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QBs vs. haters in digital duels

The latest tempest in a teapot comes courtesy of Washington Redskins’ quarterback Robert Griffin III and his San Francisco 49ers’ counterpart Colin Kaepernick, who recently took on critical fans via Instagram and Twitter respectively.

In RG’s case, he was jamming to Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” on Instagram when a fan called him out for not acting like a quarterback. 

Colin meanwhile tweeted a litany of “recovery day” activities – 1,000 abs, arm workout, 10 minutes straight on the jump rope, a two-hour study session. To which fan Stephen Batten replied, “ab workout won’t help find open receiver.” Which in turn led to a verbal pummeling from Colin that ended with “get better at life.”

My first reaction was, Why bother? Why bother to respond? In a 35-year career as a journalist, I’ve been praised and vilified, even threatened.  Rarely have I responded, preferring instead to follow the dictum of my favorite British prime minister, Benjamin Disraeli: “Never complain, never explain.”

And yet, I can understand. The fluidity and anonymity of the Internet are such that people respond with immediate, unfiltered vehemence. You’re punched, you counterpunch.

I think, however, this is about more than the culture of hatred bred by the web. It’s about our expectations of the quarterback, perhaps the most traditionally masculine occupation in the United States – expectations that weigh heavily on the gay, biracial quarterback at the heart of my upcoming novel “The Penalty for Holding.” ...

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A-Rod, Ray Rice and the game of ‘Who’s Sorry Now?’

Cue Connie Francis. In this “the winter of our discontent” – the season of 90-inch snowfalls, Southern ice, broken water pipes and equally shattered hearts – the lament of the woman with the catch in her voice and a torch-song life to match would seem most appropriate.

Really, it’s as if we’re all stuck in “Dr. Zhivago” – without Omar Sharif.

In this “region of ice” – thank you, Joyce Carol Oates – everyone is sorry. Ray Rice is sorry for cold-cocking his then wife-to-be, Janay Palmer, issuing an apology almost a year to the date of his Valentine’s Day (image) Massacre.  (Could the holiday of hearts have been the inspiration?)

Hot on Ra-Ri’s Achilles heels comes A-Rod and his handwritten apology for steroid abuse and – the thing that always does you in more than the transgression itself – lying about it.

And speaking of lying, opprobrium and ridicule continue to snow down on disgraced anchorman Brian Williams for aggrandizing his role in the Iraq War – although Jerry Seinfeld’s line on the SNL 40th anniversary show about Williams being part of the original “Saturday Night Live” cast was one of the subtler digs. The irony is that the talk show-minded Williams probably counted as friends many of the people now making fun at his expense. Ouch.

Let’s just say Williams should be glad that he’s not A-Rod. The disdain heaped on him by The New York Times’ columnist Tyler Kepner is typical of the way in which the once and apparently future New York Yankee is now viewed. There are two schools of thought on this. One says that justice is justice and compassion, like patience, has its limits, particularly as said limited patience is often accompanied by the sneaking suspicion that the contrite are not all that contrite but actually seeking something less noble than the epic redemption found in Joseph Conrad’s “Lord Jim,” say like a return to the Yanks or the NFL. (It reminds you of the moment in “Gone With the Wind” in which Rhett Butler tells Scarlett O’Hara that she’s like the thief who isn’t sorry for what he’s done but is awfully sorry he got caught.) ...

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SI’s swimsuit issue and the power of (the male) sex

Picked up my first-ever copy of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue, which I bought for one reason and one reason alone – an image of a man.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I have to write about Greenwich actress Kelly Rohrbach, one of the featured “rookie” models, in my guise as editor of WAG magazine. But mainly I bought the Swimsuit issue for the two-page Levi’s spread featuring San Francisco 49ers ‘quarterback Colin Kaepernick, his teammate Vernon Davis and model Samantha Hoopes. (The Niners play in Levi’s Stadium.)  

The ad campaign is about the most wholesome thing in the mag, which veers now and again into Playboy territory. The cover in particular has the media once again wringing their hands over whether or not SI went too far with a depiction of Hannah Davis in an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, not-yellow-polka-dot bikini, the bottom of which she has pulled down to the top of her pubic region. This is a popular new trend in posing models – having them hook their thumb or thumbs in one or both sides of the pants or skirt to hint at the treasures and pleasures beneath. Colin does it on the cover of the fall/winter issue of VMan magazine. And a young woman holding a basketball does it in the Feb. 15 edition of T, The New York Times Style Magazine. ...

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Pete Carroll, Brian Williams and why smart people do dumb things

Well, last week was an extraordinary one for stupid career moves, wasn’t it?

