Let me tell you something, Pack Nation.

I need everybody to find the chair right now.

Find the chair, sit down and brace yourself because I am about to say three words that have never, not once, left my mouth

in any conversation in my entire life.

Ryan was right.

I know.

I know what I just said.

I said it out loud this morning sitting at the kitchen table, just me and my coffee mug staring

at the wall and Darlene walks in from the other room, puts her hand on my forehead like

she is checking for a fever, holds it there for four full seconds, and walks back out without

a single word, silent.

My 11-year-old comes downstairs and goes, Daddy, are you okay? I said,

Sweet Art, Daddy is just having a football moment. She goes, you have those a lot. I said, yes, baby

girl, every single day of my life. But here's the thing. Ryan talked about the backup quarterback

situation this morning, and I hate

that it got inside my head because once a thought like that gets in there, it does not leave.

You keep pulling on the thread, and the more you pull, the worse it looks.

Now, Jordan Love, I love this man. What he did last season proved, without any doubt, he belongs at the highest level of this league, the arm, the athleticism, the poise. I am not here to criticize Jordan Love, but listen to me carefully. Love has an injury history. He has missed significant time at the NFL level, and in a

17-game season, on a team that has been barely scraping into the playoffs the last few years,

you cannot pretend that does not matter. One bad hit, one awkward sack, one wrong landing on turf. Love is out four weeks,

maybe five. Then what? Desmond Ritter. Desmond Ritter. Pack Nation, I will try to be fair.

I watch Ritter play in Atlanta.

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