Via ESPN.com

By Michael Bennett

The saga of Manti Te'o and controversy surrounding Chris Culliver only emphasize how far we have to go when it comes to homophobia in sports.

I swore to myself that I wouldn’t contribute to the Manti Te’o frenzy. Every day there is some “new development,” saying this guy faked a phone call, or that guy was in on it the whole time; This guy is gay but “confused,” and that guy is “faaaar from it.” The only thing I know for sure is that even after we’re sick and tired of this story, it will continue to have legs at water coolers, bar counters and dinner tables. You can’t help but talk about something so absurd, especially with so much left to be discovered. So don’t worry guys, Dr. Phil and the gay police are on a mission!

The biggest problem — for me, at least — is that this story is getting all the wrong kind of attention. We’re too busy worrying about why someone would fake a girlfriend or why a friend would trick his man-crush into falling in love with him, or whatever is going on in this Twelfth Night adaptation. And in the meantime, we’re missing out on the broader, more important issue: the shameless and cowardly homophobia that runs rampant through the sports world. 

No male athlete in a major professional sport has ever identified himself as homosexual during his career, and in many ways it’s understandable. That brave soul would have to deal with the homophobic backlash from fans and rivals, as well as those in his own locker room. He’d have to worry about teammates always making sure that he isn’t checking them out, or that he isn’t getting too comfortable in the pile-on, or that he’s not uttering any of the hundreds of sports cliches that carry homosexual undertones. That’s all on top of the basic challenge of playing his sport at the highest level, where if he has a bad practice, doesn’t make a catch, or lets in the game-winning goal, the whispers will start up that maybe he failed because he’s too gay.

The Te’o coverage has only emphasized to me that these are the attitudes that a gay athlete would face, day in and day out. When Katie Couric asked the Notre Dame linebacker if he was gay, he sat back, laughed and as his eyes widened, said, “far from it.” Instead of responding with a “why do you care” or “that’s not an issue” or anything else that would have made the question look stupid, he chose a cowardly laugh.

“Far from it.” Far from what, exactly? So far from being gay that you fell in love with a fake Internet girlfriend? How masculine of you, Manti! Don’t worry, guys, he’s not gay, just fell in love with the wrong cyber girl. They were definitely having heterosexual cyber sex, but don’t tell Notre Dame.

If that didn’t drive home how far we have to still have to go, then San Francisco 49ers cornerback Chris Culliver this week brought an extra-large hammer to finish the job. In an interview, he said that “we don’t got no gay people on the team, they gotta get up out of here if they do.” I’m not sure whether it’s the grammar or content that makes me [sic] to my stomach. 

He later apologized, saying that the thoughts were “in my mind” but “that’s not what I feel in my heart.” But the reality is that he was just the guy young and oblivious enough to voice the feelings shared by numerous players in the NFL.

So what can we do while we wait for that brave soul to face down the blatant homophobia of professional sports? We can support programs like the You Can Play Project, which is dedicated to eradicating homophobia and promoting a safe sporting environment for athletes of any sexual orientation. We can acknowledge that Chris Culliver is not alone in his thoughts, and that homophobia can start or stop at a young age, whether in locker rooms, classrooms or at the family dinner table. We can confront that reality head on. 

Or we can keep investigating fake girlfriends. But the longer we pretend that this isn’t an issue, the longer it will be the biggest unspoken, unresolved and shameful problem in sports.

You can find out more about the You Can Play Project at youcanplayproject.org

Michael Bennett is a contributor to Began in '96 and writes on hip-hop and culture at Poetic Justice.

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By the Began in '96 staff

Presenting: Began in '96's second annual stab at gettin' you drunk.

It's here. That wonderful, most American of unofficial holidays is here. It's Super Bowl Sunday, and this one could be a doozy. It's got Alicia Keys, Beyonce, a Destiny's Child reun— er, I mean, football!

On one side, a rookie quarterback tries to make history, shattering both that old "only pocket passers win championships" trope and Alex Smith's soul in the process. On the other, Ray Rice, the newly possibly elite Joseph Flacco and the reanimated corpse of Ed Reed try to send stabby messiah Ray Lewis off with a final trophy, before he ascends to sit at the right hand of the Lord.

And in the middle is you, a bucket of wings and a lot of alcohol. For the second year in a row, we're going to help you drink that alcohol with our Super Bowl Drinking Game. The game is divided into four sections: Pregame, Super Bowl, Halftime and Postgame. But get familiar with all the rules, because they all apply throughout the game. So if at any point there's a commercial of a monkey riding a dog through Hurricane Katrina while wearing shoulder pads, you best be drinking.

Note: A missed drinking opportunity is a two-drink penalty, plus your best imitation of Ray Lewis' pregame dance.

PREGAME

1. You see a fan in facepaint and way too many Mardi Gras beads-- drink

Oh, are you not sure where the Super Bowl is being held this year? It's in NAWLINS, where according to TV execs, purple and gold facepaint and an ungodly amount of plastic beads is the equivalent of business casual anywhere else in the country (Note: this may not be far from the truth).

It's a shame how much Mardi Gras beads have been devalued over time. They used to mean something. You had to be a certain kind of drunk (very) to even have a chance. Now they're handed out like participation trophies. This is the real wimpification of America, people.

2. Hurricane Katrina is shoehorned into a soft-focus feature-- waterfall

It's been nearly eight years since Drew Brees started rebuilding New Orleans, brick by brick, with his bare hands and no one around to help him. The city's come a long way since then: purple and gold facepaint sales are up, beadmakers are back at work, and now here comes the Super Bowl. If there's but one tenuous connection between Katrina and these two teams, NBC will be sure to drag it into the studio and set it against some soft background piano.

3. The pregame crew gets the chuckles-- drink until the chucklefest stops

[CURTAIN RISES]: Five aging ex-football players sit around a semi-circular table. Their tie knots are invariably too big for their necks. At least two are power clashing so hard you wonder if your TV's color settings are off. Another might not even know where he is right now.

[TALKING HEAD ONE]: Tries to present semi-coherent analysis. Fails.

[TALKING HEAD TWO]: Responds with stupid pun.

[ALL TALKING HEADS]: Dissolve into inane round of trying to out-chuckle each other.

