10 Things I’m Watching in Vikings Training Camp

EAGAN — You can slap a fresh coat of purple optimism on it, you can flood the team site with highlight reels and slo-mo cutups of third-stringers catching wobblers in shorts, but make no mistake — this Vikings camp ain’t a reload. It’s a teardown in denial. And the folks running the thing are hoping you’re too sunburned and sentimental to notice.

The Wilfs have locked the vault like it’s 2008, and Kevin O’Connell is out there playing quarterback whisperer-slash-magician, trying to make chicken salad out of a roster full of question marks and budget pickups. Everyone smiles, says the right things, and hopes the fans don’t ask the one question that matters: Is this actually a plan, or just a stall job?

Let’s start under center, because that’s where this whole thing either blooms or craters. J.J. McCarthy, the golden boy from Michigan, finally has two working legs and a clipboard that says “franchise savior.” That’s nice. But he’s yet to take a real NFL snap, and he’s about to find out this league doesn’t give a damn about your college playoff reel. Behind him? A conga line of backup hopefuls, one bad week away from being your Halloween starter. You know the drill — in Minnesota, the QB depth chart ages like milk.

The backfield’s a salad bar — take what you want, but don’t expect filet mignon. Aaron Jones is the big name, but those tires are thinning and winter comes fast in the North. Jordan Mason is a pile-mover with all the subtlety of a snowplow. Ty Chandler’s got zip. But if you’re betting on heart, bet on C.J. Ham. Ten years in, the Duluth native is still cracking skulls, still doing the dirty work, and still the emotional thermostat in a room full of new faces and soft hands. He’s what the Vikings used to be. He’s what they still need.

Wideout? Top heavy. Justin Jefferson is generational, assuming he’s still interested in carrying this franchise through its penny-pinching years. Jordan Addison is slick and confident, the kind of kid who could take the leap — or get smothered by the pressure. Then it’s darts on a corkboard. And somewhere, some no-name is gonna make a couple grabs in a night game and have half the fanbase comparing him to Stefon Diggs. Until he’s cut.

The tight end room is quietly critical. T.J. Hockenson, if healthy, gives McCarthy a lifeline over the middle. Josh Oliver blocks like a man trying to win his father’s approval. Not sexy, but necessary — especially if McCarthy’s going to survive September. Blocking tight ends don’t sell jerseys, but they sure keep your franchise QB upright long enough to figure out if he belongs.

And the offensive line? Buddy, we’ve been having this conversation since the Metrodome roof was still intact. Christian Darrisaw’s a stud. The rest? Shrug emoji. They’ve reshuffled the deck, talked up grit and attitude, but unless this group learns how to anchor on third-and-seven, McCarthy’s going to spend most Sundays horizontal.

Defense? It’s duct tape and dreams. The front flashes in moments, but flash don’t stop the chains from moving. They need someone — anyone — to finish. Last year, the QB pressures felt more like polite requests. That has to change.

At linebacker, Ivan Pace Jr. plays like every snap might be his last. Love that kid. Blake Cashman’s steady. Brian Asamoah II? Looks lost, like a man who got off the elevator on the wrong floor. The rookies are barking, and in a league where youth is cheaper, don’t be shocked if the coaching staff takes the leash off early.

The secondary is a revolving door. Byron Murphy, Jr. and Harrison Smith bring experience — and in Smith’s case, pain tolerance that borders on myth. But the rest? It’s like trying to pick a favorite deli meat. Mekhi Blackmon and Jeff Okudah — they’ve had moments. And all gotten toasted like stadium pretzels. The one who can cover Jefferson in camp? He plays. The one who can’t? Cut.

And don’t sleep on special teams. Every year, some undrafted nobody earns a roster spot by throwing his body into punt coverage like it owes him money. Those are the jobs won in silence. No cameras. No headlines. But that’s the heartbeat of camp — the quiet desperation of a hundred guys chasing one paycheck.

So, what’s it all add up to? Expect something like this: four quarterbacks (because we always end up needing the third), five backs if Ham sticks (he will), six or seven receivers depending on who flashes on returns, four tight ends, nine linemen (pray for health), seven or so on the D-line, maybe six linebackers, nine DBs and your special teams trio.

It’s not a Super Bowl roster. Heck, it’s not even a sure playoff roster. It’s a sorting roster. A weeding-out. They’re not building a juggernaut — they’re searching for survivors. Guys who can ride out the lean years and maybe — maybe — be part of something better down the road.

But for now, it’s training camp. There’s chalk dust in the air, whistles echoing across the turf, and hope — that old fool — whispering in everyone’s ear. So drink the Gatorade, nod along, and keep your eyes sharp.

Because the rebuild they won’t admit to is already halfway done. And if McCarthy don’t pop, you’ll see the rest of the dominos fall before the leaves do.