I thought this was an excellent write up from LeCharles and wanted to share it. There were a bit of positives from this last game, you just have to know or see what to look for. I’ll paste the whole write up to make it easier for you all.
The Browns conversation will continue to be, “Deshaun Watson sucks.”
That may be true, but the constant noise surrounding Watson doesn’t leave much room for a conversation about what might actually be going right within the organization.
I get it.
Browns fans have every right to be impatient. But before I point out a few positives from an otherwise embarrassing performance, I need to make two things clear.
First, I’m not a Watson defender. Truthfully, I don’t care who starts at quarterback because I don’t believe the Browns’ quarterback of the future is currently on the roster. At this point, you’re debating which blue is more blue, navy blue or dark blue.
However, I do have deeply personal feelings about how Watson became the quarterback of the Cleveland Browns, because Cleveland will always be a part of who I am and what I represent. So, to me, this warrants a much larger question that Browns fans should be asking whether than if Watson can still play football.
What does it say about how ownership views you that it believed this was the person best suited to represent your city?
I’m framing the question this way because, people often reveal what they believe you’ll accept by what they feel comfortable placing in front of you.
Here’s an example.
If someone feels comfortable speaking negatively about a person I’m close to, directly to me, eventually I have to ask why. What have I communicated that made this person believe I would be receptive to that conversation? That doesn’t make me responsible for what was said, but it does tell me that the person made an assessment about what I would accept.
That’s how I view the Browns’ decision.
Browns fans didn’t make the decision, but ownership made an assessment about what you would ultimately accept. They didn’t just evaluate Watson as a quarterback, they evaluated Cleveland.
That should bother you more than any interception he throws.
And I don’t care how much his “teammates love him.” An NFL locker room isn’t exactly a beacon of moral judgment. Hell, there were guys I played with whom I wouldn’t have allowed in my home, but on the field, I would’ve put you in the hospital before I let you disrespect them.
That’s what teammates do. Locker-room loyalty is not a character reference, and it doesn’t answer the larger question fans should be asking themselves.
Second, I’ve worked in Cleveland sports media.
There are some really good people covering this city. There are also people who are keenly aware that negativity creates revenue. The frustration drives engagement and Browns fans have provided a dependable supply for decades.
Some people in the media are also rightfully jaded. It’s difficult to work closely with an organization for years, repeatedly expect something different and continually be disappointed. A lot of what gets presented as analysis is really the projection of individual frustration.
Then there is a much smaller group that simply cannot be trusted because it decided access was more important than credibility. But I get it. These people have families to support, and all of us eventually have to decide what compromises we’re willing to make to remain employed.
My point is simple, don’t allow anyone in the media to dictate your emotions, always start the conversation at the TOP.
You’re allowed to be frustrated. In fact, you should be. Just make sure the frustration actually belongs to you and is being directed at the right people. Deshaun Watson may not be the answer, but neither you nor the local media decided to give him a five-year, $230 million fully guaranteed contract. Ownership made that decision despite plenty of evidence outside of football that should have given it reason to reconsider.
Watson may be responsible for what happens on the field, but the people at the top are responsible for why he is on it.
Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, there were a few encouraging developments buried inside an otherwise ugly Sunday. Most of them were along the offensive line.
When evaluating an offensive line, especially one starting two rookies, we have to look beyond the final score. We can’t ignore it, but we have to understand what happened underneath it.
Let’s start with Austin Barber.
For a rookie making his first NFL start at a new position, the biggest win can be the simple one, he didn’t look out of place.
That may not sound exciting, but it matters more than some people appreciate. Barber didn’t look like a player surviving every snap. He wasn’t overwhelmed by the speed of the game or the weight of the moment, and there weren’t repeated signs of panic, confusion or technical immaturity.
He looked like he belonged. At minimum, Barber showed he can be a viable backup offensive lineman in the NFL.
Why am I not calling him a starter yet?
Because being an NFL starter is broader than where your name appears on the depth chart. It’s a mentality. It’s the ability to withstand the weekly physical and mental strain of being an NFL player.
Some guys can play well when called upon for a moment. Fewer are built to prepare, perform, recover and do it again every week while the injuries, criticism and expectations continue to accumulate. We don’t know whether Barber is that guy yet.
That isn’t criticism, it’s simply the next question he has to answer.
His next challenge will be showing who he becomes once defenses have enough film to study him. That’s the cat-and-mouse game of the NFL. You can play well on Sunday while leaving evidence on film that helps an opponent make the following Sunday miserable.
Maybe your hands widen when you’re expecting power. Maybe your set angle changes on third down. Maybe you consistently overset against a certain alignment, but the defender the week before failed to take advantage of it. Good defenders find those details and attack them until you prove you have an answer.
