It is Tuesday here in the good old U.S. of A. For some it is simply Tuesday, a neutral day that falls harmlessly between Monday and Wednesday. For some fortunate few it is already Tuesday, wow what ever happened to Monday? It’s true that this is an extremely rare and perhaps worrisome condition. For Urban Meyer, head coach of the Jacksonville Jaguars and haver of a recent grim men’s evening, today is only Tuesday—impossibly, terrifyingly still just Tuesday. This will be perhaps the onliest Tuesday of Meyer’s entire life. At this rate Meyer will still be mired in Tuesday’s miseries when the rest of us have moved into the weekend.
If Meyer perhaps thought the fallout of that bleak night on the town ended with his humiliating public apology Monday, he was sorely mistaken. Michael Lombardi reported Tuesday morning that Meyer’s situation “might get ugly,” as the last 48 hours have been filled up with “closed-door meetings” that don’t “have anything to do with the Titans,” Jacksonville’s next opponent. As for how Meyer’s situation might conceivably get even uglier than it was when he went to bed Monday night, a thread from veteran reporter Michael Silver depicts a football operation collapsing around the embattled head coach:
As if an entire position group guffawing at Meyer’s back following yet another round of apologies wasn’t excruciating enough, Jaguars owner Shad Khan released a statement later in the morning scolding Meyer for “inexcusable” conduct:
If this all strikes you as a little bit pearl-clutchy, yes, it is that. On the other hand, nobody deserves to have the helium embarrassingly released from his sphincter more than Meyer, whose whole Moral Man act has always been one of the most offensive things about him. Meyer is a towering hypocrite, for acts far more significant than that he stayed home on a travel day so he could drunkenly grab the ass of a flirty stranger in a bar, behavior that if caught on camera would absolutely get an underperforming young quarterback suspended, or worse. The Urban Meyer Leader Of Men sales pitch has always featured a determined, meticulous performance of the unimpeachable father figure, which is the kind of thing that works a whole lot better when the performer is bolted into the cushiest position in America, and when his charges are teenagers. Meyer has been out of that environment for four whole NFL regular-season games, in the relative outpost of Jacksonville, with the closest thing the NFL has to zero immediate performance expectations, and already his buttcheeks have been melted all the way off by his own glaring stupidity.
All of which is to say, if theatrical puritanism and weaponized sanctimony soon run this asshole out of the only half-serious job he’s had in decades, it will be an own-petard-hoisting for the ages.