3 Thoughts on the Super Bowl
So Sunday’s game was pretty good, right? Not thrilling, but nice. And it left me with a few thoughts on the issues that are usual pet peeves of mine:
A Bittersweet Victory for Odell
In the early 2000s, there was a lot of talk about why the NFL had so many “crazy” wide receivers: Randy Moss, Terrell Owens, Chad Johnson, etc. It seemed like the position attracted guys who were inclined to feud with their teams and cause controversy by, perhaps, pulling a Sharpie out of a sock and signing a ball in the endzone after a touchdown. There was a formula to the way these guys were discussed: They were portrayed as unruly but naturally gifted athletes who could really help a team win—if only they were kept in line.
There was obviously an anti-player, racist tinge to all this—but mostly, it was an attempt to find a psychological answer to a question that was really structural. Because the reason so many receivers appeared “crazy” is that the position really will drive you crazy. In order to be an NFL receiver, you have to be exceptionally athletic—both very fast AND very big. Of course, everyone in the NFL is exceptionally athletic. But as a receiver, your success is unusually dependent on the offensive system you’re in and, most importantly, the quarterback throwing you the ball. You can be the most talented, capable receiver in the world, and you still might only get thrown the ball nine times a game (the all-time record for wide receiver targets in a season is 205 by Marvin Harrison in 2002—which still comes out to fewer than 13 per game).
Let’s say that number dips from nine to seven for one game. That might not seem like a lot—it’s only two plays after all. But suddenly your potential impact has dropped by 20%. Or let’s say three of those throws are bad. Again, not such a big deal; what quarterback doesn’t have a few bad throws a game? But if you’re the receiver, it must feel incredibly frustrating to have so much of your success fall outside your control. It’s enough to drive you insane. And, tellingly, the years when those “crazy” wide receivers were paired with great quarterbacks—Owens in 2004, Moss in 2007, etc.—were years when they were uncharacteristically sane. But as is often the case, the workers were blamed for the bad situation created by management.
Tellingly, as the passing game has opened up in the NFL, the “crazy wide receiver” stereotype has largely faded (although not entirely, as Antonio Brown shows). In other words, as receivers get more chances for success, they’ve become easier to mollify (which is actually the opposite of what you’d expect if the problem was that they “stars” too focused on their own success). But Odell Beckham Jr. is a throwback…
Beckham has been target of the same playbook used on Owens/Moss/Ochocinco/etc. When he first came into the league, in 2014, he was celebrated for his natural playmaking abilities. But as the Giants stumbled, he quickly got a reputation as a headcase. He had to deal with injuries, coaching staff turnover, and an aging quarterback, but all that became his fault somehow. He was accused of malingering, the coaching turnover proved he couldn’t get along with anyone, and even the controversy surrounding Eli Manning’s retirement was blamed on him.
Eventually, he was traded to Cleveland, and again he dealt with injuries, two coaches in less than three years, and a struggling quarterback. But again that was all blamed on him, and he was accused of quitting on the team before being released midway through the year. When the Rams picked him up, he was finally on a contending team with a good quarterback and a stable coaching staff—and he had his best season in years. In just eight games with Los Angeles, he caught five touchdowns, which was the most he’s had since being traded. And on Sunday he seemed like an early favorite for Super Bowl MVP. He caught the first touchdown of the game, and then had another 35-yard reception to bring the Rams into Cincinnati territory.
But then he tore his ACL and had to watch the rest of the game from the sidelines. It’s certainly exciting that he’ll get a ring, but it really looked like this was Beckham’s chance for vindication, and that was sadly cut short.
What Makes Sean McVay a Good Coach?
Oddly, after Beckham’s injury, the NBC broadcasting team of Al Michaels and Cris Collinsworth kept talking about it like the Rams offense was lost without him. Losing Beckham was certainly a blow, but they were acting as if the whole Los Angeles system was designed around one receiver. In reality, of course, they picked up Beckham when they were already 7-2, and their actual primary receiver was Cooper Kupp, who happened to win Offensive Player of the Year this year.
