Jaylen Wright speaks much like he gashes defenses. There’s no wasted effort, no bullsh*t. He gets from Point A to Point B in as few strides (on the field) and few words (in conversation) as possible. He accelerates in.. the… alley with force that’d bust Vince Lombardi’s chalk into crumbs. The Tennessee running back ran a 4.38 at the NFL Combine, yet also tips the scales at 210 pounds of muscle. A rare combination.
This is not a prospect eager to regale an adoring audience with tales of perseverance even though those stories do exist.
But he is also a straight shooter. Blunt. There’s no hesitation in his voice.
Of course Wright views himself as the No. 1 running back in this year’s class.
“I know who I am,” Wright says. “People who pass up on me in the draft are going to be the people who are going to have to play me. So, that’s up to them.”
A warning shot that harkens back to another Vol. Quarterback Peyton Manning famously told GM Bill Polian a few days before the draft that he’d kick the Indianapolis Colts’ collective asses if they passed on him. The plan is simple for the kid who turned 21 years old this month: Assert himself as the best running back in the sport. About halfway through this conversation with Go Long — detailing his running style — Wright is filled with unexpected irritation.
Wright believes he has been overlooked his entire football life.
“I run like I’ve got something to prove all the time,” he says, “which I do.”
In his mind, the world has forever viewed him as good when he’s unquestionably great. Back to being labeled the 40th-best running back in the nation out of Southern Durham (N.C.) High School. His senior year was completely wiped out by Covid, so there wasn’t any film to study after Wright rushed for a cartoonish 10+ yards per carry as a junior. Right on through his collegiate career with the Vols. Wright averaged 7.4 yards in the nation’s top conference but felt exceptionally disrespected.
This spring, Wright feels love for the first time in his football life. Not that he’ll change a thing. He’ll continue to run angry — “like I am being overlooked” — because he believes that’s his edge.
“I’m explosive. I’m a threat,” Wright says. “I don’t need a lot of touches to take it to the house. If I see a seam, and there’s nobody in front of me, I’m gone. There’s not a lot of running backs that have that and I’m saying that humbly. I’m somebody that can get into the game and change the whole game.”
Athletes claiming to possess a chip on their shoulder is not a new phenomenon.
But rewind the highlight reel and it doesn’t take a degree in scouting to realize Jaylen Wright runs different. Arms chop, legs churn, dreads flow with determined vigor. One-fourth of his carries went for 10+ yards, the highest rate in the country. And he did this while averaging 4.35 yards after contact, third-best in the country. Generalizing the modern running back an N64 relic is a lazy exercise because teams that do hit the bull’s eye on this mashup of speed and power win. San Francisco’s Christian McCaffrey was the best offensive player in football last season with 2,023 yards and 21 touchdowns. Detroit’s Jahmyr Gibbs was drafted 12th overall — the nation gasped in horror — and all he did was meet McCaffrey’s crew in the NFC title game.
Wright is the closest the 2024 NFL Draft has to this breed of lit-fuse running back.
There’s more than perceived disrespect fueling his long runs. There’s two years of homelessness, and the day an emotional 15-year-old Jaylen told Dad he’d make it to the NFL. There’s track, and all the horsepower gained in the 400 meter. There’s the endless hours spent studying Adrian Peterson and Terrell Davis. There’s the maturation he needed in Knoxville. All of it created this draft’s preeminent weapon at running back.
Curtis Wright, his hype man of a father, predicts nothing but wreckage in his son’s path.
“You can stack the box, he’s going to run through you. You can spread it out, he’s going to shift past you. You can open it up, and he’s going to run right between you,” says Curtis. “You want to go ground and pound? He can run ground and pound. You want to open it up? He’s going to blow by you with his raw speed and acceleration and home-run ability. He’s a weapon. He’s literally a weapon. I look at every running back in this draft and I look at all the running backs in the NFL. One thing I can say about Jaylen, he is one of a kind. I don’t see a comparison. Jaylen is in a league of his own.”
Dad is not finished.
He’s certain his son’s career will conclude with a trip to Canton, Ohio.
