"Gosh, swell," they said. "Will you buy us beer?"
So please, dear reader, I beg you. Don't let anyone know that I am a fraud and that I don't know anything about football. It's our little secret, okay?
In fact, I have a split personality.
No I don't.
I think Tim Couch will be quarterback of the Cleveland Browns because he is the only guy who can lead them to many Super Bowl championships. Plus, I think Kelly Holcomb will be chosen to throw the ball for the Cleveland Browns because he is the only guy who can lead them to many Super Bowl championships.
This goes to show that the weapons of mass destruction (WMD) that military has been looking for with such dramatic flair these past few months have been hidden all along inside of the football section of my brain - which clearly is larger and emptier than it should be.
I think one of the chemical weapons exploded. I obsess over who should yell "Hike!" for a group of guys in orange hats.
I am looking to buy a life. I've looked at Wal-Mart and let's just say that nothing looks promising in any of those aisles. Except, of course, the aisle where they sell pet food. Woof!
I know everything about nothing and nothing about everything and if you challenge me I will brag about Brian Sipe and Bernie Kosar and tell you that the Browns always have great quarterbacks. But if you are from Pittsburgh, I am going to puke and run away because even though you are right I cannot type the words about how many of those silver things your team has won. I won't.
The Pittsburgh Steelers have won four Lombardi Trophies.
The Cleveland Browns have won zero trophies.
There, I said it because I am a liar. So that clearly proves that I am the only guy who is willing to tell the truth in this town - even though I am 700 miles away.
Actually, those statistics about Lombardi Trophies aren't really mine. They belong to the NFL.
And the truth about this so-called quarterback controversy is that I know all the reasons and I've heard all the arguments and I've taken this issue up with myself and I've lost. It was ugly. I have bruises.
So while the good brain cells and bad brain cells use heavy artillery to take control of my synapses, I compare the relative worth of a $6.2 million dollar player to the value of an $825,000 player. And I come up with, after complex calculations involving all of my fingers and three of my toes, a pulled muscle in my left big toe - and a headache.
I know, for instance, if you pick a guy number one in the 1999 draft, pay him a kajillion dollars, and then he shows a sort of odd propensity for dramatic last-minute wins, you shouldn't give up on him when you finally surround him with talent. That much is clear.
And I know that if a guy throws for 429 yards in a playoff game while looking pretty much like Joe Willie Namath on his best day, you have no choice but to give the job to him. That is obvious.
And I know that if William Green runs for 100 yards a game, the receivers learn again to catch the ball, and the high-priced defensive line plays like they are worth even half the money, the choice of quarterback will actually mean something.
So, what's gonna happen? Well, as in many things of great significance, it's in the hands of God. In this scene, God looks a lot like Butch Davis, who must have seen, as has the burping gypsy woman, that Kelly Holcomb's best game is better than Tim Couch's best game.
This column is sponsored The Committee to Elect Gary Coleman Governor of California
Brian Tarcy is a journalist who has collaborated on more than a dozen books with business leaders, professional athletes and doctors. He is the co-author, with Joe Theismann, of The Complete Idiot's Guide to Football. Tarcy lives in Falmouth, Massachusetts. He even has a web page, which you can see by clicking here.