[YOU]: Change the channel, only to find it's happening EVERYWHERE. Respond by drinking.

[SCENE]

4. Anything involving a camera and Ray Lewis-- drink, shed fake tear

Ray Lews hearts the camera. Unless he's being asked about PEDs or maybe seeing/participating in those two guys getting stabbed and then running away. You know, all that unfair stuff.

But otherwise, Ray Lewis hearts the camera. And you can bet the camera hearts him right back. Whether he's praying or crying or giving an overwrought sermon, it'll be beamed right into your living room over and over again.

Bonus drink for every time "Ray Lewis" and "redemption" end up in the same sentence.

5. Someone mentions that the Harbaughs are brothers-- drink, bro hug somebody

The Harbaughs are brothers. They're in the Super Bowl, coaching against each other. That's the extent of the meh that we can muster for this exhausted story line.

Bonus chug if someone mentions Joani, the lost Harbaugh sister and a wonderful lady.

SUPER BOWL

1. Ray Lewis is praised for making a routine tackle-- drink

Ray Lewis is potentially the greatest linebacker/murderer to ever play the game. Even so, when he makes a tackle six yards from the line of scrimmage, he's doing his job, not saving the world. No added praise necessary.

2. An Alex Smith sad face-- drink

Alex Smith was the king of San Francisco. And then Colin Kaepernick, with his speed and arm strength and sweet tats, came in and kicked Smith off the cool kids table. Now he's forced to sit with the band geeks and, gasp, kickers, and sulk into his shoulder pads. Every time you see him on the sideline, staring aimlessly off into the distance, toast him to what could have been.

Bonus drink if he's standing on the sideline with his helmet on.

3. Ed Reed hits someone in the end zone after they've already scored-- drink

Ed Reed is so old that one day body parts will start falling off while he's running, and eventually he'll just be a torso and a head trying to bite people's ankles as they run by. And he'll still get a Pro Bowl invite.

But until then, ballhawkin' Ed Reed will spend his Sundays desperately trying to keep up with receivers. And when he inevitably fails, he'll hit them in the end zone anyway, just so he can feel something again.

Bonus drink if after the hit, he stays on the ground for 5+ seconds.

4. Ray Rice is referred to as "little" or "forgotten."-- drink

There are always a bunch of manufactured storylines leading up to the Super Bowl, but this one was the weirdest. Ray Rice is, for the record, 5'8," 212 lbs. That is not a small man, especially by running back standards. He is also, for the record, a former college star and second-round draft pick, owner of four straight 1,000-yard rushing seasons and a three-time Pro Bowler. That has not gone unnoticed.

And yet.

5. Phil Simms adds extra 'e's to a word-- dreeeenk

Phil Simms is one half of your broadcast booth this year. WOOF. He is the greatest, blandest spouter of cliches on television, and that's quite the accomplishment given that he'll be standing right next to fellow gasbagger Jim Nantz. What puts him over the top is that subtle, tinny accent, that works eets wayee into nearly everee sentence of the gayme.

Bonus drink if Nantz descends into a golf whisper, or at any point utters, "a tradition unlike any other."

6. A fan wearing shoulder pads-- drink

What is the mindset here? A debate that some of the staff here has had is which sport possesses the fan base with the lowest collective IQ. NASCAR had the edge originally, until these guys starting popping up everywhere, just hoping that after all 75 or so players on a team have been injured, the coach will peer into the stands, point at them, and launch them to stardom.

In the meantime, it's just extremely inconsiderate to your seatmates.

Bonus drink if the fan is also wearing a helmet and/or eye black.


7. One of the Harbaughs throws a tantrum- drink, stomp around for a bit

Jim and John have the on-field tantrum down to a T. They've perfected it. It's over. Mike Krzyzewski and Lou Piniella watch them together and stew, bitter that they've never reached that level of childishness.

HALFTIME

1. You remember the name of the third Destiny's Child member-- drink 

C'mon. Not even Beyonce knows who she is. Besides, she might not even be there because she's super busy doing other important, totally not-made up things.

2. Jay-Z makes an appearance-- drink

You're now watching — and enjoying! — the Super Bowl halftime show. Savor it.

Bonus drink if Kanye is with him. Bonus CHUG if Kanye does something stupid.

3. Commercial featuring a dog or monkey-- drink

Cats and clydesdales had their time. It's all about the dogs and monkeys now. Or preferably, a monkey riding a dog.

4. Commercial featuring someone in their underwear-- drink

If it's not an animal, then it's a dude in his underwear. These are the only proven tactics for making Americans laugh.

Depressing bonus drink if you think it's going to be a girl in her underwear and then it ends up being a guy.

POSTGAME

1. Roger Goodell gets booed-- drink, bask in the booing chorus

Let's see: I feel like there was something that happened with Goodell and New Orleans... Goodell... New Orleans... oh yeah THAT'S RIGHT. It only involved suspending a bunch of players and a coach and torpedoing the Saints' season over something that everyone in the NFL does but only the Saints made into a formal system. They were just trying to be organized, and this is what they got.

OH. And then a bunch of those suspensions were overturned. So that happened. Add in the feeble attempts at protecting the brains of the people who make everyone's money for them, and it should be a fun ride for the commish.

2. Player wears his championship t-shirt over his shoulder pads-- drink

Eli Manning pioneered championship chic, and it's caught on over the years. There's nothing quite like looking like a transformer when you're accepting the Lombardi Trophy. Granted, this year, players might keep their pads on for fear Ed Reed wants to fit in one more late hit.

3. Ray Lews cries/thanks God-- chug

If the Ravens win, this will happen. If they don't win, this will happen. Use it as your final opportunity to get plastered.

4. You make it through the entire night of Began in '96's Super Bowl drinking game-- finish your drink and call in sick for tomorrow

Congrats, you made it. Only seven more months 'til preseason starts.

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By Adam Cancryn

The people harmed in the making of heroes.

Lizzy Seeberg. Declan Sullivan. Betsy Andreu. Richard Lollar. Jacinth Baker.

Remember those names. Those names belong to the little people. They belong to the ones who got in the way. The ones who threatened a Very Important Person, and in the process were defamed, tortured and even killed.

***

Lizzy Seeberg. She was 19 years old in August 2010, a freshman at St. Mary's College taking her first steps toward becoming a nurse. By September, she was dead.

