Dr. Comeback, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Tim Tebow

DISCLAIMER: This entry is about sports. While this might be a turn-off to some, or essential reading to others, please don't go. There's plenty to be gained from these 3,000 words or so, both in regards to sports and with a great deal to comment upon the Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything. (Which is still 42, but did you know that 42 is the number worn by Jackie Robinson, the man credited with breaking the color barrier in major league baseball? I mean, the suffering he went through was something terrible, it ended his career prematurely because no one is really built to deal with straight hatred and direct, unveiled racism for any lengthy period of time, and even his teammates took a good deal of time to come around to him. On the other side, he played terrifically for most of his career, the Rookie of the Year Award is named after him, and his contributions are not only to baseball, but to civil rights in America and to modern popular culture. Yeah, if Jackie Robinson is the Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything, I feel that Douglas Adams was on to something when 42 became the meaning to life. Ya know?)

With that said, let's begin.

On the most recent Any Given Sunday, where anything can happen within the great, glorious world of the National Football League (Or the No Fun League if you're a cynic), I had the pleasure of watching a line-up of football games from my laptop. Which, if you're really bored, is the internet equivalent of watching grass grow. To paint an accurate picture, let me describe how the NFL keeps updates on its games on its website. first, you have a computer representation of a football field. As the game progresses, the same counters and graphics that you see on televised games are played out above this field, but actual plays are represented by lines pointing in the direction that the play is moving. Big plays have big lines. Plays for loss have lines going in the opposite direction. Text pop ups describe what these lines mean. When a touchdown is scored, the screen freezes for about two minutes while the graphics are updated, and after that delay, the screen reads out touchdown. This is followed by about five minutes of frozen screen, broken only by the extra point being made (or missed, if you're terrible. Or Shane Graham (Bengals joke here)). Repeat until end of game.

As one might think, this sucks. I agree. It sucks. A lot. With that being said, cable is expensive. This is free. I will take this, if only because the occasional highlight footage of the big plays is uploaded rather quickly, so I can be my own personal Sportscenter Top 10 in the making. (What is Sportscenter, you might ask? It's a show based around the idea that stay-at-home dads are so emasculated that they must continually watch sports news all day long. The main drawback to this concept is that much of the news is based around the games themselves, which happen in small clusters of time, making for very interesting Monday editions of Sportscenter, and very dull Thursdays, where HGTV actually sounds more interesting. And people wonder why I don't want cable.)

To get to my point a little big quicker, on this particular Sunday, I ended up "watching" the last 20 minutes of the Broncos-Bears game played in Denver. For those of you who have been living under a rock (or in Green Bay), the current story du jour of the NFL is how Tim Tebow, that swell youngster from the University of Florida, has risen out of nowhere to lead the Broncos to a (before Sunday) 6-1 record in games that he is starting. This after the Broncos had resembled the NFL equivalent of evolutionary pond moss in terms of their excitement level, and their ability to move the ball down-field to score.

Tim Tebow - Man, Christian, Gator. Or Bronco.

Tebow is a controversial figure because he is very outspoken about his Christian beliefs, he doesn't seem to have the underlying rage/hypocrisy/selfish motivations that drive most professional athletes playing in the NFL today, and he appears to be winning football games even though (at this moment in life), he seems to have absolutely no idea of how to throw a football to an open receiver for the majority of the game. He has an unorthodox throwing motion, which translates to instead of looking like he is throwing a football in the classical sense, he rather looks like he is trying to hurl away the rabid wolverine that is gnawing on his left hand. At times, it's as though his mother hated the potted plant that he gifted her for Mother's Day, and he is trying to hurl it away in anger/sadness/a one handed attempt at setting the potted germanium long toss record. Much of this hatred comes from playing under the on-high leadership of John Elway, the Broncos president and ex-Broncos quarterback. Mr. Elway, a Hall of Famer, is not only possibly the greatest Broncos player ever, but is regularly mentioned among discussions of Top 10 quarterbacks of all time, and is a living legend in Denver. That's hard to follow up. Three consecutive quarterbacks in Denver have been destroyed because they weren't John Elway, and Messers. Griese, Plummer, and Orton all probably have emotional scars dating back to their Bronco days and their inability to overcome their lack of Elway-ness. Tebow theoretically should continue the string, especially when he seems to have the talent of a gecko.

