Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Rex Complex

People often chalk up Rex Grossman's poor quarterbacking moments to being a bad athlete, but that's really not the case. To the careful observer, it is obvious that Rex Grossman's quarterbacking problems are largely mental. When his mind is uncluttered, he looks like a really sharp, borderline Pro-Bowl quarterback. But when troubles invade his inner sanctum, shit hits the fan.

This aspect of Grossman's game is rarely reported on, however, because sports reporters have a hard time understanding complex psychologies. When they do write about them, it generally just comes out as a giant lump of shapeless drivel. Peruse your way through David Haugh's archives for examples. When he sticks to football, he's alright, but as soon as he tries to comment upon the vast uncertainties of the human mind, it's like reading the pathetic attempts at self-expression of a lobotomy victim. Poor guy.

Fortunately, I am on my way to becoming a professional Creative Writer, which means that I am capable of understanding and describing the stream of a person's consciousness. After extensive imaginary conversations with Mr. Grossman, I am now able to present a generalized description of his thoughts during the game last night. We pick up just after Grossman has demonstrated his newfound ability to step up in the pocket and "scramble," resulting a beautiful 28-yard pass to Bernard Berrian:

"Man, that throw was totally sweet! That must have looked like a vintage Favre throw! Or Dan Marino! I bet this is how Dan Marino must have felt all the time. Oh, wow. Exhilerating! I have finally arrived, you know! My shit is going on! I bet everyone watching this is totally jealous of how great I look out here right now. I should just go ahead and draft myself on my fantasy team this year. I bet I'm gonna go so low that I'll just be an insane deal for anyone who gets me. This'll be great! Oh, man, I wanna do that again! Come on pass rush! Try and take me! Oh, I wanna just fuckin whip this rock into somebody's chest! I wanna make their heart hurt! I wanna shove it right in--what the?! OH SHIT! Dude just knocked the ball out of my hands!!! Fall on it! Fall on it! Got it! Huh.... Dammit... That sucked. Ugh... Come on... shake it off... It's okay... Alright. Just, you know, focus on the next play. Okay... Wow. I just fumbled. Shitty. But, I mean, it's not like it matters. It's preseason... Hm... Wait, yeah, that's right. It doesn't matter. I mean, I whipped that ball twenty-eight yards, and it felt great, and now I fumbled, and it feels terrible... but... both plays... I mean... both plays just... god... I mean, both plays matter exactly the same amount... Why am I even out here? Fucky... It's just all so goddamn pointless. Ha! I could do literally anything out here, and it wouldn't matter at all! I mean, I could throw an interception from my own 14-yard line! Like that! Here, Mr. Colts, take the ball! Hahaha! Oooooh, an interception! Now everyone's gonna be all, "Bad Rex is back!" Ha! Fuck. Those. Tards. It's preseason, right? Hey? God, I don't even want to be here. Seriously. It's bad enough that most things I do in real life don't matter. I mean, I've read The Stranger just like the President, I know that you could go and kill an Arab on a beach for no reason and it really wouldn't matter... It's just all so pointless... everything... Which, when you think about it, I mean... Wow, I've never realized it before, but that's why I love football so much! It creates this tiny little world where stuff actually matters, y'know? When I'm playing football, it's easy to see the actual, tangible, meaningful consequences of my actions! All the rules are consistent! It's like this oasis of meaning and sanity in an absurd, meaningless world... But, now, here I am, out on the field... The football field, where I should be safe from meaninglessness, where ennui can't get to me, but... it's fucking preseason... and nothing matters... Augh! They've robbed me of my only sanctuary! You miserable fucking shitting bastards! This is so meaningless that I could just drop the snap, like this, hahahahahahaha, Whoop! There it is! On the ground! AND IT DOESN'T GODDAMN MATTER! How 'bout I just do it again! There you go! Good-bye ball! On the ground! Whoop de do! Flurple flopple! Oh... Jesus H... I need some Jack in me... well, at least I'm getting paid, right? God.. I just wanna get out of here. Maybe if I just take the ball into the end zone myself they'll let me not have to stand out here through this worthless shit anymore..."

All of which means that as long as Grossman manages to cling to the meaning-bubble created by a regular season football game, we Bears fans should be fine. But I hope new Quarterbacks coach Pep Hamilton keeps Grossman away from the French literature, for goodness sakes.

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