The joy of Cam Newton: How a polarizing QB made (great) football fun

The joy of Cam Newton: How a polarizing QB made (great) football fun

His son had a tendency to speak a bit too much in class.

The boy liked attention, which caused a problem for his teachers and — by extension — his parents. So one day, Cecil Newton had an idea. He told his son, 'Cam, since you want people to notice you, you can dress up on Fridays. That way, everybody will notice you.'

Starting that next Friday, Cam Newton left the house for middle school wearing a long-sleeve button-down, slacks and dress shoes. He did it without complaint, almost cheerfully, and before long the practice wasn't restricted to Fridays.

'He's enjoying this,' Cecil told his wife, Jackie.

CAM NEWTON IS enjoying this NFL season in a way that makes some people proud and others lose their minds.

He is nearly a caricature of happiness, smiling when we have been conditioned to expect aggression, laughing when we expect seriousness.

The default response to success in a game of rage and combat is belligerence: an angry pose or a violent firing of the ball into the turf. And yet here is the rarest of men: one who can throw his body into a snarling pile of large humans — all gunning for him with malicious intent — and emerge on the other side with a radioactive grin and a first down.

So at this point maybe you're wondering whether there's anything that hasn't been said about Cam Newton. Fair point. He's so well-known nationally that he's been charged with the unenviable task of making yogurt look cool. He is going to be the MVP over Teflon Tom Brady — a fact cherished by some as near historical and by others as something close to chimerical. His post-touchdown dances have spawned overwrought, what-will-wetell- the-children letters to the editor. He is — and has been – viewed endlessly through lenses of maturity, greed and race. So yeah, you probably have an opinion of the guy.

But then again, there's an honest-to-god foxtail hanging from the front left pocket of his pants, he named his son Chosen and he appears to have absolutely no interest in being ordinary in anything. He stands at his postgame news conference with purple shoes one week, swirling black-andwhite the next. 'I don't know where he gets those shoes,' says his father, Cecil Newton. 'Really, I have absolutely no idea.'

Cam plays football as if he owns the entire field, every single blade of it. As the Falcons were being introduced at Atlanta's Georgia Dome before the Panthers' only loss, in Week 16, Newton stood just beyond the tunnel formed by cheerleaders and band, almost close enough to be singed by two cylinders of flame at the back of the end zone. No other Panthers teammate or coach was near him, and he stood tall and still, an infantry line of photographers crouched at his feet. He stared at each Atlanta player as the Falcons waited for their names to be announced, as if making sure his 6-foot-5, 245-pound body was the first thing they saw as they prepared to play the game.

'I don't know why he does that,' says backup quarterback Derek Anderson. 'I see it, but I haven't figured it out. I guess because he can?'

You could be angered by this. Your call. It wouldn't take much to perceive it as an affront to the old and phlegmy norms dictating respect and humility on the field of competition. And if you lean in that direction and aren't offended, fear not. Chances are there's another opportunity on its way.

In the second quarter against the Falcons, after an inspiring, borderline-reckless 1-on-11 run for 8 yards and a first down, Newton took a walk through the Falcons' secondary. about it. But then again, when he said that, it was another thing for people to take offense to.'

Anderson laughs at the absurdity of Life With Cam. It's like the Old Testament: Something is always begetting something else. There is a Panthers staffer who occasionally comes to the sideline between drives and takes off Newton's skullcap, replacing it with a towel. Cam sits on the bench, paying no attention as the guy goes about his business like a waiter refilling a glass. Hall of Fame quarterback Warren Moon, a friend and mentor of Newton's, says, 'When people get upset about the towel, I tell them, 'Relax, he's only wearing it because it says Gatorade on it.'' And then, inevitably, Cam will score, at which point the hyperventilation reaches Peak Cam. This happens often -10 times while running this season, 35 by passing — and his touchdown celebrations are typically three-act plays that straddle the never-beforestraddled line between Figaro and Monty Python. Against the Buccaneers in Week 17, for instance, he sneaked in from the 1, and the word sneak – diminutive to begin with — has never felt more inadequate.

There is nothing sneaky about him. It is a Quarterback Surge, and as he pops up to begin whatever might happen next, it's not unreasonable to believe that the touchdowns have become secondary to what follows.

'Some people don't know how to take it because he's not your prototypical, white dropback passer,' says Anderson, who is all three.

'He doesn't do things exactly the way people have done it at the position for the past 50 years, and some people get offended. That's on them for not having an open mind.'

He was in no hurry — the officials called for a measurement, which was accompanied by the obligatory eight commercials, and Newton seemed to have a maestro's feel for the game's staccato rhythms. The message behind the walk, conscious or not: I'm going to get here soon enough, so I might as well check it out first.

These are the actions that try men's souls. 'Some teams get offended when he does stuff,' Anderson says. 'He made a good point: If you don't want to watch me dance, do something