What happened in between is well-chronicled and yet still shrouded in mystery.We know that Seeberg was allegedly assaulted in a dorm room one night by a Notre Dame football player, an attack cut short only by a knock on the door. She later told her friends about the episode, and then reported the assault to Notre Dame police, submitted DNA to the local hospital and sought counseling.

Then came the threats. "Don't do anything you would regret," a text from one of the player's friends read. "Messing with notre dame football is a bad idea."

She became so fearful of the backlash that she went out of her way to show support for the Fighting Irish, donning Notre Dame gear and attending the football team's home opener. That night, Seeberg would watch as her attacker take the field to the approval of thousands of fans around her. The next week, she was found dead, stomach pumped full of anti-depressants.

That's what we know. It's been more than two years now, and there have been no arrests. There has been no more information. Notre Dame and St. Mary's administrators have stonewalled reporters. The accused attacker, whose yearbook photo Seeberg showed to police, remains free and anonymous. In January, he suited up for the BCS National Championship Game. He continues to live his life, uninterrupted. You don't mess with Notre Dame football.

***

Declan Sullivan. A junior at that same so-called higher institution and the videographer for the Fighting Irish. He rode a scissor lift 50 feet in the air one day in October 2010, ordered up there by head coach Brian Kelly. Standing five stories above the practice field, winds whipped past him at more than 60 miles per hour. In between taping the team's workout, he tapped out a quick tweet: "Gusts of wind up to 60 mph. Well today will be fun at work. I guess I've lived long enough."

An hour later: "This is terrifying."

And then he was falling. After they finished loading Sullivan's battered body into an ambulance, practice continued for nearly a half-hour more.

An investigation concluded some time after Sullivan's death. It found that Kelly, the newly minted and high-profile head coach who put a 20-year-old 50 feet in the air amid high winds to tape a routine practice, had acted with the character and values in "accord with the highest standards of Notre Dame."

In January, Kelly led the Notre Dame football team and Lizzy Seeberg's alleged attacker onto the field for the BCS National Championship Game. As for Declan Sullivan, I guess he'd lived long enough.

***

Betsy Andreu. She's the wife of cyclist Freddie Andreu, and the ex-friend of Lance Armstrong. She is also the one who witnessed Armstrong confess to doping during a hospital visit in 1996, and who found herself alone when she refused to lie about it. Andreu endured a public smear campaign and private threats. She was "crazy," a "psycho" and a "bitch," according to Armstrong and his operatives. A message left on Andreu's phone hoped someone would break "a baseball bat over [her] head." For years, she was the villain. She was the one trying to tear down Lance, the Great American Hero. The public crushed her in its scramble to sit at Armstrong's feet.

It's been 17 years since Andreu sat in that hospital room. She is finally vindicated, yet the scars remain. Given a chance to make amends this past week as part of his public rehabilitation, Armstrong admitted to calling her crazy and a bitch, but: "I never called you fat."

A smug smile crept across his lips.

***

Richard Lollar and Jacinth Baker. Shortly after the St. Louis Rams won Super Bowl XXXIV, they went to a party at an Atlanta nightclub and never came home.

The man who knows why they were stabbed to death, and by whom, now prepares for his second shot at a title since that night in January 2000. Ray Lewis is an NFL icon and a sure Hall of Famer now, but back on that night was just the witness to a double murder. He then jumped into his limo, told the other passengers to "keep their mouts shut," and fled the scene.

Lewis would later negotiate a deal to drop the murder charges against him in exchange for testimony against two of his friends. In court, he refused to link those friends to the killings, and all were acquitted. Lewis paid the NFL a $250,000 fine and began a reinvention that turned him into the favored son of both Baltimore and the NFL's marketing team.

Lollar and Baker's murders remain unsolved, their families left with only grief and unanswered questions. As Lewis heads toward retirement and a cushy job at ESPN, Lollar's aunt told USA Today that she headed for the funeral home, "because that's where my nephew retired."

***

Lizzy Seeberg. Declan Sullivan. Betsy Andreu. Richard Lollar. Jacinth Baker.

Remember those names. Remember them when Notre Dame athletic director Jack Swarbrick tears up and promises justice over star linebacker Manti Te'o's fake girlfriend, yet issues no comment after no comment on the subjects of Seeberg and Sullivan. Remember them when Brian Kelly trots out onto a field surrounded by sea of cheering fans. Remember them when Lance Armstrong embarks on his image restoration tour, and when the cameras find Ray Lewis in the midst of his pregame histrionics.

These are just five of the millions like them in Steubenville and at Penn State and all around the world that threatened Very Important People, and then got swept aside. They are the victims of institutions that place power over justice, that enable the most heinous acts because to not do so would mean sacrificing money or status. It would mean tearing down heroes and exposing flaws. When there are only little people at stake, those like you or me, it's all just too inconvenient.

Lizzy Seeberg. Declan Sullivan. Betsy Andreu. Richard Lollar. Jacinth Baker.

Remember those names. Remember them because those in power desperately want us to forget. Remember them because it's the only way we can start to make things right.

Adam Cancryn is an editor and co-founder of Began in '96.

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Via Examiner

By Burl Rolett

The interception that altered NFL history, solved a lockout and ultimately never existed. Part of a short series on the best moments of 2012.

2012 was a rough year for The Shield.

A botched bounty investigation wrecked Roger Goodell’s remaining credibility among the players; the Jets lost their iconic fan to the kind of hostile stadium atmosphere that's made NFL games R-rated events; and safety concerns continued to threaten football’s long-term viability. 

But the league's most memorable story came all the way back in week three, when Packers safety M.D. Jennings picked off a desperation heave by the Seahawks' Russell Wilson. 

With eight seconds remaining in the game and the Seahawks trailing 12-7, Wilson took the snap and rolled left. He set his feet and unleashed a 40-yard Hail Mary as time expired. Receiver Golden Tate pushed off of cornerback Sam Shields in the back of the end zone, managing to get a hand on the pass just after Jennings did. Tate wrapped his arms around the ball as the two went to the ground and the much-maligned replacement refs rushed in to make the final call of their NFL careers. 

“Touchdown,” signaled the side judge. The back judge at the same time signaled for a timeout, though the clock showed triple zeros. Packers cornerback Jarrett Bush, the only one to get the call right, signaled interception and touchback. 

