Associated Press Nfl Most Valuable Player Award

Okay, so picture this: It’s a freezing Sunday night in January. I’m sprawled on my couch, hoodie up, clutching a bowl of chili that’s definitely too hot. My friend Dave texts me, “Who you got for MVP?” I stare at my screen, spoon halfway to my mouth. And you know what? I couldn’t answer. Not because I didn’t have a hunch, but because the Associated Press NFL Most Valuable Player Award is basically a religious debate now, and I needed to choose my prophet.

That’s the thing about this trophy. It’s not just a piece of hardware—it’s an argument wrapped in bronze. The AP MVP has been around since 1957, handed out by a panel of sportswriters who watch way more film than you or I ever will. Way more. And every year, they make us all lose our minds over “value.” Is it the best stats? The best story? Or the guy who dragged a mediocre roster to the playoffs by sheer willpower?

Nobody Agrees on What “Value” Means

Here’s the irony: The AP never actually defines “Most Valuable.” They just hand you a ballot and whisper, “You know it when you see it.” Which, honestly, feels like letting your uncle explain cryptocurrency at Thanksgiving. Some years, it’s clearly the quarterback with gaudy numbers—like Patrick Mahomes throwing for 5,000 yards while eating a hot dog on the sideline. Other years, it’s a running back who literally carries the offense on his back, like Adrian Peterson in 2012.

But my favorite is when the award goes to a defensive player or a non-QB. Oh, you thought it was only for quarterbacks? So did the voters, apparently, because only two non-QBs have won it since 2000. Two! That’s like saying the prom king can only be the class president. And yes, I’m side-eyeing you, running backs.

Let’s Talk About the Voter Drama

The AP doesn’t announce who voted for whom until after the ceremony. But when they do? Oh boy. You get this secret peek behind the curtain. One year, a voter left a player off their ballot entirely because of a “gut feeling.” Another year, a writer admitted they voted for a kicker as a protest. A kicker. I swear, if I got that power, I’d vote for the long snapper just to watch Twitter explode.

And the timing is brutal. The award is announced at “NFL Honors,” usually a few days before the Super Bowl. So imagine you’re the winner, and you gotta give a speech while cameras cut to a guy who had 18 touchdowns this season. Awkward? You bet. But it’s also weirdly human. These sportswriters are not robots—they have biases, favorite teams, and sometimes they just really like a plucky underdog.

Aaron Rodgers wins Associated Press NFL Most Valuable Player Award

The Real MVP? Your Own Memory

Let’s be honest: Nobody remembers who finished second. When was the last time you heard someone say, “Hey, remember when Drew Brees was second in MVP voting in 2011”? Exactly. The award creates a kind of myth. We remember Tom Brady’s three MVPs like scars from a championship belt. But we also remember the snubs—the years when a legend didn’t win, and we scream at our TVs about the “injustice.”

Take 2023. Everyone argued Lamar Jackson vs. Dak Prescott vs. Christian McCaffrey. Lamar won, and half the internet melted down. But here’s my take: The award isn’t about who was “best” in a vacuum. It’s about who told the best story that season. And Jackson’s comeback from a contract dispute to a dominant year? That’s a Hollywood script. The AP voters love a narrative arc.

I think that’s why we care so much. We’re not just arguing stats—we’re arguing meaning. Who mattered most? Who made us gasp on third-and-long? The AP MVP forces us to pick a protagonist for the season. And whether it’s Mahomes, Rodgers, or a freakishly fast receiver, it’s a way to say: “This person owned Sundays.”

Stafford Wins AP NFL MVP in Tightest Race in Two Decades, Confirms

So, Who’s Your Guy This Year?

I’m asking you, reader. Close your eyes. Picture the current season. Is it a quarterback with a cannon arm? A running back who breaks tackles like they’re wet napkins? Or maybe a defensive end who lives in the backfield? The AP award is coming—and it’s always a surprise, even when it’s predictable.

Here’s what I’ve learned after years of watching: Don’t treat it like a science. Treat it like a heated bar debate with friends. You’ll never agree, and that’s the point. The AP MVP is less about crowning a king and more about forcing us to pay attention. It makes you watch the games a little closer, argue a little harder, and maybe—just maybe—appreciate how bonkers these athletes are.

So next time you see someone win that trophy, don’t just clap. Think about the writer who stayed up until 2 a.m. arguing over the 14th-place vote. Think about the crying fan in the stands. And mostly, think about that bowl of chili I was eating, and how I eventually texted Dave back: “I’m going with the guy who makes football look fun.” Because at the end of the day, isn’t that what value really is?