Shedeur Sanders - 2023-25 Tracking History Thread - Drafted by the Cleveland Browns (NFL)

[#1 pick]

How do you see QB reps getting allocated for the Sunday team during the week? And how do you see QB reps getting allocated differently during the week? I suspect we may be looking at this differently.

I do like the Zappe mentorship aspect. I
Just think it means snaps got 12 get further limited.

Both are getting limited reps. Shedeur and Bailey will split scout team reps with Shedeur getting the bulk of reps

Whereas Joe gets the bulk of reps with Dillon getting 2nd team reps.

 

[hawg1]

Both are getting limited reps. Shedeur and Bailey will split scout team reps with Shedeur getting the bulk of reps

Whereas Joe gets the bulk of reps with Dillon getting 2nd team reps.

OK. That’s the way I see it also. Fewer scout team reps probably gets outweighed by Zappe’s mentorship.

 

[#1 pick]

OK. That’s the way I see it also. Fewer scout team reps probably gets outweighed by Zappe’s mentorship.

Zappe has been signed to also be a mentor. They wanted Huntley in that role but Baltimore wanted him as a #2.

 

[hawg1]

Zappe has been signed to also be a mentor. They wanted Huntley in that role but Baltimore wanted him as a #2.

I like that part for 12.

 

[#1 pick]

Zappe has been signed to also be a mentor. They wanted Huntley in that role but Baltimore wanted him as a #2.

Huntley was signed to PS. Not as a #2

 

[#1 pick]

In the unforgiving world of NFL roster cuts, where dreams die faster than a Hail Mary in a hurricane, Desmond Ridder's latest pink slip tells a story as old as the draft itself. It's the cruel mathematics of professional football: talent plus effort doesn't always equal survival.

Three years ago, sitting in a cramped film room with coffee-stained scouting reports scattered across a folding table, you could see it coming. Ridder had that third-round grade stamped all over him—the kind of prospect who made you lean forward in your chair when he rolled right and fired a dart between two defenders, but also made you wince when he tried to navigate a collapsing pocket like he was still playing in the American Athletic Conference.

"The kid's got everything you want," one scout said during that rookie preseason, watching Ridder thread a needle on a comeback route. "Smart, works harder than a coal miner, mobile as hell. But something's not clicking."

That something was translation—the mysterious alchemy that separates college heroes from NFL journeymen. Ridder's 4.49 speed looked devastating on Cincinnati's highlight reel, but in the pros, that burst never quite materialized. His acceleration was pedestrian, his pocket presence adequate at best even at Cincinnati. He transformed himself from mobile threat at Cincinnati to competent game manager with the Falcons, grinding through film sessions and extra throwing sessions like his career depended on it—which, of course, it did.

But here's the brutal truth about very good game managers in the NFL: they're everywhere. Practice squads are littered with quarterbacks who can execute a game plan, hit their checkdowns, and avoid catastrophic mistakes. Unless you're Brock Purdy—Versatile QB who's an excellent game manager and very good mobile QB—being merely competent gets you cut faster than a teenager's curfew.

Now consider Shedeur Sanders, who stepped into his first NFL action like he owned the place. Everything that made him special at Colorado—elite feel for the game, the pocket poise under duress, the way he could find receivers in traffic—translated seamlessly against Carolina's defense. He missed a few throws he'd normally complete (the perfectionist in him probably rewound those plays a dozen times), but the fundamentals were there. A 90-plus PFF grade wasn't just possible; it felt inevitable.

Week three brought reality's harsh slap, exposing the same weaknesses that showed up on those late-night scouting reports. But translation isn't about perfection—it's about proving your college skills can survive in a league where everyone is faster, stronger, and hungrier than the kid they replaced.

The preseason has become college football's final exam, where players either pass the translation test or join the ranks of "what might have been." This year's quarterback class has mostly survived the scrutiny, with one glaring exception. My fourth-rated signal-caller, Cam Miller, has shown weaknesses that weren't just concerning—they were approaching critical mass.

Sometimes, translating is all I look for in the preseason. Most of the QBs this year have translated based on my scout. Only one I've worried about is my QB4, Cam Miller. Some of the weaknesses is closer to critical than I scouted. Dart was the big winner. He was miles ahead of what I was expecting in year 1. If this was year 2. I would have been like, he's ahead of schedule but for year 1, I might have missed on his NFL readiness. This is why playing in the SEC should come with a curve but Anthony Richardson and Matt Corral is the reason I removed the curve to being with.

 

[JMBuffs]

In the unforgiving world of NFL roster cuts, where dreams die faster than a Hail Mary in a hurricane, Desmond Ridder's latest pink slip tells a story as old as the draft itself. It's the cruel mathematics of professional football: talent plus effort doesn't always equal survival.

Three years ago, sitting in a cramped film room with coffee-stained scouting reports scattered across a folding table, you could see it coming. Ridder had that third-round grade stamped all over him—the kind of prospect who made you lean forward in your chair when he rolled right and fired a dart between two defenders, but also made you wince when he tried to navigate a collapsing pocket like he was still playing in the American Athletic Conference.

"The kid's got everything you want," one scout said during that rookie preseason, watching Ridder thread a needle on a comeback route. "Smart, works harder than a coal miner, mobile as hell. But something's not clicking."