The ruling on the field was a touchdown by the NFL’s simultaneous catch rule, a situation that ESPN's broadcasters claimed was not reviewable. They would have been correct if the catch occurred in the field of play. In the end zone, it was a different story. Yet the replacement refs were just as clueless, and the initial ruling was upheld. Seahawks win. 

The sports world had its next Don Denkinger moment. The judges from June's controversial Manny Pacquiao-Timothy Bradley fight, no longer the year's least competent officials, could relax. 

This call was far worse. 

The Cardinals could have gotten three more outs to clinch the 1985 World Series in spite of Denkinger’s miss, and boxers understand the inherent risk in letting someone else decide their fight.

The Packers, on the other hand, were just pure out of luck. 

As I sat basking in the chaos of that Monday night, I couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. Goodell had seemingly got what he deserved after weeks of fighting with the real referees, and Green Bay's misfortune catapulted my Chicago Bears into first place.



I called a Packers fan to simultaneously brag and apologize. The game cost him half a bag of sunflower seeds and his girlfriend, who was currently vacuuming seeds and shells off of her dormitory floor.

Eventually I became a little more empathetic. First for my friend, who had some serious damage control to do. Then for the gamblers who bought the then-tantalizing three-point spread the Packers gave the Seahawks. And finally, for the Packers. This game would undoubtedly have playoff implications. 

The loss dropped Green Bay to 1-2, with a tough road ahead of them. In a 16-game season, no team can afford to take a loss when they've earned a win; imagine watching your baseball team drop 10 straight thanks to two weeks of poor officiating. 

Sure enough, that early-season mistake left them a half-game behind the 49ers and the NFC's second seed by season's end. Now, rather than hosting San Francisco on a week's rest, they'll head to Candlestick Park and the 49ers' 6-1-1 home record. 

The Seahawks, meanwhile, are a different story. They barreled into the playoffs and have now won eight straight, relying on that old "three yards and a cloud of dust" style we'd been told was all but obsolete in this pass-happy league. It's part of a certain bravado that surrounds them, an arrogance that you can't help but hate to love. 

Maybe it's because they're tucked away in the Pacific Northwest, a region often ignored and far removed from the rest of the sporting world. Maybe it's because Russell Wilson is one of the more unlikely rookie quarterbacks to have made it this far. Maybe it's because head coach Pete Carroll is perpetually wearing the frat-boy smirk of a man dancing one step ahead of trouble. Whatever it is, the Seahawks have that magnetic swagger, the kind that draws people in even as they shake their heads in disgust. 

I can’t be sure whether Seattle carried that swagger into week three, but they certainly left with it. Asked postgame if he saw Tate’s “catch,” Wilson smiled, shrugged and chuckled to himself. 

“It was simultaneous, so tie goes to the runner, right?” 

After a two-season minor league baseball career, Wilson knows better. The phrase is a myth. The tie doesn't go to the runner, it goes to the umpire, the highly-trained arbiter entrusted with determining the game's crucial moments. That Monday night in week three, the umpire was so wrong it brought two warring factions back to the table. The NFL and referees resolved their dispute, the scabs returned to their high school fields and arena leagues, and normalcy returned. Both teams made the playoffs, and all seemed fixed. 

But unless the Packers take the scenic route to the Super Bowl, there will always be a question of what might have been. Or more accurately, what should have been. It’s a tiny asterisk amended to this NFL football season, and a classic sports story that will live on long after Super Bowl XLVIII.

Burl Rolett is a contributor for Began in '96. He writes regularly about the Chicago Bears for Grabowskis in Exile.

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Via USA Today

By Jason Bacaj

It was only one season, but boy, what a season. The RGIII-led Redskins engineered the turnaround of the year and surged into the playoffs. Part of a short series on the best moments of 2012.

I wish I had a picture of the faces on all the people at my house when the Redskins won the NFC East. I wish I could take that feeling, bottle it up and take a sip any time I’m feeling down. I’d keep a little vial of it around my neck so emergency personnel could inject it directly into my aorta and bring me back to life, if need be.

Watching the Redskins capture the division for the third time in my life while surrounded by Dallas fans was glorious and amazing and easily one of the best sports moments of 2012. And because I can’t help but gloat a little bit more… to all the Cowboys fans still clinging to that “America’s Team” moniker: Child, please. You must not have seen this. Forget America’s Team, Robert Griffin III is America’s quarterback.

This year marked the complete turnaround of an NFL franchise that had seen so little success for so long. The Redskins went from worst to first, and while a significant portion of the credit goes to our Black Jesus under center, more encouraging was that much of what the team built over the past two years started to pay off.

The decrepit roster with a losing mentality was broken down and rebuilt, better piece by better piece. Head coach Mike Shanahan has cut 150 players since he came in, and only one (Carlos Rogers) is starting for another team. Over the course of those two years, the Redskins grew up right before our eyes.

Or at least my eyes, since it seems no one else has given them a chance since the late 1990s. I’m looking at you, ESPN the Magazine, with your 2-14 preseason prediction. And you, Pete Prisco of CBSSports.com, with your 3-13 prediction. Despite key early-season injuries and a dreadful 3-6 start, Washington refused to fold where it certainly would have in the past. Then suddenly they were owners of a seven-game winning streak, a division title, and a home playoff game.

Who knows what will happen next year. Offensive coordinator Kyle Shanahan appears interested in a head coaching gig (Don’t do it, Kyle! There’s a succesion plan in place and RGIII is your play-calling muse), the team will lose out on another $18 million in cap space and it’s already without a first round draft pick.* Not to mention Griffin’s wobbly knee, which swayed and then collapsed on the torn-up FedEx Field turf, dragging D.C.’s playoff dreams with it.

Even so, what happened this season was glorious. The pack-it-in attitude is gone. In its place is a franchise quarterback, a talented running back, and the kind of skill at each position that comes from a multiyear dedication to rebuilding. We’ve seen one of the finest franchise turnarounds in recent memory, and I can only hope that this year lives up to the new standard that the Redskins set in 2012.

Jason Bacaj is Began in '96's Out West correspondent and an appropriately optimistic Redskins fan.

