When I think of Cam Newton, I think of what might have been. What might have been if he hadn't stolen that laptop and painted it with black enamel like a thrice-stolen hood bike? What might have been if he hadn't, upon the cops' arrival, chucked it out the window, (because isn't that what we all do with our laptops?). What might have been if he hadn't accumulated 36 traffic tickets in an 11 month period? What might have been if our campus police and meter maids had not been so aggressively racist? What might have been if he hadn't stolen someone's term paper, erased their name and put his on it? What might have been if the kid whose paper he stole had just accepted the zero he got and moved on? What might have been if Cam had realized that any kid he'd steal a paper from would definitely not accept said zero?
As it was, Cam Newton became a legend in his short time walking the gothic, ivy-covered halls of the University of Florida. He became the fourth son of a preacher to win the Heisman, and, if it wasn't for the strict rules governing the induction into the ring of honor, he'd be nestled there between Youngblood and Spurrier, right where he belongs. But imagine if he wasn't just the shooting star he was here at Florida, loved so very much by middle-aged and bitter black males who suddenly became erection wielding Auburn Tiger and Carolina Panther fans.
Imagine. Imagine what could have been.
And then, as a non-sequitur sequitur, there is this: