The sad realization of a long held philosophy

October 10th, 2006 | Posted by PostmanE

I pride myself on practical thinking. I trust in the power of logic, joined with the undeniable forces of statistical analysis and visual interpretation, when evaluating situations. Whether in sport, or in life, or in faith in manking, I like to think that everything has a reason, a purpose, that can be explained without the involvement of the supernatural or omnipotent. That seems fair.

There is one exception to the rule. His name is Kurt Warner.

What makes Kurt Warner different? He sold his soul to the devil.

Hear me out. I’ve been saying this to friends for a long, long time, and have absolutely convinced myself of its plausibility. All I needed was for Kurt to fail this year and I knew. Dude sold his soul, Damn Yankees style.

Consider his biography: Warner, a mediocre college quarterback, tries out for the Green Bay Packers and is cut from the team. He resorts to working in a grocery store - stocking shelves, lest we forget - when Bam! He is picked up by the Iowa Barnstormers and storms the league, winning offensive player of the year twice and landing a spot on the St. Louis Rams.

Then, the quarterback culled for the system, Trent Green, suffers a season-ending play in preseason while the next viable option, Paul Justin, is injured. Warner’s coach, Dick Vermeil (presumably after crying many crocodile tears) is stuck throwing Warner in the lineup. You know what happens next - he takes the Rams to the Super Bowl in his first year as a starter, setting records in an offense known as “The Greatest Show on Earth,” or turf, depending on your allegiances.

Ah, but Satan only allows a modicum of success, just enough to carry out his end of the bargain. Warner had a down year in 2001 but got back to the Super Bowl against the underdog Patriots in 2002, only to lose on a last-second field goal. Warner was soon replaced with Mark Bulger - Mark freaking Bulger! Then, Kurt goes to New York and is superceded by a rookie supposed to sit out the entire first year. He is told to retire, but signs a contract in Arizona. We know how that ended.

The biographical facts almost speak for themselves, don’t they? Don’t deny the truth. Warner was on his knees in the Cedar Rapids Hy-Vee one night, getting ready to stock aisle 3 with more Gerber’s Apple, when he threw a toilet-paper roll to his co-worker. You know what he said - “Man, I’d sell my soul to be good at football again.” He heard the sinister voice: “How good?”

It’s the only explanation. Not only for Warner’s untold, but limited, football success, but for the religious voice he’s presented every minute he’s been in the limelight. He knows he made an eternal mistake. He’s trying to rectify it.

Too late, Kurt. A deal is a deal, no matter how you cut it. And don’t try to deny it: never has a career arc been so steep, both on its way up and its way down. From groceries to Marino to whatever’s next, the story of Kurt Warner is too strange for earthly consideration.

(Quick note: I don’t really take this seriously. Kurt Warner probably didn’t sell his soul to the devil - it just seems that way to the sick and addled mind (mine). Plus, I’ve tested the theory, and Satan has yet to respond to my cries of “I’d sell my soul to be Malcolm Gladwell.” Maybe some day.)