Unbridled fury rampant in NFL

Dan Madden

Whichever reporter dared to question Brandon Jacobs a second time about his temper and subsequent elimination in playing time clearly had other things on his mind than life. Jacobs had already shouted at the first reporter, so the only explanation for the apparent idiocy in the conference room after the Giants-Colts game must have been a result of some misfiring in the cerebrum or else just the same insanity someone has when desiring to wrestle Great White sharks.

Jacobs threw his helmet into the stands. How could the reporter possibly think he could get any other reaction from Jacobs than an explosion of expletives? If Jacobs had multiplied in that moment, the world would have been in ruin. He’s a frightening mix of insanity and barbarity — 4,000 pounds of pure rhinocerian fury. Somehow the reporter failed to grasp the role of an NFL running back — to engage in a constant collision of human muscle not unlike nuclear warheads designed to destroy every last element in its path. To sum up, NFL players can get pissed off and get pissed off fast.

The throwing of a helmet into the stands may remind us of a baseball player accidentally launching his bat into the crowd, except at no time does the batter intend to do so. While a nice exchange of bats and autographs occurs in baseball, football somehow just does not convey the same meanings of chivalry. In baseball, time would stop, people would cheer, music would play and no harm would occur. In football, when a player hurls a helmet into the opposing fan section out of anger, a tide of indignation builds.

A baseball bat, when used appropriately, does no harm except to a ball. A helmet, when used correctly, stops brain waves from functioning. Our desire as a football fan is to stay as far away from the action as possible. A baseball bat gives us the feel of how to hit a homerun, but a helmet gives the sense of how it would feel to be crushed.

Anyone in their right mind would not choose to take on an NFL player or purposely enrage Jacobs after a trying game. For there is little doubt in my mind that if I participated in one NFL football play I would actually die. If Jacobs hit me straight on, I would probably be left with no ribcage, no nervous system and no temporal lobes.

The same sort of logic obviously sailed past this reporter. But still, despite the absurdity of it all, I must commend his audacity and ambition. He asked just the right question, about how the helmet toss might be related to his lack of playing time. He probably got a little too excited because he no longer has to be some sideline reporter who conducts the post-game interviews when coaches reveal nothing and the players are in such sweaty messes that they mutter nothing close to comprehension anyway.

In the conference room this reporter has perhaps more liberty to ask certain kinds of questions. He still must contend with, however, the always recurring threat of immediate anger at one point he is trying to make — a possible blocking point to creativity, but something that should never stop him. Sometimes you just have to be over excited to live a little.

Whatever the design of his provocation, another important story in all this cannot be missed. For the reporter actually made Jacobs look more foolish that he himself did. Jacobs, the previous starting running back for the New York Giants, looked ridiculous with his quotes from Sunday, constantly jumping back and forth between curse words and apologies, a rambling of discordant expressions that somehow led to the jarring speculation that he wants to be traded. We can thank all the reporters for giving us something to enjoy, something fun and exciting and controversial, even if it is at their expense.

It’s hard for Giants’ fans, however, to find anything rewarding about this story, but if anything will help, anything at all that you can criticize another for, just know that Brett Favre threw three interceptions last Sunday. Or that both the Patriots and the Cowboys lost. Soon enough something worse will happen to another team anyway.

All in all, there are two lessons I learned from this story. I will never become a football player, which was already impossible to begin with — except if time travel existed — and the only way to break down the barriers of creative suffocation is through entertaining and amusing questions.