Norman knows, more than anyone, that his fate is his own, no one else’s and he entered the 2015 season feeling both underpaid and underappreciated. Norman’s been playing this game a long time - this is his fourth year in the league, and third, really, as a starter - and nothing about the way he plays is an accident - not the drill and not even the calling out of his own quarterback. Deadline reporters will tell you he came out of nowhere. Later in the season, they’ll call him clairvoyant, but that’s because they didn’t hang around practice long enough to see him put in the work that made it so. Sometimes, his eyes are closed - knowing without seeing. The contact is so rapid you can hear the smack of the ball against his gloves. Later in the season, they’ll call him clairvoyant, but that’s because they didn’t see him put in the work that made it so.īack at practice, relying on instinct and spatial awareness that sometimes appears supernatural, Josh Norman continues to pluck balls out of the air. He used his helmet to insulate his thoughts and block out anything that might obscure his focus. Norman’s Twitter feed would explode with people calling him a variety of things thug, gangster, goon - a second-rate nothing of a cornerback. And as they peel the bodies off, they reveal a team, and a new target of attention. The footage of the aftermath is all over the internet, a scrap of red buried at the bottom of a pile of black and white, as teammates try to sift through the melee. They wouldn’t see what really happened until the regular season started, that this year is different, for Newton, for Norman, and for the Panthers, too. He made the play.īut that’s not what the viewers saw. His job was simple: square off, run the route, anticipate, make the play. He likes a challenge, and two smart, hot talking athletes trying to make one another better gets him up. Superman, a year before its scheduled release. That doesn’t matter, not to Josh Norman - in his mind it a clash of Titans, or rather Batman vs. First round draft pick vs fifth round pick. Demigod tussles with mortal, the media will say. As a $100-million-dollar franchise quarterback, he’s supposed to be in a different class all together. Two years Norman’s junior, 5 inches taller and 50 pounds heavier, Cam Newton’s supposed to be a different class of fighter. It only takes a second for Newton’s helmet to come off and then both men are on the ground. There’s a push, a stiff arm, and then both men push some more. Newton gives chase, red no-contact jersey trailing behind him. Norman pulls the ball close and heads for the end zone - if this was a game, he would be poised to score. What happens next wasn’t part of the drill. The ball lets loose from his hand, spiraling towards its black jerseyed intended target before a flash of white extends its reach and pulls the ball close to his chest. There’s the snap and Cam Newton holds the ball the way quarterbacks do when they’re looking for an opening. It wasn’t even noon yet, but it was hot enough for what was about to happen. Starters lined up, helmets on, pads, 7-on-7 in the 90-degree heat of the South Carolina sun. It was a simple play, the kind practice is made of, the kind seasons are built on and, perhaps, the kind that make careers. It was the first indicator, the only notice to the entire league that this season the Carolina Panthers would be a force and that cornerback Josh Norman, relatively unknown outside Charlotte, would become more than just No. Perhaps, however, it was more important today, after the scuffle with the team’s quarterback, Cam Newton. He ends every practice at training camp with this particular drill, catching balls on his back. This time they decide to switch up the tempo - harder, faster, wild throws, safe bets, and everything in between. Still the man remained, helmet on, pads in place, catching tosses from the ball boys, who were giddy at the chance to help a professional work on his craft.Ī few stragglers hung around, hoping for more magic, for another brush with greatness, watching the man pull footballs out of the air with astonishing speed, clutching them to his chest before tossing them back.įifteen minutes later the man sinks his knees into the forgiving grass, and positions himself flat on his back before motioning to the ball boys to recommence throwing. Later in the week, you could tell when his family was in town, as they would be the only people sporting jerseys with the No. There were Cam Newton, Luke Olsen and Bene Benwikere fans - hell, even a couple of Graham Ganos - but there were no jerseys for the man still on the field practicing. In this sea of black, turquoise and white mixed with the soft green grass, everyone seemed partial to a particular player.
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