“Jaylen will be a Hall of Famer in the NFL,” he repeats. “Jaylen is going to be one of the best running backs that's played the game. Jaylen is a seat-filler. He’s exciting. He’s explosive. When he runs out on the field, it’s Showtime.”
Given a chance to cool his expectations, to be a bit more realistic here, Curtis sounds taken aback that his son’s career could possibly end any other way.
“He’s going to definitely be a Hall of Famer,” he insists. “I’m telling you.”
A lofty bar to set. He also knows why Jaylen Wright runs the way he does.
When Curtis Wright left the police force in Durham, N.C., his world turned upside down. His intentions were pure. Jaylen was heading to high school and he wanted to be a more present father. The best way to do that, in his mind, was by changing professions. All he knew was policing. From age 20 to 38, he worked wildly unpredictable hours as cop. It was time for a change.
He wanted to “create something better.” Not in financial terms, either.
By becoming an entrepreneur, Curtis figured he’d be able to carve out more time in his day to be a father. Vague on details, he says he struggled starting his own business while toggling between “labor-ridden jobs” at FedEx and delivering bread as a truck driver and whatever else he could. Money suddenly became tight. Bills, harder to pay. And none of it would’ve been that big of a deal if he had a place to stay. One major perk of his profession in law enforcement was a place to live. Unable to afford his own home, he was S.O.L.
“I was homeless,” Curtis says. “When I stopped being a law enforcement officer, my life changed. I had to do a restart. Being a police officer was a way of life. Once you’re out of that, that’s a lifestyle change. You have to learn how to be normal again.”
Son easily could’ve moved in with mother. She was remarried in Raleigh, 25 miles away. Instead, he stayed with his father in Durham — inside the home a friend — and visited Mom on the weekends.
Jaylen wanted to help, so Jaylen was content sleeping on the floor for two full years.
Curtis didn’t even have a vehicle. Any money was spent putting food on the table.
“I was just glad to at least have a roof over my head,” Jaylen says. “But having people walk around you while you’re sleeping, those are hard times. Times I’ll never forget. That’s why I’m as humble as I am and grateful for all the things that’ve come my way.”
Jaylen has always been a kid who listens and watches more than he speaks. Witnessing his father’s day-to-day, meal-to-meal struggle created a fight of his own. “To where,” Curtis adds, “he would not be denied.” Curtis kept on encouraging Jaylen in sports, in school and never had to assist with homework. Head down, his son lived with a purpose. Nor did life at rock bottom mire Curtis in depression. After all, the reason he left the force was to become a better father and to help his son play collegiate football. This is precisely when Dad made a decision that’d forever change his son’s life.
He got Jaylen into track.
Ever since Jaylen played Pop Warner football at four years old — full tackle, never flag — his father detected a rare resolve. A complete absence of fear. If his son failed in a tackling drill, he couldn’t wait to dust himself off and face that same kid again. He craved contact, revenge, the final word in this duel. “He’ll size you up,” Dad adds, “and he ain’t going to stop until he’s past you.” All of which hardened him. So once Jaylen’s speed was obviously a cut above his peers, at age 14, Curtis convinced his boy to give track a shot.
That same year, 2017, they were able to scrap together enough funds to travel to Kansas for the USA Track & Field Championships. Jaylen placed first in the 400 with a time of 50.97 seconds against the best 13- and 14-year-olds in the country. It took generous sponsors and donations to even travel to the event considering the family’s bleeding finances, but this gold medal fueled Jaylen with belief at a very fragile stage in life. Pro sports now felt like a realistic goal.
The next year, at 15, Jaylen told Dad that he wouldn’t need to work at all one day because he’d be scoring touchdowns in the NFL.
He wasn’t daydreaming — there was a seriousness to his voice.
Some genetics are at play. Jaylen’s uncle played tight end at Concord University and Dad played high school ball. But mainly? This world-class speed was built through track.
“Track and field built something inside of him,” Curtis says. “It built a monster when it comes to speed and explosiveness because track is a sport to where it's all about you. You line up and it’s either them or you. It’s all about you.”
