This morning I was watching a little SportsCenter, and they turned to Todd McShay, their vaunted college football “insider.” McShay was standing on/near a football field at Auburn University, where—in just a few minutes!—Cam Newton would be throwing for NFL scouts. McShay, thankfully, will keep us all up to date on Newton’s day, and whether he nailed the throws and twirled the spirals and blather blather blather blather.
I don’t know McShay, and I have zero beef with McShay. I think he’s about 33 or 34, and his job—literally, his job—is to report on the goings-on of 20-year-old kids who launch oval slaps of immitation swine skin through the air. He devotes, I’m guessing, 60-70 hours per week to tracking the progress of (generally speaking) un-curious college kids whose lone skill is a quirky, random physicality. A big victory for him is learning where a kid from Iowa is going to play his college ball. Literally, this is his life.
I’d rather eat bark.
Again, McShay probably loves it, and great for him. But there came a point in my life when I simply grew fatigured by the predictable rhythem of day-after-day sports. Last year’s Tebow is this year’s Newton. This year’s Newton will be next year’s somebody else. What makes Cam Newton worthy of McShay’s time is that he throws a football hard and far. That’s pretty much it.