Sports and film crossed wires in my brain, random synapses fired, and out came the following.
Richie Incognito responds:
Son, we play in a game that has lines, and those lines have to be guarded by men–big, mean, rough men. Who’s gonna do it? You? You, Mike Greenberg?
I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Jonathan Martin and you curse the Dolphins. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know, that bullying Jonathan Martin, though unseemly, probably saved quarterbacks.
And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, is good for football. You don’t want the truth, because deep down in places you don’t talk about at Super Bowl parties, you want me on that line. You need me on that line.
We use words like “teamwork,” “concussion,” “trash-talk.” We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending quarterbacks. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a person who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very entertainment that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it! I would rather you just said “thank you” and changed the channel. Otherwise, I suggest you put on shoulder pads and crouch across from a mean, hulking defensive end. Either way, I don’t give a rip how you think I should act!
