PFT – Jets running back Isaiah Crowell … wiped his rear end with the ball and threw it into the stands, drawing a penalty.
“I didn’t think about the touchdown celebration before the game,” Crowell told reporters after the loss to the Browns, his former team. “It was just the spur of the moment, but I need to control myself. I don’t think it had to do with the stadium I was at, I just feel like it was spur of the moment. …
“It was just passion and it wasn’t a message towards anybody. You have to play the game with passion and that is the way I play. I did it so I have to accept whatever punishment comes with the celebration.”
The punishment may not come just from the league office, which is certain to fine him. Coach Todd Bowles isn’t happy about it, either.
“That was inexcusable,” Bowles told reporters. “We addressed it and it will never happen again.”
Oh, c’mon, Isaiah Crowell. You had us. You had us all in the palm of your pantomime shit-covered hand. You delivered a glorious moment, right in full focus of the high-def cameras. It was real. It was genuine. It was the kind of moment a good man would share with his son, hold you up as an example and say “See, my lad? This is how you do it. This is how you celebrate your achievements. This is what competition is all about.”
But now you had to go and spoil the moment with your remorse and contrition. And why? I have no idea why. Because America continues to be pussified, I suppose. Time was when men in this country metaphorically wiped their ass cracks with their defeated opponents things, drank a whiskey, smoked a Lucky, banged the prom queen, slept like babies, woke up and did it all again. To the victor go the spoils and all that. If you don’t want your things up my crack, stop me from beating you was our national motto. It was on the currency, IIRC. But stupid political correctness killed all that.
If I can refer to myself in the third person just this once, Old Balls doesn’t like to start sentences with “When I was a kid.” But I’ll make this exception. When I was a kid the Patriots had a linebacker named Sam Hunt. Not the singer/songwriter. My Sam Hunt was 6-1, and listed as 250 lb but looked like that was his weight from middle school. He was three bills if he was an ounce. Anyway, he once intercepted a pass and ran it back 68 yards for the Pick-6. He then proceeded to squat down, raise the ball over one shoulder, raise the ball over the other shoulder, put it between his butt cheeks and shit it onto the ground. It was glorious. One of my fondest childhood memories. It gave me hope the world was a place filled with joy and anything was possible. There was no penalty. No fines. No apologies. No one worried about Hunt’s “example” or worried about his poop-humor’s effect on … the children. It was funny. We laughed. We moved on with our lives. We were better for it.
Fast forward now to Super Bowl XLIX, when Doug Baldwin beat Darrelle Revis in the endzone to make it a 24-14 game. The cameras cut away from him. An unsportsmanlike conduct penalty was assessed on the subsequent kickoff. No mention of it was made. Al Michaels and Cris Collinsworth never explained it. It wasn’t until well after the game did we find out he also pretended to dump out the football. But somehow our nation, who’ve seen murders, assassinations, rocket explosions, wars and acts of terror, somehow had to be spared Baldwin’s atrocity.
So thanks to Isaiah Crowell for that brief moment of hilarity.
And shame on Isaiah Crowell, for taking it back. Most of all, best of luck to Todd Bowles trying to stop that sort of thing from happening on his team. My guess is this won’t be Crowell’s last celebration penalty. You can’t put limits on his kind of genius.