The 400 became Wright’s go-to event. Sprinting the length of four football fields paid direct dividends at running back. Built power. Built explosion. All shorter distances — be it a 55-meter dash indoors, a 100 outdoors or any run on a football field — soon came easy. His time of 6.25 seconds in the 55 ranked top 10 nationally. Wright would actually get more nervous for the 400 than any football game under the lights. Anticipation of the event was downright nerve-wracking because he knew he was about to push his body to its absolute limit. “You’re by yourself,” Jaylen adds. “You’re on your own in track.”
Wright straight-up “hated” the 400, but what we hate most in life is often what’s best for us.
Track became the ultimate training tool for his true love. Football.
When the ball was stuffed into his chest and a lane opened up, Wright gained an extra gear nobody else on the field possessed. Track fed his competitiveness, too. He still takes pride in one 60-meter triumph, when he toasted a kid who went on to run for Clemson and another kid who’d play baseball at N.C. State.
After that USATF race in Kansas, Curtis made it his mission to pull everything he possibly could out of Jaylen. This led to the two bumping heads. There were times his son wanted to quit, but he kept going. Dad would tell him that if he’s bored to work out. Drop down to all fours and do push-ups. Then, sit-ups. Then, more push-ups. “Train your body,” he’d say, “to be a weapon.” The burden was heavy. After one football practice in 11th grade, Jaylen was overwhelmed with frustration. He had dropped a pass and could not forgive himself. When the coach asked why he was so down, Jaylen told him he couldn’t afford to fail because he needed to create a better life for his family.
Together, father and son studied the greats on YouTube. Jaylen loved Adrian Peterson’s tenacious running style, Christian McCaffrey’s receiving ability and Alvin Kamara’s patience.
It all pieced together a running style one NFL scout would later describe to Go Long as vengeful.
“I run angry,” Wright says. “I know it’s going to put fear in other people’s heart when they see me. My mindset is to not be taken down and to be the best person on the field each day. I reflect back on a lot of stuff that I've been through and that’s what fires me up. … I think about family, think about all the stuff I’ve been through with my family and all of the sacrifices they made for me. That’s just what really gives me my fire.”
He needed to share the backfield his junior year at Southern Durham H.S., but most of his 89 carries were comedy. A rigged game of tag. He rushed for 901 yards, good for 10.1 per carry.
Eventually, Curtis Wright was able to get settled into housing of his own. He knows those two years had an everlasting effect.
“He runs with an edge,” says Dad. “He wants to make everybody feel him. He wants the defenders to know he was there. He wants to prove to everybody that he is the best, that there isn’t anybody who can equate or account to who he is running that football. He wants to run and show everybody: ‘You want to know who the guy is? I am. I’m here.’ He thinks about those rough times of life.”
Wright committed to Jeremy Pruitt’s Tennessee Volunteers. Pruitt was fired. Josh Heupel was hired, and the running back decided to stick with the school.
Heupel’s running backs coach, Jerry Mack, remembers the craziness of 2020 far too well. (Who doesn’t?) No, Wright never did get the opportunity to carry the ball 100 times in a high school season. But he believes it’s a blessing that Covid robbed Wright of his entire senior year because the pandemic forced schools to rush through its wave of scholarship offers. A normal cycle might’ve worked against Wright, he says.
Either way, he headed to Knoxville in 2021.
He still had a lot to learn, too.
All Hall talk appeared very real inside Neyland Stadium on Nov. 18, 2023.
The first play of Tennessee’s game against the No. 1-ranked Georgia Bulldogs was more of a Lannisters send their regards dagger to the abdomen.
Jaylen Wright takes the shotgun handoff and immediately knifes through the middle of the defense. Next, he punks a trio of defensive backs who’ll be drafted this week. Tykee Smith is rendered more cement-footed mannequin than mid-round safety prospect. And as Wright accelerates to the next level, cornerback Kamari Lassiter and safety Javon Bullard (4.47 in the 40) — names you’ll hear in Rounds 2 or 3 — are promptly embarrassed. All basic geometry suggests one of them should catch Wright. Alas, they do not. As No. 0 crosses the goal line on this 75-yard touchdown run, he puffs his chest out as if busting through ribbon and ferociously spikes the football. Later in the first quarter, after a defensive stop, Rocky Top erupts. The decibel level rises to 137, shattering the previous college football record of 133.6 set during a 1992 Washington-Nebraska game.
