A Toast to Tim Tebow

Answer: He Would Win.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

It is my honor, as a representative of every flag football bro in campus-land, to give this toast to a saint among men, Tim Tebow.

You see, Tim, you epitomize everything that college-aged Bros love in a flag football God role-model. When you wander on to the intramural fields, you don’t see tall, strapping young men hurling 60 yard bombs like their last name is Manning. You don’t see boys with Brady-like manes taking snaps from under center and calling audibles when the cornerback in his bar crawl t-shirt shows blitz.

No, you see Tim Tebows. You see boys who love the game, but can’t throw the ball for shit. You see guys who stare down their receiver, then take off on a QB-keeper when the pass isn’t there. You see poor mechanics mixing with slow reflexes and resulting in victories. You see your own reflection, Tim.

Let’s be honest, Tim. In eight games played this season, you have a 44.8% completion rate. Aaron Rodgers you are not. You throw the ball like you are trying to shot-put it into Heaven. And yet, you win. Inexplicably, you win. Just this week you beat the Chargers while also having one of the worst games ever, logging a QBR of 29.7. 

You are a gamer, Tim. As a starter, you’ve shown that when it really counts, when your back is to the wall, you can get the Ws. Sure, your average first-three-quarter QBR is 17.1 (good enough for DEAD LAST in the league), but your 4th quarter QBR is 81.4. That’s TOP FIVE! Arguably, if you didn’t shit the bed for three quarters, you might not have to pull 4th quarter miracles out of your angelic asshole. But it doesn’t matter, does it? Because you win.

And that is why flag football bros (of the college-age baller and middle-age nostalgia types alike) love you. They chanted for you to get the playing time, hoping you’d bring the raw emotion of your college game to the pros. You cried when your Gators lost the 2009 SEC championship game to Alabama. On national television! When was the last time you saw a career NFL player balling on the sidelines? (Cutler crying after other players gave him shit for bitching out in the NFC championship game does NOT count).

You are a cult phenomenon. You’ve inspired people to randomly get down on one knee and pray in awkward situations. Rabid detractors (and sarcastic asshats) took to the comments on an ESPN article about you to declare YOU < EVERYTHING.

You ball hard, Tim. You run. You score. You win. And for that, Bros everywhere dub you St. Timothy of Tebow, the Patron Saint of Ballin’ Out On E’ry Level.

Amen.

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My Dear Joe

My dearest Joe,

I never thought we would come to this fork in the road. You, with your black shoes and khaki pants, doomed to wander down a long, dark road; filled with lawyers, judges, and juries (OH MY!).  Me, comfortably sitting in Jim Delany’s office, simply waiting for my journey to Indianapolis; soon to be placed in the gracious, loving, and deserving hands of this year’s best collegiate football Big Ten University.  A glorious and easy venture; much unlike yours.

Up until recently, we were supposed to embark on this “golden road” together.

See you, Amos Alonzo Stagg, and myself, we went together like peanut butter and jelly.  Like Buckwheat and Alfalfa.  Like old ladies and curlers.  We were a staple of excellence.  We represented the legends of the past and those still yet to come.  We represented leaders; leaders like we thought you were.  Leaders like we still hope you are.

But in light of the child sex-abuse scandal that has plagued Penn State, we have come to the conclusion to rid ourselves of your name, just as the university you ran, did.

I did not want it to come down to this Joe, I promise you that.  I begged Commissioner Delany to let the hearings play through.  He resisted.  He could not risk the negative light to shine on our already scandalous conference (i.e. Tressel, Jim).  He could not give me to the deserving victor, knowing your name was scarred into my skin.

To most, if we remained together, would be yet another reminder of the insubordination that took place on your watch to the unfortunate victims in this tragedy.  That is not what I am for.  That is not what I came in existence to represent.  You of all people, should understand that.

I know I’m doing this at a very inopportune time.  I know I’m only putting more hyperbolic fuel on the fire.  For that, I apologize.  But like the commissioner said, my namesake is intended to be celebratory and aspirational, not controversial.  So at this moment, it’s more important to focus on the players and the teams that will be competing in the championship game, forcing me to shy away from this tragic happening.  Not that it should be forgotten in anyway, it most definitely deserves its press.  But it does not need to cast a bigger shadow than it already will, during the inaugural Big Ten football championship game.

My dear Joe.  Again, I apologize, but you pushed my hand.  I wish you luck and nothing but wellness down your upcoming road, but I must draw the line.  I must take a stand.  I must leave you to do this on your own.  Away from me.  Away from Penn State.  Away from the Big Ten.  Away from everything you built.  Away from the Legends.  Away from the Leaders.  Away from the Pantheon of Big Ten Icons you were all but destined to lead.  Away from the game you love.

You will always be a leader in every athletic aspect to me.  I only wish you were a little bit more of one, outside the gates of Beaver Stadium.

With all my love,

The now “Stagg Championship Trophy”