Colin Sheridan: Why Antonio Brown doesn't deserve sympathy or support

Last Sunday, Tampa Bay Buccaneers wide-receiver Antonio Brown had his Rod Tidwell/‘show me the money’ moment, however his was not a celebration, but a protest, and in a league of countless chances, he may have exhausted his last.

In the closing moments of the much-loved movie Jerry Maguire, Cuba Gooding Jr, playing charismatic Arizona Cardinals wide-receiver Rod Tidwell, has an onfield epiphany. Catching a ball in the endzone for the game-winning score, he gets hammered by opposing players, and with the world watching, lies prone, seemingly unconscious. Suddenly, his eyes open, and he comes to life, dancing around the endzone. 

The dance is not just to celebrate the touchdown or the play-off berth his team has just secured; the dance is for his future, for he’s just realised something. He’s going to get paid. Guaranteed dollars. The hardest thing to come by in the NFL. The certainty that, no matter what happens to his hands or his ankles or his head or his face, he will be looked after. Tidwell may have been a fictional creation, but he gave the league its truest catchphrase: ‘Show me the money’.

It’s been a little over 25 years since Jerry Maguire was in cinemas, but ‘show me the money’ is as relevant now as it was then. Last Sunday, Tampa Bay Buccaneers wide-receiver Antonio Brown had his Rod Tidwell/‘show me the money’ moment, however his was not a celebration, but a protest, and in a league of countless chances, he may have exhausted his last.

Deep into the fourth quarter, his team trailing to the beleaguered New York Jets, Brown was directed to get ready to go into the game. He declined the invitation. When word of his refusal reached head coach Bruse Arians, Brown was told he was done. Done for the day. Done for the season. Done in Tampa, maybe. In the moment of the telling, none of that was particularly clear. Brown then took it upon himself to make it so. He ripped off his helmet and pads, tossed them at the bench and made his way — shirtless — towards the tunnel, stopping in the endzone to do a little Rod Tidwell grandstanding and engage with some fans.

To the casual observer, this scene may have made little sense. To see a player from any sport walk off a field mid-game is an act of treachery, especially in the realm of team sports. Quitting on yourself is one thing, but on your team? Well, that’s quite another. You don’t walk out on your team, especially shirtless, no matter the incredible shape you’re in.

By nightfall, Brown had been widely condemned by pretty much all NFL media. His coach, Arians, curtly announced “he’s no longer a Buc” before offering a chronology of events. His quarterback, Tom Brady, offered a more measured and nuanced take, expressing the need for empathy and understanding. Regardless of his charitable utterances, however, Brady’s reputation as a stone-cold killer when it comes to winning had few believing anything other than Brown was dead to him, too.

The irony of it all is that it took this for a team to finally quit on Brown (it would later emerge that he actually quit on them first).

Last Sunday’s walk-off came just four weeks after Brown was suspended for three games by the league for using a fake Covid-19 vaccination card, a story that was broken by his personal chef, who, it is alleged, was aggrieved due to an outstanding debt.

In 2019, Brown’s former trainer said he raped her (the case wasn’t prosecuted due to statute of limitations, and the two settled out of court in 2021). The Bucs knew of this allegation before they signed Brown in 2020, and the team continued to support Brown after he faked his vaccination status this season. In 2018, Brown allegedly threw furniture out of a window, almost hitting an infant on the patio below. This incident, too, ended in an out-of-court settlement.

There’s more, but you get the gist. Why then, were Brady and Tampa and others so willing to take a punt on such a volatile character? Because, for all the trouble he has caused, in his eight seasons as a Pittsburgh Steeler he had proven himself to be one of only a handful of elite receivers in the league. Anything can be forgiven if you are capable enough and, regardless of what goes on in the shadows, you are ready and willing to play.

For a brief moment last week, Brown held a morsel of moral high ground. The Bucs coaching staff, he claimed through social media, had demanded he play hurt. These accusations played to a believable narrative that the league and its teams treat their players like meat, exploited for financial gain. When Arians presented himself for comment later the same day, he did little to refute Brown’s claims. He didn’t have to. A day later, Brown appeared on a podcast, and his mask slipped. Taking aim at both the Bucs and Brady, he claimed he wasn’t being paid enough, and other players, those he claimed Brady favoured over him, were being disproportionately rewarded. It’s worth noting that Brady — who took Brown to Tampa — is reportedly the 15th best-paid quarterback in a league of 32. He moved to Tampa to win, not to get paid.

What now for Brown? His second act has long since passed. The NFL is the most forgiving of leagues, if the circumstances are right. The bigger the stakes, the shorter the memories. Brown’s football-related indiscretions will, in the end, prove far more prohibitive to his prospects than the litany of wrongdoings in his private life. Had his walkout not happened in full view of a TV audience of many millions, it’s likely his employers would not have cared so much. The only thing his latest implosion proved was that the best ability in professional football is availability.