You Think You Know, But You Don't

Being a Lions fan is the sort of thing that after a while defies description. Hence, this entire blog. I spent years trying to find something unattainable: a reason for it all. I gave up in madness, disappeared to a shack in the woods and huffed ether for a few years. And now here I am trying once again, slamming my head against the wall until my brain is little more than a gooey mist, which is basically the same thing that Lions players do, but at least when they’re done they can leave to the tranquility of early senility or wife beating or waving a gun around in traffic naked until they get shot by cops or whatever the fuck NFL players do after retirement.

The point, my dear friends, is that at least the players can escape. Lions fans, on the other hand, are in it for life. You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave. Guitar solo.

This, by itself, isn’t really a foreign concept to fans of all teams. But there is a unique kind of eternal suffering that belongs to Lions fans and Lions fans alone. I have attempted to capture this, to explain it, but I can’t. No one can. It is inexplicable, a sort of generational madness passed on by our fathers and to our sons, a sickness that is genetic, the sort of forever doom known previously only by Pyramid builders and those forced to spend summer camp with camp counselor Adolf. Yes, we’re the Jews of sports fans.

Okay, before this runs even further off the rails and I get letters from anti-defamation leagues, let me refocus a bit. Being a Lions fan is something that no other sports fan can truly understand. You think you can, but you don’t. I have no living memory of the Lions being anything other than “the Lions” and all the jokes and horror stories that go along with that. I’m 38 years old. My parents have no living memory of it. My grandfather was in his 20s the last time the Lions were anything other than “the Lions.” And he’s been dead now for 10 years. This is a thing that is beyond us. We were born into bondage, and we’ll probably die there.

Every fan of every team that has ever existed likes to talk up their own misery in some perverse way. It’s just human nature. I’m sure that somewhere there is a Patriots fan beating his chest and wailing while he tears at his hair-shirt, bemoaning the fact that “the loser Belichick” blew the Super Bowl. It exists everywhere. But not like this.

In fact, Lions fans are almost insane the other way. The collective positivity of Lions fans, the eternal “well, this is our year” is just as pathological and obnoxious as every other team’s “woe is me” sports radio bullshit. They are both defense mechanisms. Theirs is a defense against the possibility of real failure. They are preparing themselves. Ours is a defense against the reality of failure. We are attempting to cope.

Somewhere, there is a Browns fan reading this who thinks “uh, yeah, I get it.” But you don’t. People forget, but this Browns franchise is basically a baby expansion franchise. That’s because the “real” Browns fled town and became the Baltimore Ravens, who have won two Super Bowls. The NFL has done such a good job with their propaganda after decreeing that the new “Browns” would be given the old Browns history and colors and lore that people have forgotten this and actually buy the absurd argument that this “Browns” team is the same as the old Browns team. But it isn’t. It’s still a baby. It doesn’t have the eternal depth of Lions Madness, the 60 year “what the fuckness” of it all.

Yes, I know that there are “Browns” fans that were Browns fans long before the Baltimore weirdness. They just transferred their love like one of those old ladies whose “son” comes home from the war, only its not really their son, but his buddy stealing his identity, and both he and the old lady pretend because they both need it. That’s what modern “Browns” fans are like. It’s sad, but it’s its own kind of unique fucked up sadness. Besides, even the OG Browns had some success with three straight AFC Championship games in the 80s. So they’re out.

There is not another team in the NFL that has experienced the kind of absurd Failure Demons that have plagued the Lions. Since the NFL went to a 16-game schedule in 1978 – 40 years ago – the Lions best 5-year run is a record of 46-34 from 1991-95, the heart of the Barry Sanders years. That’s an average season of 9-7. And that’s the best era in Lions football to anyone younger than a senor citizen. That is fucking nuts.

No other NFL team has a “high” that’s that low. Well, the Houston Texans do. They have a “high” of 45-35, but again, they are an expansion team, a teenage franchise with fans who have not even begun to understand true suffering. Fuck them.

What other NFL franchise can compare? The Buccaneers and the Saints were once notorious punchlines, but they’ve both won Super Bowls now. The Falcons have never won one but have at least been there, and recently too. The Cardinals at least made it to a Super Bowl.

No other franchise has had a legacy of sheer failure that the Lions have. Even franchises that have never really won anything, like the Chargers, have at least had some success. They’ve at least won a few playoff games here and there, or gotten their fans excited enough to the point where they thought they might actually have a chance. But not the Lions. No, the Lions have 1 goddamn playoff win in the last 60 years. 1! O N E!

