Johnny Football 2.0: Because Cleveland Loves a Good Trainwreck
The Cleveland Browns have never been averse to revisiting old mistakes. It’s practically a part of their brand. And so, with Deshaun Watson’s performance reaching bust-level proportions at lightning speed, the Browns have decided it’s time for a radical move—one that’s bold, fearless, and very, very Cleveland: They’re bringing back Johnny Manziel.
That’s right, folks, Johnny Football is getting another shot. Why? Because, in the grand tradition of Browns quarterbacks, if one bad decision isn’t working out, you might as well dust off an older, worse one. The Browns seem to have adopted a “two wrongs make a right” approach to roster building—which, as far as team mottos go, is as fitting as it gets.
Watson was supposed to be the savior. A franchise QB. He came with a price tag so massive, they essentially handed him a blank check and said, “Just fill in an obscene number of zeroes. No one in Cleveland can count that high anyway.” But instead of rescuing the team from its perpetual misery, Watson has delivered the kind of performance that makes Browns fans long for the days of Jake Delhomme’s last stand.
On any given Sunday, Watson looks like he’s mentally playing Madden but forgot to plug in his controller. After each botched throw or flubbed snap, fans sit in the stands whispering wistfully, “Remember Johnny? Sure, he couldn’t read a defense and showed up to games like he just got out of a Vegas penthouse, but at least it was entertaining.”
And that’s the point—it’s all about the show. Manziel might have thrown more picks than a lock-picking convention, but you never knew what kind of off-field disaster or on-field meltdown was coming next. He had that unpredictable magic—the kind that could make you yell, “What is he doing?!” for entirely different reasons depending on whether he was in the backfield or the back of a nightclub.
Bringing back Johnny Manziel is Cleveland’s way of doubling down on chaos, of embracing the absurdity of their eternal quarterback carousel. It’s like the Browns have looked at the rest of the NFL and said, “While you play your game of stats and winning seasons, we’re out here playing performance art.” You don’t win a lot of games, sure, but you can win hearts—preferably those hearts belonging to people who enjoy dramatic car crashes or surrealist cinema.
And let’s be honest, even if Johnny fails spectacularly—which, let’s face it, is kind of his specialty—at least he brings a level of charm to his failures that Watson’s fumbling cannot. There’s just something about Johnny standing in the pocket, shrugging, and then running in a frantic circle like a toddler with a sugar rush that speaks to the core of what it means to root for the Browns. It’s hope and chaos and a deep, deep love for lost causes. It’s Cleveland.
Deshaun Watson was the logical mistake, the calculated gamble that should’ve worked out. Johnny Manziel? He’s the illogical, wonderful disaster we deserve. At least with Johnny, when the ship goes down, it’ll be blasting party music and covered in beer foam. And if you can’t win a Super Bowl, isn’t that the next best thing?
