, Brady’s old coach and successor met at the 15th pick, the kind of occurrence that might encourage one to believe in fate.
Except there’s no fate in football, right? Otherwise Brady’s legend would be void of all meaning and inspiration.
But if somehow it does exist, last Thursday night, Jones would have become a Patriot all the same.
‘Stop me’
A second picture.
Jones is staring at you from a close distance in a wrinkled white t-shirt, his head tipped slightly forward and eyes turned right toward the camera. Blood flows from his left nostril to his upper lip. More blood snakes down from each corner of his mouth. Splotches of dried blood coat his shirt, below the collar and down the center of his chest.
Jones’ expression is that of a battered boxer who’s lost most of the preceding rounds, but senses victory is near because he’s outlasting his opponent. His lips almost want to curl into a smile.
Meanwhile, five teammates are scattered behind him experiencing various stages of exhaustion. They’re all laboring through Alabama’s Fourth Quarter program, a grueling spring tradition that hones players’ physical and mental conditioning.
Later, former Crimson Tide wide receiver and close friend Mac Hereford tweets the photo and calls Jones a warrior. It goes viral.
This picture right here says who Mac Jones is. I have thrown with him for a long time, and seen him battle through tons of adversity. He’s going to lead this Bama team to a special season next year. Mac Jones is a Warrior… pic.twitter.com/qtHhFxU6PF
— Mac Hereford (@Mac_Hereford) February 22, 2020
Asked about the picture, Jones laughs. The blood?
He hit his head somersaulting. His nose bleeds during the Fourth Quarter program and scrimmages all the time. Nothing new here.
This is Jones’ natural state: finding joy within a lifelong pursuit of football excellence.
Nicknamed “Joker” by former Alabama offensive lineman Richie Petitbon, Jones’ cackle is described as unique and contagious. He erupts over random things. He dances. He teases.
“He’s a funny kid,” said former Tide assistant Brent Key, who recruited Jones. “He’s somehow able to take that fun and humor about him and channel it into being a dynamic football player.”
Underneath his playfulness is the fortitude necessary to rise from three-star recruit to starting quarterback at an NFL factory like Alabama. Friends and former coaches speculate Jones’ toughness stemmed from being the youngest in a hyper competitive family. Or usually the smallest player on a field. Or initially overlooked as a recruit.
Or, most likely, all of the above.
The influence of his high school coach, the late and legendary Corky Rogers, cannot be understated. The two shared a love built on respect and admiration for who the other was. One, an unrelenting, old-school coach who won 10 state championships by breaking boys down before building them into men. The other, a young quarterback who never broke, but almost always won.
At The Bolles School, Jones ran Rogers’ famed Wing-T offense, a run-heavy system that afforded him few opportunities to showcase his arm on film. But after forcing his way onto a prominent recruiting circuit, there was something about Jones’ film that struck Key. He had already committed to Kentucky, but the Tide wanted him to see on campus, where he threw on the track field before then offensive coordinator Lane Kiffin.
Within an hour, a team staffer rushed over to Key.
“Get Mac and his whole family in your office now,” he said. “He’s over there throwing bullets. Coach Saban wants to meet with him.”
Jones committed to Alabama that afternoon, June 7, 2016, after breaking the bad news to Kentucky’s coaches over the phone. Less than a year later, Jones had fully immersed himself in the Tide’s program.
“I don’t know if a single coach or anyone else spent as much time as Mac in the facility,” Hereford said. “Evaluating practice, evaluating the last game, the team we were about to play, he just studied like crazy.”
Jones and Hereford became fast friends in 2017, then late-night throwing partners. Forbidden from using team equipment during off hours, Jones always threw in his high school helmet and shoulder pads to simulate game conditions. Another stolen Brady staple.
He’d frequently text Hereford around 11 p.m. on Fridays and Saturdays to come throw. Jones usually started without him, firing balls into a stationary net all by himself.
On off nights, they played Fortnite from their dorm rooms. Jones would recite the playbook from memory over their headsets when prompted, breaking each play down from a conceptual to granular level .
All the fun and games stopped one night that November, when Jones was involved in a minor car accident, then arrested and charged with DUI. No one was harmed, though Jones failed a sobriety test, and police also discovered his fake ID. Jones said he addressed the incident with every NFL team during the pre-draft process.
“It made me a much better person, so I’m glad it happened in a way, and I’ve just moved on,” he told reporters last week.
It’s as close as a turning point as he experienced at Alabama.
