Ankle-breaking DNA: Devin Hester’s elusiveness is evident in 8-year-old son Dray

Ankle-breaking DNA: Devin Hester’s elusiveness is evident in 8-year-old son Dray
By Dan Pompei
Jun 21, 2021

ORLANDO, Fla. — At a two-hour offseason practice in the kind of sun that makes grass brown and oranges sweet, coach Devin Hester is wearing Bears shorts, a Bears T-shirt and a Bears floppy hat.

His 8-year-old son Dray? He’s wearing a bull’s-eye.

But no one can come close to it.

He’s east, north, west, south, east, north, north, north, north. Like David Copperfield, he makes the eyes seem too slow. He glides like one of Motown’s Jacksons and bursts like one of Tesla’s Model S’s. Chris Berman would have fun here. Whoop!

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“We’ve had some great kids, but I’ve never seen anything like this in an 8-year-old, how he moves, his shiftiness, his footwork,” said Marcus Moore, vice president of the West Orlando Jaguars of the Florida Elite League and a youth coach for 17 years. “You don’t see skills like he has until high school level.”

Dray might be the most well-known 8-year-old football player in history, thanks to videos that have gone viral. One of them was shared by Allan Thomas, who runs RNR all-star combine that Dray has attended three times. In the video, Thomas dubbed him “Ankle Bully.”

“I was watching it and saying to myself, ‘Oooh, I’ll take those ankles, and oooh, I’ll take those ankles too,'” Thomas said. “He was taking ankles left and right. Man, the kid has unlimited potential. I’ve never seen a kid with the understanding of leverage and balance so young. It’s uncanny to move the way he does.”

Jorge Baez, the director of player development at the University of Miami, texted Devin after seeing one of the videos.

“We’ve got him on our radar,” Baez said.

He was half-joking.

Right?


There are, as you may suspect, genetic benefits to being the son of the greatest kick returner in NFL history. Even Deion Sanders calls Devin that.

Devin, who will be eligible for the Pro Football Hall of Fame for the first time in 2022, holds the NFL record for most career return touchdowns even though opponents kicked away from him more than any return man ever. He had moves that might have made Newton rethink his laws of motion. He could see holes in a kick defense before they were there.

Devin Hester’s 14 career punt returns for touchdowns are the most in NFL history. (Charles Rex Arbogast / Associated Press)

And then there was his speed. Judging how fast Devin was by the 4.41 he ran at the 2006 NFL Scouting Combine would be like judging Aroldis Chapman’s velocity by his changeup. Devin pulled his hamstring two weeks before the combine and went to Indianapolis with no intention of running a 40. He didn’t even bring his cleats. But he was pressured to run, so he laced up his Air Max sneakers and gave it a go.

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The following week at Miami’s pro day, Devin ran in the mid 4.2s.

The Madden NFL video game gave Devin a perfect 100 speed rating one year. He remains the only player ever rated so highly.

Then there was the time he raced a cheetah. And won.

Dray’s grandfather, Lenoris Hester, didn’t play football like his descendants because he enjoyed chasing women more than running away from tacklers, Devin says. But he was always up for a race — against a horse, a car, or a medal winner in track.

Lenoris raced barefoot in the streets of West Palm Beach. Neighborhood folk made wagers, and the smart ones bet on Lenoris every time. One of his races, if you call it that, was against a kid who’d won the 100-meter dash at the local high school. “They say my dad was so far ahead he turned around and backpedaled the last 5 meters across the finish line,” Devin says.

With those who are truly special, however, there always is something more than genes at work, something mystical, something that defies explanation.

Before he was 3, Dray showed NFL-caliber moves playing flag football against his brother D.J., who is three years older. “Sometimes, when he makes moves, I just put my head down and laugh,” Devin says.

 

His preschool teachers understand. Dray didn’t like going to preschool, and he often resisted. “His teacher used to joke she had to have her shoes tied tight when we dropped him off in the morning because she had to chase him to get him in the door,” his mother, Zingha, says.

YouTube videos gave him all the inspiration he needed. When Devin was driving and Dray was in the child seat behind him, he’d hear his son say, “Siri, Devin Hester highlights.” That’s all he wanted to watch. While his brother D.J. giggled at “Cars” and “Lion King,” Dray watched dad run. Still does. Watch one of his father’s videos with him now, and he can tell you what move is coming.