Tennessee ended up losing big, but this thunderstrike is proof that Curtis Wright isn’t going full LaVar Ball when he says his son is bringing “Showtime” to an NFL stadium.
Granted, Wright did not reach this point overnight.
He arrived on campus at 17 years old and was thrust into action as a true freshman due to injuries. Now the running backs coach for the Jacksonville Jaguars, Mack admits “it wasn’t rosy” early on with Wright in Knoxville. The kid from Durham needed to mature. One of his grandmothers even got involved to help.
“He was so young,” says Mack. “Not understanding how to work and how different college was in being accountable. Coming to meetings on time. The work that you’re going to have to put in consistently. You’ve got to be the same person every single day. There can’t be any let up. When you go back and look at a lot of his runs in high school, one out of every three runs are going for explosive plays. And in college, that’s just not the case. Every play isn’t going to be a touchdown.”
Wright needed to become more physical and realize that some runs may only produce four yards. Bouncing all over the backfield with no plan doesn’t fly in the SEC.
Early on, Wright danced too much. He was prone to excessive jump cuts.
He also needed to commit himself more fully when it wasn’t gameday.
Wright had a very long way to go but, from Day 1, it was also obvious he was driven to make the NFL. Mack soon learned all about those two years of sleeping on a floor. Jaylen clearly was willing to grow. Start talking about backs who excelled 10 to 20 years ago and players usually have zero recollection. “But Jaylen,” Mack notes, “is a football junkie.” When the coach brought up names like Terrell Davis and Adrian Peterson and Walter Payton, it grabbed his attention. The coach would show clips of past greats inside the running back meeting room and then disperse cut-ups onto iPads for the offseason. Other times, Wright would watch film right in Mack’s office for 1-on-1 sessions.
“He took a lot from those guys — pieces of how they ran the football,” Mack says. “When you go back and watch his film, you would be able to pull out, ‘Hey, he sticks his foot in the ground like Terrell. Hey, look, he explodes like Adrian. He broke those tackles on contact like Walter.’”
Davis was central to the rise of the zone-blocking scheme in the late 90s. His one-cut style especially resonated with Wright into his final season in Knoxville. He needed to see the hole and hit it — a skill perfected by Davis through the Denver Broncos’ back-to-back Super Bowl runs. Wright’s eyes light up thinking of that Broncos footage. (“He’s someone who could do everything.”) Pre-snap vision, he learned, is what triggers those 40-, 50-, 60-yard runs at this level. Wright learned which linebackers were blitzing. His patience sharped. He gained a better feel for exactly when seams would split open. Curtis Wright likens son to a human “turbo button” on Madden because he figured out exactly when to hit the jets.
The speed existed all along. But nobody could see it because of all that wasted movement behind the line of scrimmage and even at the second level.
If he could calibrate with his blockers, he could turn the field into his personal track.
Says Mack: “He understood, ‘Once I see this crease, if I just stick my foot in the ground and get my shoulder square going downhill, I can outrun most of the people that I play.’ And that’s exactly what happened.”
This was one element to his growth. The other was simply carrying himself differently inside the building. As a natural introvert, Wright said practically nothing for a while. By 2023, he was selected a captain for games. He walked through the hallways with a new “energy,” Mack says, that lifted up those around him. No easy transition. This was outside of his comfort zone.
Wright knew he needed to lock in.
“Always being in the facility,” Wright says. “Always coming in the building, being the same person every day and just working hard every day.”
The result was 1,013 rushing yards on 137 carries with four touchdowns and another 22 receptions for 141 yards in Heupel’s Air Raid scheme last season. A wide-open scheme undoubtedly helps create game-breaking runs, but it’s also true that Wright wasn’t exactly facing cupcake defenses. Most weeks, he faced future first- and second-round picks. The 4.3 speed is his greatest weapon, but Wright also didn’t use his speed as a crutch. Didn’t avoid contact. He made a conscious effort to be the player who delivered the physical blow rather than absorb it.
He’s certain the SEC prepared him for anything he’ll face in the NFL.
“The SEC moves so fast, it’s different,” Wright says. “People are bigger, faster, smarter. Every week is a battle. So that has really prepared me a lot for this next level with the competition and hopefully when I get to the next level, it’ll feel the same or easier.”
