He walked into the Big League blind—no spotlight, no mentor—just pressure and a playbook. Alex Smith, the crown face, was left alone in the film rooms with nothing but a pencil and a will to figure it out. Seventeen brutal surgeries later, Smith didn’t return bitter—he came back wiser. So when 22-year-old Patrick Mahomes stepped into the Chiefs’ locker room in 2017, the setup screamed rivalry. But Smith chose mentorship. He became the big brother he never had. Because Smith knew what it felt like to be left in the dark, expected to shine without help. 

Smith was expected to know it all and save the 49ers the moment he stepped in—because his college record said he could. At Utah, he was a star. He threw for over 5,000 yards, ran for 1,000 more, and totaled over 60 touchdowns. He led the Utes to an undefeated season and a Fiesta Bowl win. Awards followed—All-American honors, Mountain West titles, and even a shot at the Heisman. With that résumé, going first overall in the 2005 draft felt like destiny. But once in the NFL, expectations turned heavy.

One line from Doug Warner in a May 17 episode posted on X cracked open the polished image that fans are sold. He said, “Okay, so, you know, people are going to, oh, no NFL team would actually do that. Yeah, they would.” That. Four years after retiring, he’s finally ready to pull back the curtain. In his new book, Alex Smith: The Story Of The University Of Utah’s Unlikely Star Quarterback, Smith doesn’t just relive the highs—he lays bare the unseen cost of making it in the league.

Further down in the interview, journalist Seth Wickersham revealed the darker side of Smith’s early NFL years. “I had been told that he would complain and kind of just throw up his arms that like he would watch film by himself.” Seth added, “He was by himself.” It wasn’t just lonely. It was brutal.

But when Smith landed in Kansas City, he broke the cycle. He saw the rookie with the cannon arm—Patrick Mahomes—and instead of guarding his job, he opened his playbook. “And when Alex later ended up with the Chiefs and they drafted a guy named Patrick Mahomes, he made a point of teaching Patrick how to be an NFL quarterback. And one of those key areas is how to watch film. The head coach can’t watch film with the quarterback all day.” Smith taught him how to study, how to see the field before the snap, and how to prep like a pro. Patrick’s greatness? Undeniable. But without Smith, the climb might’ve taken longer, and the path would’ve been steeper.

Their bond is built on trust, not just talent. Mahomes said it best: “He taught me a lot every single day and gave me a lot lessons and I’ll never be more thankful for that guy.” He called Smith his mentor, his guide, and his example. “Alex was the reason I was ready when it was my turn.” Alex Smith knew his clock was ticking in KC, but he gave everything anyway. That quiet sacrifice helped birth a dynasty—and proved that greatness isn’t just what you do for yourself. It’s what you leave behind.

But not everyone finds their brother and mentor in arms like Mahomes did. 

From Alex Smith to Caleb Williams: The mentor gap shows

The Bears didn’t get their Mahomes moment in 2024. Caleb Williams was handed the keys—but not much else. No veteran QB in the room. No mentor to lean on. Just a rookie with pressure on his back and cameras in his face. And when the lights came on, it was clear—he was on his own.

He opened strong. A 4-2 start had fans buzzing. But then came Week 7 against Washington, and it all unraveled. On one brutal third down, Jayden Daniels hit a deep ball that torched the secondary. Caleb’s next possession? Sack. Fumble. And the Bears never recovered. They dropped 10 straight after that. Williams kept scrambling, taking hits, and searching for answers in a playbook no one was helping him decode. The 68 sacks weren’t just numbers—they were body blows. And a clear sign: he had no one showing him how to survive.

There were moments you could see it wearing on him. In Week 12, after a fourth-quarter interception, Caleb sat alone on the bench—no coach in his ear, no teammate by his side. Just a 22-year-old kid watching the clock wind down on another loss. That image told you everything about his rookie year. Leadership? Expected. Guidance? Missing.

Still, the Bears aren’t jumping ship. Devin Hester backed his future: “That comes with experience,” he said. “If he can get rid of the ball quicker… Sky’s the limit.” The team has doubled down on that belief, calling Caleb’s growth the team’s top priority. The scars are real—but so is the potential. Year two is his shot to rewrite the ending.