Early into his 14th—and perhaps final—NFL season, Cameron Jordan clings to significance, possibility, symmetry and routines. So dawns fall. It will be spent like all of the others on the New Orleans Saints’ defensive line. So resumes another push for that elusive Lombardi Trophy. So begins another symphony—of bruises, battered limbs and pain; of massages, ice baths and recovery; of interviews, workouts and practice sessions; of mentorship, community activism and fatherhood.
Plus, soon, a sharp divergence from the present. The shift looms on near horizons; the specifics, undefined. It beckons, this future, these visions of freedom, flexibility, actual free time. Jordan welcomes all; just not yet. For now, he will do as he has always done. Like on one day this August: up at 6 a.m., sauna, steam room, stretching, cupping therapy, then beach volleyball with the fam—all done, in one day, before training camp even .
Pundits have slept on the Saints, who will soon vault toward contender status. Jordan paid the preseason snubs no attention, same as the giddy reactions to a 47–10 bludgeoning of the Carolina Panthers in Week 1. “I mean, it’s Carolina,” Jordan says. “Nobody has been like, , ! with Carolina for a long time. People haven’t been afraid of Carolina since Cam Newton and Christian McCaffrey were a tandem.”
Thus begins a project—The Final Season?—that will provide a window into Jordan’s maybe-maybe-not grand football finale. He will embody the latter stage of every veteran’s career. His, of course, is not that. Jordan ranks among his era’s most dominant pass rushers and most dominant defenders, period.
Lately, his brain often drifts to the 2011 NFL draft, where the Saints took the pass rusher from Cal with the 24th pick in the first round and Jordan flew to a city he hardly knew anything about. He wanted to play 10 seasons, collect more than 40 sacks and make at least two Pro Bowls. If he did that, Jordan reasoned, no one would consider him a . Plus, his father, a six-time Pro Bowler at tight end, wouldn’t laugh him away from the table at Thanksgiving.
As one year became two and two became 10, Jordan decided to play for as long as he was physically capable. would he still be hanging on after 20 years. He promised to check in with his body every offseason, determining whether to return each spring. He grew up watching John Randle and Chris Doleman, pass rushers who played in Minnesota with his pops. He wanted to hit like them. He wanted to rip off the edge like Jevon Kearse and play forever like Julius Peppers. He wanted to make quarterbacks miserable, hence the job description. He also understood the NFL, all of the injuries and circumstances that would remain far beyond his grasp.
“There’s still no ‘moment’ for me,” he says in August. “Always something unexpected.”
Like one time, against the Atlanta Falcons, when Jordan played with a flu so bad he could hardly stand up. He still registered four sacks, despite needing an inhaler he rarely uses. He cannot recall the exact season—fact check: Thanksgiving night, 2019—because he’s 35, and, in that specific way, just like the rest of us.
Same as this one, says the father of four. BREAKING: “I’m officially off of diapers,” he says. “Eight years of carrying those bags …”