*Article amended to reflect that the 'Skins do indeed have a second round draft pick. Hooray!

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Via Barstool

By Joe Schackman

Tim Tebow: Heisman Trophy winner, first-round draft pick, media darling, and now, quitter.

Sadly, a simple Google search of “Jets player quits” yields more results than any fan could ever hope to see.

There are articles on Fireman Ed’s public resignation, the October pummelling at the hands of the 49ers, and of course, Santonio Holmes’ meltdown in week 17 of last year. Surely you remember that one: with a winning season, playoff spot and pride on the line, Holmes felt it necessary to fight with teammates in the huddle. He was benched that day, and pilloried in the press for the next week. The incident became the symbol of the Jets’ broader locker room dysfunction.

One year later, and that dysfunction is back in the form of another quitter: Tim Tebow. To be clear, the Jets have been a mess this entire season. They were mathematically knocked out of playoff contention last week against the then 4-9 Titans, though that was just a formality. They were never really “in contention.” But any hope that the team might just slink away and start their offseason planning evaporated once the Jets benched Mark Sanchez for rookie Greg McElroy, passing over their second-stringer/media lightning rod in the process. Infuriated, Tebow reportedly told coaches that he would not participate that week in the Wildcat play package designed especially for him. Translation: I quit.

Now, you could argue that Tebow never got a fair shot with the Jets. He joined the team after a high-profile recruiting process during which many promises were likely made. He hasn’t come close to starting a game since then, despite playing the furthest into January of any Jets quarterback last year. And how the team has handled his role — dressing him when injured with broken ribs, scratching him when healthy — must make as little sense to Tebow as it has to the rest of us. But while that might make you upset, it doesn’t excuse wholesale quitting.

After all, what about Tebow’s play this season demonstrated that he deserved a starting shot? He played more than 70 snaps this year, mostly as the focal point, and at no point did one of those plays make you sit up and pay attention. In an offense desperate for an explosive playmaker, Tebow was not the answer.

Even last year, amid the frenzy over his six straight wins, warning signs abounded. He rarely hit his target, took too many sacks and fumbled 14 times. That was with the benefit of a stalwart offensive line, talented receivers and one of the NFL’s best defenses. Imagine him now with one of the league’s worst receiving corps, a nonexistent running game and a line that surrendered 11 sacks last week. Or if all that carnage is too much to picture, stick with this year’s small sample size: a 20% sack rate, 4.9 yards per pass attempt and 3.2 yards per rush. Tethering Tebow to the bench could be personal, especially if reports of infighting with Rex Ryan and offensive coordinator Tony Sparano are true. But with their jobs on the line, there is little doubt that they also see on-field justifications for their decision.

Tebow disagrees, and that’s understandable. He’s competitive and came to New York to play. Somewhere along the way, though, that competitiveness turned into entitlement. The player that preached sacrifice and “doing whatever it takes” for the team ignored his own sermons and opted out of his obligations. Throughout Tebow’s whole career, the game has adapted to him. His Senior Bowl team installed elements of Florida’s game plan to ensure he could show off his skills. The Broncos started him over second-stringer Brady Quinn (meaning Tebow did the same thing to Quinn that McElroy has now done to Tebow), then simplified their approach and limited his throws to ensure maximum success. In the offseason, they gave Tebow full control over his next destination. The Jets in turn preserved a play package just for him.

Now for the first time, a team is refusing to go the extra yard. New York owes him nothing but a paycheck, and in response Tebow shut himself down. He’s not “standing up to Rex,” or giving the Jets what they deserve, despite what some might argue. In a league where players are criticized for lesser offenses like holding out in the offseason or retiring early, the fetish-like obsession with this backup quarterback cannot gloss over his actions. By refusing to play in the Wildcat, he’s provided some insight into his true character. Tebow might be a competitor, but he’s also a quitter.

There is one game left in the season. It’s doubtful that Tebow will return. The team-first guy that he is, he already demanded a trade or release. The likely next destination is Jacksonville, another place willing to adapt to his needs. Returned to the comforts of hero worship, Tebow might not quit on them. But he deserves to be labeled, along with Santonio Holmes and all those before him, as one who might.

And about that Wildcat package that Tebow deemed beneath him? It was at its most effective all year with wide receiver Jeremy Kerley running the show. Hope the Jaguars include that in their scouting report.

Joe Schackman is an editor and co-founder of Began in '96.

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The Wall Street Journal

By Joe Schackman

Robert Griffin III's unique skills have changed the game's dynamics. But is it a temporary blip or a permanent evolution?

Jon Gruden was half right when he said that Robert Griffin III has revolutionized quarterback play in the National Football League.

The dynamic rookie is perhaps the only one alive who could run a pistol offense with consistent success, toggling between the array of passes, handoffs and scrambles presented to him at every snap. He’s confounded defenses and added a new layer of complexity to the position, and for that he has surely changed the game. In the NFL, though, change is as fleeting as it is common. The true test of the RGIII revolution is whether it sticks around.

As unique an athlete as the ‘Skins quarterback is, his singular effect on the league is not a new story. When teams find a player with a special skill set, they have always tried to maximize their impact by innovating around them. Often that means looking to the past, plucking decades-old game plans and inserting them into the present.

We saw that in 2008, when the Miami Dolphins wanted to get running backs Ricky Williams and Ronnie Brown involved at the same time. Coach Tony Sparano found his solution in the early 1900s, adapting the Pop Warner-designed single wing offense to the needs and realities of the pro game. By opening day, it had been rechristened as the Wildcat and looked nearly identical to some formations being run in college football.

The Wildcat steamrolled across the NFL that season. Miami won 10 games and the AFC East title, and a so-called revolution was born. By the next year, half the league had developed its own take on the formation. But despite its initial success, there was a reason the Wildcat had become extinct in the NFL all those decades ago. Defenses were simply too fast to cover the obvious running plays engineered out of the formation, and once the surprise factor wore off they simply pinned their ears back and gunned for the ball carrier. The Dolphins followed their ‘08 season with back-to-back 7-9 years, and Sparano was soon out of a job. The Wildcat followed, and at this point is an afterthought slotted firmly into a few teams’ trick play category.

