NFL: We Loved Joey, Once

Needless to say, I'm not very excited about the prospects of this year's NFL season. I am interested, though, in how things are going to turn out in Atlanta. Everyone's written them off, of course, because while you can beat your wife, roid up, and drive drunk and still find yourself gainfully employed wearing a jockstrap and wrestling with big, sweaty men for a round little ball while millions of people watch, apparently, being mean to dogs is where they draw the line (Okay, cheap shot. It was really the gambling that did Vick in, anyway. But, I mean, the hypocrisy of blacklisting him while other players who've been convicted of crimes just as bad if not worse are still in the league is deeply disgusting. I mean, fuck it, Leonard Little. I'm still pissed about that. Say what you will about people who strangle underperforming dogs out in the woods but those who knowingly get behind the wheel of a car while drunk are, for me, the scum of the earth. More so because I didn't even know about it until I read it in Mr. Simmons's latest. Totally stole my thunder on this post I'd been planning for a while, by the way, but screw it. I shall refrain from mentioning the Ewing Theory, though.). And losing Michael Vick does leave a gaping hole under center, it's who's going to replace him that's got me sitting up and taking notice. Because that person is Joey Harrington, the former Lions quarterback, a highly touted third overall pick who eventually crashed and burned and got run out of town on a set of greased rails. He caught on with Miami briefly last year not doing very much in backup of the failed Culpepper experiement, seemingly proving that the Lions had actually done the smart thing – for once – by jettisoning the dead weight. I'm not so sure, however.

Not to say he's a great quarterback or anything. We're not talking about the second coming of Johnny Unitas or anything here. But you have to include the Lions factor in any estimation of his talent. Joey Ballgame as the faithful called him at the time (And, oh, how I remember it well. Ford Field had just opened, I was working downtown, and the Sunday crowds would pour into the city and fill the bars and restaurants and parking lots for a few hours before retreating back to the suburbs. Harrington had just taken over the quarterback job in his rookie year. The previous one had been a disastrous year that left the team in a nosedive as it closed out the Silverdome but one that could still be written off as a fluke. There was hope in the air. A mad, desperate hope born of fifty years of futility and frustration, but a palpable sense that things were finally turning around and the post-Barry era was about to truly begin. That we had the regime, the talent, the opportunity, and now we had the quarterback to pull it all together. You want to know how that worked out? We didn't win a road game for three years! That's how it worked out.) was thrust into the spotlight at the helm of a wretched team. He probably wasn't ready. And the experience probably ruined him. In front of a decent team, he might just be a decent quarterback.

He might just be primed for a revival in front of a Falcons team that's pretty good, all things considered, with a new coach and a desperate need to get over the events of the past. It could bear some watching. Because it's not like I've got any decent football in my own neck of the woods to check out...