EAGAN, Minn. — All of these years later, all of these hits later, Carson Wentz is still here. Standing before a group of reporters and listening to an all too familiar set of questions.
Has he thought about sliding more? Could he benefit from getting down?
Of course, he’s thought about it, and of course, he’d benefit. His knee might still contain its original ligament. He’d have much less exposure to X-rays from scanning his ribs. Currently, his left shoulder would not require a harness-type contraption.
“It’s always something where I come back and watch the film, and it’s, like, ‘That was probably dumb,’” Wentz says. “I’ve got to be better. I’ve got to learn.”
Now, he’s laughing.
“I hate to say it,” he says, “but I’ve been saying that to myself for 10 years.”
His words hint at an admirable amount of awareness. He’s played for six teams in multiple systems behind different offensive lines. At this point, pencil has turned into pen: Wentz’s brute play style isn’t going to change all of a sudden.
The approach may affect his short-term playing availability and long-term real-life mobility, but Wentz’s self-deprecation on the subject is a snapshot of what has evolved. Away from the field, the 32-year-old looks and sounds like a man at peace with a decade-long physical and emotional roller-coaster ride. Wentz was once plucked from a cocoon in North Dakota and thrown into the Philadelphia fire. The ensuing years in Indianapolis, Washington, Los Angeles and Kansas City provided him time to view his professional beginnings through a different lens.
If you were to write a script of this journey, it’d be savvy to add a notch on the timeline of this matured quarterback facing his past in a place of significance. That’s what’s special about Sunday’s matchup between the Vikings and Eagles, with Wentz likely to start at U.S. Bank Stadium in Minnesota. The script has come to life.
When he began to look like the quarterback the Eagles moved heaven and earth to acquire, Wentz would do things like throw an incompletion in the red zone, trot toward the sideline and demand that then-Eagles coach Doug Pederson call the same play.
“He comes to the sideline,” former Eagles teammate Chris Maragos says, “and he’s yelling, ‘Run it again! Run … it … again!’”
This was Week 3 of the 2017 season versus the New York Giants. Wentz and tight end Zach Ertz hadn’t connected on a quick glance route. Pederson obliged. They ran it again. Wentz dropped back, planted his back foot and uncorked a missile. The touchdown pass wouldn’t make a highlight reel, but the moment made him easy to get behind.
He was persistent. Confident. Capable of earning respect from older players who can sense false bravado.
At the time, Wentz’s trajectory was undeniable. He checked every box. Pedigree? He was picked behind Jared Goff at No. 2 in the NFL Draft. Size? He stood 6-foot-5 and weighed 237 pounds. Intangibles? He would rehearse the call sheet during his 5 a.m. commutes with assistants Spencer Phillips and Nick Williams.
Following an October victory against Washington, one columnist wrote in the Philadelphia Inquirer: “Just 23 games into his NFL career, his progress defies any logical explanation. He’s reading defenses and making passes and grinding out runs like … well, nobody else, because there hasn’t been anybody quite like him; not with his size and speed and athleticism and intelligence.”
“You could tell very early on,” Maragos says, “that he had all of the markers to be great.”
With the Eagles, Carson Wentz was persistent, confident and capable of earning respect from older players who can sense false bravado. (Rich Schultz / Getty Images)
The only drawback, if you want to call it that, was his demolition derby-type disregard for his body. However, it wasn’t (and never is) as easy as simply weeding out the frequency of contact. You can have a plan before a game, and then you can be situated in the chaos of the pocket with 2 1/2 seconds to make something happen.
Instincts take over. Decisions become reactionary. The carnage comes for those willing to absorb it.
When his fearlessness finally resulted in an ACL tear in a 2017 game against the Rams, the common takeaway seemed to be that this was bound to happen. He’d lowered his shoulder in a previous game against the Panthers and tried to truck Panthers linebacker Thomas Davis at the goal line. He’d spun out of would-be sacks, acting as if his person was made not of crackable bones but of rubber.
As if the season-ending injury amid an MVP-caliber year wasn’t enough, Wentz was left to watch backup quarterback Nick Foles galvanize what had been his team on the way to Super Bowl LII. Philadelphia finished that run at U.S. Bank Stadium in Minnesota.
That wasn’t the end. Wentz returned the following year and played particularly well in 2019. Then, in 2020, he was benched. The 465 hits over five years took a toll. Trust dissolved. Reports over the years have established different perceptions. In 2021, for example, longtime Eagles cornerback Malcolm Jenkins spoke about the team “trying to kind of protect (Wentz’s) ego.”
Phillips, who coached on those Eagles teams, reflects on that time with an interesting perspective.
“Too many times, I think people expect people to be this perfect quarterback figure,” he says. “Carson was 23 years old when he was drafted. I think we all have to remember that.”
Is Wentz approaching Sunday’s game with any extra juice?
Tellingly, he doesn’t bristle at the question.
“Not really,” he says casually. “Maybe earlier in my career, it had a different feeling.”
He’s thankful. Appreciative of the organization and the fan base’s initial embrace, appreciative of the years that include his marriage and the beginning of his family. It’s a message of gratitude. He acknowledges the abrupt end. You can sense the imperfection of that time just as easily as you can pick up on his present joy.
It’s not that he’s kept it a secret. Wentz was bubbly in his initial press conference with the Vikings, talking about what it’s like passing pictures on the wall of legends he used to root for. It’s more than that, though. It’s the tone in which he’s discussed receiving another opportunity with advantageous surroundings after all these years.
He hasn’t been snippy. He has mostly made jokes about managing the pain of bruised ribs and a serious injury to his non-throwing shoulder. In London, with most coaches and players anxious to get home, Wentz stepped up to a lectern and commented about the cool experience. His play has not been perfect. Too often, pressure forces him to create, leaving him susceptible to hits.
It’s the one constant in his arc, almost a relic from who he once was.
“Next time I slide,” Wentz says, “I’ll be just as hyped as everybody else, I think. Always trying to learn.”
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