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Dray saw some of Devin’s returns in NFL stadiums.

“Even at 2 or 3, he loved watching his father playing,” Zingha says. “He’d be telling me what was going on in the game. Or he’d point Devin out wherever he was. He’d say, ‘Did you see that play, Mom?’ He was keeping track of everything.”

Sometimes during Devin’s games, Zingha and D.J. wanted to leave their seats and hang out in the comfort of the family room and watch the game on TV. This did not sit well with Dray, who argued to stay in the stands.

Dray did not like being in the stands when his brother was playing, however. His parents took him to watch D.J.’s flag football game when Dray was 3. Dray cried the whole game because he couldn’t be on the field like his brother. Finally, Devin asked the coach whether he would allow Dray to stand on the sidelines if Devin bought him a jersey.

Dray made a Christmas list for Santa when he was 4. Instead of asking for trucks, dinosaurs or video games, he requested pylons, cones, ladders, a helmet, shoulder pads and a football.

A couple of years ago, Devin’s brother Lenorris visited. He found Dray playing on his bedroom floor with toy cars. But he wasn’t playing the way most kids do.

“He had 11 cars as offensive players and 11 as defensive players,” he said. “He’s setting up plays for the offense. He has the quarterback rolling out, one car going through the A-gap, a tight end doing a crossing route, and a receiver going across him the other way.”

At his West Orlando Jaguars practice, Dray seems to know almost as much as some coaches. He usually is first in line for drills because he knows how they should be run. He adjusts cones if they are out of place. He helps other players line up where they are supposed to be. He even helps the center with his stance.


In the first play of the first game of Devin’s life, he lined up at outside linebacker for the Dolphins in a Pop Warner league in West Palm Beach. The opposing quarterback threw his way. Devin stepped in front of the pass, intercepted it and shot past every other player on the field, high-stepping for the last 20 yards into the end zone.

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“He played with the bigger guys and made them look bad because he was fast, quick and tough as a young kid,” says Lenorris, who is 11 months older than Devin. “He was good at making people miss at a young age.”

Dray is even more skilled than his father was when he was little. Devin says Dray has a better understanding of how to create space.

“His concept of the game is way ahead of his dad’s at that age,” Lenorris says.

Devin’s early football years were much different from Dray’s. Devin didn’t start playing organized football in his hometown of Riviera Beach until he was 10. But from the time Devin was 5, he played on the streets. Usually, it was against older kids. They often played a game in which one kid threw up a football, and whoever fielded it had to run it back through 10 or 15 others, with no blockers. He’d then have to turn around and run it back over and over until he was caught. It was not uncommon for Devin to run it back three or four times without anyone laying a hand on him.

“I grew up in what we called the hood, the ghetto,” Devin says. “Dray always asks me what was it like. I said I had more fun because it was a community where kids always came outside to play. You played football all day. He says, ‘Didn’t y’all have fights and killing and all that?’ I said, ‘You get that, but it makes you a little tougher.'”

An electronic gate separates Dray’s house from the others on his block. His neighborhood, which was once home to citrus farms, has a rustic feel. The lots are supersized, the in-ground pools feature natural stone waterfalls, and there must be a hundred trees for every person. Going outside to play doesn’t mean finding a pickup game. It means doing drills in the sandpit in the backyard.

Dray wouldn’t be who he is without all that surrounds him. And Devin couldn’t have become who he became if he didn’t grow up as he did.

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When Devin was playing youth football, several of his teammates were unhappy because their parents forced them to play. Devin vowed never to be one of those parents.

D.J., in fact, is not playing any sports. And Devin is fine with that. He wasn’t even intending on being a coach until he witnessed fathers who had no qualifications to coach with whistles around their necks. Devin has the time to be a head coach because, since his retirement from the NFL in 2017, he had not been doing much except monitoring a commercial real estate holding.

With many football fathers and sons, it is the parent who is most invested. In this football relationship, Dray is the one who pushes. Devin happily works with Dray for at least a couple of hours a day outside of team practices, but sometimes that’s not enough. And that’s when Devin might say, “Daddy’s tired today. I want to lay down and watch some TV.”

