There has been all sorts of crazy talk lately about injuries in the NFL, specifically ...you know. In the wake of the most inevitable of comeuppances towards a franchise's following's hubris, people have been heaping massive amounts of praise on the "hero," Bernard Pollard. Players that would relish in causing a season-ending injury are dirty, sadistic assholes. Cold-hearted bastards, if you will. I'm here to say, Bernard Pollard is no cold-hearted bastard.
The thing is, I don't even know the guy. He very well may be revelling in his newfound glory. He could be watching replay after replay of the original link, pleasuring himself. But that's not me. I'm not the cynical type that sees a player go down, and begin thinking how great it was that someone got hurt. Granted, I'm not disappointed, per se, that the best player on the New England Patriots got hurt, I just don't automatically assume that the guy who caused the injury was intending to do such a thing, and is proud of himself afterwards. I, being the eternal optimist that I am, see the cat dancing above, and thinking he, a decent person, has a twinge of regret for disabling a fellow footballer. Maybe he doesn't even think about that play, and is just upset that his team lost. Wouldn't that be noble?
Which brings me back to my original point. Every time you hear someone praise Bernard Pollard for injuring Tom Brady, that person is saying, "I'm proud of him for all the wrong reasons." Or more accurately, "I'm an insufferable prick who likes seeing other people be cold-hearted bastards." So for the first time in the entire blogosphere, I'm here to say that Bernard Pollard is not a cold-hearted bastard.
But I'm still glad it happened.