"I'm sorry mom, next time I'll send roses."

All of this is thrown out the window in the last few minutes of the games that Tebow has played in however. In this strange "Twilight Zone" of football, Tebow has led the Broncos back from several deficits to stun teams that had previously thought they were well on their way to an easy victory. He does it by running the football. He does it by throwing. He does it by letting the Broncos #1 ranked rushing attack batter opposition defenses into smithereens, exhausting them by the last 5 minutes of the game, and thus making a comeback easier to come by. (There's multiple sources to credit for the Broncos recent success, including their head coach John Fox scripting game plans so as to better suit the abilities of Tebow, their defense tenaciously keeping their opposition from blowing the game out of the water, rookie Von Miller apparently believing EVERY quarterback in the league said something about his mother/desiring to eat the heart of every quarterback in the league, John Elway's handling of the franchise as their president, rebuilding the Broncos into a powerhouse for years to come, but really, it's more fun to talk about Tim Tebow. I mean, look at Von Miller.)

"Nobody talks like that about Mrs. Miller. NOBODY."

Anyways, this Sunday, I was enjoying my lines on my laptop telling me a little more about the Broncos-Bears game. At the same time, I was conversing with one of my friends who happens to be a rabid Broncos fan, and who has been enjoying the recent run of Broncos good fortune. I would like to typify my friend as an intelligent person, not given to overt hyperbole regarding his teams, who is not a homer (overly praising his team in the face of all logic/aka Browns fans), and who is able to appreciate when another team has won a moral victory/actual victory/hypothetical victory. As a fan, though, given the very definition of the word 'fanatic', he is often given to mood swings given the play of the team. With all of that said, when I joined him in conversation on Sunday, the Broncos were losing 10-0 with 5 minutes left to play.

It is important to note here that of the Broncos recent 6-1 record, many of their wins were come from behind affairs. (ex. Broncos wins over Miami, San Diego, New York Jets, and Minnesota) While exciting, such wins are not always common, unless you're a fan of the TV show "Friday Night Lights", or really any movie about football. (Hey, the best drama comes from last minute wins. Nobody goes to see a movie where the lovable losers are blowing out their competition 45-3 by halftime. This is why your Madden football team is boring to watch. No drama if there's no chance of losing.) Tebow and the Broncos, however, almost seem to be playing from the same script week in and week out, winning close in the last minutes of every game. Part of this is due to Tebow's aforementioned struggles, as well as the overall game plan: wear them down for 50 minutes, then go bananas on their exhausted 300 pound linemen. (That's B-A-N-A-N-A-S for those with spelling problems.) What also seems to help here is that Tebow excels in clutch situations, where every decision has to be correct and he must lead his team methodically down the field.

(Two potential conclusions to draw from that. One: Tebow is so used to winning that he knows exactly what it must require to win football games. Therefore, he's clutch. He's like Derek Jeter, one of the more clutch baseball players ever to play the game, and chronically used to winning. Also like Derek Jeter, he's good for a .300 batting average every year, although in Tebow's case, it's a .300 completion percentage. This just in: missing 7 out of 10 throws to people who are ACTIVELY TRYING TO CATCH THE FOOTBALL is worse than missing 7 out of 10 pitches made by someone who is ACTIVELY TRYING TO NOT LET YOU HIT THE SMALL BASEBALL TRAVELING AT 95 MILES PER HOUR. Two: Tebow is a giant procrastinator, who puts off showing up to football games until the last possible minute, at which point he must cram in everything that he failed to do during the rest of the football game, i.e. his job. Case in point: Tebow's stats in the first three quarters of the game: 3 of 16, 45 yards, 1 interception; 4th Quarter and Overtime: 18 of 24, 191 yards, 1 touchdown. I used to get in trouble for procrastinating. Tebow gets interviews on national TV. FML.)

