How the Rams Got Away, Found One Another, Then Found a Way

How the Rams Got Away, Found One Another, Then Found a Way

The story of how the Super Bowl champions came together is beyond belief—even for those who lived it.

GREG BISHOP AND CONOR ORR10 HOURS AGO

The trip that changed the 2021 NFL season started with an unusual forecast for Los Angeles: gloomy, with a significant chance of rain. The weather matched the mood of the Rams football team, after the Packers ended their season with a bludgeoning at Lambeau Field.

Veronika Khomyn knew her fiancé, Sean McVay, needed to get away. So she called Melissa Whitworth, whose husband, Andrew, played left tackle for McVay. “Do you want to get out of here?” Khomyn asked. No hesitation. Of course they did.

Both couples—and all four of the Whitworth children—departed that Friday, Jan. 29, 2021. They flew to Cabo San Lucas and settled in at the Chileno Bay Resort. The plan: relax, swim, sleep and down more than a few drinks with fresh fruit and mini umbrellas in them, all to forget a second forgettable season after their Super Bowl appearance in the ’18 season. None of them knew then the dizzying chain of events that phone call would set in motion. “Honestly, it’s not even believable,” Melissa says. “But it’s the truth.”

Retired NFL guard Clint Boling was home in Atlanta, when he realized mutual friends were vacationing in the same place and wanted to connect them. He sent Andrew Whitworth a text: Matthew Stafford wants to play golf with you. Whitworth replied: Give him my number.

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Originally, Stafford had intended to vacation at Baker’s Bay in the Bahamas. But with a hurricane approaching he made a last-minute, fateful switch.

Stafford and Whitworth met Saturday morning at the Chileno Bay Club Golf Course, its members-only fairways lined with arroyos, cacti, swaying seagrass and steep seaside cliffs.

Whitworth could sense Stafford’s heightened stress level. Both play regularly and boast low handicaps, scoring in the 70s. But on this day, though surrounded by paradise, something seemed off. His phone buzzed and buzzed and buzzed.

Sensing an internal conflict, Whitworth spoke from his own experience. In 11 seasons with Cincinnati, the Bengals had made six postseason appearances without netting a single victory. He had become a pillar, both in the local community and at left tackle on the offensive line. Change was scary, yet necessary, and one person had made it less terrifying: McVay. Whitworth didn’t want to sway Stafford. Whitworth told him, “Listen, I want you to think on this, because it’s the rest of your life; it’s your legacy. You should go where you feel most comfortable.”

Whitworth did mention he had told McVay about the round. He also shared McVay’s response: Dude, he’s up to be traded, and I’d love to talk to him. McVay then messaged a group of Rams executives, writing, “You’re not going to f------ believe this. Stafford is in town.”

Soon afterward, coach and quarterback met at the pool, sharing stories and cocktails, chatting for more than an hour. McVay had learned of Stafford’s availability while watching the NFC championship game the previous weekend, which led him to his happy place: the film room. What McVay saw—the arm talent, processing speed, consistency, improvisation and no drop-off as the quarterback entered his mid-30s—intrigued him. But more than that, he saw an adaptable competitor who could manipulate coverages by throwing from different positions, using varied arm angles, slinging deep passes on the move. The Stafford he analyzed was at his best in the most difficult situations.

McVay called Stan Kroenke from Cabo, the Rams owner, and made his pitch: expensive, no guarantee, but worth it. “I trust you,” Kroenke told him.

That evening, Jan. 30, the Staffords and the Whitworths went to a restaurant at the resort for drinks. Stafford wore board shorts and a dark gray T-shirt with a U.S. flag pocket. They ordered a round, then another, then dinner. Stafford stepped outside to take a phone call from his agent. Soon after, McVay walked in. Gesturing toward Stafford like a magician ready for the grand reveal, he said, “This is your new quarterback.”

Later that night, Stafford called his best friend from second grade, Pan Lucas, over FaceTime. Stafford is many things—driven, gifted, competitive as hell—but he is rarely outwardly emotional. He was, right then, for only the second time that Lucas could recall. The other instance was more than 12 years ago, the night before the 2009 NFL draft, when the Lions called to say they would select him and sign him to the richest rookie deal in NFL history.

This time, Stafford knew the work ahead—new team, new city, new teammates, plus heightened expectations. He also knew as well as any quarterback in the NFL how difficult it was to win, let alone a championship. But he was giddy, too. “I just got traded to the Rams,” Stafford said, “and I’m going to win a ring.”

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