I am a man in torment. I liken my state to the psychotic who suddenly realizes the friends he’s had for years are not real. My eyes have seen, and they have been validated by my sense of hearing, smell, and touch. But what I’ve seen, heard, smelled and touched, may not exist. Everything I know to be right is turning out to be wrong. Most challenging of all, I find myself questioning my most core values and staunchly held beliefs. My faith is wavering.
Of course by now you can tell I am a Denver Broncos fan, and I am speaking of the situation involving Tim Tebow. I watched pre-season just like everyone else. And like most people, I saw a player who was confused, poorly trained, and wholly absent of the most fundamental of skills. When the Denver coaches made the change from Kyle Orton, I was ecstatic. Finally, we could put the quarterback controversy to rest, while pleasantly setting ourselves up to draft the greatest college prospect since our own John Elway. Then the team started winning, and my psychosis started. Tebow’s play was flawed, to put it mildly, but the wins kept coming. I should have been happy for our beloved Broncos, yet I found myself embarrassed and even angered by the success. I saw poor performances rewarded with victory, and we moved hopelessly out of position for the draft. I was sure we didn’t have a sustainable answer at quarterback, but from what seemed to be a massive dearth of talent emerged a division lead.
The last three weeks of the season where a welcome respite for me. Although I had to face the truth that our quarterback situation would destine the team to several more years of mediocrity, at least I could be sure the delusions about Tebow were gone. But today, I wonder if the delusions were my own, and my reality is once again a blur. The team won a playoff game, and Tim Tebow threw for more passing yards against the top defense in the league than any other quarterback this year. I try to pin my senses to the fact that it was done on only ten completions, but I remember the win and my stupor begins again. I am no longer unable to function. When I should be reading up on the 2013 quarterback draft class, I find my attention uncontrollably drawn to web sites that sell jerseys with the number 15 on them.
Next week’s game against the Patriots may be my only remaining hope. Messrs. Brady and Belichick can break me from this endless night that consumes my consciousness. Yet in that salvation, I’m rooting for my team, my Broncos, to lose a second round playoff game. The conflict burns at my soul. Someone please help me before I go insane.