MIAMI — Nick Bosa has 12 sacks, including the postseason. But his rookie campaign is highlighted by a pass.
It came from Kyle Allen, quarterback of the Carolina Panthers. He tried to zip a pass to his running back in the left flat. Bosa, who’d sidestepped a cut block, leapt to intercept the pass and rumbled 47 yards before he was brought down shy of the end zone. In a season full of them, this was the play that came to define Bosa’s incredible ability. And it happened because he got an even more important pass earlier.
Before the season even began. Before training camp. Before OTAs.
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That pass was from the black players on the 49ers. Actually, any of the players who might have been concerned about who was entering their locker room.
Being an open supporter of President Donald Trump — and having some problematic social media behavior — branded Bosa during the draft process as potentially an unpopular fit for the Bay Area. Bosa himself said he deleted some of his social media posts because he might end up in San Francisco, an admission that suggests even he was concerned about how he would fit in the Bay. But like he did with the one from Kyle Allen, Bosa took this pass and made good on it.
“Our locker room — I think any NFL locker room,” Jimmy Garoppolo said, “has a lot of different views. People come from all over the place. There’s not too much judgment, especially in our locker room. … There was really never any talk or anything about whatever it was. But he came in and he fit in right away. … That’s the type of team we’ve got.”
Back on Jan. 11 in the divisional-round playoff game against Minnesota, when Bosa got up from what looked like a more serious injury initially, he raised his hand and bounced to the cheers of the crowd. As he jogged off the field, he was surrounded by teammates who were ecstatic right along with him. Some even ran on the field from the sidelines. Dre Greenlaw. Jaquiski Tartt. Kwon Alexander. Fred Warner. Kendrick Bourne. Emmanuel Sanders. They all flocked to Bosa, hyped for their rookie.
It was quite the scene. It was one of those memorable displays of the 49ers’ chemistry. It was also an illustration of Bosa’s relationship with his teammates.
An embraced Bosa would have been quite the revelation back in April, when he was selected No. 2 overall in the 2019 NFL Draft. But as they prepare for Super Bowl LIV, the 49ers’ camaraderie is unmistakable. And there is no denying Bosa is a central and beloved figure inside their locker room. He is a must-watch star and on Saturday will be officially named NFL defensive rookie of the year. But as a figure in their brotherhood, they all rave about him — even the African-American players — while categorically rejecting the stigma he brought along with his immense talent.
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“He’s been great,” Richard Sherman said. “He’s been a great teammate. He’s a fun guy. He’s actually a pretty funny guy when he wants to be and none of that has ever been an issue. He’s not a bad teammate. He’s not a guy that’s to himself or standoffish. He’s a fun-loving guy.”
And the 49ers didn’t have to arrive at this cohesion with Bosa. There were no deep talks or any interrogations. No seminal moment was needed to mend feelings. No “Remember The Titans”-type bonding helped them move forward despite their differences. Coach Kyle Shanahan didn’t have to pull a Coach Boone and run them to Gettysburg — or, in this case, to the statues of Tommie Smith and John Carlos at San Jose State — to dramatically underscore their need for unity.
On April 27, at his introductory press conference, Bosa apologized for his since-deleted offensive social media history. He said he looked forward to growing as a person, to what the reputed progressive Bay Area would teach him. And that was that. It was a dead issue as far as his teammates were concerned, and it hasn’t become an issue since.
As a result, what was projected to be division grew almost immediately into harmony. The pending animosity never materialized. The 49ers are one game from winning the franchise’s first Super Bowl since 1994 in part because the expected friction between the MAGA-proud young man from Florida and the mostly black locker room in the liberal Bay Area never existed. Why not?
The answer is simple in that locker room.
Because the Bosa who shows up every day doesn’t match the reputation that preceded him to the pros.
Because the leaders in the 49ers locker room have set a stringent tone, and it prioritizes conduct among them over social media fodder.
Because this is an NFL locker room, and the rules of engagement are different.
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The players knew about the big-shot rookie and the controversy he stirred. And, undoubtedly, they were watching him as he arrived. He proved himself to them.
“Now, if he made it an issue,” Joe Staley said, pausing as he nodded his head, silently conveying what was understood, “but he hasn’t. And I don’t think that’s a part of him either. People are so quick to judge off of what people say once or two times. Twitter and social media is such a weird outlet. I think you have to judge someone by the way you see them every single day and what they do every single day. At the same time, too, this is a job and we’re all here to do one thing, and that’s just play football.”
For sure, there is another reason: because Bosa is really good. He’s 6-foot-4, 266 pounds with power and speed and pedigree. From Day 1, he’s been a key ingredient to the best defense in football.
“Doesn’t hurt,” Staley said.
(Geoff Burke / USA TODAY Sports)
In the NFL, talent is fertilizer for forgiveness and dominance covers a multitude of flaws. And Bosa lives in backfields, terrorizes opposing quarterbacks and draws double-teams that open lanes and matchups for his fellow linemen.
The unique part about the 49ers’ situation is that even before Bosa proved he was a force on the field, the 49ers’ locker room had unofficially decided to grant him a clean slate.