Barber passed the first test. He looked like an NFL offensive lineman. Now the league gets to study him, and the game will stress-test what his NFL future can become.
Now, Spencer Fano.
I don’t care what his PFF score is, and neither should you.
I’m not going to turn this into my PFF rant because we’d be here all day, and I’m trying to grow as a person (I’m on an enlightenment journey, and it’s a lot of traffic on this road). But there is enough evidence on film to support the fact that Spencer Fano played really well.
Here’s what fans have to understand, a scoring system grades the moment, although sometimes not remotely close to accurately. It looks at the snapshot, assigns responsibility and produces a number.
Player evaluation studies the process.
Moment to moment, there is evidence of what a player can become regardless of the outcome of the play. It could be his feet, balance, awareness or how he processes a defender’s movement. Not all mistakes, wins or losses are created equal.
A block can fail while the player shows you something encouraging within the process.
A block can also succeed while the player leaves evidence that should concern you.
That’s what grades and quick-hit X posts often miss. Nuance doesn’t feed the machine. The story has to be that a rookie is a “generational talent” or that he sucks. Those are apparently the only two sides of the football aisle now.
But with Fano, the film showed a rookie who belongs. He played with balance, awareness and enough physical confidence to suggest this wasn’t some accidental good performance. There is a process underneath the result, and that process matters more than whatever number gets posted next to his name.
Lastly, Elgton Jenkins.
Elgton Jenkins may not “grade” particularly high this season, but he is the Browns’ most valuable offensive player right now, and it’s not remotely close.
Jenkins is older and not the same player he was at his physical peak. That happens. Father Time has a perfect record. (so does Death, but that sounded a little too morbid). The Browns don’t need him to recreate Elgton Jenkins from 5 years ago.
However, it his knowledge and experience that’s exactly what this offense needs while starting two rookies on the offensive line.
When people discuss veteran centers, the conversation usually focuses on identifying the front, changing protections and communicating with the quarterback. All of that matters, but the number-one asset Jenkins brings is something we don’t see on Sunday, he can teach these young players how to prepare throughout the week.
My rookie year, I played next to a 13-year veteran. It was a masterclass in football development. There were answers I could only learn in real time by playing. No veteran can take those snaps for you, prevent every mistake or fully explain what NFL football feels like until you’re standing in the middle of it.
But veteran leadership is like having an answer key. They may not give you the exact answer, but they can turn a multiple-choice test into true or false. That is invaluable when a young player has to consolidate a massive amount of information in a short period of time.
A veteran can show a rookie what actually matters in the game plan. He can reveal which defensive tendencies are real, which tells can be trusted and how to study an opponent without filling your head with so much information that you forget to play football.
He can also teach a young player how to handle the week after playing well. That might be the biggest asset of all.
Young players often believe success means they’ve arrived. Veterans understand that success means somebody is already studying how to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Success in the NFL is on loan from week to week. You don’t own it, you have to keep earning it.
Jenkins can help Barber and Fano anticipate the league’s response to their performances. He can’t play their positions for them, but he can shorten the distance between what they’ve experienced and what they understand.
That makes him the most important offensive player on the Browns right now, not because he’s their most physically dominant player, but because he can help two rookies become dependable NFL starters faster than they would on their own.
Now, with all that said, the truth remains.
The Browns lost 34–10. They got smoked, and it was a new type of bad. There is no way to dress that up with a moral victory, a participation trophy or some “if you take away the turnovers, penalties and all the points the other team scored, it was actually pretty close” foolishness.
They didn’t look like a serious NFL team.
But there were still positives on Sunday worth highlighting. That may not mean much to some fans, and that’s okay. This post is for the people who were born Browns fans and will die Browns fans. The ones who don’t get to select a new team just because the one they inherited keeps making their Sundays miserable.
I’m learning that being a fan is a lot like life. When things are bad, refusing to acknowledge anything good doesn’t make you more honest. It only makes the bad harder to live with. The life we have is the only one we get, just as the Browns we have are the only Browns we’ve got (See, the enlightenment [censored] works).
Finding the positive doesn’t mean lowering the standard, accepting losing or pretending 34–10 wasn’t embarrassing. It means being honest enough to recognize progress when it appears, even when it’s surrounded by something ugly.
Austin Barber didn’t look out of place, Spencer Fano looked like a player who belongs, and Elgton Jenkins gives both of them a veteran capable of accelerating their development.
Sunday didn’t give Browns fans much to feel good about… But it gave you that.
Sometimes, that has to be enough to get you to next Sunday.
