Manley was asked to apologize, and he refused. He was then asked again, and begrudgingly said he was sorry. Which, clearly, he wasn’t. Here’s the quick story.
Last I checked, Dexter Manley was a washed-up, unskilled, illiterate has-been. He last played in the NFL 22 years ago. He had struggled through repeated drug problems, and is an acknowledged addict.
In other words: Who gives a crap?
I mean that. Who gives a crap? Why do we care what Dexter Manley has to say? Hell, I didn’t care in 1987, when he was a Pro Bowl pass rusher. I certainly don’t care now, as he sits on a stool bellowing nonsense into the microphone he doesn’t quite know how to work. Somewhere in Washington, a nice person at a radio station took pity on Manley and threw him a couple of hundreds to appear on a radio show. It was a nice act of charity, done for one of the city’s legendary athletes.
But, really, that’s it. That’s all. Aikman—one of the best football announcers in the business—has remained relevant. He’s smart, he’s savvy, he’s quick-witted and on top of the field. Manley, though, is not. He’s just a guy, with lots of free time, barking nonsensical thoughts that should be paid no mind.
Dexter Manley can call Troy Aikman queer. He can call my mother a whore. He can swear by Adolph Hitler and David Duke and Hanson’s Greatest Hits (volumes I and II).
I don’t care.