Note: The Super Bowl may be over, but the NFL Draft is coming on fast — it’ll be here just past the blip of the start of baseball’s Spring Training. At said draft, we shall stalk the Denver Broncos, and analyze their picks. This will reveal their 2012 plans: will they back Tebow, or draft in another direction.
This post is excerpted from the Kindle eBook, Tebow: Throwing Stones, available here.
When Tim Tebow was still in college — and, oddly, he seemed even then unnaturally able to grow and maintain the scruffy dark beard, much better than we recall ours to have been, lo’ these 25+ years ago — we didn’t like him very much.
First, he was in Florida. We won’t say that only two things come from Florida (that’s Texas), but only four or five do, and all of them bite: big alligators, bigger mosquitos, Cheshire feline grin real estate developers, Cuban women … and the SEC football fans. And, as Trojan fans we’d be rooting for Florida only when they play UCLA.
Second, he kept, you know … winning. We hate that, and we’re sure you do, too. People hate it when we don’t win, but people hate it more when some other dude does.
- Even when we’re not in the game …
- And will never come within 12 million miles of the game let alone winning ..
- And moreover the years have not been kind to us …
- And there is no way in hell we’ll ever be in anything like it
- (Barring Faustian haggles, and excluding Thanksgiving pick-up games, let’s say) …
We hate it.
Finally, Tebow — and this killed us more than any of it — was unfailingly, unalterably, and oso dang annoyingly nice about all that … winning. A balletic locomotive off the rails on field, this kid was kind and gracious to his opponents as soon as the whistle blew, or the gun went off. And it wasn’t because he was winning, even though, as we may have mentioned, he was.
OK, he was more than a bit cocky. We know. We have had a teenaged son; hell — we have been one. He was in our faces even when we had refused to watch, refused even to watch and pretend we weren’t.
But even then, not overly so … ya know? I mean, grant that all men — all men — think they can flat out take you and what army, and then factor in the “especially a’tween ages 12 and 22” part … and really he wasn’t that bad.
He has been in many minds the poster child for whatever ails our souls — if we hate Christians he focuses our ire. If we’re not fond of ever being reminded of where we fall short of even man’s glory let alone God’s — Timmy takes the brunt of our snottiness.
Memo: he doesn’t actually know, and he doesn’t actually care, except that he cares deeply — more on that later — and he’s probably praying for you, perhaps even right now. And that is going to piss you off even more, if you’re already so inclined.
But here’s the worst of it: he wouldn’t play the game.
Not that he couldn’t play the game (also an accusation leveled) but he wouldn’t play the game: the one where if you’re good you have to get arrested or trash talk the other guy/team/etc. (not the same thing as cockiness, by the way).
Nope he refused. He was nice.
So to sum up:
- He was not from around here.
- He was way better than us.
- He was jovial about it.
As the saying goes … get a rope.
Is there anything more maddening to mediocre men than a guy from out of town beating us, buying the beer, and praying before the pizza … smiling all the while?
Yeah, we don’t think so either.
[Hey … who you callin’ mediocre?]