Examining the Sports Narrative, Part 2: Obstacles

I’ve always found it somewhat ironic that Washington has never been one of the traditional teams to play on Thanksgiving.  It would seem that the Redskins, not the Lions, would be a more historically appropriate team to pulverize on national television every year, especially if it were at home against the Patriots.  I guess it’s a touchy subject…

In any case, football has been synonymous with Thanksgiving for as long as anyone can remember, dating back well before the Lions or Cowboys.  Even the CFL plays on Canadian Thanksgiving (the second Monday in October)—I know, right?  And right at the beginning of hockey season, too—and there seems no more fitting sport for the occasion since football is really the core of what Thanksgiving is all about: obstacles.

Every year presents us with various new obstacles in our lives, and every Thanksgiving offers the opportunity to give thanks for those we have overcome (e.g. getting that new promotion) and those we have been fortunate enough not to have faced (e.g. the health and love of our family and friends).

In football, every play is a plethora of individual obstacles, all of which directly work toward the ultimate goal of victory.  Everything from “Will the defense overwhelm the o-line and help force a turnover?” to “Can the quarterback lead the game-winning touchdown drive?” provide tangible obstacles that propel the overall narrative tension of the game, with similar sentiments driving the narrative of a season: “Can the Eagles win out and make the playoffs?” or “Will the Packers go undefeated?”

Like any narrative, however, these obstacles only have meaning when perceived through a certain lens of expectations.  Is anyone really that shocked that the Packers are 11-0?  They’re pretty much the same team that dominated in the Superbowl last year, except healthier and with more weapons.  Meanwhile, Thanksgiving Day opponent, the Lions, are one of the most surprising contenders of the season, second only to the 9-2 San Francisco 49ers.  No one ever expects Detroit to be any good—not even Detroit.  And yet the then 7-3 Lions posed a legitimate threat to upset the Pack on any given Thanksgiving Thursday. But of course they didn’t, but the now 7-4 Lions still have a chance to make a playoff run… and so it goes.

The sports narrative always favors the underdog, the team or character that has nothing to lose and everything to gain, and this year has truly been the underdog’s year.  It’s been a decade since Detroit has had a winning season, and even longer since they’ve made the playoffs; although they have a fat chance in hell to beat out Green Bay for the division title, they certainly seem on track to break at least one of those streaks.  And at 9-2, the Niners’ have officially solidified this year as their first winning season in eight years, and it almost feels as though the bay area gold has returned to its glory days.  Hell, even the Bengals are doing well, and they’ve been the poster child for undisciplined mediocrity for as long as I can remember.

The individual’s sports narrative works the same way.  Peyton Manning’s contributions to football throughout his career are indisputable—there’s a vacant platform in Canton already awaiting the arrival of his bronze bust once he becomes eligible.  The fact that he’s a hugely likeable character certainly helps his case as well, but let’s face it: no one’s ever making a movie about him because there’s nothing remotely compelling about his journey.  The middle son of Archie Manning—former Heisman nominee at Ole Miss selected second overall by the Saints in the 1971 draft, where he was the starting QB for over a decade and a two-time Pro Bowl selection—Peyton was drafted first overall by the Colts and basically went on to do exactly what everyone expected of him and then some.  Who cares?  I’d sooner watch a story about Tom Brady, whose only interesting qualities are (1) the immensity of his success after being drafted in only the sixth round and (2) Gisele Bundchen.  Even Peyton’s older brother, Cooper, would make a more compelling film as the “forgotten Manning” whose career was cut short by spinal stenosis, thus forever doomed to live in the shadow of his father and younger brothers.

But enough about the Manning sons.  There’s another quarterbacking son who has undoubtedly become the bandwagon player of the year, perhaps even longer.  I’m talking, of course, about the Prodigal Son —or rather, the Prodigal Son’s favorite QB:  Tim Tebow.

Dear Jesus: Teach Me How to Tebow…

Until recently, when people referred to “God’s favorite quarterback,” they were talking about Kurt Warner.  The Green Bay Packers briefly signed Warner as an undrafted rookie free agent in 1994 but released him before the beginning of the season, at which point Warner sought employment stocking shelves and bagging groceries for $5.50 an hour at a Hy-Vee store in Cedar Falls.  After a year, Warner continued to follow his football aspirations in the AFL (Arena Football League), where his stellar performance over the next three years (along with a brief stint with the Amsterdam Admirals of NFL Europe) eventually helped land him a gig as a back-up with the St. Louis Rams in 1998, shortly after his marriage and conversion to evangelism.  Trent Green’s season-ending ACL injury in the beginning of ’99 placed Warner in the starting role, marking the beginning of “The Greatest Show on Turf” and a future Hall of Fame career that included four Pro Bowls, two Associated Press NFL MVPs, two Superbowl appearances with an MVP-earning victory, and multiple NFL all-time records.  And throughout it all, Warner never passed on an opportunity to publicly thank his Lord and Savior for all his accomplishments.

Warner’s story is still one of the greatest underdog stories the NFL (or any sport, for that matter) has ever witnessed, and it’s somewhat unfathomable that a film has yet to be made surrounding his spectacular rise from obscurity—they’re probably waiting for him to publish an autobiography.  But “Tebowmania” is something different. 

Tim Tebow is a true cultural phenomenon if there ever was one.  Although he doesn’t have Manning-like lineage—his parents are devout Baptist missionaries, his father a pastor—he is a first round draft pick (25^th overall) who will undoubtedly go down as one of the greatest college players of all time (so much so that I can’t even begin to list his accomplishments while playing at Florida), and yet people act as though his recent success is all but divine intervention.  He has certainly received warranted criticism for his sloppy passing mechanics, but his work ethic and unwavering zeal have proved more than sufficient as the Chosen One has won five of his six starts thus far in the 2011 season, all of them in the fourth quarter.

But that’s not why the narrative of sports seems to gravitate to Tim Tebow.  Tebow is more than an outstanding college QB who has proven critics wrong at a professional level—Cam Newton has done this as well and has looked more impressive doing it, but his following barely scratches the surface of Tebow’s cultural iconography.  Tebow has evolved into the messiah of sports, far exceeding the religious identity associated with Kurt Warner’s career.  When Tebow wrote “John 3:16” on his eye black for one of his Florida games, over 94 million people Googled that exact bible verse proceeding that game.  The word “Tebow” itself has become synonymous with the guy’s excessive prayer celebration after any play, and I’d be shocked if Merriam-Webster doesn’t formally adopt the word in the near future:

Tebowing: (verb) to bring one knee to the ground and bow one’s head in prayer to demonstrate a sense of gratitude for even the most mundane accomplishments.

Of course it doesn’t matter that Tebow’s story is nowhere near as compelling as God’s now-second favorite quarterback, though Tebow would be truly blessed to have anywhere near the type of career that Warner achieved.  But sometimes, when it comes to the sports narrative, it’s not so much the obstacles one has overachieved, but rather the symbolism of those achievements and of the journey itself.  Tebow’s story may never be fictionalized into the next big film, but his legacy both on and off the field (no matter what he achieves henceforth) will indisputably leave a mark on the world of sports, and that’s certainly something for him to be Tebowing over this Thanksgiving holiday.

For more on Examining the Sports Narrative, check out Part 1:  Perspective

Next Week:  Examining the Sports Narrative, Part 3:  Pathos