Podbit · New Heights with Jason & Travis Kelce
Last year, the Bears could barely spit out a play call in OTAs. Now Caleb meets with Ben Johnson daily and they're tweaking base plays to manufacture explosives. Year two isn't just an upgrade — it's a completely different existence for this offense.
Where this was said
At 39:20 · chapter starts 37:40
Caleb is effusive about the difference a full year in the system makes. He and Ben Johnson meet daily in the coach's office — laughing, reviewing film, tweaking routes — and in year one, the Bears could barely spit out a play call at this stage of the offseason. Now they're running perfect plays, getting in and out of the huddle fast, and working through checks that last year were near impossible. Caleb estimates the offense genuinely clicked around the Vikings game in year one and that his personal confidence snowballed from there. He also reflects on the frustration of watching tape from year one — the missed throws, the runs that didn't hit — but frames it as fuel rather than regret. Jason then asks about the transition to more under-center snaps (drawing a parallel to what the Eagles are now doing with Jalen Hurts), and Caleb confirms it took roughly until the second game to fully sync with Ben[2].
Caleb Williams says last year they 'could barely spit out a call' in OTAs; now the offense runs fluidly and he's stepped into a new leadership role.
Thomas's wife deferred her CrossFit career — she's in the global top 1% of athletes — to put him through law school debt-free. He wants her to chase the dream now; she wants the emergency fund and house down payment first. On a $200K lawyer income with no debt, the opportunity cost is just a few months of slower saving.
Underground calisthenics battles are exactly like UFC meets a rap battle — 150 people crowded around a circle, fighters walking out with masks and chains, nicknames like 'Extra Money' vs 'Calisthenics the Prince,' and people throwing money and betting. The battle set: 100 burpees, 50 muscle-ups, 75 dips, 75 squats with a 65-pound dumbbell. This is the next big spectator sport.
Rico Verhoeven controlled the undisputed heavyweight boxing champion for approximately 10 rounds — and had his appeal upheld when officials admitted the fight was stopped after the bell. The result was never overturned. Rogan calls it either incompetence or corruption, and argues the money behind Usyk made an upset politically inconvenient.
Rogan lays out a blunt case: boxing's 3-judge system is structurally broken, and the judges know who the promoter wants to win. Glory's 5-judge format is the right model. Corruption doesn't have to be conscious — just knowing Usyk is the cash cow is enough to tilt the scales.
With the Usyk-Wilder fight stalling and Fury-Joshua coming too late, the real fight the world wants is the rematch. Rico is a free agent. Usyk vacated his belts. The story is unfinished and both Rogan and Rico know it. His Excellency Turki Alasheikh already called for it ringside — the question is money.
Rico texted Jason Statham during the Canelo-Crawford fight. Statham showed Rico's highlight videos to promoters. Two days later, Rico was on a call about fighting Anthony Joshua. When Joshua pulled out, Rico pitched Usyk himself — Undisputed vs. Undisputed. Usyk said yes in two weeks. The whole thing started with one text.
Every heavyweight who faced Usyk tried to move to the right — straight into his power hand. Rico and Peter Fury identified the obvious solution: move left, away from the left hand, and smother him with size. It sounds simple. Nobody had done it. That one adjustment was the foundation of 10 dominant rounds.
MMA fans boo when fights go to the ground. They love stand-up. Kickboxing is pure stand-up. Yet it barely exists in America while boxing and MMA are enormous. Rogan's diagnosis: no promotion machine. If the UFC got behind kickboxing the way they've built MMA, it would explode. The talent is there — the storytelling machine is not.
A nation of 17 million people gave the world Ramon Deckers, Peter Aerts, Badr Hari, Melvin Manhoef, Rob Kamen, Ernesto Hoost, and Rico Verhoeven. Rico's theory: the country is so small that every gym shares knowledge freely. In the US, you need a flight. In Holland, you drive 40 minutes and spar the national champion.
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