CRAWFORD | Always open: Elijah Sarratt has delivered Indiana to the brink of a championship | Sports

LOUISVILLE, Ky. (WDRB) -- Let’s get this out of the way: I love Waffle House, but I don’t always trust it.

Not the building. Not the lighting. Not the special language they have created. Not the fact that there’s always someone outside smoking even when it’s 11 degrees and sleeting sideways.

But I trust Elijah Sarratt.

They call him "Waffle House" because, as his father puts it, "he’s always open." It’s supposed to be a joke. It’s not. He is always open. Double coverage, zone, man, solar eclipse, doesn’t matter. If you’re Indiana, and it’s third-and-something or fourth-and-everything, the answer is usually Sarratt.

This season, with everything on the line, the ball kept going to him. Against Iowa: a shallow crosser, a broken tackle, 49 yards, game over. Against Oregon: fourth quarter, road game, touchdown. Against Ohio State: a back-shoulder catch in the end zone in the biggest game the program had played in 80 years.

Louisville | Kentucky | Indiana | Eric Crawford

He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t flex. He doesn’t look like he was built in a lab in SEC country. But he catches the ball. And, yes, somehow he always seems to be open.

And now Indiana is undefeated and playing for a national title, and one of the biggest reasons is a kid who had zero Division I offers out of high school, sent cold-call emails to junior colleges, and wound up at something called Saint Francis University, which I’m pretty sure is also a hospital.

You want to root for him. Not just because he’s good. But because he makes sense.

Sarratt doesn’t just catch passes. He does it when it matters. He does it when you’re holding your breath. When the crowd is on its feet. When the defensive coordinator across the field is pointing right at him and screaming, "That guy. Don’t let that guy beat us."

He still beats you.

Indiana offensive coordinator Mike Shanahan calls it a "clutch factor." Says Sarratt just understands coverages better than most guys. That he has a feel for voids. That he anticipates. That he makes tough catches.

And maybe that's true. But it also might be simpler than that.

Maybe Sarratt just works harder than everyone else.

He catches 100 balls after practice. Every day. If the quarterbacks are throwing during special teams, he’s out there again. He’s not doing fingertip pushups or grip-strength training. He’s just catching footballs. Over and over. Until his hands forget how to drop one.

And here’s the part that should make every strength coach in America melt into a puddle: he leads by doing one extra rep. That’s it. One more pull-up. One more squat. One more sprint. And suddenly, all the receivers are doing it. The quarterbacks are doing it. The running backs are doing it. You can’t buy that. You can’t coach it. You can only hope someone like Sarratt brings it with him.

He even brought his own playbook.

Midseason, he watched some Davante Adams–Aaron Rodgers tape — because of course he did — and decided Indiana should add a little back-shoulder fade. Brought it to Mendoza. They worked on it after practice. Didn’t overthink it. Just repped it. A few weeks later, they used it to beat Ohio State in the Big Ten title game.

Elijah Sarratt celebrates Indiana's College Football Playoff semifinal win over Oregon in the Peach Bowl, between teammates Aiden Fisher and Daniel Ndukwe (17) in the Peach Bowl in Atlanta.
ERIC CRAWFORD

That’s the thing about being "always open." It’s not just about footwork. It’s not just about speed. It’s about earning separation before the game even starts. And it’s about being open to new ideas, to improvement and improvisation.

And maybe that’s what makes his story worth telling.

Because the truth is, Elijah Sarratt was never supposed to be here.

No stars. No offers. No headlines. He sent out emails to JUCOs like he was applying for a job on LinkedIn. Got one offer. From Saint Francis in Pennsylvania.

But he produced. He always does. Forty catches as a freshman. Double-digit touchdowns. Then a transfer to James Madison to play with his brother. Another jump. Another round of disbelief.

Then Cignetti left for Indiana. And Sarratt followed.

On his recruiting visit, he says Cignetti had his feet kicked up on the desk. Told him: This is the place for you. I’ll get you the ball. Having played for Cignetti, he knew he meant what he said. That was enough.

Of course it was.

He’s not a diva. He’s not a brand. He’s a quiet kid from Stafford, Va., who listens to gospel and Rod Wave before games, takes a few deep breaths before kickoff, and then goes out and ruins somebody’s Saturday night.

He has turned off Twitter. He doesn’t talk trash. But every once in a while — talking to his parents, maybe, or lying in bed — he lets it sink in. That he went from emailing junior colleges to scoring touchdowns in the Rose Bowl. That he went from being a zero-star afterthought to helping Indiana — Indiana! — play for a national title.

"It's crazy," he said. “I'm still processing it. It's a surreal feeling. I’ve got to thank the man above for allowing me to be in this position because there were a lot of times where I didn't know what was going to go on with my football career. To be here right now, this is a blessing. All these little moments that I've been going through, I appreciate it. I appreciate it a lot.”

You don’t need a clever line to end this.

You just need to know where the ball is going next time it matters.

It’s going to Waffle House.

And it’s getting caught.