Dray has advantages Devin never could have dreamt of as an 8-year-old. On his bedroom wall are passing plays his father drew up. Devin is teaching him reads based on coverages, which most young quarterbacks don’t learn until they are older.

“The more he understands,” Devin says, “the more I throw at him.”

A while back, Devin asked Dray whether he thought he was pushing him too hard.

Devin: “This is not coach Hester talking. This is daddy talking. Whatever you say, I’ll do.”

Dray: “Don’t let up on me. I want to be the best. I want to be great, and I know when you yell at me, it’s because you want the best out of me.  Please, coach me hard.”

Whereas Devin played for fun as a kid, Dray seems to play for something more.

“I wasn’t as driven as he is,” Devin says. “I loved playing. But he’s nonstop. Right after a hard practice, he’ll go outside with a football. He’s what you call a football junkie.”


There is nothing like the promise of a child-like Dray. It’s one of the reasons it can be a beautiful world.

Dray’s innocent face doesn’t belong with his menacing moves.

When he was playing flag football for the West Orange Bobcats in the AAU league, they changed the rules because of him so that if a player scored twice, he had to be taken out of a game.

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In 2019, when Dray went to his first RNR camp, he was 6 years old, competing in the 8 and under category. He was named MVP of the age group against many who were two years older. He won the award again in 2020, and a third time Sunday.

Last season was Dray’s first playing tackle. He moved to the Florida Elite League, which features 32 teams from Daytona to Miami. Dray’s Jaguars went 9-1 and then lost in the semifinals before playing in a national tournament. One of the teams they played in the Chicago area watched Dray and his teammates warm up and then requested that the teams not keep score.

Dray switched from running back to quarterback last year. He trains with a quarterbacks coach once a week, and now routinely arcs balls over the shoulders of defensive backs and into the hands of receivers. Of course, sometimes the balls go through the hands of receivers. But they’re 8.

Dray also plays baseball, runs track and enjoys watching the Chiefs and his father’s old team, the Bears. But he doesn’t have a lot of interests outside of sports.

“I want to be a football player when I grow up,” Dray says.

And he wants to be a football player like his father. When Dray scores a touchdown, he high-steps like Devin did. He is particular about his headband, sleeves, wristbands, gloves and socks, as his father was. Dray lays out his football outfit the night before a practice or game as Devin used to do. “He absolutely idolizes Devin,” Zingha says.

For Dray, it doesn’t get much better than being the son of Devin. For Devin, it doesn’t get much better than being the father of Dray — and the father of D.J. and another son, 3-year-old Denali. In fact, being a father occupies almost all his time.

Devin and Zingha Hester with their boys, Dray, Denali and D.J. (Courtesy of Devin Hester)

Dray is somewhat shy like Devin. But he doesn’t mind the attention that comes his way from videos. His Instagram handle is @anklebully_1.  Devin originally started sharing his son’s highlights for the reasons most proud parents do — so friends and relatives could enjoy them. He never thought Dray would become an internet sensation.

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Now there are unintended consequences. Dray has become a commodity to increase web traffic. ESPN shows his videos while debating the merits of too much too soon. And parents on opposing sidelines see him as a measuring stick for their own kids.

“A father asked me just now if Dray was going to be at the camp,” said Thomas, who runs RNR. “They want to show Dray up with their child. The parents are the worst, to be honest.”

Good luck with that. Dray is not easy to show up. Nor does he back down from a challenge.

Devin recently joined Dray in their sandpit to run the L drill. Then it got competitive.

At 38, Devin remains flat-bellied and muscular, not like the other dads. He looks like he still could embarrass a punt coverage team.

But even the greatest return man ever has felt a breeze from the Ankle Bully running by.

(Top photo courtesy of Devin Hester)

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Dan Pompei

Dan Pompei is a senior writer for The Athletic who has been telling NFL stories for close to four decades. He is one of 49 members on the Pro Football Hall of Fame selectors board and one of nine members on the Seniors Committee. In 2013, he received the Bill Nunn Award from the Pro Football Writers of America for long and distinguished reporting. Follow Dan on Twitter @danpompei