Vince Young is sorry, he says.
Sorry he didn't keep his head down. Sorry he didn't keep quiet. Sorry he — and now I'm putting words in his mouth — broke the cardinal rule of quarterbacking while black: He gave people room to see him as a symbol of insurrection.
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"I wish I would've just shut up and just played football," Young said during an upcoming interview on In Depth with Graham Bensinger.
Young — a former Texas Longhorn hero and Rookie of the Year — fell out of favor with the Tennessee Titans in 2010 after a series of admittedly immature acts. Against Washington, he pouted on the sidelines when he was benched with a thumb injury. He threw his shoulder pads into the stands. He combated with his coach. There were team meetings about him, without him.
"I know definitely because of the fact I got into it with my boss, my coach, and it kind of spread it through the NFL that I was this guy: I don’t work hard, I’m not a good guy," Young told Bensinger. "It’s kind of hard to fight that battle and didn’t nobody want to go to battle with me."
As Fisher has done for much of his career, he has escaped most due criticism of mishandling the situation, despite doing his damnedest from Young's draft day to undermine his quarterback. But Fisher, for some reason, is Teflon, a .500-caliber coach with a reputation buoyed by a runner-up season. But the story stuck to Young's resume. He left Tennessee. He got one ill-fated cameo with Philadelphia. Then he was gone at 28, his 50-start career a lesson we've learned before.
The leash is shorter for those who don't look the part of the classic quarterback. And the NFL's quarterback blacklist often becomes its own pun, whether intended or not. Whether subconscious or systemic.
We saw it with Aaron Brooks, who could barely get a phone call after criticizing the Saints' handling of Hurricane Katrina's aftermath.
"Those who speak out get smacked. They get reprimanded," Brooks told SN for that story. "And if I had never said anything, they probably don't set me down."
We see it with the rhetoric that surrounds Robert Griffin III and Colin Kaepernick in the present, and we see it suggested in some of the careers of black quarterbacks cut short. Often, stats can justify the moves. RG3 turned into a shell of himself; Young threw more interceptions than touchdowns; Brooks left New Orleans after suffering the worst completion percentage and TD-INT ratio of his career.
But stats can also be self-fulfilling prophecies. The result of fitting square pegs into round holes, a time-honored tradition in the stubborn-to-adapt NFL. The result of circumstance. The result of the admittedly intangible challenge of playing for someone who preemptively plans his reactions to your missteps.
But hey, why don't we talk stats. Young started 50 games. His team — not just he — won 31 of them. He won a Rookie of the Year award, not because he dazzled, but because he did it. And did it in an exciting way. Four fourth-quarter comebacks, five game-winning drives, more than 500 yards rushing. And in 2010, before he became the problem child, Young was putting up career-bests in touchdown percentage, interception percentage, yards per attempt, and quarterback rating.
Young's final stat line in Tennessee: 93-156 (59.6%), 1,255 yards, 10 TD and 3 INT in eight starts. If not superstar statistics, potential for an upward trajectory. Marked improvement. If nothing else, above the Matt McGloin line. And yet, he'd essentially never get another shot. And maybe it's because he was mentally broken. But it seems just as likely that it was because the NFL quarterback-recycling system is broken.
Michael Vick's renaissance is the exception. This is the rule:
Charlie "Clipboard Jesus" Whitehurst just got another job, and not as Johnny Depp's stunt double. His fourth team, his fifth chance. He's older than Young. His career completion percentage is worse. His average pass even shorter. His teams' win-loss record (2-7) less than optimal. He has 10 TD for his career. But he belongs.
Draft classmate Matt Leinart never put together a season as good as Young's 2010. He "lost" the proverbial locker room. He got two more chances after Arizona. Kyle Boller's career stats almost all fall just short of Young's. He got two more chances after Baltimore. Brady Quinn — he of the career 53.8 completion percentage, 12 TD and 17 INT — got four opportunities post-Cleveland. The list of quarterbacks constantly spinning in the NFL laundry cycle goes ever on, from the brothers McCown to Ryan Fitzpatrick to Matt Flynn.
Jimmy Clausen is the same age as Young was when his career prematurely ended. He has started a game for the Bears this season. His teams have a 1-11 record when he starts. He has a career completion percentage of 53.2, five touchdown passes in 13 appearances, 103.4 yards per game and 74 career rushing yards. But he belongs.
So, too, do Blaine Gabbert, Bruce Gradkowski, Shaun Hill, Brian Hoyer, Dan Orlovsky and nine dudes named Matt. Seriously, nine. All active, all extended hands that slammed the door shut on Young's career.
Perhaps none of these quarterbacks meet your definition of "knucklehead." But someone might have once labeled Matt Schaub that way, as he was arrested and charged with assault in 2004. And his stats as the Falcons' second-fiddle didn't suggest he deserved special treatment: an 0-2 record, a 52.2 completion percentage, 6 touchdowns, 6 interceptions. His seven-year stint as the Texans' franchise QB wouldn't have happened without looking past the past. But ... he looks the part, so he belongs.
Perhaps none of these quarterbacks ever crossed Jeff Fisher. But is that the precedent the league wants to set for going one step too far? The same league, we've learned recently, that will forgive (and pretend to rehabilitate) Greg Hardy his past for his present and future capability to legally hit people hard can't stomach a quarterback who more than anything needed room to grow, and instead, found himself in the greenhouse of an angry gardener?
Coaches and teams' unwillingness to take that chance, to foster the development of quarterbacks who don't look or act the stereotypical part, has cost them. Which is why what Young told Huffington Post in February rings just as true as his remorse for earning a reputation as a locker room cancer.
"I don't want to sound bad, but there were some very horrible quarterbacks out there this year," Young said. "They say I'm bad, but, you know, I'm just really sure I should be back there playing football and supporting the game that I love."
Too bad the game never tried to support him or love him back.