That lone playoff win was 27 years ago. The Lions lost the next week to the Redskins 41-10.

Who else is there? The Jets? The Jets won a Super Bowl. That was almost 50 years ago, so we’ll ignore that. But even if we ignore that, we can’t ignore that since then the Jets have 10 playoff wins. And, uh, 10 > 1.

So, no, there is no other fanbase in the NFL that can even begin to understand what it feels like to be a Lions fan. Let’s extend it to other major American sports.

Every non-expansion team franchise in every sport has at least had some success. Even if they have had long stretches of shit, there is always that one year when they rise up and at least make a final or fool their fans into thinking that this is their “magical” year. The Sacramento Kings have never won anything, but they did have that stretch during the Chris Webber years when they at least got close. The Lions have never even been close.

The Clippers? Maybe. But the Clippers are sort of like the Browns in that they’ve only been the “Los Angeles” Clippers since 1984. They’re also coming off a five year stretch in which they won 50 games every year and at least provided the illusion that they weren’t the “Clippers” anymore. They’re also the red-headed stepchild of the Los Angeles sports scene. Clippers fans choose to be Clippers fans for some perverse reason. There is no choosing to be a Lions fan. There is no Lakers team here. You’re born into this and you die into this. You don’t move to Detroit and adopt the Lions as your second team like Clippers fans.

Baseball teams? The Padres are comparably young and have been to two World Series. The Mariners are young and once won 116 games in a single season. The Royals just won a World Series a couple of years ago. The Nationals have only been in Washington for a heartbeat. Before that, they were in Montreal, but they were still as young as the Padres. They had their own unique form of misery in the strike season of 1994, but that misery was built around them being the best team in baseball that season and having it ripped away. That is Lions like in its absurdity, but it’s still based around them being the best team in baseball. And besides, they’re not even in Montreal anymore so what are we even talking about?

What about the Toronto Maple Leafs? In many ways, they feel sort of like the Lions sister team in misery. They’re an old franchise, a generational franchise, and they have an old, proud history. They were winning when the Lions were winning. Only grandfathers remember this. And they’ve suffered in sorrow and misery since. But have they really?

Since the Leafs last won a Stanley Cup in 1967, they’ve made the playoffs 29 times. To be fair, it’s always been much easier to make the playoffs in the NHL, especially back in the day when almost every team made it. Since 1967, the Leafs have won 109 playoff games. 109 > 1. Okay, okay, that’s not fair since the true measure would be playoff series wins. The Leafs have 19 of those. Again, 19 > 1. They also have 5 conference final appearances. That is a record Lions fans would kill for. Leafs fans are that “poor” family who whine because they only have two cars and can’t afford to go to Disney every year while ignoring Lions fans sleeping in boxes in the alley next door.

So, no, you don’t understand.

But it goes beyond just the losing. It’s also the way the Lions have lost over the years, which is every way imaginable. The Process of the Catch, 10 Second Runoffs, miracle field goals, missed extra points, the refs missing calls, the refs making phantom calls, whatever the fuck happened in Dallas a few years ago . . . the Lions haven’t just lost, they have lost in the most heinous, ridiculous ways imaginable. It is bizarre and cruel and it feels like we’re the victims of some sort of evil supernatural will.

And we’ve suffered through all of this despite having the most talented player in NFL history in Barry Sanders and maybe the most talented wide receiver ever in Calvin Johnson. We’ve had to watch as their brilliance has been squandered, wasted on a team that ruins everyone, that finally ruined them. Both of them retired before they needed to, their spirits ruined, broken men destroyed by the Lions. Just think about it. Really think about it. We ruined Barry Sanders!!!

It is a legacy that defies explanation, that defies human understanding. It just keeps reaching and keeps reaching and keeps reaching further into the depths of our souls, into a black bottomless pit of madness and despair. You keep looking, but you lose sight of it and it all just becomes a sort of horrific blur. The losing, the ridiculous moments, Barry’s shredded soul . . . it all just becomes a chaotic whirlwind threatening to carry us away every time we think of it.

At some point it has to stop, right? It has to set us down back in Kansas – Barry’s home, by the way, as if things couldn’t get more absurd – after we click our heels and wake up in our beds convinced it and the wicked witch were all a horrible nightmare. But it doesn’t stop. It hasn’t stopped for 60 years. It is our reality, our generational struggle. We have been born into it and it is all we know. The rest of you think you can know, but you don’t. You don’t.

