The Chosen, The Passed Over, and the Fallen Star

The Chosen, The Passed Over, and The Fallen Star: How NFL Contracts and Media Narratives Shaped Eli, Aaron, and Shedeur

By Candace Goodman | The Good Blog 

In the NFL, a rookie contract isn’t just a paycheck—it’s a subtle leash. A binding document meticulously designed to forecast value, maintain control, and suppress unpredictability. Behind every number is a strategy. Behind every clause, a signal. And behind every player—whether crowned or discarded—a machine crafting an image, a hierarchy, a fate.

Take Eli Manning, Aaron Rodgers, and Shedeur Sanders: three quarterbacks, three eras, and three narratives engineered not only by talent, but by design. Their journeys weren’t just defined by football—but by the bureaucratic strings and media mythmaking that shape what we believe about power, promise, and professionalism in America’s most televised sport.

 
The Anatomy of a Rookie Contract: The Price of Control

Before 2011, NFL rookies—especially top draft picks—entered the league with immense financial leverage. Contracts were largely unrestricted, and mega-deals were the norm. Sam Bradford, the last No. 1 pick before the CBA change, signed a six-year, $78 million deal with $50 million guaranteed—before ever taking a snap. Owners and executives saw ballooning rookie salaries as dangerous investments, particularly when some of these highly paid players flamed out quickly.

The backlash culminated in the 2011 Collective Bargaining Agreement, which restructured rookie deals entirely. The new system locked contracts into a rigid scale. Four-year deals. Fixed signing bonuses. Limited incentives. First-round picks received a fifth-year team option—giving clubs control into a player’s prime. The system was designed to minimize risk, rein in spending, and ensure that stars had to earn their payday twice: once in the draft, and again in a second contract.

Eli Manning (2004 No. 1 pick) walked into the league under pre-CBA freedom. His six-year, $45 million contract—with $20 million guaranteed—was a royal agreement. It included voidable years, pro-rated bonuses, and back-loaded payments that let the Giants manipulate the cap. Eli had leverage, and used it to force a trade from San Diego to New York—a power play repackaged by media as noble.

Aaron Rodgers (2005 No. 24) signed a five-year, $7.7 million contract with only $5.4 million guaranteed. He dropped from potential No. 1 to afterthought, enduring a draft-night humiliation that played out on national TV. Despite elite talent, Rodgers’ deal read more like a developmental gamble than a belief in a franchise QB. No fifth-year option. No voice.

Shedeur Sanders (2025, No. 144) fell inexplicably. Projected by some to be a late first-rounder, he’ll sign a four-year, $4.6 million deal with a signing bonus less than some backup long-snappers. His contract will lack performance escalators, opt-outs, or any of the clauses that imply belief in his stardom. It reads less like a quarterback's promise—and more like a prove-it pun.

These aren’t just numbers. NFL salaries are paid over 17 weeks during the regular season, like biweekly corporate checks. But with deductions for taxes, agents, union fees, and relocation expenses, many rookies quickly realize their “millions” were headlines, not liquidity. Bonuses are often split or delayed. And performance incentives? Structured to be nearly unreachable.

Clauses of Control: The NFL's Invisible Hand

But the real story is in the fine print. Contracts include clauses so obscure, they resemble psychological landmines:

Morality clauses: Teams can void guarantees if a player violates vague “conduct” standards—even if not criminally charged.

Weight clauses: Players must report at specific weights or face six-figure fines. Eddie Lacy famously lost hundreds of thousands over missed weigh-ins.

Social clauses: Dez Bryant’s contract barred him from strip clubs and imposed a mandatory security escort.

Performance minutiae: Rob Johnson earned $100k in 1997 for hitting 300 pass completions. Ricky Williams’ 1999 deal included yoga sessions and weight restrictions that cost him millions when missed.

Surveillance clauses: Some deals include permissions for team “check-ins” on behavior, curfews, or associations.
These clauses aren’t about football—they’re about predictability. Risk. Obedience. And over decades, teams have refined these tools to ensure that rookies don’t just play—they conform.

Media Kits and Mythmakers: Engineering a Persona

But contracts are only one script. The other is written by the camera.

Every draftee comes with a media kit: a profile curated by NFL PR, including player bios, approved anecdotes, family histories, and psychological assessments. These kits are distributed to partners—ESPN, FOX, NFL Network—along with talking points, interview restrictions, and image guidelines. They inform how analysts, reporters, and anchors introduce a player to the world.

• Eli Manning’s story: The heir. Humble. Strategic. A hero’s journey.
• Aaron Rodgers: The aloof genius. Talented but cold. A cautionary tale.
• Shedeur Sanders: The flashy son of a legend. Entitled. Unproven.

Same draft. Same cameras. Different scripts.

The NFL doesn’t directly write the articles—but it gives the media its lens. Who gets humanized? Who gets scrutinized? Who gets sold as savior or spoiled star? These portrayals influence endorsements, public sentiment, and even internal team politics. 

Legacy, Optics, and Power: Who Gets to Be the Star?

Manning could refuse San Diego, call the shots, and be labeled mature. Rodgers could display confidence and be labeled arrogant. Sanders—who dared enter the league with NIL wealth and swagger—was labeled distracted.

Why? Because the NFL, like America, sells legacy easier than disruption. The Manning name is heritage. The Sanders name is swagger. One is celebrated. The other questioned.

Rodgers was left without the protections of privilege or narrative. He sat, seethed, and proved them wrong—but never got the media redemption arc Manning enjoyed.

 
The Script Was Never About Football

In the end, a rookie contract isn’t just legal paperwork. It’s the opening act of a tightly choreographed performance.

From contract clauses to curated media kits, from weight checks to interview talking points—every aspect of a player’s introduction is designed to assert control, prevent unpredictability, and protect a $100-billion brand.

Manning got the fairytale. Rodgers got the crucible. Sanders got the warning shot. And through it all, the NFL got exactly what it wanted: compliance, curiosity, and just enough controversy to keep the ratings alive.

So the next time you hear about a player’s “character concerns” or a “team-friendly deal,” ask yourself: who wrote the script?

And who’s benefiting from your belief in it?

Candace Goodman, The Good Blog