The New Dead Ball Era

The end of the franchise quarterback era? Maybe

We should probably just go ahead and agree that it's not working. Or, more to the point, not working for everyone.

Remember the Year of the Quarterback? That's what 2011 was supposed to be, the consummation of an entire decade where big-as-trees QBs with Superman-quality vision, teen idol good looks, and arms as precise and accurate as predator drones led their teams down the field and into Super Bowl glory. Defense? Ground game? Yeah, I guess if you like that sort of thing. But! But! Come on! Quarterbacks!

It's not as if the NFL was hurting for fans around the time 9/11 changed the world. However, the powers that be took their cues from the insanely popular dream teams of '90s basketball -- you remember, when everybody wanted to Be Like Mike? When sports stars tried to rap? When Looney Tunes did cross-branding? -- and injected some marquee glory into what had been a team game. Of course, not everyone gets to score in football, but hey, centers don't move custom jerseys. To take it to the next level, the league made a conscious decision to glorify the gunslinger.

They helped out by tightening the rules on what could be done to a QB, tossing around fun stats like the Quarterback rating, and hyping fantasy football as a jock wannabe's nerdcore fantasy. Suddenly, the field generals were blowing up the record books, and football easily became America's #1 pastime. Or obsession. These days, whenever a team that isn't "ours" takes the field, we say things like this: "Eli is going up against Vick." Or "Romo's taking on Brady." The quarterback became what the heavyweight champ was to the 70s, except his jab was the tight end and his uppercut the wide receiver.

Like boxers, however, QBs are proving to be mortal after all, even when handled with kid gloves. Worse, it turns out the position has so much weight on it these days, has come to depend so much on ridiculous, superhuman accuracy, that you don't have to smash your helmet into their jaw to make them ineffective. The Steelers and Bears' supposedly unstoppable express ride back to the playoffs has been derailed by broken thumbs. Peyton Manning's bid to beat Joe Montana's legend into submission failed because of neck surgery. Even Aaron Rodgers' record-shattering 2011 could have easily never happened, had last year's concussions ganged up on him.


It wouldn't be so damaging if owners hadn't put all their eggs in one franchise basket, depending on (and paying) these guys to be the weakest link. Peyton, who re-signed for 90 million even though he was 36 and undergoing his third surgery, now looks like he was running everything in Indianapolis but the ticket sales; what was a Superbowl powerhouse 21 months ago is now 0-10 and getting, somehow, worse. The Texans have gambled their first ever playoff hopes on Matt Schaub and lost, thanks to a foot injury so seemingly inconsequential he played on it for a whole half in order to beat a team that was 4-4 and in another division. The Eagles have spent one tenth of one billion dollars on a man who likes to run in traffic.

Yes, Tom Brady's wearing three rings. Big Ben's got two. Peyton and Eli probably sit around with Drew Brees, comparing their single rings when kicking around NOLA. That's just the point: those teams were all balanced, just as Green Bay is this year, not depending on passing alone to win the day. They had good-to-great run games and decent-to-good defenses, not to mention some genius, unorthodox play calling from the likes of Belichick, Cowher, and Payton. What might be called Quarterback Creep has infected the league over that time period, causing a lot of mediocre-to-bad teams to put their faith in a lot of inconsistent leaders. Joe Flacco. Philip Rivers. Donovan McNabb. Mark Sanchez. Tony Romo. All brushed up against greatness and had no idea what to do. Even newcomers like Josh Freeman and Matt Ryan look like the job is too big for them. Cam Newton and Colt McCoy are up to it, but can't make up for the dearth of talent around them.

Worse, when the starter goes down, the team seems utterly lost. What happened to rolling three deep at the position? How many fans can even name their second-string QB? When was the last time you saw an elite quarterback bow out when his team was up by, say, 28?

Then we have the case of Tim Tebow. Love him or hate him, he earned that Heisman. So what happens when he gets to the big time? The Broncos sit on him for two years while they try out another supposed elite, then when he finally gets his shot, he's so bad at the long pass that the offense totally redesigns itself around him. And you know what? It's been working. Not because of Tebow's line to God, or because Denver has so much talent, but because he's not passing. He runs half his plays and the defense picks up the rest of the slack, and it's so shocking that the rest of the league's forgotten how to deal with it.

Sounds like the Broncos know something the NFL's refused to acknowledge for the last decade: there's only so much talent to go around, and when you cut off the head of the beast, it dies. Stanford's Andrew Luck, this year's recipient of the Heisman hype, will probably live up to it better than Tim has, but for real job security, he should sign with a team that pays a little less and runs a lot more. These are the realities of the era we may very well be about to enter in football. Somewhere, Vince Lombardi is smiling.