The big question in March was whether Dorsey had super-secret-surgery on his balky knees. How secret surgery even possible? I can't get a hemorrhoid removed without six referrals and a signed affidavit from the president of my insurance company. But somehow one of the top NFL prospects can sneak in some clandestine arthroscopy between breakfast and The Today Show? Maybe he went to one of those back-alley ACL clinics I've heard so much about.
Even if his knees were held together by bungee cords, Dorsey would still be a first round pick. Football elders subscribe to the Planet Theory: there are only so many huge men with athletic ability on the planet, so you better draft them when they are available. Or to put it another way, elite defensive tackles are as rare as planets. After all, there are only eight planets, nine if you count Pluto, eleven if you count Ceres and Eris, the DE/OLB tweeners of the solar system. No matter how you define it, the theory makes sense. If Jupiter is available in Round 1, it makes sense to ignore the red swirling cloud and draft him, otherwise, you'll be trying to select something out of the Mel Kuiper Belt in the fifth round, and your run defense will suffer.
Dorsey earned a clean bill of health during March workouts, where he ran well, looked "svelte" at 305 pounds (which is like looking demure in a leather miniskirt and stiletto heels), and displayed beautifully unscarred knees. The Chiefs know what they are getting: a run-stuffing interior lineman who can flush the quarterback from the pocket and shut down plays before they start by bursting into the backfield before the center exchange is complete. They need that kind of player: the Chiefs sacked just 37 quarterbacks last year, their best lineman is now in Minnesota, and they've had some bad luck drafting defensive tackles in the last few years (remember Ryan Sims)?