It’s hard not to think back to that short-lived period when watching Griffin run the pistol. He’s a dynamic quarterback with a big arm and wide receiver-type speed. Yet even with such distinct talents, we’ve seen this before, going back to Michael Vick and Donovan McNabb and even Kordell Stewart. Griffin could prove better than all of them, but he is still built from the same dual-threat mold.

Where he diverges significantly is the offensive package he’s charged with running. Rather than cram him into a traditional system, Washington adopted the shotgun/single-back hybrid called the pistol. Used by some college teams, it places the quarterback halfway between the center and the running back, ideally allowing the quarterback to read the defense while also giving him an extra second to get a pass off. San Francisco starter Colin Kaepernick ran it effectively during his time at the University of Nevada, and Missouri, LSU, Ohio State and UCLA are among the others that have featured the formation. Some NFL teams have played around with it as well, mostly as a change of pace. But it had never been a primary formation before the Redskins dialed it up.

So far, it’s hard to argue with Washington’s success. On Monday Night Football against the New York Giants, the ‘Skins ran 32 of their 52 plays out of the pistol. It gave them multiple options, opening holes inside for running back Alfred Morris, outside for Griffin, and giving the receivers time to get open for the deep pass. The Giants looked lost against it.

Washington found similar success the next week against the Ravens, and for that reason the pistol is suddenly seen as the next big thing for the NFL. Expect more teams to adopt it and tailor the formation to fit their own strengths, and maybe even reap the rewards for a few weeks.

The lessons of the Wildcat loom large, however. Defenses often need time to adjust to new offensive gimmicks, but when they do, they stop them cold. There’s little doubt coordinators are spending day and night dissecting the pistol. For teams adopting the ‘Skins scheme, it’s likely a matter of time before they’re forced to return to a more traditional game plan.

Time could soon be up for Washington as well. The smart bet is that the novelty will wear off and the team will find itself going the way of the Dolphins if they fail to innovate further. But no one else has a centerpiece like Griffin, and it remains to be seen just how powerful a variable he is. For now, he’s simply changed offensive football in the NFL. Determining whether it’s a full-fledged revolution will take a bit more time.

Joe Schackman is an editor and co-founder of Began in '96.

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New York Daily News

By Joe Schackman

Three-quarters of the way through the season, it's clear that the New York Jets have quit.

Let’s start by getting this out in the open: the Jets are a terrible football team. They have a head coach struggling to reinvent himself; a general manager who left the roster full of glaring gaps; a defense so blinded by its hype that it’s run smack into a harsh reality; and of course two quarterbacks at the rock bottom of their short careers.

It’s not just that the Jets are bad, though. A lot of teams are bad, and New York fans have witnessed their fair share of them. It’s that these Jets are bad and show no inclination to do anything about it. They’re floating toward season’s end, lifeless.

The issues start at the top, with quarterback Mark Sanchez. Anointed as the franchise’s savior before he ever took a snap, the former fifth overall pick rode a strong defense and powerful running game to back-to-back AFC championship games, and looked as if he might turn into a real life NFL signal caller.

Just two years removed from that success, he’s far from the Jets’ dream quarterback. The team went 8-8 after elevating him from game manager to offensive centerpiece, and since then he’s only backpedaled faster. Burdened this year by the criticism and finger pointing that accompanies a poor season, and with a dash of Tebow hysteria thrown in, Sanchez is as confused as ever. He no longer mopes on the field, thanks to the body language coach hired especially for him a few years back, but instead seems to have swung clear in the other direction. Mistakes elicit little reaction, and he appears stuck in a state of detachment. Sanchez has shown enough flashes of raw ability to prove that he could become a good quarterback. The unfortunate question is now how badly he wants to fulfill that promise.

It’s impossible to tell whether Sanchez’s attitude has dragged down the rest of the team, or vice versa. But the bottom line is that the team is wholly uninspired, and that’s losing them games in spite of their talent. There are all-pro linemen and first-round picks scattered throughout the defense, and the Jets swore earlier in the season that they had fixed their locker room issues. It’s difficult to believe that though, especially when divisive figures like Santonio Holmes and Bart Scott are still around. Once the Jets lost leader Darrelle Revis to injury, it’s not hard to imagine that the general atmosphere deteriorated fast.

The on-field results, unsurprisingly, have been embarrassing. New York was blown out by the 49ers, Patriots and Dolphins. After the loss to San Francisco, cornerback Carlos Rodgers accused the Jets’ defense of quitting in what was more a statement of the obvious than a scandalous accusation. Respectable performances against the Texans, Colts and Rams have only reinforced that sentiment, demonstrating how well New York can play when it puts in the most basic levels of effort.

The Jets are badly in need of a change, and we will likely see some major personnel moves at the end of the year. But whether that translates into a better overall outlook will depend on what happens in the front office. Owner Woody Johnson is a few publicity stunts away from Dan Snyder status, just years after winning praise for his willingness to take risks on players and coach Rex Ryan. That healthy aggressiveness turned into a hunger for headlines somewhere down the line, starting with a misguided campaign for another season of Hard Knocks that was quickly upstaged by the media circus that is Tim Tebow. Johnson won the back page battle, that’s for sure. But he undermined GM Mike Tannenbaum, Ryan and Sanchez in the process, and did it for a marginal player with no clear role in the Jets’ offense (or special teams, or defense). He broke the cardinal rule of ownership: don’t meddle. Fixing the Jets means first fixing Johnson’s mindset and returning him to a more passive role where he sets a vision, hires good people and then sits back to watch it all play out.

This has been a strange era for Jets football. After two deep playoff runs, it’s hard to call it a failure. Yet calling it a success isn’t entirely truthful either. The team was always loud, often obnoxious and truly thought it was much better than it was. When the Jets were winning, that was acceptable. That’s not the case anymore.

Joe Schackman is an editor and co-founder of Began in '96.

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Via Giants.com

By Adam Cancryn

The Giants' ensured another poor November with a loss to the Bengals this Sunday, but that's no reason to panic.

Fluttering passes, shoddy defense, drive-killing turnovers and boos reverberating throughout MetLife Stadium. It must be November in East Rutherford.

The New York Giants fell to the Cincinnati Bengals on Sunday in a game that was over just minutes after kickoff. New York gave up two quick touchdowns — including a wide-open 56-yarder to this week's Tabloid Enemy #1 — and responded over the next two hours with a series of dinks, dumps and drops that netted them next to nothing. Throw in a few bad interceptions and missed tackles, and you arrive at a 31-13 final that wasn't nearly as close as the score indicates.