“He realized he was lucky, that it could have been a lot worse,” Lundgren remembered. “And he doesn’t need to party to be happy. All he needs to do is perform and do his best. That’s been the biggest thing.”
Saban suspended Jones for a game and released a statement. He rode Jones for the remainder of the year, then next season, too. By then, it was for football reasons.
In those days, Jones ran Alabama’s scout-team offense, which is tasked with simulating upcoming opponents during regular-season practices. Before each snap, coaches hold large cards with a specific play scout-team players must memorize and then execute against the starting defense.
“A lot of scout-team quarterbacks tend to give in a little because it’s supposed to be about helping the defense,” Hereford said. “But Mac did not.”
Instead, Jones would study the plays, step to the line and audible. He’d change protections, route combinations, even entire plays, if he saw fit. Most resulted in long bombs to backup wideouts Xavier Williams and Tyrell Shavers, who consequently were not long for scout team.
When pressured, Jones would throw the ball away instead of forcing a throw or taking a sack, robbing the defense of its earned reward.
“Coach Saban would come into the staff meetings the next day pissed,” Key remembered. “Always talking about Mac won’t run the right play, he’s throwing the ball down the field, signaling to the receivers, who aren’t running what they’re supposed to run.”
Jones’ rationale was simple. If you don’t want me to throw touchdowns, then stop me. That’s football.
When the defense complained, he barked back. Saban occasionally got an earful, too. But with time, the coach relented and agreed.
Jones refused to dishonor competition, his most cherished ideal, and challenged Alabama’s future pros to rise to the level of their third-string quarterback. His fire elevated teammates and engendered respect from his coaches; the foundation upon which he would build a legendary career mere months later.
Cigars, charisma and celebration
A third picture.
Jones is staring at you again. This time, he’s the tall, shirtless quarterback, his lips are smiling and a victory cigar pokes out from that smile, clenched between his teeth.
A right arm slung over his shoulders, Jones is celebrating inside the visitors’ locker room at Tennessee. He’s shed his jersey and shoulder pads after a 48-17 win in late October, revealing a doughy torso and light farmer’s tan. This is the body that’s been bodying the SEC for weeks.
That afternoon, Jones treated Volunteer defenders in their home oranges like yellow lights over five long drives to the end zone. Alabama lost star wideout Jaylen Waddle on the opening kickoff, and Jones set a school record for most consecutive completions anyway, eventually piling up 387 passing yards and running for a score.
pic.twitter.com/fNSI2qm2DT
— Andrew Callahan (@_AndrewCallahan) April 30, 2021
The simplest way to describe what Jones did to Tennessee that day and college football last season is destroy. He completed an NCAA record 77.4% of his passes for 4,500 yards, 41 touchdowns and four picks. He was unrelenting over the best season ever produced by an Alabama quarterback.
“Quite frankly, I thought it was a little bit of a slap in the face he finished third in the Heisman voting, instead of second behind Devonta (Smith),” said former Alabama offensive coordinator and first-year Texas coach Steve Sarkisian.
The idea of Jones entering the Heisman race — which friends and former coaches insist he never cared about — would have been pure fantasy a year ago.
After replacing an injured Tua Tagovailoa late in the 2019 season, Jones finished 3-1 as a starter. His lone loss was a 48-45 heartbreaker in the Iron Bowl, which soured the fan base on his potential as their next quarterback. Jones had thrown two pick-sizes at Auburn — one a bad throw, the other bad luck — mistakes that cost Alabama a potential spot in the College Football Playoff.
Ironically, given how he rebounded from those mistakes and handled himself in a hostile environment, teammates and coaches point to that loss as when their faith in Jones first took off.
Unfortunately, handling Michigan in the Cirtus Bowl weeks later mattered little to fans eager for the arrival of Bryce Young, the nation’s top-ranked high school quarterback who would enroll soon. That was the game Jones lost a tooth upon absorbing a vicious hit that also ripped his bowl patch half off his jersey; another play burned into the collective memory of the 2019 Alabama football team.
“We were all like, holy (expletive). I’m looking at him like, please God. Please don’t let him be hurt,” Hereford remembered. “But he gets up real fast, rips the patch off his jersey. Looks back at the sideline, and wants the next play.”
Added former Alabama associate head coach Charles Huff: “I couldn’t believe it.”