That something was translation—the mysterious alchemy that separates college heroes from NFL journeymen. Ridder's 4.49 speed looked devastating on Cincinnati's highlight reel, but in the pros, that burst never quite materialized. His acceleration was pedestrian, his pocket presence adequate at best even at Cincinnati. He transformed himself from mobile threat at Cincinnati to competent game manager with the Falcons, grinding through film sessions and extra throwing sessions like his career depended on it—which, of course, it did.

But here's the brutal truth about very good game managers in the NFL: they're everywhere. Practice squads are littered with quarterbacks who can execute a game plan, hit their checkdowns, and avoid catastrophic mistakes. Unless you're Brock Purdy—Versatile QB who's an excellent game manager and very good QB—being merely competent gets you cut faster than a teenager's curfew.

Now consider Shedeur Sanders, who stepped into his first NFL action like he owned the place. Everything that made him special at Colorado—elite feel for the game, the pocket poise under duress, the way he could find receivers in traffic—translated seamlessly against Carolina's defense. He missed a few throws he'd normally complete (the perfectionist in him probably rewound those plays a dozen times), but the fundamentals were there. A 90-plus PFF grade wasn't just possible; it felt inevitable.

Week three brought reality's harsh slap, exposing the same weaknesses that showed up on those late-night scouting reports. But translation isn't about perfection—it's about proving your college skills can survive in a league where everyone is faster, stronger, and hungrier than the kid they replaced.

The preseason has become college football's final exam, where players either pass the translation test or join the ranks of "what might have been." This year's quarterback class has mostly survived the scrutiny, with one glaring exception. My fourth-rated signal-caller, Cam Miller, has shown weaknesses that weren't just concerning—they were approaching critical mass.

Sometimes, translating is all I look for in the preseason. Most of the QBs this year have translated based on my scout. Only one I've worried about is my QB4, Cam Miller. Some of the weaknesses is closer to critical than I scouted. Dart was the big winner. He was miles ahead of what I was expecting in year 1. If this was year 2. I would have been like, he's ahead of schedule but for year 1, I might have missed on his NFL readiness. This is why playing in the SEC should come with a curve but Anthony Richardson and Matt Corral is the reason I removed the curve to being with.

In the unforgiving world of NFL roster cuts, where dreams die faster than a Hail Mary in a hurricane, Desmond Ridder's latest pink slip tells a story as old as the draft itself. It's the cruel mathematics of professional football: talent plus effort doesn't always equal survival.

Three years ago, sitting in a cramped film room with coffee-stained scouting reports scattered across a folding table, you could see it coming. Ridder had that third-round grade stamped all over him—the kind of prospect who made you lean forward in your chair when he rolled right and fired a dart between two defenders, but also made you wince when he tried to navigate a collapsing pocket like he was still playing in the American Athletic Conference.

"The kid's got everything you want," one scout said during that rookie preseason, watching Ridder thread a needle on a comeback route. "Smart, works harder than a coal miner, mobile as hell. But something's not clicking."

That something was translation—the mysterious alchemy that separates college heroes from NFL journeymen. Ridder's 4.49 speed looked devastating on Cincinnati's highlight reel, but in the pros, that burst never quite materialized. His acceleration was pedestrian, his pocket presence adequate at best even at Cincinnati. He transformed himself from mobile threat at Cincinnati to competent game manager with the Falcons, grinding through film sessions and extra throwing sessions like his career depended on it—which, of course, it did.

But here's the brutal truth about very good game managers in the NFL: they're everywhere. Practice squads are littered with quarterbacks who can execute a game plan, hit their checkdowns, and avoid catastrophic mistakes. Unless you're Brock Purdy—Versatile QB who's an excellent game manager and very good QB—being merely competent gets you cut faster than a teenager's curfew.

Now consider Shedeur Sanders, who stepped into his first NFL action like he owned the place. Everything that made him special at Colorado—elite feel for the game, the pocket poise under duress, the way he could find receivers in traffic—translated seamlessly against Carolina's defense. He missed a few throws he'd normally complete (the perfectionist in him probably rewound those plays a dozen times), but the fundamentals were there. A 90-plus PFF grade wasn't just possible; it felt inevitable.

Week three brought reality's harsh slap, exposing the same weaknesses that showed up on those late-night scouting reports. But translation isn't about perfection—it's about proving your college skills can survive in a league where everyone is faster, stronger, and hungrier than the kid they replaced.

The preseason has become college football's final exam, where players either pass the translation test or join the ranks of "what might have been." This year's quarterback class has mostly survived the scrutiny, with one glaring exception. My fourth-rated signal-caller, Cam Miller, has shown weaknesses that weren't just concerning—they were approaching critical mass.

Sometimes, translating is all I look for in the preseason. Most of the QBs this year have translated based on my scout. Only one I've worried about is my QB4, Cam Miller. Some of the weaknesses is closer to critical than I scouted. Dart was the big winner. He was miles ahead of what I was expecting in year 1. If this was year 2. I would have been like, he's ahead of schedule but for year 1, I might have missed on his NFL readiness. This is why playing in the SEC should come with a curve but Anthony Richardson and Matt Corral is the reason I removed the curve to being with.