
NEW YORK -- It's the sporting equivalent of sitting in Radio City Music Hall and guessing which of the world-famous Rockettes kicks highest. Or, more to the point, which chamber contains the bullet in any Russian Roulette game. No one knows right now if Sam Bradford will become Peyton Manning or Ryan Leaf, Donovan McNabb or Tim Couch, Aaron Rodgers or Alex Smith, Phil Rivers or JaMarcus Russell, something remarkable or something abysmal, something average or injured or off-the-field Roethlisbergian.
Nor does anyone know if the St. Louis Rams could have waited until the sixth round, where Tom Brady once was unearthed with the 199th pick, rather than invest $80 million -- about $50 million guaranteed -- on an Oklahoma quarterback whose throwing shoulder has been rebuilt.
No one even knows if Bradford will be as good or healthy in the NFL as Jimmy Clausen, the swaggering Notre Dame quarterback who brawls in the fourth quarter like he does in South Bend parking lots and slid all the way to Friday's second round, at the very least. The lesson: In the age of the Player Conduct Policy, a kid can't get a bad rap and make big bonus money.