The loss was the Giants' second straight this month, and the latest evidence of what remains one of the NFL's most baffling trends. Since Tom Coughlin took over as head coach in 2004, New York has christened this time of year Nosedive November. No matter their record coming in, nor their opponent, the Giants are so consistently inconsistent during this 30-day period that you can set your calendar by it.

Under Coughlin, the team is 13-21 in eight Novembers. That includes 1-2 and 1-3 in their 2007 and 2011 championship years, respectively. And this year, New York came into the month 6-2 and as talented as ever, only to fall asleep at the wheel again. Eli Manning is in the midst of the longest touchdown drought of his career. Victor Cruz, who is so good at sneaking behind secondaries, dropped a sure touchdown and finished this week with just 26 yards. The Giants' defense appeared utterly perplexed by a Bengals game plan that was just a slightly more complex version of pitch and catch.

Wideout A.J. Green sure wasn't kidding when he said there were holes in New York's secondary, but then again, all he needed to do was look at the date.

There has never been a satisfactory explanation for why the Giants lose when the leaves turn. They are notoriously fast starters, and maybe fail to adapt as other franchises adjust and gain steam later in the season. But the good news is that there is just one November game left, and history shows that things get a little better in December. Come the playoffs, their resume stands on its own. In the start-and-stop world of the NFL, you take a fast starter and fast finisher over midseason strength every time.

So a little perspective, Giants fans. As the only NFC East team above .500, this swoon has done little to damage their playoff hopes. There's no need to call for Coughlin's firing, though history has also taught us that is inevitable. There's no need to whine about Bradshaw or Cruz, though what is perhaps the most shortsighted fan base this side of the Yankees surely has done so already. (A fan tweet timestamped about midway through the fourth quarter called for for the Giants to dump all three Super Bowl linchpins, and bring in Bill Cowher.) For all the ugliness this past Sunday, little has changed.

These are the Giants, winners of two Super Bowls, masters of the hot streak. They are as talented and confident as any top team. They will still be here when it all comes down to the wire, and they will be at their best. Right now, it's only November, so take a deep breath. The best months are yet to come.

Adam Cancryn is a co-founder and editor of Began in '96.

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By Adam Cancryn

A visual breakdown of Robert Griffin III's breakout performance last Sunday against the Minnesota Vikings.

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By Joe Schackman

Mark Sanchez's time as a Jet is likely coming to an end, and the blame for his failures rest with both the quarterback and the team.

It’s been right in front of my eyes for the last four seasons, but until now I was unwilling to admit what everyone else saw. Mark Sanchez, the fourth-year quarterback and fifth overall pick out of USC, is not the future of the New York Jets. Until now, I made excuses for his play, citing rigged statistics and useless buzzwords like “poise” and “winner.” It’s time to face the ugly truth: The experiment, started by head coach Rex Ryan and general manager Mike Tannenbaum, is just about over. And the failures rest with both Sanchez and the organization.

In 2009, Mark Sanchez rode into New York on a wave of optimism. The Jets had a boisterous new head coach, an up-and-coming defense and, in Sanchez, a potential franchise quarterback. He would be their first top-tier signal caller since Joe Namath (though calling Namath top tier has always been a stretch) and the heart of the Jets’ resurgence.

Things have not gone as planned, to say the least. But the situation was promising for a bit. The Jets put Sanchez in positions where he could succeed, and he rode an impressive defense and solid running game to two straight AFC Championship games. It was exactly the way to handle a young quarterback. The recipe for NFL quarterback development is pretty clear cut, and the Jets followed it to a T. They limited his throws. They brought in LaDanian Tomlinson as a safety blanket. They traded for Santonio Holmes and even brought in Mark Brunel to serve as a glorified quarterbacks coach. Hell, they hired a body language coach to make sure he projected a leader’s demeanor.

But come his third season, New York asked him to take the next step, to lead the offense in a league where good passing equals wins. And that is where things went wrong.

Sanchez looked uncomfortable when asked to be “the guy.” His completion percentage was abysmal, and he was never able to keep the offense in rhythm. Though always athletic enough to make plays with his feet, once the rush got close his eyes drifted to the oncoming lineman instead of downfield, and he had a knack for throwing into double or even triple coverage. Sanchez made enough plays to keep his job, but never enough to convince the league he was a serious threat. Grantland's Bill Barnwell put his victories into the context of their strong defense and special teams and came to the conclusion that just about any quarterback could have won in his situation.

After last year's disappointing 8-8 season, the Jets brought in an offensive coordinator who specialized in the ground game, not in mentoring and developing a young quarterback within an increasingly complex offense. Then came Tim Tebow, football’s version of the Swiss army knife. It cost them a fourth round pick, and while he’s added a slight wrinkle to the offense, the deal failed fill any of their holes. In particular, the glaring one at wide receiver.

To call the Jets’ receiving corps “average” is to be extremely nice. There’s the talented but stubborn Santonio Holmes, but things get pretty bleak after that. Jeremy Kerley and Stephen Hill have shown promise, but neither is reliable or especially talented. And they’re certainly not good enough to bail out Sanchez when he needs the help.

That has seemingly become the organizational stand on Sanchez. The team publicly and I’m sure privately assures him that he is their preferred starting quarterback, but every decision they made in the last two seasons has been to his detriment. When it came time to really double down on his future, the Jets balked, walked away from the table and hoped he could do it on his own.

What’s painful about all of this is that Sanchez could still be good in this league. He showed promise at times during his young career and, in many ways, is much farther along than Alex Smith ever was. Look at Smith now, years after he was declared a bust. Even Eli Manning wasn't a stud by his fourth year, and now he’s got multiple rings. So no, Sanchez is probably not en route to a Super Bowl championship this season, but three to four years is too soon to fully judge a quarterback. But if his career to this point is any indication, it’s doubtful Sanchez will ever get what he needs from the Jets.

Assuming this season continues as it has the blame should fall on Mark Sanchez as much as Rex and Tannenbaum. This off-season could mark a complete overhaul of the New York Jets. Ownership could very well bring in a new head coach, a new general manager and that almost always means a new quarterback.

