An Open Letter to Tim Tebow (Or: Why You Should Come Play for the Omaha Beef)

Posted: May 2, 2013 in Sports
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Dear Tim,

What up, Mr. Tebow?  Had a bit of a rough week, huh?  Listen, I know you’re probably (*Author’s note: hopefully) busy practicing footwork and mechanics and not-throwing interceptions and stuff, but I was hoping you could give me a minute of your time.

I know that you’ve probably got people pulling your square jawline in a million different directions right now, but I think this is something that you need to hear.

You should take the job offer out of Omaha.

Let’s be honest here, my very un-laid friend.  I don’t know that you’re going to get a better offer.  Sure, you might think that trying to change positions and make a roster in the NFL as an “H-back” or a tight end might be a better route.  Sure, you might believe that your destiny is still to play QB in the NFL and that – if you could just find the right situation or just get that looping, slow-mo windup to pick up the pace – you just need one tryout to impress someone.  Hell, (*Author’s note: sorry, Tim.  I swear.  A lot.  Forgive me, I know not what I do.) maybe you even think that heading up to Canada to play for the Montreal Alouettes, the team that apparently owns the rights to you if you go that route.

But I’m here to tell you, Timothy Richard, that none of these will pay off as much as if you come to play for the Omaha Beef.  I’ll get to that in a moment, here, but first, let’s debunk the myth that anywhere other than the friendly confines of the Big O would be the place for you.

Let’s say you want to stick it out in the NFL.  Let’s say you sit down with your disciples, your PR firm, and your parents and all of you say, “You know what?  Tony Gonzalez is, like, 50 and he still dominates at the tight end spot.  Jason Witten had a leaky, potentially explosive spleen and he still played the position at a high level.  How hard can it be?”  Then you decide, to heck with it.  I’m going for it.

Then reality sets in.

The draft just happened.  Free agents have been plucked.  There are guys who make your athleticism and size seem a little too slow and a little too small who are clamoring to play tight end in the league.  You’ll pull up to training camp with a flatbed truck-full of media coverage and scrutiny and suddenly each pass you drop will be a lead story on ESPN and each time you get beat by a kamikazing defensive end to the QB a pack of rabid atheists will GIF the living hell out of it and distribute it gleefully to every website on the planet with the click of a mouse.  You’ll end up getting canned in the pre-season after not getting a fair shake because of your name.

Is that what you want, Mr. Tebow?

Let’s say you decide to hold firm.  You say, “You know what?  I’m a quarterback.  That’s what I do.  I’m taking the high road here and I’ll just make sure that I work my way back to the game.”  You hit the quarterback guru-ing circuit so hard that you’ll have done more quarterback drilling than the ladies of Texas A&M did this past season with Johnny Football.  All that joy and fun and love of the game?  That’ll get rolled up in a spreadsheet and smoked like all those blunts your teammates at Florida used to smoke. (*Author’s note: sorry, Tim.  I joke about drugs.  A lot.)  You’ll work on your mechanics and throw until your arms are dead.  And by the time you’re done?  It’ll be draft season again.  And that fresh crop of cheap, hungry, young quarterbacks will come rolling into the league and you’ll be right back where you started.  Throwing balls to D-2 receivers and hoping a scout shows up.

Is that the future you’ve envisioned, Timmy?

Finally, you might be saying to yourself.  “Hey, there’s always Canada, right?”  Which is the football equivalent of a former Miss America saying, “Hey, there’s always stripping, right?”  (*Author’s note: I’ll let someone else explain what that is.)

Trust me.  Canada isn’t where you want to be right now.  Sure they have free healthcare and team names that sound like a creature from the Harry Potter books (see: Hamilton Tiger-Cats) but if you thought that Denver was cold?  Oh, man.  And you’d be stuck playing for a team called the Montreal Alouettes.  In English that team translates to French Sissies.  Picture this: it’s gameday.  You roll off your ice-sculpted bed, head down to your igloo’s garage and hop onto your dogsled.  You try to calculate how many F-ing kilometers an hour your dogs are pulling you, but the metric system just makes your head hurt, so you mush those bad boys along at warp speed.  You get to the game and people keep shouting French swear words down at you, only you’re not sure if they’re being offensive or asking for your autograph.  Your team loses by 40 points, you get frostbite on 9 of your 10 toes and throw 3 interceptions.  The end.

Sound like a plan, Timothy R. Tebow?

Which leaves us with the logical, intelligent, career-renaissance-ing move.  The final piece to your DaVinci Coded riddle (*Author’s note: I don’t think you’d like that one much, though, so no need to watch it.) that you can suddenly realize in a flash of glory.

The Omaha Beef.

Even their name beckons you to join.  You’re beefy.  You like beef.  You may have even watched the cruddy late-night movies of that same name on BET.  Okay, probably not.

They’re offering your $75 bucks a game, a town full of football maniacs, and most importantly: a roster spot.  As a quarterback.  Sure, you might be a backup on the field but you would be the biggest thing to land in Nebraska since. . .ever?

We have churches.  And a zoo for all the media members who insist on tailing you around like they’re private eyes watching an unfaithful spouse.  And that place directly to the East of Omaha, called Council Bluffs?  Yeah, they could really use your spiritual help, my friend.  If you’re good at football in Nebraska you’re good at everything in Nebraska.  For life.  Unless you end up getting life.  (*Author’s note: See: Thunder Collins.)

We have a pretty decent airport terminal, but if you come to our team and air it out, we’ll have a Virgin Airways all our own.

Think about it.  This is the place where we embraced Jeremiah Masoli and even Maurice Freaking-Clarett on our semi-pro team, the Nighthawks.  Think what you could do here?

Tim, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, but why not stick down a gigantic, tender, delicious hunk of Omaha Beef?



  1. […] for Tim Tebow?” articles.  Since I’m neither original, nor unique, I piled on with my Open Letter to Tim Tebow with a written-out mini-career fair for the wayward […]

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