Sherman said they joked about it with Bosa early on, some good-natured ribbing. But for the most part, they don’t discuss what Bosa may have said, posted or meant. Tweets and takes don’t carry as much weight in the locker room as they do in the social media space. Professional athletes are elite at compartmentalization. And football, with its risk and difficulty, forces relationships to be governed by meritocracy. Respect is earned by performance and through interpersonal relationships. Work ethic is their currency. Trust is gained by reliability on the field.
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Nobody cared that Bosa has supported President Trump — even though Trump in 2017 drew the ire of NFL players for calling those who kneel a “son of a bitch,” provoking a response from Sherman. Nobody cared that Bosa called Colin Kaepernick a “clown” — even though Bosa’s locker is a few steps from Kaepernick’s old locker, where the former 49ers quarterback addressed his beliefs on racism and injustice in America and started a movement that’s still having impact more than three years later. Nobody cared that some of the accounts Bosa followed on social media traffic in offensive rhetoric or that he has liked some bigoted posts by others.
“When all that was blowing up in the offseason,” Jimmie Ward said, “we didn’t really care. We didn’t pay it no mind. We don’t care about your beliefs outside of football.”
Then what do they care about? How he treats his teammates. How he goes about his work. What he brings to the culture of their union.
Bosa won them all over with his personality and his play. His relaxed vibe is inviting. His dry humor, with its gradual delivery and indifferent tone, is endearing and comical. He speaks honestly, much more bluntly than you’d expect from a rookie, which players tend to love. Also, the deference Bosa shows his teammates, especially the veterans, is textbook. Despite his rising stardom, he always praises and credits his teammates.
“We knew there was going to be a lot of animosity about what he tweeted or any of that stuff on social media,” DeForest Buckner said. “We just took it one day at a time. Getting to know him on the field and off the field, I just saw what kind of person he was. That’s how I really judge everybody I meet. I don’t have predetermined judgments on somebody just because of their past. I’ve got to meet them face to face and really kind of feel them out. And he’s a great person.”
It wouldn’t be surprising if Bosa — who declined comment for this article and brushed off questions about it when it came up this week — knew this would be the outcome all along. He doesn’t lack for confidence, which is key because NFL players can smell fear. He also knows how the locker room culture works. As a kid, he traveled to play youth football with a predominantly black team. His brother just wrapped up his fourth season with the Los Angeles Chargers. His father played three seasons with the Miami Dolphins in the late 1980s. He knows how to move in this space. He understands how locker rooms are governed.
Back in October, when he dominated in a win over Cleveland, he received messages from several former teammates happy for his success. He rattled off the names of people from Ohio State who reached out to him: Tyquan Lewis, Jalyn Holmes, Tracy Sprinkle, Marshon Lattimore. All the players he named who reached out to him are African-American.
It hints at how Bosa was regarded in the Buckeyes’ locker room and why he might’ve been confident he could do the same with the 49ers. But the leaders in the 49ers’ locker room consider the acceptance of Bosa as a sign of their culture of inclusion.
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“If we would have had some leaders that were assholes and just was like, you know, prejudging, then you can’t know,” Sherman said. “He’s going to react and you’re going to react and everything is going to be negative. But when you welcome them with open arms and judge the man you see the way he presents himself to you, then how you judge him is going to be based off of the character that he shows.”
“That’s how you change cultures because you don’t have a hierarchy,” Sherman continued. “Jimmy Garoppolo doesn’t walk around here like he’s better than everybody and he’s too good to talk to anybody. He walks around like he’s one of the guys. So freaking Joe Schmoe from down the road better act like he’s one of the guys if the goddamn leader of the team is one of the guys. That’s why I say culture has changed how his perception is. Nobody even thinks about what he said … because it was just kid shit. You know what I mean? Just kid shit. I’ve said some dumb shit as a kid. I just probably didn’t have it on social media because I had Stanford and I had people telling me not to put it on social media. But I probably got some dumb stuff that I thought about saying but I didn’t say it. Everybody makes mistakes as a young kid. But character, character is different. Character is every day. Character is defined every day in how you are in your everyday actions. He’s great and he’s shown it.”
Some might say the 49ers veterans let Bosa off the hook too easily, that at least a conversation should’ve been had about how his public dialogue and social media acquaintances might be harmful. Some might say it was just a few hot takes on social media exaggerated by a culture of political correctness.
But inside the locker room, they’d say it’s another sign of how sports is a unifier. Perhaps there is no greater way to break down barriers than laboring with someone toward a common goal.
“It’s just the way it is,” Staley said. “I think it’s the way football and sports are in general. We don’t care about what background you came from, what your political stance is, what your socio-economical background is, if you came from an affluent family or a poor family, white or black, or what your religion is or anything. It’s just, like, ‘Let’s play football and we’re all in this together.’ We don’t care about those details.”
The 49ers held off on condemning Bosa based on social media. Instead, they chose to measure him eye to eye. They weighed his worth based on the person they experienced instead of by the persona they heard about. They gauged his heart by his commitment to them.
And now they call him their brother.
(Top photo: Michael Reaves / Getty Images)
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