That offseason, Jones told Lundgren — who played linebacker at Navy and was now applying to the Navy SEALs — how he should improve. They decided to bolster Jones’ play under pressure and incorporated “box breathing,” a concentration technique Lundgren learned from SEAL training, into Alabama’s offseason program. First, they would exhaust Jones physically with his scripted workouts.
Then the real work began: running plays, making reads and throwing on the move, while maintaining of his breathing.
“The body wants to shut down and the mind wants to quit, but you still need to get those reps,” Lundgren said. “Do it right, do it again.”
Come September, Jones delivered his first touchdown pass while staring down a barrel at Missouri. Linebacker Nick Bolton, a future second-rounder, crushed Jones as he lofted a perfect throw to Waddle on an 18-yard crosser. His pocket presence slowly began reminding scouts of Brady.
“Their strengths are similar,” Nagy said, “especially in terms of pocket feel and in-pocket movement, accuracy and field vision.”
Later, Jones’ quick release strengthened the comparisons. He routinely trusted his eyes and fired, eventually finishing with the 38th-fastest release in college football, per Pro Football Focus.
“Through his front recognition and study of body language, Mac could anticipate things that were coming,” Sarkisian said. “And that allowed him to play a really fast brand of football.”
Jones’ film study became so detailed he could foretell when a linebacker would drop into coverage or blitz pre-snap based on whether he was resting his hands lightly on his thigh pads (drop) or heavily on his knees (blitz).
Ahead of a showdown with third-ranked Georgia, the coaching staff uncovered a vital tell that allowed Jones to nullify a tactic the Bulldogs used to confuse opponents’ blocking rules. Senior linebacker Monty Rice, Georgia’s defensive leader, always held his mouthpiece before calling for all defensive linemen to shift laterally or “stem” moments before the snap. If Rice’s mouthpiece was in place, Jones could trust Georgia’s defensive front would be, too.
But any time Rice held his mouthpiece, Jones would execute a hard count and wait out the linebacker until he made his stem call.
“Mac was wired into it from the first snap of the game,” Sarkisian said. “He said, ‘I got it. He’s doing the exact same thing off the tape. We got him.'”
Mind you, Jones monitored this tell while deciphering Georgia’s defensive disguises, setting protections and occasionally signaling for new routes. It took Alabama three quarters to create distance from Georgia, but eventually Jones pulled away, going 24-of-32 for 417 yards and four touchdowns in a double-digit win.
Inside the facility, Jones pulled everyone closer to him.
“He was a guy that, for whatever reason was able to connect with everybody on the team in his own way,” said Huff. “He wasn’t trying to be cool with certain guys. He was just going to be Mac Jones.”
Though it wasn’t all fist bumps and belly laughs.
“He was never afraid to tell the left tackle in practice, ‘Hey, shut the (expletive) up and slide left,'” Huff said. “And it wasn’t in a disrespectful manner. But he was saying, I might be wrong, but I’m not going to get hit from behind if I’m wrong.”
Saving his ultimate Brady cliché for last, Jones absolutely shined under a championship spotlight. In the College Football Playoff, he completed better than 80% of his passes for more than 750 yards, nine touchdowns and zero picks.
By season’s end, he posted the highest adjusted completion percentage in the country, per PFF, at 84.2%. He was the most accurate passer within 10 yards of the line of scrimmage, and led the nation in deep passing yards.
The most natural comparison was the most uncomfortable. It required a qualifier at every opportunity.
He looks like, throws like, moves like, but obviously isn’t, Brady.
Welcome to New England
A final picture.
Jones stands atop a small makeshift stage at Gillette Stadium, wearing a ballcap and navy suit. Dozens of masked reporters are arranged in a semi-circle before him. They snap pictures and ask questions. Behind Jones, the north end video board says it all: Welcome to New England.
Jones holds a microphone in his right hand, ready to unwind another team-friendly, albeit genuine, answer about putting the team first and living in the present. Except in this moment, Jones’ gaze has escaped to the past. His eyes have settled on the six Super Bowl banners hanging high above the opposite end zone.
There’s room for a seventh. That’s why he’s here.
Soon enough, the future of the franchise is escorted back into the safety of his stadium. He sits for an interview inside the team’s media studio, the only place in Foxboro where drama needs to be manufactured. Within a few minutes, he’s asked to retell the story of draft night, what it felt like waiting for a moment to materialize.
Jones smiles. It’s the same story of his recruitment, and college career.
“Secretly, I knew,” he said. “Deep down inside, I was like, this is going to happen.”
It can’t possibly be fate, and yet it’s too soon to know for certain.