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Tuesday observations from Cardinals training camp


Two things just jump out at me. One, I can’t believe how good he can be. I bet his sweat has talent. Two, I don’t see how any of that talent will ever translate into production.

From everything I’ve heard, this is a really solid young man. As it appears society continues to crumble around us, I really root for good kids and this is one. However, you can pick your cliche to describe his lack of accuracy. With his arm strength, I think he could throw the ball into the ocean from Phoenix. If I’m grading accuracy, I’d only bet on him to throw it in the ocean if his feet were wet.

I want to be wrong. I just don’t believe you can teach accuracy. You can re-fine it. Coaches can enhance it. Coaches cannot create it. Bruce Arians said after the draft that it’s simple things that Thomas needs to work on. He knows more than I do but I’ll believe it when I see it.


Carson Palmer threw three interceptions. There’s no way I can tell you who’s at fault standing on the sidelines of practice but on the second INT Palmer immediately went to Michael Floyd and started discussing the route. On the other two, Palmer reacted like he had a job to help make a tackle.

Obviously, if there’s a time to throw picks and use them as teaching moments, it’s day four of camp. Yet, we went through an off-season as fans being told how much further along the offense is than it was last year. We’ve all bought into the optimism of the offensive growth that ended 2013 would quickly translate into 2014 success. Right now, the offense has some hiccups.


He was a hitting machine Monday. Tuesday he had a highlight-reel interception.

Dropping back into coverage, running with his back to the quarterback from the left hashmarks to the numbers, Bucannon stops and pivots. Now facing Palmer, he starts heading back to the hashmarks. As Bucannon turns his chest, Palmer tries to throw it behind the rookie DB. As Bucannon’s body heads to his left, his eyes and right hand ignore momentum. Borrowing the neck of an owl, his head follows the ball’s flight. His right hand jumps from his hip. As he stabs the air, the point of the ball bores into his hand. Without hesitation or a juggle, the play of camp to this point is smothered against his chest.