The Cleveland Browns could find themselves in a fine kettle of stinking fish tonight when they take on the New York Giants in New Jersey. (Or, is it the New Jersey Giants in New York?) I find it very confusing . . . but not as confusing as the opposing lineup.
The Giants look like, well, the Browns.
Former Browns quarterback Colt McCoy will start for the Giants because their No. 1 guy, Daniel Jones, is injured. There have been a million or so Browns quarterbacks since the National Football League in 1999 mixed the cremains of the old Browns with some faery dust and dropped the concoction in some Lake Erie water, and then soaked the Lerners for a number of their millions in order to create the New Browns. McCoy was one of the quarterbacks the Browns tired of before they knew if he was any good. Others were never any good—at least not in Cleveland—but got to start a game anyway.
The quarterback flotsam and jetsam that floated up shore of Lake Erie made the burning Cuyahoga River look like a sober exercise in ecology, not the joke it became besmirching the image of a city that, like Akron, tries hard but not always successfully.
McCoy was no joke, though he had some of the same physical limitations—he is not tall and neither is the writer of this blog—of the current Browns quarterback office holder. In fact, McCoy and Baker Mayfield, Texans both, have much in common. McCoy was one of the better quarterbacks at the University of Texas—if not the best—and Mayfield, by several accounts, including my own and that of columnist Berry Tramel of The Oklahoman who knows more about Mayfield and OU than anyone but the football gods. (You can read something about this in the Steve Davis chapter of Football, Fast Friends, and Small Towns: A Memoir Straight from a Broken Oklahoma Heart, my recent book that is selling like hot cakes in the United Kingdom. Go figure.)
A finalist for the Heisman Trophy, which Mayfield later won, McCoy was a third-round draft choice in 2010 (Mayfield was the NFL Draft first choice in 2018). McCoy became the starter in 2011 but not much went right immediately—it seldom does for all but the most physically endowed NFL quarterbacks on good teams—and the Browns, which has been their habit, dumped him before they could find out what they had. Perhaps they were right. McCoy became a longtime NFL backup, not a starter. He has started only a handful of games for three subsequent teams: San Francisco, Washington, and the Giants. On the other hand, McCoy has kept a job and earned millions, whereas those deemed better by the Browns have long since disappeared from the NFL.
If the Revenge of Colt McCoy does not strike fear in the heart, he faces his old team with Freddie Kitchens calling plays for him in this strange, strange season. If McCoy discovered he was on a short leash in Cleveland, Kitchens discovered he had been on a choker when the Browns fired him after his one and only season as head coach—that would be as head coach anywhere, at any level of football: high school, college, or pro.
Maybe that is why I loved Freddie. He was the ultimate underdog. But in truth, it was more than that. I recognized Freddie as a guy like me but with more talent. (Besides, anyone called Freddie rather than Frederick or Fred is my type.) With his Alabama drawl he sounded like a good ’ol boy, and for a long time I had (but could not hear) the Oklahoma twang with which I was born and took joy in cultivating. (Note my book title.)
Freddie gave every indication of being a man who could climb the career ladder of his choice and succeed with each higher step. He had been a lifer NFL assistant when the Browns hired him to coach running backs in 2018 and to be Hue Jackson’s associate head coach (whatever that might entail). Eight games into the season he found himself offensive coordinator and calling plays for Baker Mayfield. After way too long, Browns owners Jimmy and Dee Haslam had had their fill of Jackson—his nickname should have been Stonewall, because he did a lot of that—and fired him, as well as offensive coordinator Todd Haley. General Manager John Dorsey promoted defensive coordinator Gregg Williams to interim head coach and handed over the offense to Kitchens.
The ball was in Freddie’s hand. As a former University of Alabama quarterback, he looked for a while as if he knew what to do with it. Mayfield showed his promise during a 5-3 season-ending run, and he and Kitchens meshed in Dorsey’s opinion. Rather than let the headstrong Williams keep the job he had showed himself capable of doing, but perhaps not of subordinating himself properly to the general manager, Dorsey elevated Kitchens and worked diligently, if imperfectly, to build a roster with which he could win.
As the hype about Dorsey’s acquisitions swelled—particularly wide receiver Odell Beckham Jr. whom was obtained from the very New York Giants the Browns now face—Kitchens wilted. Even before an embarrassing opening loss at home to Tennessee, the heat in the kitchen seemed to be getting to Kitchens. In his unique manner, he attempted to turn it down, perhaps recognizing that it could cook his goose.
“Yeah,” Kitchens told the media, “our roster looks good on paper. Whoopty-hell, all right? We better be a good team.” As everyone came to know, the Browns (6-10) were not a good team with Kitchens coaching. Both he and Dorsey, who chose Kitchens over now Browns coach Kevin Stefanski, were told to get out of the too hot kitchen.
So here we are: Fired Kitchens, now New York tight ends coach, calling the plays for the Giants because offensive coordinator Jason Garrett, former Dallas Cowboys head coach who was fired last season by his longtime employer, has tested positive for COVID-19. And, Stefanski calling plays for Kitchens’ former team and quarterback. Losing to the 5-8 Giants could not only affect the 9-4 Browns playoff situation—they go into the game as the AFC’s top wildcard seed—but also be a bit of embarrassment for the Browns’ brain trust. It shouldn’t happen, of course, but as Freddie pointed out, hype is not necessarily reality. It was one the few things Kitchens got right during a season that was too hot to handle.
No one expects Kitchens to call wishbone or dipsy-doodle plays, as he did with the Browns, but it is not inconceivable that some serious “whoopty-hell” could break loose.
