Before we twist ourselves into gemelli over Baker Mayfield’s comment on the Around the NFL Podcast on Tuesday that he plans to “f--- up” the Browns in Week 1, we should all ask ourselves: How on earth did we expect him to feel? And what on earth did we expect him to say?
How would any of us respond if our employer began shopping around for our replacement and eventually swapped us out with a person facing civil litigation for two dozen counts of sexual harrassment and assault, handing that person a 300%, fully guaranteed raise in the process, all while we were working injured? How would any of us feel if our employer likely whispered some unpleasantries about our maturity level on the way out in order to legitimize the whole deal? Chances are we wouldn’t be able to stick to friendly platitudes in the process, and chances are our new employer wouldn’t mind if the whole thing lit a bit of a fire under our rear ends, helping us realize some of our own shortcomings.
AP Photo/Chris Carlson
Just a few short years ago, before the Browns and their fans debased themselves over this quarterback-changing business, this was a city and a franchise that loved Mayfield’s particular brand of bravado and confidence, or at least pretended they did while it was working for them. Mayfield’s attitude was seen as the blade that would cut the franchise through a thicket of incompetence so dense from years of neglect and poor decision-making. And in a way, his attitude did. Mayfield led the Browns to the playoffs in 2020, a season when he played like a top-10 quarterback. In other seasons, he did not, though. As we have long noted, Mayfield’s blend of coaches and play-callers up until the hiring of Kevin Stefanski, and his injuries afterward, make it fair to wonder whether he’s always had the best opportunity to succeed. The Browns were still very much The Browns for most of Mayfield’s tenure, and less of the Football Success Private Equity Firm they resemble now.
While it’s not surprising to see Mayfield get filleted for his comments, it’s bizarre that the most common response wasn’t: “Well, yeah, why wouldn’t he wish ill will upon the Browns?”
Our collective, ingrained biases of Mayfield as football’s answer to Grayson Allen make him a bit of an unlikely hero in this scenario, which is somewhat understandable when looking through the lens of the typical fan ethos. Hey, this guy planted a flag on our logo; I’ll hate him forever! But let’s not ignore the broader view: Even if we are to believe the worst anonymous tidbits that were “revealed” about Mayfield on his way out the door in Cleveland, that, essentially, he has the tendency to act like a little kid and that he may have missed some open reads from time to time … or even quite frequently … how does that disqualify people from rooting for the Panthers against the Browns in Week 1? Couldn’t we say a great deal more about the way the Browns have conducted themselves? Haven’t stranger factions formed together in this country for a common goal?
It’s still hard to fathom the emotional heft this game has for Mayfield, who had to take a pay cut, ship himself down to a bottom-rung Panthers team and fight for the starting job against Sam Darnold just to get a chance to play against his former team. Pride swallowing doesn’t seem like something he excels at, and over the past few months of silence, he had to do it by the gallon bucket.
But there’s something to be said for this renewed flicker of his former self, even if that comment was revealed second hand. The NFL machine is enough to beat anyone down, turning bright, fiery personalities into sheets of old cardboard. Everything is so cutthroat and political and, seemingly, so unfair. It was believed that Mayfield would have to suppress being Baker Mayfield in order to hang on after this hit job.
Instead, he told someone he wanted to f--- his former team up. While we can make a controversy out of just about anything in the NFL, it would be difficult to imagine many of us wouldn’t feel the same way.
