Now I realize that writing about Tim Tebow only perpetuates the cycle of the rest of the media writing, talking, blogging and childishly gossiping about Tebow. But to strike at the root of an issue, one must confront it head−on.
Tebow is unconventional in every sense of the word. He is a left−handed quarterback with a release loopier than Mel Gibson. He is a scrambling quarterback. He is one of the most openly religious athletes of all−time. He is a Florida Gator actually succeeding as a starter in the NFL, a feat that seems all the more impressive in retrospect given that the list has pretty much dwindled down to Tebow and Rex Grossman.
To wit, this past Sunday, Tebow completed two passes. Two. Baltimore Ravens running back Ray Rice completed half that number. And yet one of those went for a 56−yard touchdown to Eric Decker that sent the Broncos on to a 17−10 record over Kansas City.
And this is what makes Tebow so fascinating. When I wrote in late October that Tebow's openly devout faith made him different, that his slotting as the football Messiah was a conscious product of an open desire to be known as the "God Guy" within the NFL, I overlooked one of the most obvious notions: Tebow is fundamentally different on the field.
Forget the kneel−down prayers and the Bible verses sandwiching his nose. Tebow does not make sense as an NFL quarterback. He does not fit the mold in a religious sense, nor does he conform to traditional notions from a football standpoint.
So we, and by we I mean national football writers, professional bloggers and middling collegiate columnists, are presented with this enigma of a man, faced with the task of covering an utterly fascinating character whose mystique is predicated on the sole fact that the derivations of his success and allure are equally impossible to decipher.
And the ultimate question is how to treat someone about whom we understand so little. There has always existed a certain degree of hero worship within the media−athlete relationship. Sure, it was more abundant decades ago, when writers like Red Smith and Grantland Rice would spend dozens of words putting the athlete up onto an unreachable pedestal. That was how Babe Ruth became such an icon.
Admittedly, that has faded into oblivion. Scandals are newsworthy, not swept under the rug. If Tebow admits he had sex, it will become front−page news. That's fine with me, and it should be fine with everyone else. Sports journalism operates according to supply and demand. It always has. We exist to bring down the athlete, to equally report on his successes and his failures, to prove that he, for one fleeting moment on Sunday, can succumb to the pressures just like the rest of us. We hate to think that athletes suck like normal people suck, but we secretly love to believe they're just like us.
People want to hear about Tebow, but we have nothing to say beyond empty labels of "poise" and "he's a real winner."
And therein lies the conundrum surrounding Tebow. Images of his arrival in Denver were littered with Messianic language. But the Messiah cannot be brought down to human levels. His immortality and incapability of human flaw makes him so desirable to worship in the first place.
We don't understand Tim Tebow. We don't understand how he's managed to win three road games since taking over as a starter. We don't understand how someone can so openly fly against the grain of social custom and not care in the least bit.
So instead we pretend. We pretend to know what goes on in his head, because everyone wants to get a glimpse into the mind of a perceived immortal.
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