Arthur Lynch

When it comes to evaluating NFL prospects, there is often a focus on flashy quarterbacks or skill position players. However, in the case of Georgia football, it is worth shining the spotlight on a tight end who has the potential to make a significant impact at the next level. Arthur Lynch, a former standout for the Bulldogs, possesses the qualities that make him a better NFL prospect than his teammate, Aaron Murray. While Murray has received considerable attention for his abilities as a quarterback, it is Lynch who deserves recognition for his unique skill set and potential in the professional ranks.

First and foremost, Lynch brings versatility to the field. As a tight end, he excels in both blocking and receiving, making him a valuable asset to any team. Lynch’s ability to contribute in the running game cannot be overstated. He is an excellent run blocker, showcasing the strength and technique needed to create lanes for the ball carrier. In a league where the ground game remains essential, having a tight end who can block effectively is a tremendous advantage. Lynch’s physicality and understanding of leverage make him a reliable option in short-yardage situations and goal-line plays.

Moreover, Lynch possesses an exceptional set of receiving skills. His size and athleticism enable him to be a mismatch nightmare for opposing defenses. Standing at 6’5″ and weighing 258 pounds, he has the frame to overpower smaller defensive backs and the agility to create separation from linebackers. Lynch’s hands are reliable, rarely letting catchable passes slip through his fingers. His route-running ability is crisp and polished, allowing him to find soft spots in zone coverage and exploit mismatches in man-to-man situations. In an era where tight ends are becoming increasingly involved in the passing game, Lynch’s ability to be a consistent threat as a receiver sets him apart from other prospects.

One aspect of Lynch’s game that often goes underappreciated is his football IQ. He has a keen understanding of the game, evident in his decision-making and on-field awareness. Lynch has the ability to read defenses and adjust his route accordingly, making him a reliable target for his quarterback. Additionally, he demonstrates excellent situational awareness, knowing when to come back to the ball or when to settle in the soft spot of a zone. These intangible qualities make Lynch a reliable and dependable option in critical moments, a trait highly valued in the NFL.

While Aaron Murray’s success as a quarterback at Georgia is undeniable, it is important to recognize the unique qualities that set Arthur Lynch apart as an NFL prospect. Lynch’s versatility as a blocker and receiver, combined with his exceptional size, athleticism, and football IQ, make him an intriguing option for teams in need of a tight end. His skill set translates well to the professional level, and he has the potential to make an immediate impact in the NFL.

In conclusion, Arthur Lynch’s abilities and potential as an NFL prospect surpass those of his teammate, Aaron Murray. While Murray’s quarterback skills are highly regarded, Lynch’s versatility, receiving prowess, football IQ, and blocking ability make him a more enticing prospect. As the NFL continues to evolve, tight ends with Lynch’s skill set are in high demand, and it would not be surprising to see him become a key contributor for a team at the next level.

When it comes to Georgia football, there have been several standout players who have gone on to have successful careers in the NFL. Two such players are Arthur Lynch and Aaron Murray. While both had impressive college careers and showed promise at the quarterback and tight end positions, it is Lynch who stands out as the better NFL prospect. In this article, we will explore the reasons why Lynch has the edge over Murray as an NFL prospect.

First and foremost, Lynch’s physical attributes make him a formidable force on the field. Standing at 6’5″ and weighing 258 pounds, he possesses the ideal size for an NFL tight end. Lynch’s height allows him to be a significant threat in the red zone, where he can outmuscle defenders for contested catches. His size also translates to excellent blocking ability, a crucial skill for any tight end in the NFL. Lynch’s combination of size, strength, and agility gives him an advantage over other tight end prospects, including his college teammate, Murray.

Furthermore, Lynch has shown great versatility in his game. During his time at Georgia, he demonstrated his ability to contribute both as a receiver and a blocker. He has reliable hands and is adept at finding the open spots in the defense. Lynch’s route-running skills and ability to create separation make him a reliable target for quarterbacks. Additionally, his blocking skills allow him to contribute to the team’s running game, providing valuable support for the offensive line. This versatility makes Lynch a valuable asset to any NFL team and sets him apart from Murray, who is primarily a quarterback.

Another factor that gives Lynch the edge as an NFL prospect is his football IQ and leadership qualities. Lynch was known for his high football IQ during his time at Georgia, and he served as a team captain during his senior year. His understanding of the game and ability to make quick decisions on the field make him an asset to any offense. Lynch’s leadership qualities also set him apart. He is a vocal leader who leads by example, motivating his teammates to perform at their best. These qualities make Lynch an ideal candidate for teams looking for a reliable tight end who can contribute both on and off the field.

Lastly, Lynch has displayed remarkable durability throughout his college career. Despite playing a physically demanding position, he managed to stay relatively injury-free during his time at Georgia. This durability is a significant advantage in the NFL, where injuries can often sideline players for extended periods. Teams value players who can stay healthy and contribute consistently, and Lynch has demonstrated that he possesses this quality.

