When Carson Palmer first started crying foul because of being the servant to the master, I felt for him—I truly did.
Yet after three months of change—Bob the BS artist is gone and the TO-Ocho show has a better chance on Versus than in the AFC North—I am over Palmer, who is more tired of Cincinnati because of his spoiled wife and less because of a real principle, such of that which is associated with a college graduate that actually went to a Pac-10 school (Carroll left, coincidentally, prior to being found in disgraceful violation of NCAA and legally fraudulent representation of an academic institution).
Palmer has become worse than Ocho Cinco because he became exactly what was not expected of a leader. The passive-aggressive loser that every big city, mute, dysfunctional, out to lunch, surfing California quarterback that was a three-year upgrade from Akili Smith could have been—but ultimately a Dave Klinger in sheep's clothing.
Now, I am no Mike Brown fan and Marvin Lewis—who I thought was my hero— seemingly cannot count until 10 (see the end of the 2010 Saints game, which made no difference in the draft and likely the loss had nothing to do with that position), but what was a noble stand is now exactly the opposite of the principal of a hold that represents the lockout in the NFL today.
Carson Palmer deserves to never play the game of football again.
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