Willie's Ark

 [Quick note: for those of you unfamiliar with The Great Willie Young, it all began after he was drafted and I needed something interesting to say about him. His spirit overtook me and the results can be found here and/or here.)

Today’s tale of The Great Willie Young comes down to us through recently discovered scrolls in a cave in what is now Iraq. Believed to predate the ancient Sumerian culture, the find is startling as it both dates from a time when writing had not yet been invented, and seems to be the root source for the legendary Epic of Gilgamesh, which was previously believed to be the source for the famous story of Noah’s Ark.

Carbon dating reveals these scrolls to be at least 8,000 years old, and perhaps even more stunning, there are indications from whoever wrote the scrolls that they themselves are merely retellings of an even more ancient legend. Needless to say, these scrolls throw the entirety of human history into question and there are already efforts by many historians and archaeologists to discredit them, largely because they challenge the orthodoxy. As usual, The Man is trying to keep The Great Willie Young down. But, as always, in the end The Truth and The Great Willie Young will prevail. Just as he did thousands and thousands of years ago in a land far, far away . . .

The universal traveler and Lord of Space and Time, The Great Willie Young, was fishing one day in the Sea of Plenty, a great water set in the earth for man by the gods. This sea was abundant with fish, and day after day The Great Willie Young could be found in his fishin’ boat [a translated colloquialism] bringing in game great and small, much of which he threw back, but some of which he brought to shore to feed both his growing family and a grateful populace. It was even said that occasionally The Great Willie Young would somehow divide the fish as well as loaves of bread made by one of his ol’ ladies when there did not seem to be enough.

On this day, however, The Great Willie Young was catching an abundance of fish. He was struggling with what he later termed as “the biggest motherfuckin’ swordfish I ever seen” when a flash of brilliant light overtook him and he found himself spirit walking in the Great Unknown. Of course, this would be an event that would trigger panic and awe in most beings, but The Great Willie Young, being half god himself, had spirit walked many times and although he was mildly annoyed at having been interrupted from his swordfish pursuit he was overjoyed to find himself in the presence of his father, the Cheetah God.

“My son,” the Cheetah God began, purring as The Great Willie Young scruffled his neck and under his chin, “I come to you with grave tidings.”

“Father,” The Great Willie Young responded with reverence.

“The world has become wicked. You see how man turns on one another, Discoursing in vain, a broken people bent on spiritual annihilation and trolling. Men and women frolicking in Spring Break hotel rooms, some of them without consent – allegedly – turning the Sea of Plenty into an Ocean of Cum and Despair.”

The Great Willie Young nodded gravely. He had seen it. And although he ministered to the people when he could, it was in vain. They spurned him, scorned him. A lawyer named Fink even abused him on Twitter [as far as we can tell, this was an ancient form of communication which mostly saw people sending crude etchings of penises along with simple text like “lol owned”] and The Great Willie Young couldn’t deny that the people had grown rude and coarse.

“Therefore, my son, the gods have decreed that a great rain shall be sent to eliminate all the evil that roams the earth.”

“My father,” The Great Willie Young began, despairing for the people. He understood the evil but felt that this was going a little too far.

The Cheetah God shook his head and then hissed as a bird flew by. After chasing the bird for a while, the Cheetah God returned and told his son “You, and you alone shall be saved. Taketh your family and two of every beast that roams the land and soars in the sky into a great Ark which you shall build.”

The Great Willie Young took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. This was gonna be hard. After all, The Great Willie Young’s family was massive. He had fathered many sons and daughters over the years by many Baby Mamas. He had never taken a blood test, but he always did the right thing and at least sent a card on birthdays and a few bucks whenever he could. He shuddered at the thought of all those Baby Mamas together in one place, locked in a boat together.

“Even Tenisha?” The Great Willie Young asked his father.

“All the Tenishas,” his father responded. “And the Moniques. And the Skyes too . . .”

His father continued, and The Great Willie Young thought it was a bit much, that his father was just passive aggressively trying to shame him, but he listened anyway. He wasn’t even sure who Skye was. Maybe that stripper? Perhaps.

But The Great Willie Young listened. His father was no liar. He knew that. And so when he returned to this mortal plane of existence he began to build the great ark with the help of his many sons, some of whom he did not even know by name. But they were all strong lads, big and athletic just like him, and so the work went by quickly. Evil men and women mocked him and his sons, often taking to Twitter to sneer that they were “wasting their time” and posting memes [believed to be unfunny images, often with text added, which were perplexingly popular, perhaps providing further proof of the evil which had swept the land], but the work continued and The Great Willie Young told his sons to “avoid The Discourse” and to “stay off Twitter, even if it means temporarily deactivating your account like Jeremy from Pride of Detroit.”

