I suppose if anyone cared about things like the legacy of Donovan McNabb, they would gaze back upon this night – him getting mauled and beaming balls into the dirt as always – when his mom couldn’t bear to watch anymore, as the end. Not the beginning of the end. But the end of the end. Not the beginning of the movie credits, when there are recognizable names and job titles, but the end of the credits, when they start showing weird logos of trade associations you’ve never heard of. And the theater is empty.

I saw a few people on Twitter accuse NBC of insensitivity for showing Mama McNabb leaving her seat. Perhaps she was just going to the bathroom, they suggested. That could have been footage of hours ago. “WHY MUST YOU MAKE LIFE INTO A SAD THING?” I doubt it. As much as I would be glad to see NBC Sports – an organization that is already content to foist Peter King and Mike Florio as reputable reporters on us – guilty of questionable practices in its broadcasts, it doesn’t really matter to me. Because I agree with the implication that is being made with showing McNabb’s mom. I don’t wanna see Donovan McNabb play anymore. No one does. Not even if it means getting his dick knocked in the dirt for three hours. I’m good, thanks. Now please join Favre in not being around anymore.