What the NFL can learn from my Mom

After the first round of the NFL draft, my Mom asked me a seemingly simple question: Why did so many teams pass on Tim Tebow?

I started to fire off a knee jerk response, listing the official Tim Tebow bullet points ESPN pummeled into my skull the past three months -- no experience in a pro style offense, not a polished passer, needs to overhaul his throwing motion -- when I realized the answer was far more complex and begged a far more interesting and fundamental question:

Should so many teams have passed on Tim Tebow?

Tim Tebow is arguably the greatest college football player of all-time. In his four years at the University of Florida, he won two National Championships; won the Heisman Trophy and finished second in the Heisman voting the following year; led the Gators to a 35-6 record as a starter; broke the SEC record for rushing touchdowns and total touchdowns in a season; completed over 67 percent of his passes, including a mind boggling 70.1 percent his senior year; and threw 88 touchdowns and only 15 interceptions. All this, while performing countless circumcisions as a missionary in the Phillipines during the off-season. By all accounts he's a gentleman, a scholar, and as hard a worker and as nice a guy as you'll ever meet. In short he's everything you'd want in your best friend, let alone your NFL Quarterback.

But, you already know that. And, even if you don't, you know the one stat about Tim Tebow that actually counts: He wins football games, lots and lots of football games.

So, what changed? What's so different about the NFL? Why do the supposed smartest minds in the game agree that Tim Tebow's overwhelming success playing football (in college) won't translate to playing football (in the NFL)?

In short, nothing, nothing, and because they're huffing glue.

(I have no evidence that NFL decision makers are actually huffing glue and their lack of confidence in Tim Tebow is more likely the result of a conservative NFL culture that stifles innovation than a consequence of prevalent inhalant abuse, but some decisions certainly make you wonder... (Tyson Alualu? Really, Jacksonville?))

In all fairness, their are a few significant differences between college and pro football. The NFL is a pass-first league, dominated by the Peyton Mannings and Tom Bradys of the world. In college, teams employ vastly different styles, ranging from the pass-wacky I'd-use-my-offensive-linemen-as-receivers-if-the-NCAA-allowed spread offense of June Jones to the run-focused every-time-I-call-a-pass-play-a-part-of-my-soul-dies triple option attack Paul Johnson employs at Georgia Tech. Also, the disparity in talent between teams is far greater in college football than in the NFL. When Tim Tebow took the field for Florida, he was protected by 6' 4", 300-pound monsters named Maurkice (no, really) who physically over-matched opponents in all but two or three games a year. In the NFL, every team team has a Maurkice, not to mention a D'Brickashaw and a Jahri.

But, those aren't reasons; Those are excuses.

Two years ago, people called the spread offense a "gimmick". Then the Patriots employed the "gimmick" to set the NFL record for points in a season and come within one act of God from winning the Super Bowl. Now all NFL teams employ a spread package (On a random note, that's probably the first time in the past three months a sports writer has used the term "employ a spread package" without referencing Tiger Woods). The same thing is happening with the Wildcat and there's no reason it (pick one) can't/won't/shouldn't happen with the Read Option offense Tebow deftly executed at Florida. With very few exceptions (and apologies to Steve Spurrier), if it works in college, it will work in the NFL.

And, yes, Tebow played with vastly superior talent in all except two or three games a year. But, you know what he did in those two or three games? He won them. In his four years at Flordia, Tebow went 14-5 against the Top 25, won two National Championships and three total BCS games. The bigger the stage, the bigger the performance.

But this happens all the time, and not just in football. Players dominate in college, create a legacy of virtuoso performances and, yet, some time between the end of the college season and the draft, general managers find obscure reasons to discount their success. They're too short (Ray Rice); They don't have a defined position (Percy Harvin); Their knees don't have any connective tissue (DeJuan Blair. Ok, at least I can understand why that might be a teeny smidge of an issue in a sport -- basketball -- that requires you to flex your knee tendons approximately 47,000 times a game, but the fact that the second most productive player in all of college basketball and someone who hucked the 7' 2" number two pick in the draft over his shoulder in a judo throw that would have made Bruce Lee weep with pride lasted until the 7th pick of the second round will forever boggle my mind. And no, I am not at all bitter that the Chicago Bulls refrained from using either of their two first round picks to select Blair. Not bitter at all. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go burn my James Johnson jersey.). These are all valid concerns, but, shouldn't we be more concerned with a player who failed to excel at the marginally important, vaguely relevant task of actually playing the game?

This mindset makes even less sense with Quarterbacks. If history has taught us anything about the NFL Draft, it's that drafting a Quarterback is a crap shoot. Despite continued advances in scouting and statistics, selecting an NFL Quarterback is a coin flip at best. Some first round picks fizzle (JaMarcus Russell, come on down!) and some late round picks turn into Hall of Famers (See Brady, Tom). So, if you're going to mortgage the future of your franchise on a single player,wouldn't you put your money on the hardest working, most accomplished player of the past decade?

If you don't know the answer at this point, you can always ask my Mom.

Death of the Heisman

The Heisman is dead.

The once proud pantheon of college football’s greatest honor has degenerated into a two-bit popularity contest and a useless anachronism from a bye-gone era. And it happened right before our eyes.

