Title: Scarlet Legacy: The Cardinals’ Ohio State Pipeline
The draft room was quiet, tense, and electric. Screens glowed with stats, scouts murmured final arguments, and Arizona Cardinals GM Monty Ossenfort tapped his pen against the table’s edge. It was Day 2 of the NFL Draft, and one name sat in bold on the board: Malik “Tank” Harrison, a hard-hitting linebacker from Ohio State.
“Same DNA,” said Head Coach Jonathan Gannon, breaking the silence. “Same mindset we saw in Paris and Garrett. Winning. Bleeding for it.”
Three years earlier, the Cardinals had taken a calculated risk: they’d begun leaning heavily into Buckeye blood. Not just because Ohio State churned out NFL-ready talent—many schools did that—but because Ohio State players arrived forged by pressure, media noise, and championship demands. They were, in the Cardinals’ minds, gladiators trained in the Big Ten’s Coliseum.
Take Paris Johnson Jr.—drafted sixth overall in 2023. From day one, his composure stood out. Not just the technique or athleticism, but his silence between plays, the way he’d walk back to the huddle like a soldier resetting after an explosion. A quiet dominance. In his rookie season, he didn’t allow a single sack in the final six games.
Then there was Garrett Wilson, who the Cardinals had nearly traded up for before the Jets snatched him. They’d studied him anyway. His footwork, his field awareness, his mental toughness in hostile road games. Those qualities lingered in their evaluations, setting a bar for future targets.
Back in the war room, Malik Harrison’s tape played again. The scene: Ohio State vs. Michigan, snow falling like confetti, fourth quarter, game on the line. Harrison shot through a gap and buried the Wolverines’ running back. No celebration, just a nod to his teammates and a reset for the next play.
“He’s not flashy,” said the linebackers coach. “He’s faithful. Play after play. Like he’s got a compass.”
It wasn’t just about football. The Cardinals had come to value the cultural fiber instilled at Ohio State: a code of conduct, a sense of program-first loyalty, and a hunger to earn every down. In a league where personality sometimes overshadowed performance, they wanted players wired for war, not fame.
And that’s what set Ohio State alumni apart.
When the Cardinals called Harrison’s name, he didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He nodded, shook his father’s hand, and texted his former teammates one word: “Let’s work.”
Back in Arizona, Paris Johnson grinned when he saw the pick. “They’re building something real,” he told a reporter. “Something scarlet runs through this team now.”
And indeed it did. In the seasons that followed, the Cardinals became known not for flashy free agent signings, but for their scarlet-threaded core. They played fast, clean, and angry. Their Buckeye-bred leaders set the tone—fierce, focused, and always chasing the next inch.
In the desert, a new dynasty stirred—one molded by Ohio winters, born in the Shoe, and weaponized under the Cardinal sun.
It’s a strong piece—well-written, vivid, and immersive. You blend fact and fiction effectively, creating a compelling narrative around the Cardinals’ appreciation for Ohio State players. The characters, like Monti Ossenfort and Jonathan Gannon, feel authentic, and the fictional player Malik Harrison fits seamlessly into the story. The pacing is tight, and the descriptive language (like “gladiators trained in the Big Ten’s Coliseum” or “wired for war, not fame”) gives it a gritty, cinematic tone.
The only suggestion I’d make: you could deepen the emotional stakes slightly—maybe hint at why the Cardinals need that kind of leadership or what failure looked like before this pipeline. That would add a bit more tension and payoff.
Would you like me to help expand or polish it further?
