Dear Johnny Football: I hope I never see you in a Cleveland Browns uniform again.
Why? Because you’re a selfish punk.
It has taken me a long time to come to that realization. Too long.
I’ve been trying to sell myself on the idea that a pesky inner demon is constantly whispering in your ear, luring you to the dark side, encouraging you do whatever gives you immediate gratification without regard to the consequences.
I’ve reminded myself that you are likely suffering from a powerful addiction that was only partially addressed during your 10-week stay in a rehab facility last summer and that full recovery often involves multiple failures.
But your problem goes well beyond struggles with alcohol and/or drugs.
Some of the best quarterbacks in history were hammerheads, notably Brett Favre, Joe Namath and Ken Stabler. The difference: Those guys never bailed out on their teammates.
Riding an inflatable swan after a long night of drinking is one thing. People do dumb stuff when they’re drunk. But your worst moves have been premeditated.
Who decides it would be a great idea to jet off to Vegas, put on a disguise and gamble the night away on the eve of his team’s last game? As if nobody in Cleveland would notice you weren’t around?
Why should any of your teammates give a rat’s derrière about you when, instead of staying in town to support them, you’re reportedly playing blackjack in a blond wig and fake mustache and asking to be addressed as “Billy”?
It’s all about you, Johnny Billy. Always. Even among ridiculously pampered professional athletes, you stand out.
Some fans and talk-show hosts keep saying we should cut you a break because you’re only a kid, turning 23 just last month.
Well, Johnny Billy, I know a kid from Copley who at age 22 came home with one leg because he was in Afghanistan, fighting for your right to party.
I know men and women who at age 22 spent hours and hours volunteering in nursing homes, hospitals or homeless shelters, mature enough to realize that life is bigger than they are.
I know lots and lots of people who in their early 20s worked multiple jobs to put themselves through college. But you wouldn’t have a clue about that. Maybe you can relate to the case in your home state of Texas in which a 16-year-old drunken driver who killed four pedestrians avoided jail time because his attorney convinced a judge that the kid’s family was so affluent he couldn’t tell right from wrong.
The media are focusing on your potential impact on the Browns’ salary cap. Who cares? Today, it’s about us. And you have no clue how a typical Browns fan lives.
The median per-capita income in Ohio is $26,937. Which, by the way, is $1,336 lower than it was in 2005, when you were in fifth grade and already getting your butt kissed.
By contrast, Johnny Billy, you are guaranteed a minimum of $6,998,596 over four years. I almost wrote “over four years of work,” but that’s not required. You’ll get your $6,998,596 even if the Browns toss you in the dumpster halfway through your contract.
That’s $1,749,649 per year.
In other words, at the age of 23, you are making the equivalent of 65 Ohio salaries.
Yes, you had to give back $12,000 for flipping the bird at the other team during one of your first games in a Browns uniform. That 12 grand is 45 percent of an Ohioan’s annual income. Did you even notice it was gone?
What bothers me the most, I suppose, is that you’ve been using up space in my head. I’ve thought about you, talked about you and listened to other people talk about you since the Browns called your name in May 2014. So maybe I’m even more screwed up than you are.
I have plenty of company. Some fans will go to ridiculous extremes to excuse your behavior. Witness this Facebook post by Cleveland resident Tom DeMarco:
“[Manziel] was treated badly by the already documented inept Browns managers, coaches, etc. I’d be pissed off, too, and off having fun just like him. Treat him like a starter and I think he’d act like one.”
OMG.
It is the fans who have created the Manziel monster.
We fans who pay an average of $69.13 per game to sit inside a publicly financed $283 million stadium that is rented for $250,000 a year by an owner whose estimated net worth is $2.7 billion.
We fans watching at home who sit through 63 minutes of commercials spanning more than three hours to see 11 minutes of actual football action.
We are the ones who should be in rehab.
Bob Dyer can be reached at 330-996-3580 or bdyer@thebeaconjournal.com. He also is on Facebook at www.facebook.com/bob.dyer.31