A love letter to D.K. Metcalf

Dear D.K. Metcalf,

You first caught my eye when you ran that blazing 4.33 40-yard dash at the combine.  I thought to myself, “Wow, now here’s a guy that is going to be a great asset to whatever team he’s on.”  (Yes, the voice in my head sounds like Chris Collinsworth. I don’t really understand why either.)

Of course I knew the Seahawks would never draft a wide receiver in the first round, because that’s what I thought they should do and I’m always wrong about that sort of thing.  So I gave you up as a pipe dream; a speed god who was too good for the Pacific Northwest.

Then you ran that shuttle.

And the 3-cone.

Initially I was confused.  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized there was only one explanation.  And no, it’s not the double Zoolander theory that you can’t turn left or right.

You threw those two drills because you were saving yourself for someone; someone who couldn’t trade up to the 1st overall pick to grab you; someone that would let you… compete.

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Dear D.K.,

Can I call you D.K.?  I know we haven’t known each other long, but I think we’re already close enough to be on a first-name basis, you know?

I love how much you’ve taken to your quarterback.  I know sometimes he’s a big doofus, but we love him.  And most importantly, he throws a football better than 7 billion people.

Look at you, dancing on the graves of all the teams that passed on you with that stutter step.  Just gorgeous.


Dear Mr. Metcalf,

I love your big MeatCalves.

My god, you could crush a watermelon between those things.  I imagine the fear they instill in opposing cornerbacks is akin to that of the feeling you get after accidentally walking through a spider web, and it feels like there’s a spider crawling on you for like half an hour afterwards, and you can’t get it off.

Trying to play football through that honestly sounds impossible.


Dear DeKaylin,

Your first game was just phenomenal. The way you handled 75% of the wideout targets last weekend was truly amazing. You’ll blossom even more in Pittsburgh this weekend,

That first catch?  Sure, Russ could’ve sent you on a go route for the TD, but then you wouldn’t have had the chance to prove all the haters wrong and show them that you know how to run a slant.


Dearest D-Met,

I am forever grateful that you didn’t make us wait another week to see you run a vertical route.  You used every part of that 6’3″ 230 lb frame to make sure William Jackson III couldn’t dream of touching the football despite being in pretty good position to do so.  I’m not ashamed to admit that when you caught this ball I felt a tingle in places I frankly wasn’t prepared to feel tingles.  The best way to really describe this moment is with Matt Waldman’s sweet, sensual voice.


My dear DeKaylin Zecharius Metcalf,

It’s not your fault.  None of what happened on this play was your fault.

First off, you need to know that Russell is going to find you deep next time.  He’s still adjusting to having a receiver bigger than Tom Cruise out there catching passes.  Don’t you worry about that at all.

And as for the pass interference?  It’s not your fault the 40 lb muscle advantage you have over Dre Kirkpatrick was enough to make him fall at the slightest tap on the wrist.


Hey Hey D.K,

I knew you could run, but I didn’t know you could fly.

And the way you got up and flexed on the fools who were forced to cover you?  That was as intimidating as Russell’s flick of the wrist was delicate.  You are the yin to his yang; the Samwise to his Frodo.


Dear D.K.,

I don’t think I can come up with the words to describe my feelings about you.  To me, you are perfect.

And as my good friend Andre says,

You light me and excite me
And you know you got me, baby
I like the way you move,
I love the way you move.

With love,

The city of Seattle