Backup quarterbacks are a hot commodity. They’re the Italian mixed meatloaf at the linoleum coliseum that is the middle school cafeteria.
Matt Cassell was compensated $62.7 million for his superior clipboard holding skills. Kevin Kolb is getting $63 million, $30 million in guaranteed money. He’s worth more than the Liberty bell, which coincidently has been struck more times than Kolb himself in the vicious game of football.
When a backup falls asleep in a meeting the quarterback coach gentle covers them with a blanket as if not to wake them. Veterans don’t haze backups; they would feel bad for taping these little guys to the goalposts.
So what is the allure of the decoy-play caller? The clipboard concierge? The human-softballing juggs machine? The bench barista? The headset hunk? The stout scout?
They are in constant queue, but are never tall enough to ride the roller coaster.
Everyone loves them. If the team is winning they might as well apply to become the centerpiece in the lost art of male-cheerleading, but if the team is losing then they are Joe Namath with more charisma, a more studious Peyton Manning, throwing a better ball than Tom Brady and like Jay Cutler, only with better hair.
They aren’t the fish you caught; they are the fish you tell your friends you caught.
Second string quarterbacks are necessary, and they are vital to a team’s success. But lets not let them steal the big piece of cake at the metaphorical birthday party; they should be able to blow out the candles first.
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