Myles Garrett had quickly endeared himself as one of my favorite NFL players. I loved his game, his blend of speed and power, his ever-improving technical skills. But what really drew me to Garrett was the man behind the anime eye shield. A poet, a dinosaur enthusiast, a big kid who reveled in being different, being smart, being more than just an incredible physical specimen.
Had.
I need to use past tense because after Thursday night’s despicable act, I’m not so sure anymore. I’m certainly not wearing his No. 95 jersey — the first Browns jersey I’ve owned since my beloved No. 57 Clay Matthews from when I was a kid — again anytime soon. Maybe ever.
What Garrett did cannot be defended. No matter the provocation, no matter what was said or done leading up to it, what Garrett did is abhorrent. There is never any justification or defense of hitting another player over the head with a helmet.
And therein lies the dilemma. What do you do when one of your favorite players, one of your heroes, does something so insanely intolerable?
I don’t know how to reconcile it just yet. It’s going to take some time. I watch the incessant replays of the incident and I cannot believe it’s the same Myles Garrett I shared a fun laugh with on the sideline at training camp in August, joking about Devaroe Lawrence’s dancing, of all things. This cannot be the same guy who spontaneously shows up at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History and hangs out with school kids on field trips.
I think back to the first time I met Garrett. At the 2017 NFL Scouting Combine in Indianapolis, I stood in front of his interview podium and asked him a question about his ankle injury. He smiled and gave an honest answer.
I remember thinking, how can this giant human be so calm, so erudite? He looked like he was flexing out of his dark Under Armour top like he had just finished a set of impossibly heavy power cleans, but he had the demeanor of the favorite fifth-grade teacher at the elementary school.
How could you not love Myles Garrett?!?
Now that seems so distant, so irreversibly lost. Garrett was a player I openly raved about on the radio, on podcasts and in print, but also in person. He was a player I held up to my son, who just finished his first season of organized football in eighth grade. Be like Myles, son.
No. Not anymore. Not ever.
Garrett will never outlive this ignominy. I think of Kermit Washington and his legacy after his bare-knuckled assault on Rudy Tomjanovich that is the only thing anyone ever recalls of the former NBA player. I think of Dale Hunter and his shameless cheap shot on Pierre Turgeon in the NHL playoffs.
Those are not the comparisons I want for a player I liked and respected so much. But that’s where we are with Myles Garrett. It will be impossible to ever look at him the same.
How soon can we forgive? How hard can we cheer for Garrett when he makes his return from his inevitable and well-deserved suspension? I can’t answer those questions, because there are no easy answers.
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