One, two, three, four, I declare Twitter war! Sounds a bit childish, doesn’t it? To a well-adjusted adult; without question. But to the self-professed best corner in the NFL; a far-too-frequent response from the least confident, confident man I’ve seen in quite some time.
If I were “anyone,” Richard Sherman would already be sharpening his claws in preparation for an inevitable clash of words between two people with differing opinions. I, of course, believe the All-Pro cornerback from Seattle wastes his time and tarnishes his own reputation with his infantile wars of words. While he would almost certainly defend his rants as self-defense against haters unwilling to give him his due. But I contend that confidence is the heightened belief in one’s self, undaunted by and in spite of the opinions of those around you. And due to such, would contend that it’s the lack of the aforementioned that disables Sherman from not only tolerating differing opinions, but ignites his continual preemptive attacks on any notion alleged to paint he or his in a less-than-favorable light.
In recent months, the out-spoken Stanford alum has partaken in public debate with ESPN’s Skip Bayless, former Tampa and present-day New England star Darrelle Revis, Washington Redskins’ cornerback DeAngelo Hall, and free agent running back LeGarrette Blount. The topic of those debates: I’m the best, and how dare you question my superiority.
Oddly, it isn’t that Bayless, Blount, Hall, or Revis suggested Sherman isn’t great, it’s that they suggested someone could possibly be better, that got Richard frothing at the mouth.
Am I the only one who sees the irony in Sherman’s tizzy fit? He spends the bulk of his time telling anyone who will listen; he’s the best, and what’s wrong with him saying so? Yet, when anyone else dares to act similarly or question his demeanor regarding such, he goes Francis Sawyer from Stripes on us; launching into a tsunami of rhetoric, warning of impending doom for anyone in it or his way.
In the infamous words of Sergeant Hulka: Lighten up, Francis.
Sherman is good. In fact, he’s really good, there’s no debating that. But it’s my contention that people who perform at the level that Sherman does, needn’t profess such skill, but rather allow their skill to do the talking for them. I know, it’s a bit of an antiquated adage, but it in this day of divas like Terrell Owens, Floyd Mayweather, Cam Newton, and any of the other bevy of players anxious to sing their own praises, humility goes a long ways towards garnering the type of respect today’s high-profile athletes seem so desperate to command.
If you don’t want attention, Richard, quit asking for it. Don’t go on First Take and attack Skip Bayless’ personal and professional shortcomings. If you don’t want people diminishing your level of expertise by way of a comparison of their own, or others’ skills; quit telling anyone who will listen yours are unmatched. And if you want to be appreciated as the best player at your position; keep doing what you’re doing on the field, and leave the off-the-field nonsense to the guys without the heightened intelligence to understand its detriment. And that’s what’s so disappointing about Seattle’s #25: He’s smart enough to know that acting the way he does, he’s drawing attention to his antics, while simultaneously misdirecting the attention from the very thing he’s so desperate for people to acknowledge: His talent.
Richard Sherman is a smart guy. Richard Sherman by all accounts is a great teammate. And Richard Sherman is undoubtedly a great football player worthy of the level of attention he should be getting, but is depriving himself via his hypersensitive and over defensive attitude regarding others. And it shouldn’t be that way. I should be talking about his great play en route to Seattle’s first Super Bowl Championship, his second consecutive first team All Pro selection, and his league leading eight interceptions last season, but I’m not, and it isn’t LeGarrette Blount’s, Darrelle Revis’, DeAngelo Hall’s, or even Skip Bayless’ fault. It’s Richard’s…and that’s a lesson I hope he learns.
