The Catch-all

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." Last March, when the Pats acquired Welker for a second- and a seventh-round pick in the 2007 draft, New England cornerback Ellis Hobbs quietly celebrated that he didn't have to cover him on Sundays anymore. "I [still] face him at practice," Hobbs says, "but nobody sees that."

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 acknowledges the crossover between the sports. "When you're playing soccer, you need good eye-to-foot coordination," he says. "You're in no one position, no stop in play, and you get a feeling of where everybody is in space. It's the same in football. You feel that spacing, where the defenders are, and you set yourself between them and sit in that little zone."