According to the Heisman trust, the society responsible for maintaining the storied Heisman tradition, the Heisman is awarded to the “most outstanding college football player” each year. In the past, this meant the player who most distinguished themselves as a player, teammate and leader through the course of the college football season.

Take, for example, the statistics from two quarterbacks who featured prominently in the Heisman balloting in 2006.

Total Yards

Total TDs

QB Rating

Record

Conference Standing

Bowl Game

Player A

2746

31

114.7

12-0

1st

National Championship

Player B

5915

63

129.6

10-3

2nd

Hawaii Bowl

Quarterback B had superior numbers in almost every category, shattered numerous NCAA records and led the nations leading offense, but Quarterback A led the number one team in the country to an undefeated season, conference championship and berth in a BCS game. Justifiably, the voters overlooked the statistical differences and awarded the Heisman Trophy to Player B. In fact, I don’t think you’ll find too many people that disagree with the fact that Troy Smith (Player A) deserved the Heisman in 2006 more then up and coming record setter Colt Brennan (Player B). Brennan put up huge numbers, but came up short in the three biggest games of the year (Alabama, Boise State, Oregon State), while Troy Smith efficiently and effectively led the Buckeyes to a spot in the National Championship game.

Now, take a look at the statistics from two quarterbacks who featured prominently in the Heisman balloting in 2007.

Total Yards

Total TDs

QB Rating

Record

Conference Standing

Bowl Game

Player A

4339

46

112.9

12-0

1st

Sugar Bowl

Player B

3970

51

122.9

9-3

4th

Outback Bowl

Look familiar?

Once again, Quarterback B had superior numbers in almost every category, set a number of NCAA records and led the most prolific offense in his conferences history, but Quarterback A lead an undefeated team to the highest national ranking in his schools history and first ever berth in a BCS bowl game.

The Heisman, of course, went to Player A again, right? RIGHT?? RIGHT??!?!?!?!??!??

Sadly, the voters took an about face and awarded the trophy to the flashiest player instead of the most valuable and, dare I say, outstanding player. In so doing, they overlooked the phenomenal impact Colt Brennan (Player A) had on the field, his team and the entire state of Hawaii and awarded football’s highest honor to Tim Tebow (Player B), a player who had a fabulous season and is an excellent leader and role model in his own right, but came up short when his team needed him the most.

In Florida’s nine wins this season, Tebow averaged 4.7 touchdowns and 359 yards of total offense.
In Florida’s three losses this season, Tebow average 2.6 touchdowns and 246 yards of total offense

Contrast that to Colt Brennan, who in the first 10 games of the season (based on the 7 full games in which he participated) completed 69% of his passes for an average of 462 yards, 5 touchdowns and 1.7 interceptions.

In the two biggest games of the year, with a Conference championship and trip to the Sugar Bowl on the line Colt completed an otherworldly 80% of this passes for an average of 468 yards, 5.5 touchdowns and 1 interception.

I do not mean to take anything away from Tim Tebow, who set a new precedent for offensive success in the SEC against much stiffer competition then what Colt and the Warriors faced, but when the spotlight was at it’s brightest and the games mattered the most, Colt was at his best and Tim Tebow was not. I’m not sure I can put it in any simpler terms.

Most years, I would have accepted Colt’s Heisman snub. I would taken solace in the win over Boise State, the first outright WAC championship and the still-not-sure-I-believe-it Sugar Bowl bid. But, as I sat at home watching the Heisman trophy presentation, ESPN commentator Chris Fowler said something that set me off. While introducing Tim Tebow he said he didn’t think that anyone in the country had nearly as profound effect on a football team and an entire state as Tebow did. That made me apoplectic. (Well, more like incredulous, but I REALLY wanted to see if I could sneak ‘apoplectic’ into a posting somehow. Mission Accomplished.)

Where was Chris Fowler when Colt gave his tearful admission that he was returning for his senior season at Hawaii because, according to him, “I like the person I’m becoming here.”?

Where was Chris Fowler when Colt was taking Samoan classes so he could communicate with his linemen, growing dreads to fit it with his wide receivers or dyeing the Hawaiian island chain into his hair to endear himself to an entire state?

Where was Chris Fowler when Colt went down with a concussion against Fresno State, sucking the life out of both the team and the 47,000 fans in attendance?

Where was Chris Fowler when Colt was enthusiastically cheering on the team from the sidelines during the Nevada game even though he couldn’t play?

Where was Chris Fowler when the entire state of Hawaii lost the ability to start a conversation without talking about the Warriors?

I am ready, albeit grudgingly, to concede that a few players had better statistical years then Colt Brennan. But I can not believe that anyone would claim that a college football player had a bigger impact, through a combination of leadership and on-field performance, then Colt Brennan. It’s simply not true.

Maybe I’m old fashioned, or perhaps, just late to the party on the Heisman front. Maybe the transition of the Heisman from a revered symbol of the best college football has to offer to a popularity contest between quarterbacks and running backs from top 10 teams has been underway for a while and I never realized it. But I can’t help shake the feeling that the Heisman lost some of it’s luster this past week.

Perhaps, if they make a remake of Planet of the Apes in 50 years, Charlton Heston’s character will be walking along the beach at the end of the movie and see the Heisman trophy lying in the sand instead of the Statue of Liberty. Only, instead of shouting to the heavens, he’ll just shake his head and say, ”maybe it’s for the best…”