The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flamelike as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.

In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.

As the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his face, and seemed about to linger there. But he suddenly started up, and closing his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids, as though he sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake.

“It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done,” said Lord Henry languidly. “You must certainly send it next year to the Grosvenor. The Academy is too large and too vulgar. Whenever I have gone there, there have been either so many people that I have not been able to see the pictures, which was dreadful, or so many pictures that I have not been able to see the people, which was worse. The Grosvenor is really the only place.”

“I don’t think I shall send it anywhere,” he answered, tossing his head back in that odd way that used to make his friends laugh at him at Oxford. “No, I won’t send it anywhere.”

Lord Henry elevated his eyebrows and looked at him in amazement through the thin blue wreaths of smoke that curled up in such fanciful whorls from his heavy, opium-tainted cigarette. “Not send it anywhere? My dear fellow, why? Have you any reason? What odd chaps you painters are! You do anything in the world to gain a reputation. As soon as you have one, you seem to want to throw it away. It is silly of you, for there is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about. A portrait like this would set you far above all the young men in England, and make the old men quite jealous, if old men are ever capable of any emotion.”

“I know you will laugh at me,” he replied, “but I really can’t exhibit it. I have put too much of myself into it.”

Lord Henry stretched himself out on the divan and laughed.

“Yes, I knew you would; but it is quite true, all the same.”

“Too much of yourself in it! Upon my word, Basil, I didn’t know you were so vain; and I really can’t see any resemblance between you, with your rugged strong face and your coal-black hair, and this young Adonis, who looks as if he was made out of ivory and rose-leaves. Why, my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus, and you—well, of course you have an intellectual expression and all that. But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid. Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions. How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the Church. But then in the Church they don’t think. A bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was told to say when he was a boy of eighteen, and as a natural consequence he always looks absolutely delightful. Your mysterious young friend, whose name you have never told me, but whose picture really fascinates me, never thinks. I feel quite sure of that. He is some brainless beautiful creature who should be always here in winter when we have no flowers to look at, and always here in summer when we want something to chill our intelligence. Don’t flatter yourself, Basil: you are not in the least like him.”

“You don’t understand me, Harry,” answered the artist. “Of course I am not like him. I know that perfectly well. Indeed, I should be sorry to look like him. You shrug your shoulders? I am telling you the truth. There is a fatality about all physical and intellectual distinction, the sort of fatality that seems to dog through history the faltering steps of kings. It is better not to be different from one’s fellows. The ugly and the stupid have the best of it in this world. They can sit at their ease and gape at the play. If they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat. They live as we all should live—undisturbed, indifferent, and without disquiet. They neither bring ruin upon others, nor ever receive it from alien hands. Your rank and wealth, Harry; my brains, such as they are—my art, whatever it may be worth; Dorian Gray’s good looks—we shall all suffer for what the gods have given us, suffer terribly.”

“Dorian Gray? Is that his name?” asked Lord Henry, walking across the studio towards Basil Hallward.

“Yes, that is his name. I didn’t intend to tell it to you.”

“Oh, I can’t explain. When I like people immensely, I never tell their names to any one. It is like surrendering a part of them. I have grown to love secrecy. It seems to be the one thing that can make modern life mysterious or marvellous to us. The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it. When I leave town now I never tell my people where I am going. If I did, I would lose all my pleasure. It is a silly habit, I dare say, but somehow it seems to bring a great deal of romance into one’s life. I suppose you think me awfully foolish about it?”

“Not at all,” answered Lord Henry, “not at all, my dear Basil. You seem to forget that I am married, and the one charm of marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties. I never know where my wife is, and my wife never knows what I am doing. When we meet—we do meet occasionally, when we dine out together, or go down to the Duke’s—we tell each other the most absurd stories with the most serious faces. My wife is very good at it—much better, in fact, than I am. She never gets confused over her dates, and I always do. But when she does find me out, she makes no row at all. I sometimes wish she would; but she merely laughs at me.”

“I hate the way you talk about your married life, Harry,” said Basil Hallward, strolling towards the door that led into the garden. “I believe that you are really a very good husband, but that you are thoroughly ashamed of your own virtues. You are an extraordinary fellow. You never say a moral thing, and you never do a wrong thing. Your cynicism is simply a pose.”

“Being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose I know,” cried Lord Henry, laughing; and the two young men went out into the garden together and ensconced themselves on a long bamboo seat that stood in the shade of a tall laurel bush. The sunlight slipped over the polished leaves. In the grass, white daisies were tremulous.

After a pause, Lord Henry pulled out his watch. “I am afraid I must be going, Basil,” he murmured, “and before I go, I insist on your answering a question I put to you some time ago.”

“What is that?” said the painter, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

“You know quite well.”

“I do not, Harry.”