I'd first like to offer the disclaimer that, as a Saints' fan, I am both entirely biased as well as emotionally invested in the exact opposite of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers' organizational well-being. With that being said, I think I need the most cyclical and carnival-ish of quarterback carousels to keep on spinning past this circus of a season, and it's only partially due to the fact that it would render a quarter of the NFC South irrelevant. I'm well aware that Tampa Bay can, and probably will, move on from either one or both of Jameis Winston and Ryan Fitzpatrick in the offseason, but - in a highly entertaining way that entirely undermines any sort of success - they are basically the personification of each other's paradox. The journeyman quarterback with the endearing nickname (FitzMagic) whose Ivy League background definitely hasn't hurt the amount of opportunities he's gotten to show that he's only consistent in being unsustainably good in relief? The first overall pick whose infamously ironic nickname (Famous Jameis) hasn't helped people forget that he's more consistent as a sexual assailant/problem child than he is as a starting quarterback who is impossibly bad at random in a way that often calls for said relief? The former being a player who has repeatedly proven to have reached his potential as a bi-polar passer, and the latter being a player whose potential is theoretically much higher than the bi-polar passer he's merely proven to be thus far?!? It's almost as if the football gods jokingly put these two wrongs together to test the stubbornness of the opinions of those who are in the business of being right. The sky is the limit for Jameis Winston and the limit is the sky for Ryan Fitzpatrick, and yet they are as oddly similar in that whether their performance will be touchdown or turnover heavy can basically be decided by a flip of a coin. I feel for Dirk Koetter, because there is truly no "good" choice that isn't at a high risk of being proven brutally bad by next Sunday. Unfortunately, I also have a sadistic appreciation for watching the "Fool me once, shame on you; Fool me twice, shame on me" narrative play out in a league that stigmatizes those that don't stick to their guns, even if said "guns" are essentially pointed at the feet of the person tasked with pulling the trigger.
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