So how about the D-Line, huh? Kinda hard to not be a bit excited about it, right? I mean... you know... those guys are lookin kinda studly, no? You got Pouha, Devito, Ellis, Wilkerson, Coples... I guess you can throw Maybin in that group. All studs. Then you got Dixon whose a real nice depth piece; Richardson who's looking really good; and then there's that immovable behemoth Damon Harrison
(#71, 6-3, 340). Not to mention good ol' MTV (Martin Tevaseu
We know that Dixon is real and solid depth; maybe even a bona fide starter. But if guys like Richardson (who seems to be a lock) and Harrison prove to be solid, we could do some things with this DL group. Things like playing a traditional 3-man front in the early downs. And letting guys like Pouha, Devito and Dixon do the dirty work. While guys like Richardson and Harrison give them support and help hunker down against the run. Then we can bring out the Alphas for the money down (i.e. 3rd down).
Imagine bringing in a young, athletic 4-man group of hungry lions on third down whose only purpose his to hunt QBs. They are starved for snaps, tightly wound, and completely fresh. Maybin is lined up in a wide-nine technique on the weak side; Ellis head up on the center; Mo Wilk in an undertackle technique over the strong side guard; and Coples on an outside shade of the strongside tackle. The weakside guard, whose uncovered is threatened with a blitz, which if it comes it definitely won't come directly at him. Everybody is one-on-one. The guard thats uncovered has a long way to go to offer help to either side; and if he vacates his position he very well may be leaving a very clear and very direct path to his QB.
The Four Horseman of the apocalypse are fresh and thirsty for blood. And each must be taken head on, without any help. Their eyes are black, like a shark's. Devoid of empathy and compassion. Devoid of any sensation except that of a deep and purely instinctual desire to kill and mame. That insatiable desire to feed. The feeling of flesh between the teeth. The snap and crackle of bone within the jaws. The thrashing of the befallen before the placid calm of the inevitable. No fear. No mercy. And absolutely no remorse.