LOS ANGELES –– The sun tenderly kisses the Rams’ practice field like a first date, lighting the grass into a canvas of marvelous, green artwork. On the near sideline, luscious, long locs flow underneath a white bucket cap. Although he’s not practicing, he stands beside Sean McVay, highlighting and detailing shifting coverages and opportunities for exploitation—it is Davante Adams. 

His hands, soft as velvet but strong as steel, are known to pluck the ball from the sky like he’s stealing it back from gravity itself. With his eyes wide, absorbing every detail, as he watches Puka Nacua dominate. A year ago, this was Cooper Kupp’s kingdom. Now? It belongs to Adams. And the Rams haven’t just moved on—they’re moving up.

Let’s be blunt: Cooper Kupp was fading. A warrior, a legend, but a warrior with too many battles behind him. In 2024, Kupp played just 10 games, logging 483 yards—his lowest full-season output since 2018. Meanwhile, Adams, trapped in the purgatory of Las Vegas’ dysfunction, still racked up 1,098 yards—his sixth 1,000-yard season in seven years.

Kupp’s body betrayed him. Adams’ body defies logic. Kupp missed 18 games over the last three seasons. Adams missed three in that same span. The Rams upgraded from a Super Bowl MVP. From glass to granite. From flickering flame to blowtorch.

Kupp’s route running was art—a master of timing, precision, the delicate dance of option routes. 

But Adams? Adams is violent. He demolishes his routes. He doesn’t just catch passes; he punishes defenders after the catch.

In 2024, Kupp averaged 10.2 yards per reception—solid, but safe. Adams? 14.3. A full four yards more per catch, a chasm of difference in an NFL where inches decide games. And after the catch? Kupp managed just 3.1 YAC per reception, a shadow of his 2021 dominance. Adams? 5.4. He did more than just move chains—he snapped them.

If you look past the stats, you’ll see the presence. Where Kupp was a leader, Adams is a force multiplier. Watch him in meetings, dissecting coverages with Puka like a professor tutoring his brightest student. Listen to Stafford, his voice lighter, his throws freer, no longer straining to force chemistry with a fading star.

Adams will do more than merely replace Kupp’s production—he will expand the offense. Kupp thrived in the slot, a surgeon in tight spaces. Adams? He’s a nightmare anywhere. Put him outside, and he’ll torch corners with his patented crossover release moves so sharp they could cut glass. Put him in the slot, and he’ll bully nickel backs like a grown man stealing lunch money.

With Kupp, defenses keyed in on one elite receiver. With Adams and Puka? They’re staring down two. Last year, opponents could bracket Nacua and pray. 

Now? Double Adams, and Nacua eats; double Nacua, and Adams feasts. There are no correct answers—only wrong ones.

And then there’s Stafford. No more forcing throws to a fading legend. No more hoping Kupp’s body holds up—just pure, ruthless efficiency. Adams doesn’t just catch contested balls—he demands them. Stafford’s interceptions drop. His completion percentage climbs. The offense doesn’t just function—it thrives.

This isn’t a farewell to Kupp. It’s a thank you. A thank you for the Super Bowl, for the memories, for the heart. But football is a cold, calculating beast. And in 2025, the Rams aren’t settling for nostalgia.

They’re chasing rings. And Davante Adams? He may prove to be the crown jewel.