Inside Ty Simpson’s first 24 hours as a Los Angeles Ram

INGLEWOOD, Calif. — The plane touched down sometime after midnight.

Ty Simpson had slept maybe two hours, his head pressed against a window at 30,000 feet, dreaming with his eyes open.

He didn’t need rest. He needed this.

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The California number that rang at 6:20 p.m. the night before had turned a kid from Tennessee into property of the Los Angeles Rams.

First round. Thirteenth pick.

A redneck in Los Angeles, by his own admission.

“I slept on the plane for like two hours,” Simpson said, his voice carrying the rasp of a man hopped up on adrenaline like a case of Monsters. “But I was super fired up. I was like, man, I get to talk to LA media. I’m blessed to be here.”

Blessed. The word he keeps coming back to.

The word that anchored him through three years on the Alabama bench, through the Rose Bowl disaster, through the doubt that clings to a quarterback with only 15 college starts like a second skin.

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SoFi Stadium rose out of the Inglewood flatland like a spaceship that landed wrong. Simpson had been here before. He remembered it differently.

“We did a walkthrough in SoFi, and it was raining, too,” Simpson said. “I was like, man, this is really weird. Why am I feeling rain, and it’s in Cali, and it’s like a dome? That was the last thing I ever thought about SoFi. Ironically enough, it’s going to be my home stadium.”

Irony is the backbone of this story.

The same building where he completed 11 of 24 passes for 98 yards and an interception against Indiana, where Alabama’s season died in the College Football Playoff, now houses his locker.

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The same tunnel where he told a friend, “I’ve never felt more alone,” now leads to his workplace.

He lost everything here once. Now he’s being asked to win everything here someday.

“I guess like a redneck in Los Angeles, California,” he said. “We’ll see how that goes.”

Nick Saban taught him something that stuck deeper than any playbook.

Expectations are anchors. They drag you down before you ever learn to swim.

“I learned from Coach Saban that if you have expectations, you’re always bound to fail,” Simpson said. “If I come in here and say, well, I want to win rookie of the year. Well, Matthew Stafford just won the MVP. How’s that going to be? That’s going to be a fail.”

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So he arrived with no expectations. Only process.

Only the next meeting, the next rep, the next day of getting better.

He didn’t come to Los Angeles to become something. He came to Los Angeles to become.

“My plan is to just get better each day,” Simpson said. “Today starts my NFL career, and tomorrow will be the second day. I just want to get better each and every day so eventually I have a long career like Matthew.”

Sean McVay’s offense is not foreign to him. It’s familiar like running into an old friend at a new job.

Ryan Grubb’s system at Alabama demanded detail. Footwork. Steps. Play-action fakes that look exactly like run plays. Under-center drops.

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Manipulating defenses with your eyes, your shoulders, your feet. McVay’s system asks the same questions.

“It starts with the line of scrimmage,” Simpson said. “You can tell Matthew is in the huddle, taking control. He’s going up to the line, making sure we’re in the right formation, right checks. We’re under center, we’re going seven-step drops, play action. The unique ways to get to different routes. Puka Nacua inserting and running across. We’re in 13 personnel running boots. Matthew’s footwork of manipulating the defense. Everything is just so detail-oriented.”

Detail-oriented––the phrase that separates backup quarterbacks from starters in McVay’s world.

Simpson watched Stafford on tape the way a thief studies a vault. He saw the footwork. He saw the control. He saw a man who doesn’t flinch.

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“Matthew Stafford throws the ball with conviction,” Simpson said. “Doesn’t care what happens. He might throw a pick on the drive before. He’s coming back and throwing the same type ball. That dude is an assassin.”

Stafford didn’t call first. Kelly Stafford did.

She found Simpson on Instagram, welcomed him to Los Angeles, told him to hit her up if his family ever needed anything. The reigning MVP’s wife broke the ice before the reigning MVP said a word.

“I have not talked to Matthew yet,” Simpson said. “But Kelly has texted me. I can’t wait to talk to Matthew. I’m super ecstatic because I just want to pick his brain about everything, soak up all that knowledge.”

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Soak. The verb of a man who knows he’s not ready but refuses to stay that way.

Simpson compared his situation to his apprenticeship in Alabama.

