Understanding why so many football fans believe that their team would be better if another guy were throwing the passes
Every week, our panel of sports fans discusses a topic of the moment. For today's conversation, Patrick Hruby (writer, ESPN and The Atlantic), Jake Simpson (writer, The Atlantic), Emma Carmichael (writer, Deadspin), and Hampton Stevens (writer, ESPN and The Atlantic), talk about the American obsession with second-string QBs.
When our Founding Fathers settled on an inefficient, ungainly, checked n' balanced system of semi-representative republican government—as opposed to one-man, one-vote direct democracy and/or the Don't Tax Me, Bro! referendum model favored by California—they did so for one very good reason.
The public—you know, We the People and such—has downright dubious taste.
Consider our cultural obsession with postgame coach handshake etiquette. And zombies. And—yes, I really am going somewhere with this—pro football's answer to an undead daywalker who spends his working hours shambling along the sidelines.
Backup quarterbacks, of thee we sing.
Too much, I think.
In many NFL cities, the most popular player is the dude on the sidelines making hand signals, wearing a pristine jersey and an un-bent ballcap, the guy who has yet to throw a drive-killing, soul-destroying interception, or answer to the formal title "Mr. Grossman," a man who offers more hope and change than a Shepard Fairey presidential campaign poster. Christian Ponder replaces Donovan McNabb; John Beck replaces Rex Grossman; the Oakland Raiders acquire Carson Palmer; Tim Tebow riseth; in each and every case, football fans get as hot and bothered as probable Republican primary voters considering somebody—anybody—who isn't Mitt Romney.