Gone are the days when Rams fans could cozy up in the misery pit alongside Jets and Browns loyalists, fighting over the crown of “most faithful acolytes of losing.” Thirty losing seasons out of forty, punctuated by a Super Bowl that felt like a cosmic clerical error, then another after two decades of stumbling. We wore futility like a badge. Then came Sean McVay, the boy-wonder coach who walked into the facility with hair product and play-action, and suddenly hope existed where only Jeff Fisher’s 7–9 ghosts had roamed.

These days, resignation has been traded for expectation. Every game carries at least the illusion of possibility. Even when McVay calls his patented “jet sweep that loses eight yards on 3rd and inches right outside of field goal range,” you grit your teeth because you know that for every nincompoop third-down call, he’ll scheme up three drives of brilliance. The ledger comes out green.

But the fly in McVay’s martini glass? His final roster cuts. For a coach who can turn backup tight ends into Super Bowl heroes, his decision-making at roster spots 47–53 consistently looks like a drunk man at a roulette wheel.

The Disclaimer (That I Will Immediately Ignore)

Let’s be clear: no fan knows what coaches know. They see the practices, the medical reports, the film cut-ups. They live it. They also have biases — “their guys” who they’ll keep no matter what. And “their guys,” historically, often suck.

Most journalists aren’t much better. Sure, some watch camp and scribble observations into their notebooks, but strip it down and they’re fans with a press pass.

I’m no better — just a blogger with opinions. But I’ll grant myself this: I actually try to evaluate what happens on the field. And when you look at the field, the Rams’ back-end roster decisions look like nonsense. People scoff at the importance of players 47 through 53, but those are your special teamers. And Rams kick coverage? It’s been somewhere between pathetic and diabolical since the Bush administration.

So yeah, those cuts matter.

Chris “Pooh” Paul Jr., ILB

Drafted in the fifth round, hailed as a steal. Missed early camp with injuries, but when he finally hit the field in preseason, he flashed. Not just “oh, nice hustle” — impact plays.

Yet he’s gone. Why? Because the Rams kept Troy Reeder. Nice guy, veteran presence, defensive play-caller, respected in the locker room. But he’s also been a human sieve at linebacker for years. Replacement-level? No, below replacement. He’s the guy you point to when explaining why DVOA exists.

And here’s the kicker: Reeder’s on a veteran deal. Paul’s on a rookie contract. Four years of cheap labor versus a proven liability. McVay looked at that math and shrugged. Good. Freaking. God.

Wyatt Bowles & Willie Lampkin, IOL

The Rams’ O-line, for once, is actually a strength. Which means good players were bound to get squeezed. But Bowles and Lampkin both looked like NFL linemen.

• Lampkin pancaked half the league before injuring himself in the final preseason game. Timing unlucky, but performance undeniable.
• Bowles, a UDFA from Nowhere University, looked like he belonged as a starter in every snap he played.

Who made the team instead? Justin Dedich. He’s fine. He’s functional. He’s, in a word, inoffensive — the anthropomorphosis of Bud Light. Meanwhile, Bowles and Lampkin offered actual upside on rookie deals. Here’s hoping waivers are kind, because if they’re gone, it’s another example of the Rams clinging to the bland over the bold.

Ronnie Rivers, Cody Schrader, Jordan Waters, RB

Now we arrive at McVay’s true blind spot: running backs. For all his brilliance, McVay evaluates RBs like a guy shopping for wine based on how funny the label is.

Yes, Kyren Williams is the lead dog — but he only got that role because Cam Akers flamed out like a wet firework. Last year, they drafted Blake Corum to spell him, then buried him on the bench because… well, because he’s not good enough. This year, they spent a third-rounder on Jarquez Hunter, a “home run threat” who couldn’t read blocks with a roadmap. There are differences between the running back position in college and the pros.

Meanwhile, Rivers, Schrader, and Waters all looked like actual NFL backs. Not All-Pros. Not Derrick Henry’s long lost twin, but functional, productive, backs who would prove reliable if called upon. Better than Corum, better than Hunter. But cutting rookies picked in the third round makes a front office look bad, so here we are.

If Kyren stays healthy, fine — he’s getting 350 totes. If he doesn’t, buckle up for Matthew Stafford throwing 50 times a game. And please, Sean, for the love of God: stop drafting running backs. Just stop.

Brennan Presley, WR

This one’s less infuriating, because where would you put him? The Rams’ receiver depth is real. But Presley had a camp worthy of a roster spot. He could walk onto half the teams in the league and slot in as WR3/4.

Instead, he’s cut, while seventh-rounder Konata Mumpfield sticks. Nothing against Mumpfield — he deserves a paycheck — but Presley flashed more upside. Rams fans can only hope he clears waivers and hits the practice squad.

And no, I won’t make premature Puka comparisons. Not yet. Not… quite yet.

The Big Picture

McVay is a brilliant head coach. Full stop. But year after year, his final cuts read like a man who’s mastered chess and then loses to himself in checkers.

Special teams remain a joke. Promising rookies get discarded in favor of known mediocrity. And while these aren’t “headline” decisions, they add up. Football is violent, rosters churn, and players 47–53 become players 27–33 by Week 9. Depth matters.

So, no, I don’t know more than McVay. None of us do. But when Chris “Pooh” Paul is starting for another team in December while Troy Reeder is missing tackles in Week 10, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

For more of why this amateur with a keyboard and a bar tab knows more about roster construction than one of the NFL’s best coaches, tune in here. This has been Homer Corner, proudly smeared across the walls of The Stain.