Just Saying, Is All...The Best Reason To Trade for Pacman Jones

You can’t fight what you are.

Some stories are finished before they even get started. Sooner or later, Pacman Jones’ PR campaign is going to land him an NFL roster spot. When it does, the blowhards among us will weigh in with no small measure of sound and fury—and when they’re done, the only thing signified will be that which was already plain as day.

Facts is facts, after all.

And you can’t fight what you are.

I won’t pretend here that Jones looks or sounds like a changed man. That’s not a knock on him, mind you—just a nod to the nature of the human condition. Three hours with Michael Irvin can’t turn vice into virtue. More to the point, a year of NFL exile can’t undo two-and-a-half decades of pernicious neural patterning.

Blood is blood.

Facts is facts.

And you can’t fight what you are.

Wherever Pacman ends up, his new team is sure to catch hell from the blogosphere’s Outraged Majority. But let’s be honest: Professional football franchises are profit-seeking organisms, nothing more and nothing less. Moral rectitude never sold anyone an authentic replica jersey. Trade for Pacman Jones and the masses will squawk. Win with him and they’ll sport your merchandise like it’s going out of style.

Cash is cash.

Blood is blood.

Facts is facts.

And We can’t none of Us fight what We are.

Funny that it always comes back to the fans, isn’t it Bubba? If we were serious in our indignation, we’d simply stop watching. We won’t, of course—first because we don’t have much else to do and second because indignation feels awful good if you know how to wallow in it. Not that I’m criticizing. We’re all wayward cornerbacks at heart. Some of us make it rain. Most of us are just trying to stay dry. Far be it from me to begrudge any man his shelter from the storm.

Cash is cash.

Blood is blood.

Facts is facts.

And anyone who’d trifle with that troika would be fated—fated, Bubba, fated!—to only just saying, is all...

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