Welker Proves Skeptics Wrong Again

In January, doctors suggested to Wes Welker(notes) that his ripped-up left knee would take about one calendar year to heal. The New England Patriots receiver had torn both his ACL and his MCL. For added fun, he also needed rotator-cuff surgery.
The 2010 season, they said, was all but shot.

“You know doctors,” Welker said with a smile Sunday. “What do they know?”

Welker’s story as an undersized, unwanted everyman who became the most prolific pass-catcher in the NFL was already bordering on saccharine Disney sports-flick levels. Then came Sunday, when he shaved a remarkable three-plus months off the predicted recovery time and returned to action 252 days after his massive injury.

He wasn’t just “back,” either. He was back, immediately displaying the darting speed and slippery form that helped him lead the league in receptions two of the past three seasons. He caught eight passes for 64 yards and two touchdowns in the Patriots’ 38-24 victory over Cincinnati.

“It was awesome,” quarterback Tom Brady said.

Like a bad Hollywood script, the ending was entirely predictable, at least to the people who know Welker. The doctors may have focused on the actual medical tests when predicting a recovery time. Everyone else just considered the name of the patient.

“I knew in February he was going to be back out on the field opening day,” said Brady, who had to overcome his own ACL injury prior to last year’s season opener. “The determination he has is pretty remarkable.”

This is what Welker does: upend conventional wisdom, surprise critics and make the improbable seem like no big deal.

“There [were] different scenarios kind of talked about, like [injured reserve] and ‘save my body’ and different things like that,” he said Sunday. “But that’s just not in me. I can’t sit there and watch my team out there playing.”

He said this in his calm, dry drawl. On the field, he’s a burst of energy. Off it, he’s a laid-back, matter-of-fact, take-it-all-in kind of guy. There wasn’t going to be a lot of look-at-me emotion postgame. Maybe it all still seems so tenuous. Welker was a prep star in Oklahoma City, a state player of the year, who didn’t receive a single scholarship offer in light of his diminutive size – now listed at 5-foot-9, 185 pounds, then even smaller and lighter. He thought about walking on somewhere. He thought about joining the Navy.

Eventually, another kid backed out of a scholarship with Texas Tech and the Red Raiders took a late flyer on him. He wound up scoring 31 touchdowns for Tech – including eight on punt returns, which still stands as a NCAA record.

It wasn’t enough to attract NFL interest. Forget about being drafted; he wasn’t even invited to the NFL scouting combine. His height and weight were considered so un-NFL-like they weren’t even worth measuring. He was deemed as nothing more than the byproduct of then-Tech coach Mike Leach spread offense.

Welker managed to secure a tryout with the San Diego Chargers anyway, made the team and then was cut after the first game. The Miami Dolphins picked him up as a special-teams player and, over three seasons, began using him more and more as a wide receiver. They were never sold on him, though, and ultimately traded him to New England.

That was 2007, and since then Welker has become the only player in NFL history to catch at least 110 passes in three consecutive years. Last year, he caught 123 – tied for second most for a single season in NFL history.

People stopped doubting Welker, at least until his left knee crumpled as he tried to make a cut in the season finale in Houston. The critics had always wondered how long he could hold up in the NFL. And while the injury didn’t come on a hit, the result was the same. When he returned, they wondered if he would still have the water-bug speed so essential to his game.

Welker cared only about getting back on the field by Sept. 12. He told his doctors as much.

“They were kind of like, ‘Well, let’s wait and see where we’re at when we get there,’ ” Welker said. “So I tried to put it in their heads early. … I think when they saw my quad and how all the muscles were the same size as the other side, they were a little bit shocked but at the same time very cautious.”

Welker flew much of his family in for the game Sunday, acknowledging this was a bit of a rebirth. He’s vowed not to take a moment of being a NFL player for granted. When he caught the first pass of the season, the Gillette Stadium crowd roared with admiration. So, too, did his teammates. Then he brought home the first Patriots TD. And then another.

Other than having to wear “a stupid knee brace that I hate and can’t wait to burn,” the day was better than he dreamt.

“It’s kind of a special deal,” Welker said. “It was definitely a cool thing.”
Welker isn’t the most feared receiver in the league; he’s just the most frustrating to attempt to cover. He’s found a way to make his size an advantage. His low center of gravity allows him to push away from stronger defenders and create space. He’s a master at avoiding hits and is consistently among the league leaders in yards after the catch.

And, of course, he catches just about everything thrown in his direction.
He’s the perfect complement to Randy Moss, the Patriots’ fast deep threat who “takes the top off the defense” and allows room for Welker to work underneath. Conversely, Welker prevents defensive backs from focusing solely on Moss. The combo will be a handful for the Jets in next Sunday’s early-season divisional clash.

Welker’s loss was crushing to the Patriots last season – the team was listless and ineffective in a playoff loss to Baltimore. Sunday, it looked like the powerhouse of old, with the return of the NFL’s unlikely star raising everyone’s emotions.
Welker would just shrug at all the fanfare. His play was a surprise only to those foolish enough to still doubt him.

