This one’s going to hurt. It’s going to hurt you, and it’s going to hurt me. It might hurt Urban Meyer. About the only person I’m sure it won’t hurt is the person I’m attacking, in a nice way: Tim Tebow. He’s almost perfect. He’s definitely impervious. So this attack isn’t directed at Tim Tebow, girded as he is by a hide of horse and the love of God. It’s directed at those who would beatify the man.
Because he’s just a man. A good man, sure. A better man than I? There’s no question about that. It’s possible I’m jealous of Tim Tebow — a jealousy that goes beyond his athletic ability. The world is full of superior athletes, too many to count, which means I’m over that. Almost everyone I’ve ever written about, in 20 years in sportswriting, was or is a better athlete. Fine. I’m used to it.