The Beauty of the Bulldogs’ Brutality
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ATLANTA — Feats of strength? There goes Georgia defensive tackle Jalen Carter into the LSU backfield, lifting quarterback Jayden Daniels in the air with his left arm and simultaneously holding up an index finger on his right hand. That man-among-toddlers sack has defined the Bulldogs’ 2022 season.
Feats of ferocity? Here come four offensive linemen or tight ends to hammer Auburn defenders, turning a tackling standstill of running back Daijun Edwards into a pile-moving, extra six yards gained.
Feats of physicality? Watch the Bulldogs’ defensive backs jam Tennessee’s speedy wide receivers off the line of scrimmage and tackle menacingly in space, in accordance with coach Kirby Smart’s “nowhere to run, nowhere to hide” theme for that November showdown game.
Feats of brutality? They were everywhere in last year’s Orange Bowl, from receivers recording pancake blocks to running backs blasting through tacklers to linebackers snapping back the heads of Michigan offensive linemen—punishing the very unit that won the Joe Moore Award for the best line in the country.
Physicality is part of Georgia’s DNA.
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Watch Georgia football and you see these blunt-force feats every week. The Bulldogs are fast, they are cleverly schemed, and they are confident. But more than anything else, they are the biggest, baddest, meanest, nastiest Dawgs in America. They hit hard, all the time.
“Don’t ever underestimate the power of physical toughness,” Smart shouted to his team in the locker room after punking Tennessee. “Physical toughness wins in football now. And if you in this room? You got it. And if you coming here? You better believe in it.”
Modern football is less excessively violent than it used to be, which is a good thing. But it’s still a collision sport. Win the collisions, win the games. It’s not a coincidence Georgia has won 15 straight and is the reigning national champion. There is a beauty to the Bulldogs’ brutality.
In Smart’s program, there is no choice, no alternative, no soft route to playing time. If you wear the “G” helmet, you must relish the physical DNA of football. You don’t turn down hits. You don’t go down easily. You don’t arm tackle. You don’t tap out in the second half as the collisions pile up. The Bulldogs recruit to that hard-edged standard, coach to it and compete to it.
“If [players] don’t like contact, Georgia’s not the place for them,” co-defensive coordinator Will Muschamp says. “I can tell you that.”
Bloody Tuesday has established its place on the Georgia fall calendar and its niche in Kirby Smart’s program. It is the tone-setting day for every week of the season. It is the crucible in which the Bulldogs’ identity is forged.
“You’ve got to get your mind right for Bloody Tuesday,” says offensive tackle Broderick Jones.
“Sometimes you see blood,” says linebacker Jamon Dumas-Johnson. “Sometimes you don’t. But that's one of the days we get after it, play the game before the game. Tuesdays is just different in Athens.”
“I haven’t come out of a Tuesday or Wednesday without being cut up or bruised,” says sophomore nickleback Javon Bullard. “Those are the days that make Georgia Georgia.”
Bloody Tuesday is a full-pads, full-contact gauntlet that pits good-on-good, as the football vernacular goes. That’s starters vs. starters—which, given Georgia’s recent recruiting, means five-stars vs. five-stars and future pros vs. future pros. The stated goal is for Tuesday practice to be harder than the Saturday game.
The Dawgs don’t half-step through Tuesdays against an overmatched scout team of backups. They don’t scale back to shorts and eliminate contact late in the season. Bloody Tuesday happens every game week, including here in Atlanta this week in preparation for Ohio State in the Peach Bowl national semifinal.
Kirby Smart has guided the Bulldogs to 15 straight victories heading into the national semifinal.
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Smart is miked up on Tuesdays, his voice booming across the practice fields as he challenges his players (often profanely) to be at their best. His staff carries the same message to their individual units: compete relentlessly or get called out.
“It’s intense,” says center Sedrick Van Pran. “Very, very intense. Usually to the point of exhaustion. They’re what this program is built on. When those lights come on and coach Smart is on the mic, it’s go time.”
The intensity of practice can come as a culture shock for new arrivals. Words of warning from veteran players may fail to get the point across.
“I don’t think there’s anything that can prepare you for Georgia,” Van Pran says. “There’s nothing I can tell you about this place because you have to experience it for yourself.”
Jones recalled his rude awakening to the Georgia reality as a freshman in 2020. On his third day of practice, the No. 2 offensive tackle prospect in the nation went through a series of one-on-one pass-blocking drills against an array of veterans, several of whom are now in the NFL. It didn’t go well.
“They baptized me,” he says. “Instantly. I had six one-on-one reps and I lost all of them.”
