Published on Nov. 27, 2019 on SI.com and in Sports Illustrated print issue
Dalvin Cook’s bun peeks out from behind the stainless steel refrigerator door. His dreadlocks are piled on top of his head, held in place with a brown rubber band. On this night, Cook is busy stacking boxes of prepared meals so they fit just so inside his fridge. The small TV mounted on the wall plays the Monday Night Football pregame show. The sun is setting a dramatic blue and orange, and three lit candles are placed throughout the small open kitchen and living room.
Cook is at ease here, barefoot in a white tank top and purple Vikings shorts. Aside from a Pop-a-Shot game against the wall in the living room, his one-bedroom apartment in suburban Minneapolis is sparsely decorated. The only sign of his status is a heavy gold chain around his neck with his jersey number, 33, encrusted in diamonds. Most of his neighbors know that the Vikings star lives in their building, but Cook uses his childhood nickname, “Magic,” as an alias on the call box in the front entry to deflect any attention. Now, he sprawls out on his small black leather couch in time for the Monday night kickoff. He likes to watch other offenses for plays the Vikings run, taking note of how they put their spin on it.
This is the man who once terrified general managers across the NFL. Despite his immense talent, twenty-seven teams passed on Cook in the first round of the 2017 draft, scared off by a list of legal run-ins during his teen years, red flags that obscured any clear view of him. Now, this is his life, a self-described homebody living some 2,000 miles from where he grew up. He is becoming everything the Vikings knew he could be on the field while so far being everything they hoped he would be off of it. As Cook has always insisted, throughout his 2 1/2-year NFL journey: This is who he is.