Try as they might, companies involved in the mining and creation of advanced quarterbacking statistics have yet to account for the passer having just been dropped off at the stadium on the NFL equivalent of a Greyhound bus with less than two days to read over the playbook.
If it were one day possible, could we somehow quantify what we just saw from Baker Mayfield outside of euphoric yipping sounds and smashed together flame emojis? Is there a number that could replace the cussing and laughing and hand-waving in the air when we describe a game-winning, last-second touchdown drive with just a 5.4% chance (according to ESPN’s live game odds) of being anything other than a silly reason to have stayed up so late glued to our streaming screen of choice?
Mayfield arrived in Los Angeles Tuesday, having been claimed off waivers by Sean McVay and rescued from the waning moments of a dying season with an interim staff in Carolina. The catch? He had to perform well on short notice in prime time with receivers he didn’t know, for a coach he’d met on an airplane four years ago, against a defense that had Maxx Crosby and Chandler Jones, protected by an offensive line made of collapsible pong tables. He had to watch his first two scoring drives die, one because his running back fumbled and one because his offensive lineman (whom he probably hadn’t met yet) shoved an opponent in the chest and cost his team a 15-yard penalty.