Joe Schackman is a co-founder of Began in '96 and doesn't think Tim Tebow is the answer either.

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Banqshot

By Adam Cancryn

Three disastrous weeks put Roger Goodell's legacy in danger. Six years into his tenure, it's time now for him to stand up and take charge.

Surely you could not have seen this coming. Who could?

In your six years as NFL commissioner, we've witnessed scandals and controversies, infighting and sniping and all-out hostility. There was the player lockout, those damn concussion studies, the retired player lawsuits, the active player lawsuits and the string of arbitrary punishments, just to name a few; and that's in addition to the daily contemptible act of being a shill for 31 old rich guys.

And yet after making it through all that, it was the referees who brought you down, who tarnished your legacy and rewrote the first lines of your bio. The referees! The only NFL constituency loathed by everyone had turned the tables and pitted nearly everyone against you. If you cannot be blamed for one thing during your time in office, it is that you did not see this coming.

But there you were, presiding over a catastrophe. Three weeks in, and the NFL was burning. On one side were the owners, those 31 penny-pinchers (and the Packers' board of directors) who got you into this mess. On the other side sat the referees, backed by an army better referred to as the entire football-watching free world. Even Scott Walker and Paul Ryan opposed you, and they spend their free time forcing firefighters and teachers to fight to the death for a satchel of golden coins and half a thing of health care.

You sat in the middle. It wasn't your fault, this lockout. We understand that. The owners could fund the referees' pensions with the change collected from stadium cupholders following a Sunday slate of games. They didn't want to, mainly because few people in the world have ever deigned to tell them "no," and it took a game-changing screwup just to bring them to the table

Yet while crises like this are not your fault, it is your job to fix them. It is your job to "protect the Shield," as you famously said, and so far during your tenure the owners have used that Shield as a doormat. In the process, the game became more dangerous, the overmatched and intimidated scab referees sparked outrage, and the fans lost trust — if not yet interest — in the NFL. The "product" (again, your words) faced grave danger, and it will again if you don't get tough.

If the referee lockout taught you anything, it's that you must start to push back against the owners, and do it publicly when necessary. The pulpit of the commissioner's office is your most powerful tool, and without using it you don't stand a chance. At no time was that more apparent than the deafening silence emanating from 345 Park Ave. in the wake of Monday night's stunning incompetence. You're the commissioner of the NFL, the CEO of a multibillion-dollar enterprise and the commander in chief of the world's most popular war game. Act like it.

We're not expecting you to side with the players on every point, or even stray far from the league's money-over-everything approach. But we expect leadership. It took three weeks of gridiron-bound chaos to push this deal through. Next time — and there will be a next time — it's up to you to strong-arm everyone to the negotiating table. The players still want assurances that the work they do won't destroy them in 20 years. Find a way to protect their heads, before every season starts with a moment of silence for the latest round of players to kill themselves. The fans just want to watch the game they love. Deliver the quality they deserve at a price that doesn't disqualify three-quarters of the country or sink their cities into debt.

You cannot control the owners, and you cannot control the players or referees. This much is true. But this much is also true: the job of a commissioner is to persuade and cajole and coax everyone into a healthy coexistence that furthers the game of football. Doing so is not easy, and you might not be well-liked by the end (what commissioner ever is?), but it's what you signed up for. And on multiple occasions now, you've failed. The Shield, and your legacy, have suffered. If not financially, than in the public's eye.

Now is the time. Stand up, find your voice, and start doing what is right for the NFL, and only the NFL. It's time to lead.

Adam Cancryn is an editor and co-founder of Began in '96.

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via CincyJungle.com

By Jason Bacaj

An unfiltered, real-time glimpse into the mind of a Redskins fan during the team's bizarre and crushing loss to the Cincinnati Bengals.

It's not every season that fans get to watch a franchise's rebirth.

This year, we're being treated to an amazing one with the Washington Redskins. I'm wholly biased, but that doesn't make it untrue. If one thing is clear, the team isn't a turd sandwich held together by cracked toothpicks anymore. It's a team with focus and potential. They're great to watch, and the new era has brought the fan base together even tighter than before. "It's real this time," we tell each other through earnest, shining eyes. We're watching every second and basking in it.

Unfortunately, the rebirth of a team is frustratingly slow and frequently painful, and as Redskins fans we're wired to believe that all of the franchise's promise could disappear tomorrow. But in the meantime, everyone should be allowed to enjoy the show, and so I'm offering you a firsthand look at my life through a text message conversation held during yesterday's Redskins-Bengals game. 

A little background: My friend and fellow fan David Sternlicht had to miss Sunday's home opener against the Bengals for "family time," and so I provided him with the best play-by-play I could via text. 

The conversation (lightly edited to protect the innocent) began after Mohamed Sanu hit A.J. Green for a 73-yard touchdown pass on the first play from scrimmage. Redskins running back Alfred Morris ripped off a nice run to start the Redskins' first drive, and then on Morris' carry the next play...

I was too furious and confused to type after that. Without hearing the announcers' explanation, I have no idea what exactly happened. There was a sack, false start, the Bengals ran on the field, the Bengals ran off the field, and next thing you know it was third and 50 from the opposite 40-something. The Redskins had the ball on the 19 going in a couple plays before. I still have no words to describe what happened. The Washington Post took a shot at dissecting the last 10 seconds, but there are still a number of question marks.

I'm hoping for a quick return to the brilliance we saw week one, but I'm not holding out hope. That week featured a team that was daring, beautiful and made me feel dangerous and safe at the same time. But it was also horribly cruel and misleading if the last two games signal a return to the typical Redskins heartbreak, one that would be magnified this year by the long-awaited presence of a star quarterback like RGIII (and the unfortunate presence of those damn replacement refs). All the same elements are there: crucial injuries, missed tackles, poor line play and mental lapses on both the players' and coaches' part.

That said, I'd like to point out that RGIII has led the team on potential last-second, game-winning drives in the last two games. Both were ruined by penalties and poor refereeing. But it appears we finally have a player that thrives during those moments. Warms the heart. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed your glimpse into the rebirth of a franchise and all the joyous pain that goes with it.

Jason Bacaj is Began in '96's Out West correspondent and an abundantly optimistic Redskins fan.

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