In a rare experiment of football strategy and player valuation, NFL analysts Henry McKenna and David Helman recently embarked on a bold mission to build rosters entirely from scratch using just 64 of the league’s best players. With no allegiances to existing teams, no constraints from current contracts, and no front office interference, the exercise stripped team-building down to its purest form: identifying elite talent, optimizing positional value, and constructing a 22-man roster that could compete on any given Sunday. What unfolded was not just a mock draft, but a revealing look into how two of the sport’s sharpest minds interpret the modern game—and what they prioritize when given total control.
At its core, this draft wasn’t about fantasy points or fan popularity. This was about building winners. Both McKenna and Helman were tasked with creating a starting offense and defense from a pool of 64 hand-picked stars. There were no late-round sleepers, no backups, and no special teamers to worry about—just first-string talent, fit, and philosophy. And while the pool included the very best the league had to offer—from Patrick Mahomes and Myles Garrett to Trent Williams and Sauce Gardner—the exercise quickly revealed two entirely different approaches to roster construction.
McKenna, who has long championed a quarterback-centric philosophy in his NFL coverage, unsurprisingly made a beeline for the signal caller position. He took Patrick Mahomes with his first pick, bypassing intriguing options like Josh Allen, Joe Burrow, and Lamar Jackson. “Mahomes is the best player in the league,” he explained. “If you’re trying to win with the top 64 players, you start with the guy who’s already proven he can carry any roster to the mountaintop.” The rest of McKenna’s draft mirrored this logic. He invested heavily in offensive line protection, grabbing names like Lane Johnson and Joel Bitonio early, and stacked his receiving corps with dynamic, versatile weapons like Tyreek Hill and George Kittle.
Helman, on the other hand, zagged where McKenna zigged. Rather than taking a quarterback right away, he leaned into defense, understanding that in a short-roster build with parity across the board, disruptive defenders can be game-changers. His first pick? Micah Parsons. “I think Micah can wreck a game in ways very few others can,” Helman said. “You give me an elite edge rusher and a couple of guys who can lock down in coverage, and I’ll take my chances no matter who’s under center.” Helman did eventually land Justin Herbert as his quarterback, waiting until the middle of the first round to make the move, but his roster was anchored by dominant defenders like Aaron Donald, Fred Warner, and Patrick Surtain II.
The clash in strategy was immediately evident. McKenna’s offense-first lineup was built to light up the scoreboard, with Mahomes operating behind a wall of All-Pro linemen and flanked by mismatches at every level. Helman, in contrast, focused on creating chaos on defense and leveraging that pressure into field position and turnovers. Their offensive units couldn’t have been more different either—while McKenna loaded up on speed and yards-after-catch threats, Helman went with a ground-and-pound identity featuring Derrick Henry and a powerful offensive line led by Quenton Nelson.
What made the entire exercise especially compelling was the clear philosophy behind each pick. This wasn’t about simply grabbing the biggest names. It was about fit, role, and value. Both McKenna and Helman had to make sacrifices. If you spend big on receivers, you might get outmuscled in the trenches. If you prioritize edge rushers, you could be left with a second-tier quarterback. It became a real-time chess match played out on draft boards rather than whiteboards.
For McKenna, the tipping point was wide receiver depth. After securing Mahomes, he went all-in on perimeter playmakers. Justin Jefferson was high on his board, but he opted instead for the deep-threat dynamism of Tyreek Hill and the over-the-middle versatility of George Kittle. “You need receivers who can create separation quickly. That’s how you beat these modern defenses,” McKenna explained. He wasn’t wrong—against the type of pressure players Helman had stockpiled, quick throws and hot reads would be crucial. The picks of Hill and Kittle spoke to that.
Helman’s draft board reflected a belief in defensive multiplicity. He took Parsons early not just for his pass rush, but for his ability to drop into coverage and disguise schemes. He added Derwin James as a hybrid safety-linebacker who could blitz one play and cover Travis Kelce the next. “In a short-roster build like this, versatility is gold,” Helman said. “If I can get two or three players who can morph into different roles depending on the situation, it gives me the upper hand.” That philosophy extended to the offense too—he selected Deebo Samuel, arguably the NFL’s most versatile offensive weapon, to move between wideout, running back, and motion decoy.
As the draft continued, each pick served as a counter to the other. McKenna took Sauce Gardner, a shutdown corner who could potentially neutralize Helman’s top wideout. Helman responded by drafting A.J. Brown, whose physical style and contested-catch ability might give even a top corner problems. McKenna doubled down with Christian McCaffrey, betting on matchup nightmares out of the backfield. Helman went heavy on run stuffers like Chris Jones and Dexter Lawrence, ensuring McCaffrey wouldn’t find many open lanes.
Even the coaching implications were baked into their choices. McKenna’s roster seemed custom-built for a coach like Andy Reid—aggressive, innovative, and reliant on quarterback magic. Helman’s lineup had the gritty, physical identity of a Dan Campbell or Mike Vrabel squad, with a defense-first ethos and emphasis on toughness. While no coaches were officially part of the exercise, the personalities of the teams reflected the minds that built them.
By the time both rosters were finalized, the result was a fascinating pair of teams that could feasibly meet in a Super Bowl. McKenna’s group looked like a juggernaut offense from the mid-2010s, designed to score 35 points before you could blink. Helman’s roster was more reminiscent of the 2015 Broncos or the 2000 Ravens—teams that wore you down, forced mistakes, and turned every game into a war of attrition.
But beyond the rosters themselves, the real value of the experiment came in what it revealed about modern football. For years, analysts have debated whether the NFL is truly offense-driven or whether elite defense still wins championships. McKenna and Helman’s draft mirrored that debate. Both acknowledged the value of elite quarterbacks, yet only one took one with the top pick. Both knew the importance of protection and pressure, yet approached those needs from entirely different angles.
Even more intriguing was the positional value displayed in the exercise. Certain positions flew off the board—quarterbacks, edge rushers, cornerbacks, left tackles—while others were almost afterthoughts. There was only one running back selected in the first 20 picks. Tight ends, despite their growing role in modern offenses, were treated more as luxury than necessity. And interior offensive linemen, unless they were truly elite, were mostly ignored until late.
This draft also shed light on how the league itself might evolve. If two analysts, armed with complete freedom, both gravitate toward similar types of players and strategies, it suggests a broader consensus forming around team construction. The fact that both included mobile quarterbacks, hybrid safeties, and positionless offensive threats like Samuel and McCaffrey, points to where football is headed. It’s no longer about Xs and Os. It’s about mismatches, deception, and adaptability.
In the aftermath of the draft, fans and analysts alike weighed in on who built the better squad. Predictably, opinions were split. Some favored McKenna’s firepower and ability to put up points in bunches. Others backed Helman’s defensive dominance and belief that games are won in the trenches. But perhaps the truest answer is that both teams were elite—and that team-building isn’t a one-size-fits-all equation.
Instead, what this exercise revealed is the beautiful subjectivity of football. That two smart people can see the same pool of talent and arrive at two entirely different yet equally viable rosters. That greatness can be assembled in more than one way. And that, when given a blank slate, the identity of a team often mirrors the identity of its architect.
For McKenna and Helman, the draft was more than just an exercise. It was a proving ground. A chance to test their theories against each other, and against the game itself. And while no actual games will be played between these hypothetical squads, the conversation they sparked will no doubt continue—among fans, among analysts, and perhaps even in the minds of the real NFL general managers watching from afar.
In the end, the rosters they built weren’t just teams. They were blueprints. And in a league constantly chasing the next edge, blueprints like these are worth more than just debate. They’re a glimpse into the future.