The real reason the Rams offense seemed to sputter after Beckham went out was that they insisted on trying to run the ball, even when it was clearly not working. They ran the ball 23 times for 43 yards. The only really successful running play they ran all game was a reverse to Kupp on a late fourth down that went for seven yards. But otherwise the Bengals basically shut the running game down.
Which wasn’t surprising at all! Cincinnati’s defense was pretty good against the run all year. On the other hand, the Bengals had a terrible passing defense, and yet it was only late in the game that the Rams really took advantage of that. It felt reminiscent of Super Bowl LIII, when McVay came in with reputation as an offensive mastermind—and scored a whopping 3 points against the Patriots based on some questionable play calling.
Why does a supposed offensive mastermind keep having weirdly underwhelming offensive performances in Super Bowls? Well, perhaps his reputation is overblown. I don’t want to knock McVay, who I generally like, or twist myself into saying that a coach who just won the Super Bowl is not any good. But I suspect what makes McVay good is not some brilliantly innovative offense, even if that’s what he gets credit for.
In this last round of hiring for NFL head coaches, there was more discussion of “the Sean McVay effect,” since there were a bunch of hires who either came from the McVay/Kyle Shanahan coaching tree (Mike McDaniel, Kevin O’Connell) or guys who just fit the broad profile of young, white, offensive assistants with limited head coaching experience (Nathaniel Hackett, Josh McDaniel, Brian Daboll). But watching the postgame celebration on Sunday, I couldn’t help but wonder if the secret to McVay’s success is simpler: His players seem to like him a lot.
McVay was enthusiastically praised by Matthew Stafford, who won the Super Bowl in his first year in LA, and Eric Weddle, who came out of retirement to play for the Rams in the postseason. And maybe that’s just the post-Super Bowl euphoria talking, but maybe it suggests that trusting your players is more important than being some offensive guru.
The Lost Meaning of Kneeling
During the halftime show that was targeted like a laser at the millennial demographic, Eminem could be seen briefly taking a knee on stage. There were initial reports that the NFL had forbidden him from doing this, but afterwards the league came out and said they were aware of his plans to kneel and did nothing to stop it: “We watched all elements of the show during multiple rehearsals this week and were aware that Eminem was going to do that.”
The whole thing was really a sad reflection of what’s become of Colin Kaepernick’s brave stance. When he first started kneeling, in 2016, Kaepernick was very clear about why he was doing it:
“I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses black people and people of color. To me, this is bigger than football and it would be selfish on my part to look the other way. There are bodies in the street and people getting paid leave and getting away with murder.”
But now his gesture has been so co-opted and manipulated that the message is completely unclear. It sort of misses the point of Kaepernick’s original protest if the song playing while you kneel is “Lose Yourself” and not “The Star-Spangled Banner.” In that case, it’s less of a protest and more of a reference. This isn’t meant as a criticism of Eminem, who likely meant it as a show of solidarity with Kaepernick, but it’s just sad the symbol has now become about the NFL, or Kaepernick himself, more than it is really about the issue of police brutality.
Of course the NFL was not threatened by Eminem kneeling during the halftime show for five seconds. It’s not really a threatening gesture after Jerry Jones and Nancy Pelosi do it. If anything, it’s a reminder of how completely the NFL won that fight. It’s true the league had to pay a settlement, but it effectively stamped out any protests, weathered the political controversy stirred by Donald Trump, and has emerged more popular than ever.
This ought to serve as a real warning of get caught up in the symbols associated with protest movements. Somewhere along the way, the fight over Colin Kaepernick became a fight about kneeling, and not a fight about police brutality. This is not Eminem’s fault, and it’s certainly not Kaepernick’s, but we ought to be honest about the stakes of the fight if we hope to continue it.