The reckless joy of Bills QB Josh Allen - ESPN

THEY ALL HOLD their breath when Josh Allen goes rogue. They can always see it coming. He'll be a little laggy at the start of a game, his legs twitchy and his brain unfocused, and that's when they know -- and fear -- what's coming next. He'll stand before them in the huddle and get a certain look in his eye or a tone in his voice. They just shrug inside and think, Oh, well. Here we go.

Maybe he'll call a play and then change the protection at the line to make sure he puts himself one-on-one with a defensive end. Maybe he'll drop back and hold on to the ball a split-second longer than necessary. Maybe he'll run around like a flag in a hurricane and stay in bounds one or two strides beyond comfort, just long enough to take a hit. Whatever form it takes, they'll watch it unfold and think, Uh-oh. Good luck, Josh.

Everyone has their motivations. Some guys like to close their eyes and envision the game unfolding in their mind. Some scream and yell and listen to music that sounds like a bandsaw going through sheet metal. Some, like Allen, simply need to take a hit, to feel alive and engaged, to give the game its shape and life its purpose.

«Does it scare me, his running around?» asks Bills left tackle Dion Dawkins. «Hell yeah. Hell yeah. When we see Josh taking off and hurdling people and running over people, it's a scary thing. He's a big kid, but sometimes that kid stuff doesn't transfer. Yeah, you're a big kid. We get it. But if you fall, we all fall. It's scary as hell, and we can't hit him and say, 'There, you got your hit in.' Because what if we hurt him?»

Even in our quarterback-centric universe, Allen is uniquely tethered to this team, this region, the elusive goal of winning a Super Bowl. «He's everything,» Dawkins