SOMEWHERE IN AMERICA — Prospect X runs over the four bags lying on the field, stepping lightly to show off his footwork. He trips on the last bag as he turns to run upfield, an uncharacteristic miscue. He shakes his head and wipes a layer of sweat off his brow as he walks back to the first bag to restart. “I can tell you’re nervous,” barks one of the two NFL offensive line coaches running this private workout. “That’s normal, but it’s just us hanging out. Take a deep breath.”
It’s a little after 9 a.m. on a sunny April morning, and aside from the chirping birds there are only five souls—two coaches, a scout, a reporter and PROSPECT X—at this tiny college stadium.