It began with the Seattle Seahawks snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. All quarterback Russell Wilson had to do was hand the ball to running back Marshawn “I’m here so I don’t get fined” Lynch, kick him in the butt, pushing him into the end zone, and yell, “Oops, touchdown!” But no, no, that wasn’t good enough for Coach Pete Carroll and company. Hey, Niners’ fan here: I’m delighted the Hawks lost. The only thing that would’ve made me happier was if the New England Patriots had lost as well. Still, I’m a greater fan of intelligence, and if you’re one of those, it was a depressing moment.

More disappointment, however, was to come at the end of the week with the discovery for many of us that NBC anchor Brian Williams had aggrandized the danger he faced when reporting on the Iraq War. Yeah, ’cause there’s no video trail for that, right? ...

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The Seahawks’ karmic comeuppance

Wow, karma’s a bitch, ain’t it?

The Seattle Seahawks – whose vaunted defense has been the graveyard of rival quarterbacks – lost Super Bowl XLIX 28-24 when their own preternaturally poised quarterback, Russell Wilson, was intercepted, at the one-yard line no less.

As was pointed out a zillion times by the experts, the Hawks could’ve handed off the ball to Marshawn Lynch (the guy who won’t talk to the press and grabs his crouch after scoring a touchdown). Indeed, they seemed on the brink of back-to-back SB titles after experiencing a sort of miraculous catch of David Tyree proportions. ...

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‘Dare to be different’: Thomas Davis challenges NFL

The night before the Super Bowl is traditionally reserved for the “NFL Honors,” a combination of the Academy Awards and a glorified high school assembly program.

It’s easy to make fun of the show. The clothes. You would think with all that money, these guys would have their suits custom-made. But no, instead we get jackets that are definitely too tight across generous butts and suits that might be appropriate for a Rotary Club meeting but not for a televised awards show. Among the exceptions – the legendary running back Emmitt Smith, looking snazzy in a purple suit, and San Francisco 49ers’ quarterback Colin Kaepernick, James Bond-sleek in a tux. Perhaps he could offer some fashion tips to Defensive Player of the Year, J.J. Watt. J.J., the 1970s called: They want that plaid jacket back.

Then there was the actress who kept pronouncing “OFfense” “offense.” And the less-than-poker faces. Football players aren’t actors. They don’t hide their disappointment when they lose an award. Even the poised Green Bay Packers’ quarterback Aaron Rodgers looked less than pleased when Seth Meyers, the show’s somewhat tame host, poked fun at the Packers’ collapse against the Seattle Seahawks in the N.F.C. Championship game. ...

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The QB: alone at the top of the world

Much of the hoopla surrounding Super Duper Bowl weekend revolves around the two opposing quarterbacks – one of whom, the New England Patriots’ Tom Brady, is trying to perpetuate a dynasty; the other of whom, the Seattle Seahawks’ Russell Wilson, is trying to start one.

Both are featured in the superb new coffee-table book, “Sports Illustrated NFL QB: The Greatest Position in Sports” ($29.95), a tome you’ll want to tackle again and again.  It’s one I particularly love poring over as I prepare my novel about a gay, biracial quarterback’s quest for acceptance in the NFL, “The Penalty for Holding.”

“NFL QB” takes you down to the field and past the locker room into the mind, body, heart and soul of the quarterback, who more than any other player on the world stage represents the quintessence of masculinity. Walter Iooss Jr.’s double-page photograph of New York Jet Joe Namath – shirtless and hirsute, casting an appreciative leer at two ladies of a certain vintage as he sits on the beach surrounded by equally admiring males – says everything you need to know about the QB:  He’s the big man on the campus of life.

But being special cuts both way, and both Tim Layden’s introduction and former Cincinnati Bengals’ QB Boomer Esiason’s foreword do much to capture the aloneness, pain and vomit-inducing terror of a job on which cities as well as teams rise and fall.

As in Sports Illustrated itself – from which most of the words and images were taken – the words and images here serve as a counterpoint as they chart the course from the blocker of the single-wing formation to the QB taking the snap from center in the T formation; from the pocket passer (Brady, Peyton Manning) to the running QB (Wilson, Colin Kaepernick, Cam Newton, Robert Griffin III); and, perhaps most important of all, from sideshow to icon.

While “NFL QB” captures the glamour – what a babe Peyton Manning was on the September 1997 cover of Esquire – what lingers is the grit (brother Eli bloodied yet unbowed in a local showdown between the New York Giants and Jets in 2010). ...

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