By Jacob Hester
There’s this weird silence right before your name gets called. Even in a room full of people, family, friends, food, music…it all kind of fades for a second. Time slows down. You’re thinking about everything: every early morning lift, every injury, every coach who believed in you, every one who didn’t. You don’t know what city you’re about to call home, but you know your life is about to change.
I remember that moment like it happened five minutes ago.
The day was finally here.
The day I had dreamed about since I was a kid in Shreveport playing for the Sunset Acres Indians. The day I’d worked for through high school workouts, 6 a.m. lifts at LSU, and SEC battles in Death Valley.
Growing up, all I ever wanted was to play at LSU. And when I got there, I was fortunate enough to see the field early and it all culminated in a national championship. Once I started truly contributing in Baton Rouge, that’s when the NFL started to feel real. Like, actually real.
Going into the draft, nobody had me in the first round. That was fine. But I was in the mix, anywhere from the second to the fifth round. It was a wide range, which meant a lot of waiting. A lot of guessing. Who needed a running back? Who showed the most interest? Where did I click with the coaches?
That’s a dangerous game to play, by the way. You’ll drive yourself crazy.
One team told me they were going to draft me. Straight up. They looked me in the eye and said, “You’re our guy.”
That team was the Detroit Lions. I even told my wife, Katie, “I think we’re moving to Michigan.” We started looking at houses in Auburn Hills. No joke.
So when draft weekend came around, I made a plan. Saturday was just Rounds 1 and 2, and I figured I was probably a Sunday guy. So I went golfing with family and friends. I didn’t want to be sitting around pacing in front of a TV, feeling like the whole world was watching me not get picked.
Sunday, though? That was party time. We reserved a little LSU-themed bar back in Shreveport. Nothing fancy, just food, family, and a few purple and gold decorations. I had my first custom suit picked out. I don’t even like suits, really, but this felt like an NFL moment. I was gonna do it right.
Only problem? We got the time wrong.
We thought the draft started at 9:00 a.m. Central. Turns out it was 9:00 a.m. Eastern. So we’re setting up, relaxing, thinking we’ve got an hour before it starts… and then we realize it’s already underway.
Whatever. I wasn’t panicked. I figured we still had time before my name was called. I let myself start playing matchmaker again. Who’s up? Could this be the pick?
Then the Lions are on the clock with the first pick in the third round. The team that promised me. The team that told me I was their guy.
The pick comes in.
“Running back…”
The room shifts. People start leaning forward. I start leaning forward.
“…Kevin Smith. Central Florida.”
I’m just standing there like…
My name’s not Kevin. I didn’t go to UCF.
It hit me right then: teams lie.
They will look you in the face and tell you what you want to hear. That was the first real moment where I felt the cold side of the business.
So I recalibrated. St. Louis? Nah. Miami? No way. Carolina? Doesn’t feel right.
Then the Falcons are up with pick No. 68. I grew up a Braves fan, watched them every night on TBS. Atlanta felt like it could be home, even though I don’t think they were ever actually interested. But in that moment, I convinced myself they were.
They pick my LSU teammate Chevis Jackson. Another miss for me but I was incredibly happy for my teammate.
Now the Raiders are up with No. 69. I’d had zero contact with them. Like, none. So we all go back to setting up the party…hanging decorations, putting food out, trying to stay loose.
Then the announcement comes in:
“The Raiders have traded the 69th pick to the San Diego Chargers.”
Everything stopped.
San Diego?
The only official pre-draft visit I had taken was to the Chargers. They flew me out and when I landed, it was like stepping into a postcard. Southern California? Perfect weather? Palm trees? I didn’t let myself fall in love with the idea, because they didn’t have a third-round pick. They weren’t supposed to draft again until the fifth.
But suddenly, they did.
I froze. Just tapped my father-in-law standing next to me. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t yell. Didn’t want to jinx it.
And then I saw my name roll across the ticker.
Jacob Hester – LSU – Running Back
Silence. For about two seconds.
Then chaos. My mom screamed. Everyone else jumped up, hugging, yelling, celebrating.
I didn’t even have time to process it before my phone rang. 619 area code. My hands were shaking as I answered.
“Jacob, it’s A.J. Smith.” (Chargers GM)
“You didn’t think I was waiting until the fifth round, did you?”
I laughed. I probably said something nervously that made zero sense in response. I honestly don’t remember. The call lasted maybe 90 seconds. I talked to Coach Norv Turner. I talked to Dean Spanos, the team owner. It was official.
I was a San Diego Charger.
And the party hadn’t even started yet.
The next hour was a blur. Texts, calls, hugs, pictures. The first text I got? From Nick Saban, my first college coach:
“I told you so. Congratulations, Jacob.”
Eventually, the actual party kicked off. At that point, it didn’t matter when people showed up or who missed what. There were no awkward silences when other running backs were picked, no more stress. Just pure happiness.
About an hour in, I got another call from Bob Wick, the Chargers equipment manager.
“What number do you want?”
I couldn’t have my LSU number (18), and the number I wanted to wear (20, for Rocky Bleier) had just been taken by our first-rounder Antoine Cason.
So, Bob gave me three options: 22, 33, or 44.
I turned to the bar and shouted, “Alright, here’s the options, what are we thinking?”
Without missing a beat, the whole place shouted back: “TWENTY-TWO!”
Just like that, I had a team, a coach, a city, and a number. All in under an hour.
When we finally stepped outside that day, the sun was still high. It wasn’t even noon, but it felt like we’d lived a whole lifetime in a few hours.
It was our Varsity Blues moment, not getting ready for Pecan City High but standing there after the celebration, trying to take it all in.
We weren’t gearing up for anything. No game. No practice. No workout.
We were just soaking in the culmination of years of early mornings, late nights, setbacks, comebacks, belief, and work.
We didn’t have anywhere to be.
We just had the moment.
And sometimes? That’s all you need.
