I had the unfortunate pleasure of going to this past Sunday’s Panthers vs. Saints game — loved being there, hated the outcome. In the end, it brought back a lot of bad memories.
For one, the last minute loss reminded me of a lot of dates I had when I was growing up. I was pretty blue after this loss, too (wink, wink).
For another, Reggie Howard, my brotha, I feel your pain. You see Reggie and I have a lot in common. Reggie, the poor defensive back that thought he had won the game only to have lost it, was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like I was back in high school when my team was mere minutes from a huge shutout and I was put in the game as a defensive back. Folks, the last time I had played DB before that was in eighth grade (They didn’t pass much in eighth grade). Didn’t even practice at the position. Well, of course, the coach puts me in the final few minutes and the guy I replaced didn’t warn me they were setting up a hook and go all game. I bit on the hook and then it was off to the races.
And you know what? I’m still in there when they try the extra point. And of course, a pass to my side and two more points. After riding the bench the entire game, I wanted to climb under the bus and hide. I didn’t. I just cried. Imagine being embarassed in front of several hundred people then crying on the way to the bus. I should have sucked it up, but you’re dealing with a fragile ego at 18.
I feel your pain, Reggie. But son, you better suck it up. You’re not 18. You’re not playing football for fun. You get paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for being a man. Suck it up, son. So the ref called you for defensive holding. Suck it up. So you get beat on a 38-yard pass. Suck it up. You got beat on the game-winning TD. You didn’t suck it up.
The official made the call. Right or wrong you’ve got to live with it. But when your butt gets burned all over the field after that? You’ve got nothing to complain about, son. Complaining to the press doesn’t tell me you sucked it up. It just tells me you wouldn’t last in baseball. ‘Cause you know what? There’s no crying in baseball.