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I was around as public ambivalence over that narrative grew and grew, as Griffin arrived at training camp, and as the media reported every snap he took with a mixture of both excitement and dread.
I live here in the DC area and so I have been around for every possible stage of local RGThreever, from the trade ("We gave up how many picks?
") to the justification for the trade ("Since we swapped picks in the first round, we really only traded TWO first rounders instead of three!
") to the burgeoning excitement ("Holy shit, we have an actual quarterback instead of the Sex Cannon!
") to the collective municipal orgasm that followed the first twelve or so weeks of last season ("UNNNNGHHHHHHHH [spurts]") to the first knee injury against the Ravens ("NO!
") to his final devastating knee injury in the playoffs against Seattle, which remains one of the saddest things I've ever seen in a football game.
I've been around for the mourning of that injury and the seven-month civil war between local fans over whether or not the Skins ruined arguably the most exciting player in franchise history.
As the offseason debate raged on talk radio day after day after fucking day (and as RGIII and the Skins and Dr.
James Andrews engaged in a passive-aggressive Mexican standoff over who was to blame for his injury), Griffin and his corporate sponsors banded together to turn his rehabilitation story (which, it was always presumed, would be successful) into a kind of cottage industry of TV ads and slogans and strange preseason documentaries.
If you charted his completion percentage from game-to-game over the past nine weeks, it would look like a two-year-old's attempt to draw a straight line.
He only seems to be effective when the Skins are down by 24 points or more.
His pick at the end of the Eagles game last week was pure Rex Grossman. It's also not clear that rest will do him any good.