Now an All–Southeastern Conference tackle, Jones is the one administering baptisms in practices and games. He’s one of the guys moving the pile forward for extra yardage—“covering up” the running back, as Georgia terms it. If anyone kept a statistic on yards gained by collective shove, the Bulldogs would likely lead the nation.
“We love the contact,” Jones says. “Being able to run the football—at Georgia that’s all we want to be able to do.”
Despite a freshly potent passing attack this season, the Dawgs rank sixth nationally in rushing yards per carry (5.53) and are tied for fourth in rushing touchdowns (37). Even within the clever parameters of this Georgia offense, the bottom-line imperative is to be able to run the ball even when the opponent is expecting it.
Of the four playoff teams, none has more rushing attempts in the red zone than Georgia’s 130. Michigan has run it 121 times from within the opponent’s 20-yard line, TCU 107, Ohio State 80. Finishing drives and finishing games on the ground is part of the plan.
“I think the line of scrimmage always dictates the outcome of games,” Smart says. “Eventually, eventually, you have to be able to run the ball.”
And on the flip side, you have to be able to stop the run. Which is where Georgia truly excels.
The Bulldogs lead the nation in fewest rushing yards allowed per game at 76.9. They were second nationally in that category last year, first in 2020 and first in ’19. They also lead the nation in fewest runs of 10 yards or longer allowed, with just 26.
Only three teams have run for 100 yards against Georgia this season, and none since October. The last time an opponent gained 200 on the ground was 2018. The Dawgs get to the football fast and rarely miss tackles when they arrive.
It all starts—or, for the offense, ends—up front. The defensive line is where Georgia has more “creatures,” to use a football term, than anyone. Even after having two tackles among the team’s five first-round draft picks—Jordan Davis and Devonte Wyatt—the Bulldogs are rolling seven deep this season in their three down-lineman positions. They are huge, nasty and startlingly nimble.
Georgia has had one of the best rushing defenses in the country the last four seasons.
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The foremost creature is Carter, the lineman who lifted up LSU’s Daniels like he was a child in the SEC championship game. His highlight reel goes well beyond that play, including bulldozing a Tennessee right guard for what should have been a safety of QB Hendon Hooker (the officials blew the call and gave the Volunteers the ball on the 1-yard line). He has wrecked more than a few opposing centers, guards and tackles.
But after he injured an ankle on the first play of the season against Oregon and then hurting a knee against Missouri, Carter’s stats were modest through Georgia’s first eight games: six total tackles in six games played. Starting with the Tennessee game, he has been virtually unblockable, racking up 23 tackles in the last five games.
“I try to use strength and speed and everything in the book,” says Carter, who can bull-rush straight through an offensive lineman or skip sideways around a blocker with astonishing agility for a 300-pounder.
Carter is a reclusive sort, having not spoken with the media since last March. But there is no hiding leading up to this playoff game and beyond, as NFL teams try to decide how high to draft him come spring—possibly No. 1. ESPN draft analyst Todd McShay recently mentioned potential “character issues” with Carter that could damage his draft stock. “Does he get along with everybody?” McShay asked on SportsCenter earlier this month. “What's he like to deal with in the locker room? Those sort of issues.”
Carter’s teammates stuck up for him here Thursday.
“He’s very cautious about saying the wrong thing; that’s all it is,” says fellow defensive lineman Nazir Stackhouse. “Jalen’s a great guy; we all love him. We all have our ups and downs. … Jalen has been consistent about going out and performing at a high level.
“If some days Jalen has an attitude? O.K., let Jalen have an attitude. Because we know he’s going to play at a high level.”
Georgia also has thumpers at linebacker and defensive end, most of whom are bigger than prototype college size. At 220 pounds, ’backer Smael Mondon Jr. is the smallest of the group, with fellow starters Robert Beal Jr. and Jamon Dumas-Johnson weighing in at 250 and 245, respectively.
The Dawgs are more conventionally sized in the secondary, but that doesn’t mean the lighter guys don’t hit. On the recruiting trail, Georgia’s coaches always factor that into their evaluations. It was one of the reasons Smart was drawn to Bullard, a three-star defensive back from Milledgeville, Ga.
“He is so tough; he is so physical,” Smart said. “He’s like a little stick of dynamite. It was the COVID year; not a lot of people were recruiting him. I said, ‘Man, this guy is tough. He loves contact; he hits people.’”
Two years later, the 180-pound Bullard is blowing up offenses as Georgia’s nickleback, capable of blitzing or playing run support or covering slot receivers. He’s fifth on the team in total tackles and fifth in tackles for loss.
“You can’t be in this program and not be physical,” Bullard says. “It’s a priority.”