WES WELKER

The room was packed with football players, young ones with a million questions and veterans with no doubts. It was Texas Tech's first team meeting of 2000, and coach Mike Leach was doing a sociological study. From behind the podium Leach watched his newcomers size one another up—the walk-ons, the high school track stars and the big-name recruits who once owned the spotlight on Friday nights. Standing in the middle of them all, a head shorter than most, was a freshman receiver from Oklahoma City named Wesley Welker. Leach met his gaze and couldn't help but hold it. "If you've seen that Foghorn Leghorn cartoon, Wes was like the chicken hawk," Leach recalls. "He was shorter than everybody, one of those barrel-chested guys with thick ankles. I was thinking, This fella is pretty sure of himself. He had this steely-eyed stare, this look that said, I can whip all their asses."

This season, one NFL defensive back after another has recognized that look at the line of scrimmage, along with its aftermath: the 5'9", 185-pound Welker darting across the field, finding the soft spot in a zone and turning a short completion into a back-breaking gain, often as the hot read when quarterback Tom Brady was feeling pressure. On a Patriots offense flush with talent, Welker is its most unlikely playmaker, an undrafted, undersized player who developed into someone coach Bill Belichick just had to have.

While there were signs in training camp that Welker might thrive playing alongside wideouts Randy Moss and Donte' Stallworth, no one could have forecast his 112 catches and countless key blocks—except Belichick. Welker had tormented the coach as a receiver, a returner, a special teams tackler and even an emergency kicker for the Dolphins from 2004 through '06, when Miami went 3--3 against New England. "We couldn't defend him, we couldn't cover him," Belichick says. "And a lot of other teams had the same problem."

Welker's coaches at Heritage Hall High couldn't slow him either, no matter how hard they blew their whistles. He treated every drill as a mission statement. During sprints Welker would sometimes dive across the finish line, just to ensure that he was first. "We were always worried he was going to break a rib," says Rod Warner, who coached Welker at Heritage Hall and is now the school's athletic director. "He was like, 'Coach, I wanted to win.'"

On Friday nights Welker stayed on the field for almost every snap. He lined up at tailback, receiver and free safety, returned kicks, kicked off and booted field goals and extra points. A familiar sight was Welker sprinting into the end zone, then trying to catch his breath before attempting the point after. "Right before the snap, he'd tip up his face mask and throw up," Warner says. "It was like it was no big deal."

Says Welker, "You're nervous before games, especially at that age. You're excited to play, you hadn't eaten anything, it's hot out, and next thing you know, you're throwing up. But whenever I threw up, I knew I was going to have a good game."

Though Welker dominated in high school, scoring 90 touchdowns and kicking a 57-yard field goal—he also played soccer at Heritage Hall—most Division I scouts saw short arms, a small frame and an average 40 time. Tulsa almost gave him a scholarship, but the coaching staff chose to sign a faster receiver instead. "I told him, 'You might want to consider a smaller college,' but he wasn't having any of it," says Welker's father, Leland. "He said, 'If I can't play Division I football, I don't want to play.' He always wanted to play with the best, against the best."

Welker's prospects changed after several Texas Tech assistants persuaded Leach to watch a game tape. Leach saw the same physical shortcomings that scared away other programs, but there were signs that he couldn't ignore. "The film was very dramatic," Leach says. "I'm watching it, and I'm like, 'If only he was bigger.' Then he'd make a play. 'If only he was faster.' He'd make another play. 'If only he had longer arms.' He'd make another play. He was one of the most competitive people I've met, could focus longer than anyone I've met, and he took advantage of every moment he had."

In Leach's spread offense, Welker had little trouble finding holes. His anticipation, quick feet and peripheral vision made him a tough cover, even when everybody in the stadium knew the ball was coming his way. "As much as it is a sacrilege to say, I think a lot of that came from soccer," Leach says. "He was coordinated, and he had great vision out of the corner of his eyes because [in soccer] you're always looking for an opening or a lane to pass it to your buddy. If you're carrying a ball, it's even easier to see the holes and run through them."

Welker left Tech with school records in catches (259) and receiving yards (3,069). After making the San Diego Chargers' roster at the end of training camp in 2004, he soon alternated between elation and impatience. "Every practice was just the same, trying to get reps whenever I could," he says. "There were days I wouldn't get one. Maybe they'd throw me in on a blocking play, so I'm out there busting my butt on blocking, making sure that somehow I show up in the camera." The Chargers cut him three days after the season opener, and Miami signed him six days later.

Playing with a revolving door of quarterbacks in Miami, Welker couldn't help but wonder how things might be better in, say, New England, where the Patriots developed cohesion and welcomed versatility. (Not to mention they had won three Super Bowls.) Since arriving, the 26-year-old Welker has elevated the Pats as a receiver and return man. When Brady senses the Giants' pass rush this Sunday, he will no doubt look for Welker, who in the teams' Dec. 29 meeting had 122 yards on 11 receptions, seven of those for first downs. "I guess it's easy [for defenders] to miss him," Brady says. "He can hide in the grass."

Says Welker, "On the outside looking in, it was the type of team I always wanted to play for. When I came here, they didn't care what I ran in the 40 or what my size was. They looked at the film, and they saw what they saw. It's finally the day where I wasn't passed over."