If anyone was still sleeping on Wright, they were awakened with his performance at the NFL Combine in Indianapolis. His 11-2 in the broad jump was the best for any running back the last eight years. His 4.38 in the 40 trailed only Isaac Guerendo (4.33) amongst all backs this year. And on his 40, Wright reached 15.18 MPH his first five yards, per NextGen Stats, No. 1 amongst all backs the last two seasons. The 15.18 edged both De’Von Achane (14.94 MPH) and Gibbs (14.75 MPH), two SEC backs that adjusted seamlessly to the pro game. Oddly enough, Jaylen believes the worst part of his 4.38 in the 40 was the start. Both father and son knew he could’ve clocked in even faster. The cherry on top was a 38-inch vertical, fourth-best at his position.
This was no faux underwear-olympic expedition.
The tape proves such numbers translate to his profession.
Take it away, DJ Curtis.
“You ain’t going to be able to stop him,” Dad says. “When he’s playing in a game, it’s like a Hellcat that shifts into sixth gear and instead of him getting weaker, he gets stronger. He starts off in first and he goes to second and third and then he’ll jump from third and he’ll jump right to six and he’ll stay right there at six through the whole game. He ain’t going to stop.
“I’m telling you, the world is in for a treat for what’s about to happen. God has really blessed this guy.”
When Jaylen Wright breaks away, when all 11 defenders are in his rearview, he’s not quite sure how anyone is supposed to tackle him. The NFL has banned the “hip-drop tackle,” a term created approximately 14 minutes ago. Such legislation further warps this sport into something it’s not and makes life hell for defensive backs trying to mentally process ways to tackle a Hellcat in the open field.
“I’m not complaining about it. I’m glad,” Wright says. “That’s going to make it easier for the ball-carrier.”
Owners repeatedly inform GMs and coaches that they do not care for defense anymore. Maybe this is a very average group of running backs overall, as scouts detailed over the weekend. But the direction of the sport paves a yellow brick road for talents capable of shifting into sixth gear so quickly. It’d be wise for any team that fancies itself a contender to make Wright its luxury pick the first few rounds of the draft. Linebackers and linemen and cornerbacks can wait. Big plays are at a premium.
This isn’t a back who needs 20+ carries to feel comfortable.
Nor is it a back with much wear or tear. Wright finished with 398 total carries and receptions in college.
“I don’t think he’s done growing,” Mack says. “He’s going to put on a little bit more mass over the next couple of years. And then his running style as well, he’s gotten to the point where there’s not a lot of wasted time. In this league, the defensive lines and the linebackers are so fast, if you get any kind of green grass or any kind of space, you better accelerate and go get it. And he has that ability where he’s not going to try to dance around people, he’s just going to hit it downhill.”
That was Terrell Davis’ gift through a Super Bowl MVP season in ’97 and 2,008 yards rushing in ’98, two dominant seasons that warranted Canton enshrinement alone.
Wright probably shouldn’t visit a tailor to get fitted for his gold jacket quite yet. College was a rude awakening. The NFL, to some degree, also promises to be a rude awakening. Still, Curtis claims he’s “explosive as Saquon” and “strong as Derrick Henry” and “as fast as Jahmyr Gibbs and Achane” and “a full-fledged weapon that’s going to fill seats.” Maybe his son is a unique mix that defenders have not encountered before.
Son may seem much quieter than Dad, but he’s equally confident. He expects to be a scary presence every time the ball is in his hands.
“Somebody,” Jaylen adds, “that’ll put fear in defense’s eyes.”
He doesn’t laugh away his father’s Canton claims. Son sees no reason to temper expectations for his own benefit. After going ignored for so long, he sounds like a running back who welcomes such pressure on Day 1.
Jaylen Wright even takes it a step further. Looks years into the future. Aspires to be “an idol” for the next generation of running backs. Because, one day, maybe there’s another 14-year-old kid sleeping on a friends’ floor dreaming of the NFL.
He’ll be the first name that kid punches into a search on YouTube, looking for a burst of inspiration.
“I want to be somebody that will always be remembered,” Wright says. “And will leave his footprint.”
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