There Will Be Teblood – The Chargering
Brother Timothy Tebow’s Traveling Miracle and Cut-Rate Circumcision Road Show rolls into town this week and His Heavenly Father has blessed San Diego with more beautiful than usual weather in anticipation of this heavenly event. Now that Kyle Orton has been cast from DenverEden, God will be particularly protective of Timmy because, Notre Dame or no Notre Dame, nobody wants to see Brady Quinn placing his hands near another man’s manparts. Not even Touchdown Jesus.
For your weekly Tebow apostasy, we turn to the Book of Zirin:
Tim Tebow’s completion percentage is 44.8 percent. Take away his magical fourth quarters and the number is closer to 30 percent. This kind of awful is in the “Shaq free-throw percentage, Mario Mendoza batting average” sports hall of fame. But he’s not awful in the turgid unwatchable way that, say, a Kate Hudson movie is awful. He’s fascinating/awful. He’s Reefer Madness awful. He’s old Nic Cage in Vampire’s Kiss awful. Tim Tebow throws a football like someone heaving a ham-shaped grenade. It needs to be seen to be believed. I’ve never used this phrase to describe an NFL quarterback, and hope I never have to again, but he’s thrillingly campy. Watching him is like watching Sarah Palin be interviewed by someone off the Murdoch payroll. Disaster lurks, but the prurient/erotic ardor of their admirers fills the air around them and you cannot look away. National Review’s Rich Lowry once said, presumably while crossing and recrossing his legs, that Sarah Palin “sent little starbursts through the screen.” Tebow’s fans shake with the same puritanical spasms, as they wear number 15 jerseys with Jesus, instead of Tebow stitched on the back. He’s the promise ring of NFL quarterbacks and I see a spectacle from which I cannot avert my eyes.
Word. Or, Amen.
One of those….