Being the Number Two in anything is never an enviable task. Besides the penchant for sophomoric jokes focusing on one being a “Number Two” to begin with, having to deal with being a sub-celebrity is no doubt a humbling experience. (I’ve been told.)
Art Garfunkel had Paul Simon, John and Adam Oates had their own personal Hall and Hull, Wesson had to contend with Smith, and there would be no ‘N Plenty without the Good, right? In football, more or less, it is the quarterback who gets the bulk of the media attention, and instant recognition from the fans.
Despite being shrouded by a thick piece of padded plastic each Sunday, everyone knows what Tom Brady, Michael Vick, the Mannings, and Drew Brees look like. The guys below them on the depth chart are the ones least likely to wear their helmets on Sunday. If they do, especially outside the stadium, one might get a better understanding of why they’re not starting in the first place.
Backup. Understudy. Underling. Reserve. Second-string. There are plenty of names used to distinguish the indistinguishable, the quarterbacks who owners, coaches, and fans would rather not see in the game at any one time if they had their druthers. If he does make an appearance, it usually means that the starter: is sleeping one off, is overly moody, has decided that a shredded ACL was more than he could bare, and/or that a nasty case of listeria hit the team spread (not necessarily in order of likelihood).
Just think about the aforementioned ways to reference the men who spend most of their careers in captivity behind a chalked white boundary line. “Backup” is usually what you use as a safety precaution, for example with precious computer files just in case that rich family in Uganda doesn’t actually give you the 10 million dollars they promised, but instead renders your laptop and bank accounts more worthless than that banana holder you rashly purchased after an infomercial hypnotism session.
Understudy is not a flattering description, either. On a somewhat unrelated note (every article I’ve written could have this qualifier), I’ve always thought it to be a pretty self-effacing job to be the understudy in “Phantom of the Opera.” If you are lower than a phantom on the depth chart, are you even located in the same ether or dimension? Understudies spend most of their career preparing for the main event only to be told, “Hit the showers, we’re good for now.” What is a second-string anyway? One would assume the first string is strong enough so that the second string could be cut without any ill-effects. Doesn’t sound too promising.
Some NFL quarterbacks thrive in the limelight (those not allergic to citrus), others in the absence of light, maybe a dark light. Take Jim Sorgi. Sorgi was drafted in 2004 by the Indianapolis Colts and subsequently waited behind Peyton Manning for his turn to start, which is akin to waiting behind the sun as the replacement for being the Earth’s source of light. Manning made 208 consecutive starts up until 2011, by which time Sorgi had already landed a job as a backup to Eli in New York. Unfortunately, Jim did not get the memo, since the last time a member of the Manning family wasn’t starting on a Sunday, Wall Street was still being occupied by guys in suits. The younger Manning has not missed a start since November 2004, meaning that the odds are pretty much even between who is more likely to make an NFL start next, Sorgi or Cooper Manning.
There is also a subset of quarterbacks who have found a way embrace the anonymity that goes with having to hold onto a clipboard and wear a headset on a weekly basis. To some, this is known as the “Brady Quinn Syndrome.” If you have not been following Quinn’s career closely (no fine-toothed comb necessary) or have not thumbed through a bodybuilding magazine lately, you might have gotten the impression, based on reading his weekly playing status, that he added a second last name to his moniker, Brady Quinn Inactive. Sadly, though, Brayden Tyler Quinn has found himself as backup to the reserve backup, also known as a “way backup.”
There are also the guys who are standing on the sidelines, hat turned around backwards, maybe holding a PAT or two, that you had no idea were still being employed by NFL teams in a playing capacity. Vinny Testaverde held this distinction when he played in the NFL from the late 1950s through the early 2000s. I presume those dates are correct, though a search engine query of “Testaverde + Eisenhower” yielded nothing.
Today, the role of cagey veteran/”He’s still living?” role belongs to Mark Brunell. Mark was drafted in 1993, and has been thrust into many momentous circumstances simply by chance: sort of like the quarterback version of Forrest Gump. He was cast aside in the draft by the Seattle Seahawks, deciding not to take Brunell, who played his college ball at Washington, and instead took Rick Mirer, the NFL’s answer to the Shake Weight. In Green Bay, he bore witness to the rise of Brett Favre, before leading the expansion Jacksonville Jaguars into the league. After a stopover in Washington, Brunell landed in New Orleans, where he pulled off one of the greatest illusions of all-time by making a Super Bowl ring appear despite never appearing in a playoff game there.
This season is Brunell’s fifth straight as backup. Now in New York, he watches as “Broadway Schmo,” Mark Sanchez, sometimes puts on performances which elicit a smell so pungent they could rival the sauerkraut at the Stage Deli. To make matters worse, now comes the revelation that Brunell is bankrupt and is facing a series of lawsuits after a series of bad investments. (Who knew a Whataburger franchise could go belly up?) According to court filings, Brunell will have to take a 9-to-5 job as a medical sales representative when he retires. Perhaps the clipboard holding was good practice, in retrospect.
It doesn’t seem fair sometimes. The starting QBs get all the adulation, the attention, and the good nicknames. The Blonde Bomber. Joe Cool. The Gunslinger. Machine Gun Kelly. Matty Ice. Roger the Dodger. What about the forgotten men of the gridiron? The guys who personify insurance policies? What, was (Brian) Griese a little too artery-clogging for people’s tastes? Well, you could always flavor up the diet with Sage (Rosenfels). Life would be a little more tolerable if there were more Spurgeons, Senecas, and Stenstroms around. Chase Daniel? Well … Actually, that sounds like an invitation for the opposing defense. Then, again, look at it from the perspective of the starter. It must be a little daunting to have someone trying to take your job, waiting in reserve. I, myself, wonder how long it will be before this weekly column is replaced by a random word generator.