Finally, when the ark was completed, The Great Willie Young began to gather the animals, a male and female of each species. Now obviously this took a lot of work, and is an epic adventure in its own right, but let it simply be said here that The Great Willie Young managed even though it took him a full month just to wrestle a male Bigfoot, a Bigfoot which sprayed him with something that smelled like a mixture of piss and semen. The Great Willie Young almost gave up, saying “Fuck all y’all, the world can go fuck itself,” before becoming ashamed of the possibility of failing his father. After accomplishing that, The Great Willie Young finished his gathering. “Eeew, y’all nasty motherfuckers,” he told the bugs, but he gathered them anyway, somehow finding room for them all in the ark, which itself was a crazy adventure that involved separating the beasts from their enemies and the Bigfoot from everyone.

The day came when the rains started and The Great Willie Young sealed the ark with his family inside. They made sure to take plenty of food, both for themselves and the animals, but it almost went awry on the first day when some of his sons got high and raided the pantry. “You little motherfuckers!” The Great Willie Young raged. “This food gotta last us 40 days and 40 nights! And shit, you gotta ration that weed. There’s no way you brought that much, and you best not be getting into my stash!”

The days went on, and Willie’s family grew bored and often turned to fighting. Skye even ripped off Tenisha’s weave one night, which could have been calamitous, but The Great Willie Young worked his magic and somehow wrangled a threesome out of it. The night was magical and was only marred when The Great Willie Young caught Bigfoot jerking off while peeping on them from inside a closet.

Finally, on the 41^st day, the rains stopped, and The Great Willie Young peered outside to see the sun shining. Sure enough, there was nothing but water around them. The Great Willie Young rubbed his hands and got out his fishing pole. He invited his sons to join him, but they ignored him, too busy playing on their iScrolls.

The Great Willie Young spent all that day fishing in peace. He caught many fish, including one which spoke to him and said “I am the fish god and I have a new task for you,” but The Great Willie Young threw him back. He was sick of spammers tying up his line.

That night, the ark groaned and came to a halt on a rock which was the only land in the ocean of water. The Great Willie Young dutifully grabbed a bird and said “Bird, I’m gonna set your ass free, but you need to let me know if you find land. Deal?”

The bird squawked and flew off. A while later it came back empty clawed and The Great Willie Young knew that it had not found land. He swore under his breath. He loved his kids, but goddamn they were getting under his skin. So he sent out another bird. This one did not return, and The Great Willie Young just shrugged and said “Well fuck you then, you ungrateful vulture.” And then he grabbed a dove and sent it out. A while later, the dove returned with a pot leaf in its mouth and The Great Willie Young fell to his knees and thanked his father for he knew that the waters had begun to subside.

That night, The Great Willie Young opened his ark. It needed to be aired out as after 40 days and 40 nights it stank like Bigfoot’s dick, both literally and metaphorically. His many sons and daughters quickly fled without so much as a thank you, along with their moms, and The Great Willie Young just shook his head and said “Same shit, different day.”

Later, The Great Willie Young traveled again to the Great Unknown where he spirit walked with his father, the Cheetah God. “My son,” the Cheetah God said, “you and your family are entrusted with the care of the earth. Ensure that it does not return to wickedness and that man does not idly Discourse again.”

The Great Willie Young promised to do his best, but he knew that it was futile since people are dicks and can’t resist their worst impulses.

“For myself,” the Cheetah God continued, “I will swear that I shall not destroy the earth again. It is to man now to forge his own destiny.”

The Great Willie Young sighed. “Shit,” he thought. “We straight fucked,”

And lo, it has come to pass.

Why Take The Chance?

                                                                       Don't worry, I'll explain later.

Well, Neil, welcome back to the Lions, I guess. Yes, after steeling myself to dive back into the insanity of the Detroit Lions, taking my Lions Disease booster shots and attending meetings with The Great Willie Young, the universe has decided to laugh in my face and raise me a rapist a head coach.

Okay fine, an alleged rapist head coach. That word is important, but . . . uh, folks, it don’t look good for your boy. I don’t want to get into the whole Discourse of it all and start referencing hashtag justice shit, which I generally despise (#FreeKony y’all!) or start arguing about the general culture and disappearing down a rabbit hole of tumblresque rantings and me tooing until we’re all a bunch of hateful wretches triggered to shaking tears by clowns and balloons or whatever weird bullshit gets us attention, but . . . yeah, we need to talk about this.

