In sticking with the “get real” sentiment of today’s verbiage, how about we drop caring about the LeSean McCoy/Riley Cooper tiff or whatever the eff it is?
This ridiculous spin doctoring of how people should understand McCoy being upset about Cooper being left on the Eagles after the latter’s asinine, alcohol-induced diatribe at a freakin’ country music concert years ago had an expiration date sometime about a month after Cooper opened his mouth. To excuse McCoy’s passive-aggressive whining and then projecting of racism onto head coach Chip Kelly after that all the while promoting him as a “team player” in midnight green is ridiculous.
Look, get a grip. McCoy is a pampered, arrogant and selfish player whose true value to a team is laid out in strictly black and white terms: what he produces on the field. He does this for no one but himself, and guess what that makes him? A professional athlete. He is nothing and nothing less.
That makes him normal – as far as a highly skilled NFL running back goes. It doesn’t make him a martyr. There is no sacrificing for others, or doing what’s best for the team in a supporting-role way because, frankly, McCoy doesn’t have those skills. He has to be a star, he has to have the ball, and when he is neither, or not treated in all the ways he feels those “traits” require, he is a baby.
That hasn’t changed. He was that way at Bishop McDevitt in Harrisburg and later at the University of Pittsburgh. He was that way his entire career in Philly. Where is this crap that he was this one-for-all, all-for-one guy coming from? That’s not him. Never was.
Frankly, he’d never have become a standout player if he had been that way. It, along with talent, is pretty much what drove him to become what he is.
Which is a very, very rich young man toiling his trade in Buffalo, with the wherewithal to live out the life of his dreams at any point he decides to retire.
A martyr? Puh-leeze.
It is a fascinating, confusing time after the Eagles win.
Especially within the confines of a very difficult and trying season.
It’s not that ebb and flow of every fall weekend in Philly doesn’t yield some wildly fluid, umm, thoughts and beliefs each year. It’s just, you know, kinda gets a little crazier around here when the team assembled under the greatest football mind known to mankind in the history of civilization gets off to a 4-7 start and doesn’t even look worthy of that mark.
OK, so first came the unforeseen upset of the New England Patriots that, frankly, no one even seemed interested in considering never mind actually felt like, gulp, predicting. That produced the same kind of playoff dreaming with a drool factor that ranked right up around your girlfriend watching a commercial for the latest Mark Wahlberg flick.
But that wasn’t anything compared to topping the Buffalo Bills on Sunday.
Did you know that was a dangerous, dynamic team the Birds topped?
Did you know “Shady” got his ass kicked?
Did you know Sam Bradford is playing better than ever?
Uhh, yeah, me neither.
But these were some of the perceptions dangled out there as reality by fans, sports yikkers and supposedly legit print media following that 23-20 escape by the hair of their chinny chin chins act pulled off by Chip Kelly’s crew, and, sorry, but to varying degrees, they’re all, hmmm, a bit of a stretch.
Yeah, sure, Buffalo has some talent, chiefly in quarterback Tyrod Taylor and wideout Sammy Watkins, and the aforementioned “Shady,” he of the shifty moves and shaky maturity who otherwise is known as LeSean McCoy, ex-Eagle and non-BFF of Kelly, adds a little sometin’ sometin’ to the Bills’ attack, too. But they’re a house of cards, really, courtesy of no discipline, the absolute epitome of a Rex Ryan-coached team, one that may excite and wow, but ultimately bound to derail.
That’s hardly dangerous, never mind dynamic. Unless you’re meaning the excitement related to some entity spontaneously combusting.
As for Shady’s butt taking a beating, umm, didn’t he have, like, 62 yards rushing on about 12 carries in the first half? Finished with 74 on 20, so maybe half a butt-kickin’ is more apropos. Or even a slight one, considering he had four catches for another 35 yards. Perhaps even just a glancing blow is even more spot on since his offensive line, relating back to no discipline cost him about another 50 yards of real estate with stupid penalties.
An old-fashioned whuppin’, though … hardly.
Finally, my man Sam. Can’t say it is surprising. The moment he doesn’t suck eggs AND the team wins, the prophets are out there pontificating about how he’s never looked better, that he’s taking his game to another level, that he really “get it” with Kelly’s offense now. Brrrralph. Not for nothing, but Bradford has had better games here this season than he has had in the last two weeks. The team just didn’t win. If anything, Sunday’s 23-for-38, 247-yard, one-TD, one-INT effort was so incredibly “Bradford” it was insane. He just oozes mediocrity, the kind that will unveil a good play here, maybe even an eye-opening one there … before the deluge of errant throws, panicky decisions and human snapshots of frailty take “greatness” or “reaching potential” out of the picture.
People, please, can we just give up the golden goose with this guy ever becoming a star? He doesn’t have the skills for it. He just doesn’t. He never did. He is what he is. A middle-of-the-pack starting quarterback in the NFL … at his very best.