The Phantom Call

Well, folks, the NFL offseason is dishing out blockbusters juicier than a gossip mag at a barber shop. The Washington Commanders just snagged San Francisco 49ers wide receiver Deebo Samuel for a fifth-round pick—a steal so ridiculous it’s like swapping a stale bagel for a signed Patrick Mahomes helmet. But hold the confetti: Deebo’s lugging a $21.7 million cap hit into D.C. for 2025, and that’s a hefty chunk of change for a guy three years past his “I’m basically a cheat code” 2021 All-Pro season. Meanwhile, it looks like the Niners are clearing the decks to hand quarterback Brock Purdy a Brinks truck full of cash, and letting Deebo walk was their way of saying, “Sorry, bud, we’re betting on the guy who throws the ball, not the one who keeps dropping it on the trainer’s table.” With Washington on the upswing, they’re primed to be better next year—we just don’t know if Deebo will be upright or sidelined with an ice pack come playoff time.

Let’s hop in the time machine to 2021. Deebo was the dude—1,405 receiving yards, 365 rushing yards, and a highlight reel that made defenders look like they were auditioning for a Three Stooges reboot. He was a wideout, a running back, a human bulldozer—heck, he could’ve been the team’s waterboy and still won MVP votes. Now, in 2025, that $21.7 million feels like paying premium prices for a Ferrari that’s been sitting in the garage with a leaky oil pan. Last season, he hobbled through 15 games, racking up a pedestrian 670 receiving yards and 136 rushing yards—stats so meh they sound like they belong to a guy who accidentally wandered into the end zone during a punt return. Meanwhile, San Francisco’s front office was apparently doing the math: “Brock Purdy took us to the Super Bowl, and Deebo’s over here collecting MRIs like they’re Pokémon cards. Time to cut the cord and pay the QB!”

Deebo’s injury rap sheet is longer than a CVS receipt: calf, wrist, oblique, ribs, and an “illness” that sounds like he caught the flu from his own hype man. The guy’s more injury-prone than a klutz in a bouncy castle full of Legos. At 29, he’s still got that rare knack for turning a five-yard hitch into a 60-yard house call—when he’s healthy. Relying on him in January, though, is like betting your buddy can finish a hot wing challenge without crying. It’s possible, but pack some tissues just in case.

Over in Washington, something’s brewing hotter than a pot of grandma’s chili. Rookie phenom Jayden Daniels just snagged Offensive Rookie of the Year, Terry McLaurin’s still a stud, and GM Adam Peters is playing 4D chess while everyone else is stuck on tic-tac-toe. With over $80 million in cap space (even after Deebo’s pricey paycheck), the Commanders have the dough and draft picks to keep climbing. They already stunned the league by knocking out the battered Detroit Lions in the playoffs—Detroit’s defense was so thin it looked like a Pop Warner squad—and marched to the NFC Championship. Give this team another year, and they could be smashing through the postseason like a monster truck rally.

But here’s the $21.7 million question: will Deebo be on the field when it counts? Pair him with Daniels and McLaurin, and Washington’s offense could be a three-headed beast that gives defensive coordinators nightmares and antacid prescriptions. Kliff Kingsbury’s uptempo attack might coax a throwback Deebo season out of him—if he can dodge the injury bug. Otherwise, come January, Commanders fans might find their big-ticket acquisition limping around like a discount Roomba with a bum battery, while San Francisco laughs all the way to the bank with a freshly paid Purdy slinging dimes.

Congrats to Washington for snagging a former All-Pro for pocket lint in draft terms. They’ve got the pieces to shine next year, no question. But Deebo Samuel at $21.7 million? That’s a gamble wilder than betting on a snow day in Florida. Here’s hoping he proves the doubters wrong and stays healthy enough to bulldoze defenses instead of his own medical records. Otherwise, the Commanders might’ve just traded for a playoff phantom—and San Francisco’s over there counting Purdy’s bonus checks with a sly little grin.