Matt Patricia probably raped a girl. I don’t know what else you want me to say. I suppose you probably want me to say “But he was never found guilty!” which is true, but that is not the same as being not guilty. Instead, Matt Patricia has spent the past 20+ years stuck in a sort of purgatory, and that sucks for him if he truly didn’t do that shit, but if he did – and I think he probably did – then he deserves far worse and feeling bad for him is a sucker’s game.

Matt Patricia wasn’t just accused of rape. This is not a “he said, she said” kind of thing. He was indicted by a grand jury for rape. That means that a jury of twelve people felt that the evidence – both physical evidence and witness accounts – meant that they believed he was guilty and should be brought to trial for rape. At least five people – a nurse, a doctor, two cops and the victim’s friend – were all set to testify that Matt Patricia and his friend raped her. That, uh, that’s not nothing. The nurse and the doctor are especially intriguing witnesses. Their presence tends to indicate that at least someone raped that girl.

The case went away, but not because Patricia was vindicated in any way, or because the victim “recanted”, which the Lions really, really want you to believe. The poor girl ended up not cooperating because she had just been fucking raped and was emotionally traumatized and didn’t want to deal with it anymore. If you can’t understand that, congratulations, you’re a fucked up human being.

The point is that far from being vindicated, Matt Patricia basically got a get out of jail free card thanks to a raped girl’s emotional trauma. That’s pretty fucking messed up. Of course, all of this assumes that she was right and that he did that shit, and this is where things threaten to tumble into The Discourse, but let me just say this: everyone ever accused of rape claims that they didn’t do it. Shit, Bill Cosby is still claiming he never did anything wrong. Do women lie sometimes? Yes. But generally cases with zero evidence just based on an accusation don’t lead to a fucking grand jury indictment. A lot of people thought Matt Patricia did this based on evidence that went beyond just what the girl said.

So, if you believe that Matt Patricia raped someone then he has to go. This is a no-brainer. We’re done here. But, let’s say you believe that he’s innocent, that you can convince yourself for whatever reason that Matt Patricia is just the innocent victim of a 22 year smear campaign. What then?

Well, even if you believe all of that, we’re left with a dude who has spent the last 22 years sitting on this shit, desperately hoping that it would never come out. That’s understandable. It could ruin his life and he knows that. But, it coming out like it has doesn’t just make him look bad. It makes the team he works for look bad. It makes the people he’s worked for look bad. It taints everyone involved with him. And in a high-stakes game like this, he has to know and understand that. At some point, he needed to be “hey look, this happened years ago, and it’s not a problem, but you need to know about it and be prepared in case some wild shit gets out.” Would it have messed with his chances for getting work? Probably, but that is a thing he needs to deal with. It’s his cross to bear. Again, this all assumes that he’s not guilty. He still has a responsibility to not let this mushroom cloud and take out everyone around him.

Look at it this way: your sister starts dating some dude. He seems like a decent enough guy. They get married and a couple of years into the marriage you find out that this dude was once indicted for rape. The case went away, but he was never quite vindicated. Do you think “hey, no big deal, I get why he never said anything” or do you think “get away from my sister you fucking creep! It’s fucked up that you never said anything!” Yeah.

At this level, the relationship between Matt Patricia and the Lions is basically a marriage. They needed to know all the bad shit in addition to the good in order to hire him. He owed it to them. But he didn’t and now everyone looks bad.

This is on the Lions too. At some point, they probably should have dug deep enough to find this. They didn’t, and whether they were technically required to is beside the point. They probably didn’t do anything wrong technically, but that is a coward’s argument that just indulges the flaws in the NFL’s interviewing system/background checks. After all, this is a league that’s pretty famous for looking the other way unless they’re forced to.

If Matt Patricia wasn’t going to say something, the Lions should have at least checked to see if, you know, their future head coach was ever indicted for raping someone. I mean, shit!

The problem here is that thanks to the “don’t ask, don’t tell” kind of bullshit that’s gone on is that not only does Matt Patricia look bad here, the Lions do too. That’s because they’ve predictably decided to ride or die with Patricia and have made themselves look like fools here. Rod Wood has said that the girl “recanted numerous times,” which, uh, isn’t true. At least not that we know. There is nothing in the public record that indicates that this girl took back her accusation. She chose not to testify because she was emotionally ruined. That’s a pretty big fucking difference. Not exactly subtle.