Much is also made of Tebow praying for a win, or Tebowing to God, praying that a field goal will go in, or they will have the chance to win, etc. While it's not my place to suggest when appropriate times to pray are, and since most of the NFL acknowledges praying before/after games/big moments, this is fine. More attention is focused on Tebow in these moments because of his high profile as a Christian athlete, and for the nature of the Broncos current winning streak. I will say, however, in a quote from Gregg Easterbrook, that "God does not care who wins football games. If he/she/it does, then we're in a lot more trouble than we think."

Back to my friend, who I will refer to throughout here as "the Ginger." Our conversation began with him down in the dumps, certain of the Broncos inevitable defeat despite the fact that the Bears had the offensive consistency of Jell-O and Tebow, much like James Bond, performs best when under pressure at the climax of the main event. Consequently, the ensuing events of the game seemed to take him by surprise, leading to joyful cries and stressed-out moments of sheer frustration. (Ex: The Ginger - "PUNTING?!?!?!?!?!?!?!" "OK, I am full of stupid, stupid hope" "fuck" "Holy balls. Holy, holy balls" (Probably not good to call Tebow out, but ya know, you do what you gotta.) "HOLYMUTHAFUCKINBALLZ" (OK, well that's just not true.) "I don't know what's going on") As the game progressed, it seems that the Bears did just as much to give the game away as to let Tebow win, and thus, this win might speak more to the futility of the Bears than to the successes of the Broncos, but that's a story for another time. (Or Sportscenter, which last I checked STILL had Tebow as it's main feature on Tuesday.)

Ultimately, the game ended in overtime with a long Broncos field goal for the win. Tebow's record pushed to 7-1, Broncos probably making the playoffs after everybody ruling them out for the year, the Ginger happy as a clam. Let the Tebow love shine throughout. Let Two quotes specifically sum up both our conversation and the entire phenomenon of Tebow winning games as a quarterback; this, coming at the 4:45 mark before Tebow began playing competently: "Fuck being a fan, man. Why do we watch this shit?", which was answered at the end of the game with "Oh yeah, this is why I watch sports. Thank you, universe, for answering that question so quickly."

God to the Ginger: "YOU'RE WELCOME."

As Tebow coasts to yet another win, another incident in sports reminds us of the frailty of life, and reminds us of the eternal lesson that it doesn't really matter what others say about you so long as you're paid millions of dollars. (Well, in this case, that actually doesn't apply, although I'm sure millions of dollars is very nice.)

Ron Santo was a third baseman for the Cubs from 1960 to 1973, playing alongside such Hall of Fame players as Ernie Banks and Billy Williams. Retiring after 1974, his final numbers included over 300 home runs, 1100 runs scored, 1300 runs batted in, 9 All Star selections, 5 Gold Glove awards for fielding excellence, and 35 stolen bases (OK, not the greatest, but hey, he didn't just sit there on the base paths, did he? How many stolen bases does Tebow have? NONE, BECAUSE STEALING IS WRONG.) He became a beloved icon in Chicago in the years after, working as a broadcaster for the Chicago Cubs. All of this despite being diagnosed early in his career with diabetes, which in the 2000's would eventually claim both of his legs and ultimately his life. All in all, he was one of the 10 greatest 3rd basemen of all time, and was a baseball icon.

Despite all of this, he was always regarded as a "marginal candidate", and in 15 years of elections by the Baseball Writers Association of America, he was continually turned down in Hall of Fame voting.

With regards to sporting Hall of Fame's, baseball has the pickiest, the most hallowed, and the hardest to get in if you're a "marginal candidate." At least, on the writer's ballot, where you can be listed for 15 years before being removed. After that, there was a group called the Veteran's Committee that would elect older players, or players who had been passed over by the writers in initial voting. This group was reformed after voting Bill Mazeroski, on the basis of hitting one of the greatest home runs in World Series history, and for being a "snazzy snazzy gloveman". (Justifiable? Maybe. We'll get to that. This is the exposition.) Subsequent committees continued to turn down Ron Santo for the Hall of Fame, although the percentages dwindled each year. Throughout the 2000's, there would come a vote every two to three years, and continually, Santo would miss election by the slimmest of margins.

