One of the highlights of my 30 years as a sport-talk host in Philadelphia was the infamous visit I made with 30 drunk, crazed fans to the NFL draft in 1999. We were there to cheer the arrival of Ricky Williams to the Eagles. Williams was not selected. Donovan McNabb was.
Boooo.
What none us in that alcove at Madison Square Garden realized then was that we were providing a glimpse into the bewildering future of McNabb, a gifted athlete ultimately foiled by deep psychological obstacles. McNabb was a good quarterback, but so much less than he should have been, and so much less – all these years later – than his clueless supporters claim.
That booing incident unmasked McNabb for the enigma he was on the field, and for the incorrigible fool he has become off it. For the sake of this argument, I will exclude his DUIs, his spectacular fall from grace in broadcasting and even his incessant trolling of the quarterbacks who have followed him in Philadelphia.
Assessing him strictly as a player, McNabb proves how useless records are when the ultimate goal – in Philly, the only goal – is to win a championship. Yes, he is the leader among Eagles QBs in many categories. But look down at his fingers – no rings. Carson Wentz has one. Nick Foles has one. McNabb? Nada.
In his biggest moment, at Super Bowl 39, he was unable to deliver the way Foles did 13 years later because he was sick to his stomach, unable to meet the ultimate challenge in his career. Anyone who argues that he was underrated loses the argument right there. There is no puking in football.
McNabb loves to point to his five NFC championship games as proof of his Hall of Fame credentials. Uh, he lost four of those. Would even his most vocal advocates have been satisfied in 1999 if they knew the No. 2 pick in the draft would never win a Super Bowl? This is not the narrative of a player who is underrated.
What none of knew in 1999 – or even 2009, for that matter – was why McNabb never made the most of his powerful arm and elusive feet. It was his head. He never figured out a way to put aside the tiniest slights, to rise above the noise that is inevitable in a city with the football passion of Philadelphia.
Even now, McNabb delights in the failings of Carson Wentz, just as he did, briefly, with Kevin Kolb, Michael Vick and all of the other descendants to his quarterback throne. He could never walk away from criticism. Just ask Terrell Owens. Just ask Freddie Mitchell. Hey, just ask me. I may be the best judge of this fatal flaw in McNabb's character.
When he kept harping on the booing incident at the draft, year after year after year, he gave me and my drunken friends much more power than any of us actually have. If you let a grandstanding loudmouth like me haunt you, there is no chance you will prevail in the far more significant challenges of the NFL. That's why Donovan McNabb never won a championship, and that's why his life after football has been an unmitigated disaster.
I just wish there was a public gathering today of all of the McNabb supporters who are still arguing that he was underrated.
I would love to bring back all of those drunks – or at least the ones still alive – and remind these mush-brained morons how wrong they are by staging one last ear-ringing, ground-shaking boo.
