It’s only a matter of time before we turn our backs on Patrick Mahomes.
After backing up Alex Smith his rookie season, Mahomes became chief Chief when Andy Reid whipped the rocket out of his pocket and traded Smith to Washington. Mahomes rewarded Coach Andy by producing one of the most prolific seasons in history and winning the league’s MVP award in his first year as a starter. He somehow outdid himself in year #2, leading the Chiefs to a Super Bowl title despite a late season surgery to get calf implants.
In addition to his on-field exploits, he landed a shampoo commercial with Troy Polomalu, signed an endorsement deal for a lifetime’s supply of ketchup, and earlier this week he agreed to a $500 million contract that’ll keep him in Rib City for 12 more years. Everything this kid touches turns to gold (or Bitcoins if you’re a Gen-Z person who arrived at this article by mistake).
I know, I know – in the heat of the moment it feels like you want to root for the inevitable superhero. It seems like it’d be an absolute blast to watch the kid win 8-10 championships and impregnate 3-5 Jenners. You might even get the urge to say things like, “If Andy Reid had Mahomes for the past decade, his coaching legacy would be totally different” or “Andy Reid would be kinda handsome if he lost 190 pounds and washed the BBQ sauce out of his mustache”.
But I’m warning you about Mahomes now the same way I did when everyone was snorting Tiger King out of Netflix’s digital peehole: you’re gonna get sick of this shit twice as fast as you fell in love with it.
There were still two full years left on his existing contract, but he chose to rub his unscented poop in our faces by inking a TEN YEAR extension. Sports Illustrated won’t let me extend our relationship beyond 12 months and I’ve subscribed faithfully for 17 years. There’s no stability between S.I. and me, to the point where I live with the constant feeling that my favorite magazine already signed up to be roommates with Fogel next year and hasn’t figured out how to tell me yet. (**Gen-Z: if you stuck around, this is a reference from the 2007 film Superbad. Don’t worry if you haven’t seen it, I’m sure the remake will be awesome)
Sooner or later, we’ll all get dragged to the dark side. We’ll envy Mahomes’ money, his fame, his calves, and we’ll catch ourselves rooting for one of these mutant linebackers to slam his froggy little brain to the turf and cough virus germs into his purty mouth.
Of course this behavior won’t make us happy; it won’t make our lives richer; it definitely won’t make us better husbands/fathers/gimps; but if somebody wants to give me half a billion dollars and a pontoon boat full of Heinz 57, maybe I’ll start paying child support and crawling out of that leather crate again, Cheryl!