Let's break that down. Santo was eligible for election to the Hall of Fame for 30 years. During that time, he missed election EVERY SINGLE TIME. (Imagine you're a high school student applying for Harvard every year. You have a 3.8 GPA. You've done plenty of community service. Hell, you were in National Honor Society. You were 5th in your class. You'd think you'd done a good job right? Wrong. Not good enough for Hah-vahd. Now imagine applying for the next 30 years, because it's the college you've been dreaming of, and there's nothing else to do. Sure, other colleges might elect to accept you, local colleges, your home town colleges, but there's still the dream of the Crimson, joining Skull and Bones, going to Harvard. Continued rejection. Sucks, don't it?)

Ron Santo died on December 3rd, 2010.

367 days later, he was elected to the Hall of Fame, something he'd dreamed of and wanted more than most other things in life.

The question that arises to me is simple: how is a person not a Hall of Famer for 30 years, only to become one overnight?

Let me be clear: I believe Ron Santo is a Hall of Famer. I believe he always has been. I don't think there's any doubting that statement. He is a Hall of Famer.

But how is it that he can only be recognized as a Hall of Famer after 31 years? What changed? What were the differences? In this particular case, the Veterans Committee was reformed to consist of players who were playing during Ron Santo's era, as well as past executives and baseball alumni who were around during what is called "The Golden Age". (Billy Williams is on the committee, by the way. It might seem that this committee was formed to actually elect Ron Santo, but I honestly believe that's not true. Even though he was the only one elected by the committee.)

The news of his acceptance to the Hall of Fame was passed along to his widow by Billy Williams. Filled with class, she expressed only happiness for her deceased husband rather than bitterness that Santo had not been elected while he was still alive, and the honor would have meant all the more to him. In the 30 years that Santo waited for election, nothing changed about his statistics or his playing record. If anything, he became even more of a fixture of Chicago Cubs baseball and Chicago culture, beloved among legions of fans. When news of his election became public, it was a big deal. However, his fans aren't stupid, and they recognize exactly how hollow an honor it is to give someone an honor that would have meant far more to them if they were alive.

This is different from other such awards, such as Heath Ledger posthumously receiving an Oscar for his performance in "The Dark Knight". While it might be viewed as a reward for his entire body of work, he passed away in the prime of his youth, having just contributed a stellar performance as an iconic character in one of the better films of the year. The award was as much for the movie as it was for his past films, and for his films never to be made. As far as we know, Heath Ledger may have wanted to win an Oscar very badly, but awards of that nature are intended to honor specific achievements, and while receiving an Oscar might justify an entire body of work, the honor is more intended to reward one particular moment of your career. (Case in point, Three 6 Mafia have an Academy Award. This award is not in recognition of their entire career. Rather, it honors a song that was indeed far better than the other drivel put up on stage that year.)

Ron Santo's honor should represent the pinnacle of his career, and while it is better late than never, I ask you what is the difference between Santo before this year and after this year. Nothing has changed in his stats. Nothing has changed in what he has contributed to the sport of baseball. The only thing that happened was that he died before he could see himself achieve what would be the highlight of his professional career.

In this regards, maybe we need Tim Tebow to vote on the Veterans Committee, if only to deliver for guys like Ron Santo in the clutch.

(POSTSCRIPT #1: I have discovered how to add images to my blog entries. Granted, this might seem like a simple achievement, but I tend to not notice those things as well as others might. Consequently, more pictures from now on. You're welcome, Earth.)

(POSTSCRIPT #2: There was initially going to be a segment here about Ryan Braun testing positive for steroids and the death of our idols. However, I got overly caught up in blogging about Tebow, which took up more room than I figured it would. In addition, I had been sitting on my thoughts about Santo for a good while, and didn't want to shortchange the guy any more than I already have. So here's Ryan Braun in 20 words or less: Steroids bad. Heroes take steroids in baseball, death sentence. Football, slap on wrist. Justice? I think not. Unfair standards. Boo.)