He sat behind Bryce Young. He sat behind Jalen Milroe. He learned by watching, by waiting, by wondering when his time would come.

“The years that I sat were just as probably more important than the years that I played,” Simpson said. “I had to learn how to practice. I had to learn how to study when I wasn’t playing because I didn’t know when that time was going to come. Whenever that time did come, I made the most of it.”

McVay’s reputation preceded him. Simpson had heard the stories.

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The energy. The football obsession. The first meeting confirmed every rumor.

“He’s got the juice, man,” Simpson said. “That dude is a guy who’s just a fireball. He loves ball. I’m so blessed to be a part of this organization and have him as a coach because you can really tell that he cares for his players.”

Caring––the intangible that doesn’t show up in playbooks but shows up in wins. Simpson noted the similarity to his last college coach.

“It’s very similar to how it was with Coach DeBoer at Alabama. I’m super pumped to get in that room,” Simpson said.

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Quinton Lake texted him first. A defensive back reached across the aisle to welcome the new quarterback.

Dresser Winn, a former Ram and family friend, was at the draft with Simpson when Lake’s message came through. Winn’s reaction said everything.

“He was like, dude, he’s so cool, that’s awesome,” Simpson recalled. “I can’t wait to say what’s up to him and get to know everybody. I’m super pumped to get in the locker room and create those relationships.”

Relationships––the currency of a quarterback who knows he can’t do this alone.

Simpson hasn’t met Stetson Bennett yet, the incumbent backup he’ll supposedly compete with, but he’s heard the stories. Two national championships at Georgia. A winner.

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“I’ve heard he’s a great guy,” Simpson said. “David Morris worked with him on his draft prep. He’s a Georgia guy. A guy who won two national championships, so he’s a really good player. I’m really looking forward to being in a room with him.”

Underneath the playbook and the press conferences, Simpson built his first 24 hours on something older than football. Faith. Family. The refusal to let a game define a man.

“I’m a profound Christian,” Simpson said. “I firmly believe that my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ died on the cross for our sins. I was taught that at a young age from my parents. I lean on the Lord through everything, through the trials and tribulations that I had at Alabama. Starting off the year not great, losing to Florida State, then going on a run and winning nine in a row versus five ranked opponents, six ranked opponents.”

Football isn’t the world to him. That’s the secret. That’s why he can walk into SoFi Stadium, remember the rain, remember the loss, and still smile.

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“Football isn’t the world to me,” Simpson said. “Don’t get me wrong, I love football, and I want to be here until I can’t, but my faith is the biggest thing for me. I want to not only be the best football player I can be, but I want to be a better teammate, a better person. I want people to come in the locker room and smile knowing that, hey, Ty’s here. I want to leave, influence people.”

He turned down $6 million in NIL money to return to Alabama for one more year. Then he turned around and declared early anyway, betting on himself against the advice of common sense.

“I have no regrets at all,” Simpson said. “I bet on myself. I felt like I was ready. Now I just got to prove it. Coach Saban always said, ‘This is not the end. This is just the beginning.’ Well, this is just the beginning of my NFL career.”

The beginning. Twenty-four hours old. Two hours of sleep. One dream materialized.

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Simpson walked through the Rams facility with his family beside him: his father, Jason, who’d held him up when the draft call came, and his people, who’d sacrificed time and money and weekends for this single moment.

“It’s been a blessing,” he said. “Something I’ve worked really hard for. They’ve sacrificed a lot for me, a lot of their time to come to my things. God has blessed us in so many different ways. Giving all the glory back to him is why we’re here. Spreading the good news. The fact that I get to do that on a national platform and a professional platform like the NFL is something I couldn’t ask for a better script.”

He stood in front of cameras running on fumes and faith, answering questions about a future he can’t predict and a present he refuses to take for granted. Simpson talked about play-action fakes, footwork details and Matthew Stafford’s assassin’s calm.

He talked about being a redneck in Los Angeles and making SoFi Stadium his home.

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But the sentence that mattered most came early. Simple. Almost thrown away.

“Today starts my NFL career,” Ty Simpson said. “Tomorrow will be the second day.”

One day at a time. No expectations. No shortcuts. Just process. Just work.

Just a kid from Tennessee who lost in Pasadena and refuses to lose himself in Los Angeles.