Blog Tim Tebow: a hero for a new America

Unless you’ve managed somehow to insulate yourself from local media, national press, an avalanche of pop-culture references, and small talk with your friends, neighbors, and coworkers, you’re well aware that Tim Tebow’s become the nation’s football topic du jour, the name on everyone’s lips, and one of the most polarizing topics on sports radio. With a spate of fourth-quarter comebacks, uncensored Evangelical zeal, and a smile that, were he the sort, could charm the skirt off half an opposing team’s cheerleading squad, it’s no surprise Tebow’s become, in annoying info-age parlance, a trending topic.

On its surface, the debate’s predictable, with realists condemning his poor field vision, ugly average QB rating of 83.9, and high-school mechanics as proof he’s not fit to call plays in the NFL. Pro-Tebow pragmatists take an end-justifies-the-means approach and say the proof’s in his 7-1 record as a starter. His faith only clouds the issue, with believers finding comfort in the notion that, despite everything theologians tell us about divine scorekeeping, he’s rewarded for his faith with victories on the gridiron. Skeptics roll their eyes, and counter that claims such that God told him the Broncos were going to defeat the Bears are at the very least utterly ridiculous, at worst bordering on egomaniacal schizophrenia.

No doubt you’ve heard the arguments before, but the fury that surrounds Tebow has nothing to with his ability to accurately throw the ball or scramble from the pocket. Nor is it even more than a blip in the ongoing culture war between secular and Evangelical factions that’s raged in America for more than a decade. 

It’s a matter of what kind of hero America wants in the 21st century.

The 20th century celebrated men and women of extraordinary accomplishment. Michael Jordan’s unmatched grace while dunking from the free-throw line. Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen’s knack for succinctly setting the American experience to music. Maya Angelou and Ernest Hemmingway’s singular voice. These things aren’t just pretty goo; they’re transcendent and the products of monumental gifts honed by a lifetime of practice. Shining examples of American exceptionalism and icons of meritocracy, these heroes were one-in-a-billion talents, beloved for their godlike mastery of their craft. Sure, they’re inspiring, but by the time you reached your mid-20s, it was probably clear that you’d never be able to match them, having frittered whatever talents you had by drinking beer, getting laid, playing video games, or whatever counterproductive time-wasting bullshit you let derail your personal express train to greatness.

That kind of unobtainable greatness might be an anachronism in the Internet age. Tebow’s emergence by skating just above mediocrity—he averages merely a single touchdown pass per game—represents a fundamental shift in American hero-building: By all measures other than his improbable win-loss statistics and his ability to play like a champion in the final four minutes of a game, Tebow’s mediocre, at best. At least half of the hash marks in his W column come when his opponents’ shortcomings—missed last-minute field goals, pick-sixes, downright idiotic clock management, and other mental breakdowns—overshadow his own: fumbles, 55-minute stretches of lethargy, and cringe-worth passing accuracy.

That might be exactly why Tebow’s legion of supporters is so vocal about their freshly minted football sensation, instead of losing its shit for Aaron Rodgers, who’s racking up arguably the best single-season quarterback performance in NFL history while leading the Packers to the holy grail of an undefeated season. Rodgers’ nearly preternatural dominance is old-school, 20th-century success, born of talent, gumption, and merit; it also indirectly reminds everyone watching at home that, like it or not, superstardom is probably well beyond their reach.

Tebow, though, comes with no nagging reminder of your own shortcomings. In fact, he’s probably a lot like you, and thus, easy to identify with. He largely bumble-fucks his way through his job, leaving a trail of bad decisions or underperformance, only to pull it out at the last minute. When he doesn’t get good, he gets lucky. He avoids disaster at the last moment, a lot like the time you skipped class all semester and wrote a term paper in a single sitting, and skated by with a C+ in the course, or the time you totally forgot about your anniversary until the commute home and hastily threw together reservations in a panic two stops before you got home. Tebow, like so many Americans, doesn’t conquer the world. He conquers his own stupid shortcomings and mitigates mistakes in damage-control mode. So far, it’s worked.

That’s reassuring for everyone who hasn’t come to grips with their own inability to reach mega-star plateaus of success. The dude who’s 36 and hasn’t written but 200 words since college who still nurtures dreams of writing the Great American Novel? Maybe there’s a Tebow-esque turnaround in his future. For the guy training for Ironman who’s still unable to swim more than 75 yards without stopping, the aspiring painter whose untouched paints crusted over years ago, the local entrepreneur slowly mismanaging his dream into bankruptcy, Tebow offers an emotional life preserver. Your past shortcomings, your ineptitude, and your lack of results don’t matter come Tebow Time. Despite the preponderance of evidence that suggests you’re a failure, you have a Herculean effort in you ready to make things right. Or so it’s fun to delude ourselves.

Face it. You’ll never be your passion’s equivalent of the bulletproof Aaron Rodgers, and it’s a little depressing. No use getting worked up over that. Tebow’s so much easier to deal with: One day you’ll make it huge like you always said you would.

Tebow’s probably the perfect hero for the America that elected a dude with a rocky 2.0 GPA to a pair of terms in the White House, the best fit for a country that celebrates Blink-182’s ability to write songs that literally any 17-year-old could match, to an America that heralds financial and manufacturing companies’ ability to repay emergency loans provided in the wake of monumental mismanagement ahead of schedule as an accomplishment. Maybe Tim Tebow and his uncanny ability to gift-wrap mediocrity in a victory is exactly the sort of hero America deserves.

I certainly hope not.