Rex Grossman is the embodiment of the sheer beauty that is the game of football.
There is perhaps no greater example of this than from 2011, when the 3-1 Redskins had a chance to take an early stranglehold on the NFC East, trailing the lowly 1-4 Eagles 20-6 early in the third quarter.
A brief recap: Michael Vick had left the field due to his weekly injury, and his replacement Vince Young promptly threw a gift-wrapped pass into the chest of DeAngelo Hall before Vick could even take a seat with the trainers.
With the echoes of first-and-ten still resonating throughout FedEx Field, our hero Grossman takes the field with a not-done-yet attitude, a fearlessness necessary to get any team back into a game that no longer appeared to be in the books.
Eighteen yards separated the Burgundy and Gold from the end-zone. Despite the short field, it was time for a sensible drive in order to chip away at a two-touchdown lead while the Redskins defense soaked-up a much-needed rest.
Sometimes, in moments like this, the best defense is a polished offense; one that can put points on the board, but also keep the likes of LeSean McCoy and what's left of Michael Vick off of the field. Patience and precision are what prevail in these moments.
Which is why we appreciate Rex Grossman.
Because not even 30 seconds later, Grossman put any semblance of logic aside and hurled his next pass right to salivating Eagles safety Kurt Coleman. The game was as good as over.
This is why people, mostly far, far away from Chicago or Washington D.C. adore, and in my case, canonize Rex. Just when you think you're about to see an intriguing moment, Grossman punctures all of the tension with an idiot-sword only he could wield.
First-and-ten? Go deep. Second-and-long? Throw it through a pinhole. Fourth-and one? Is that Jabar Gaffney in triple coverage? Hurl that sonofabitch.
If Rex Grossman was a baseball player, he would be Orioles-version Mark Reynolds. On 0-and-2, he would swing for the fences and probably find some way to crash into an already heavily concussed Brian Roberts in the dugout. If he was a basketball player, he would be JaVale McGee, never quite learning that dunks from the free-throw line are not for him.
It's players like Grossman that make you come to appreciate the subtle beauties of the game, because his art is anything but subtle. He's a reminder that there is always a place for the sensible, methodical players and not just the ones who step onto the field with a beast-or-bust mentality. There is a reason people appreciated the careless, gunslinging Brett Favre (early on), because he was the exception and not the rule. But every reason to love Favre should spawn even more reasons to appreciate Rex Grossman.
This is why the Dragon is etched in stone four times on Mt. RushSkins. This is why there should be a Grossman No. 8 jersey hanging in the closets, nay, in frames on walls of mancaves across the DMV. He is the perfect segue into an era when a team gets an actual quarterback in Robert Griffin III. And now, he is commemorated as the greatest player in Redskins history.
Or, whatever, maybe he was just greater than John Beck.