And then you have the Lions statement on the matter, which defensively pointed out that Patricia was young and on spring break, as if that could possibly matter. I mean what the fuck? “He didn’t do it, but even if he did, he was young and on spring break, boys will be boys y’all!” That is basically what that means and it’s heinously fucked up. That alone is enough to envelop everyone in a fireable storm of controversy and it all starts with neither side being willing to deal with closet skeletons.

If, somehow, you’re able to convince yourself that Matt Patricia is innocent and that everyone has handled things the right way, congratulations, you are a deluded dupe. But I get it. I mean, on a base level, I understand the compulsion. This is your team. This is your team’s coach. Your instinct based on years and years of learned tribal behavior is to defend defend defend and never let anyone say shit about your boys. It’s all well and good to believe a girl, but as soon as it touches your life, your enjoyment, it becomes all too easy to call her a liar, if only to protect yourself.

Just look at the hideous mess going on at Michigan State. When that whole debacle was confined to Larry Nassar even staunch Sparties were willing to “graciously” demand that the school handle its business and burn him at the stake. As soon as it touched the school itself and, more importantly, its basketball and football programs, those same “gracious” Sparties turned into persecuted truthers who blamed it all on a media conspiracy. As soon as it touches something people love they go right into defend at all costs mode.

You see it too with Ben Roethlisberger and Steelers fans. Everyone forgets that he was accused of rape and there are dark rumors that he’s pretty much a shitbag degenerate, but it’s impossible for Steelers fans to face that because it conflicts with their own fandom. So it’s easier for them just to dismiss it, blindly defend him no matter how ludicrous or horrible it makes them look, and continue to cheer for their team with a clean conscience.

And then there’s Penn State, which has seen an entire fanbase go completely off the rails because it can’t handle the idea that the school’s entire identity is ruined by the Sandusy/Paterno scandal. People make strange and terrible deals with their own minds. They twist reality, they twist truth, their own moral code, in order to protect their own sense of belonging, of community. To have that destroyed is unthinkable to them. It would call their own beliefs, their own connections, their own hearts into question. It would implicate them.

So . . . I get it. I think its cowardly, but I get it. I understand the impulse. But here’s the thing – and it’s fucked up that we even need to discuss it on this level because this isn’t what it should be about, but here we are – even if you believe that Matt Patricia is innocent, and even if you believe that everyone has handled everything the right way, is Matt Patricia really someone you’re willing to ride or die for? I mean, is this really a guy who you feel like is worth risking our honor, our dignity, our fucking soul for?

There’s a scene in the movie Casino – and here’s where I finally explain that image up top – where mob boss Remo sits at the head of a table of indicted mob bosses. He’s the boss of bosses. They’re discussing what they need to do to get out of their legal hell, and naturally, talk turns to bumping off all the witnesses. They come to Andy Stone, their head union fixer, and the bosses all agree that he’s a good kid who’s done nothing wrong and wouldn’t rat them out. But not Remo. Remo shrugs. He has nothing against poor Andy Stone, but as Remo says “why take the chance? At least that’s the way I feel about it.” The next scene is poor Andy Stone getting capped in a parking lot. They liked him, but he wasn’t really one of them.

Why take the chance? Again, it’s fucked up that we’re even talking about it on this level, but even if you believe that Matt Patricia is innocent, and even if you believe that he nor the Lions did anything wrong here, why take the chance? Matt Patricia has never coached a game for the Lions. We’re not really invested in him in any emotional way yet. This is Bob Quinn’s team, not Patricia’s, and from a philosophical standpoint, losing Patricia really doesn’t mean much. He’s just Quinn’s boy, hired to execute Quinn’s vision. Quinn could hire someone else and nothing would really change.

Why take the chance? It’s fucked up, but there you have it. It’s brutal and it’s cruel, but no matter how you look at it, Matt Patricia can’t remain as the Lions head coach. He just can’t. Just walk it back, step by step, and even at its most impersonal, purely rational level, it doesn’t make sense to keep him. This shouldn’t be about that, but even when it’s about that, that’s how it shakes out.

Matt Patricia probably raped that poor girl. And even if he didn’t, he and the Lions have fucked up the response so egregiously, and fucked up in the hiring process, that he should go. And even if they handled it right and he didn’t do anything wrong, why take the chance on Matt Patricia? Even on that cold and cruel level, it’s just not worth it. He’s not worth it. Why take the chance? At least that’s the way I feel about it.