- The Washington Times - Wednesday, November 16, 2005

To our amusement, Terrell Owens is the village idiot who turned on his quarterback, his team and a city that once embraced him, pathologies and all.

As the worst of the narcissists in the NFL, Owens is incorrigible, addicted to acting up before the camera’s eye, no matter how strained and pathetic it comes across.

Look at me, look at me, he is forever saying. And look we must.

His comeuppance is a four-game suspension and a coach endeavoring not to employ him the rest of the season, which is about right.

Both Jesse Jackson and Ralph Nader have criticized the severity of the penalty, which merely confirms the appropriateness of coach Andy Reid’s decision. America’s self-appointed life coaches have a habit of spitting in the wind.

The desperate team that ends up acquiring the services of Owens will rue the day. Owens is not just the euphemistic distraction; he is a team-killer. He is poison. A cancer. He embodies many of the distasteful elements of professional sports.

He is the self-absorbed diva always in need of pampering, and that is on his best days.

He hired a clown of an agent in Drew Rosenhaus in pursuit of a fat contract, which has backfired on both parties.

Rosenhaus has all the charm of a snake-oil huckster. His performance in defense of Owens was so bad, so contrived, it was good in that Danny Bonaduce, freak-show, trailer-park, slimy way.

Rosenhaus tried to be earnest, which was too bad, given the guffaws he provoked. He was side-spitting, knee-slapping funny. His might as well have been a “Saturday Night Live” parody. ESPN ran his meltdown so many times that it bordered on unnecessary roughness.

Rosenhaus and Owens deserve one another, as two fools in love with the self.

“I love this man,” Rosenhaus said during a shout-fest in which he blamed everyone but himself and Owens for all that has gone wrong since Rosenhaus decided it would be a good idea to get his client a new contract after one season with the Eagles.

Rosenhaus subverted what was a fairly persuasive apology on the part of Owens.

The sight of a remorseful Owens was soon overwhelmed by the blistering bleating of Rosenhaus.

Reid and the Eagles show no signs of acquiescing to Rosenhaus and Owens, even as their season implodes.

The so-called model team of the NFC is now in last place in the NFC East after Donovan McNabb threw the ball to a wide-open Roy Williams late in the game Monday night.

Bill Parcells should have presented honorary game balls to Rosenhaus and Owens, the ball and chain of the Eagles. The fall of the Eagles is on them.

Owens is out to take up with the next sucker, preferably a cloudy-thinking one unable to put together two cogent thoughts.

Life in the NFL is difficult enough. Why add a hemorrhoid to it?

Owens would not be happy sitting in the front row of a burlesque show. He would find fault with the color of the feather boa.

He is not happy unless he is unhappy.

At least Owens has achieved one measure of his mission, which is to be well-known.

He is a reality show without the proper forum.

A reality show should be his backup plan.

He loves the attention, and we love to watch from the safety of our living rooms.

The NFL Players Association has filed a grievance on behalf of Owens, which will be heard by an arbitrator in Philadelphia on Friday.

The position of both Owens and Rosenhaus seems to be: The wide receiver is not as bad as everyone thinks he is.

They wrap their pleas around a “second chance,” which only reveals their inability to add properly.

Owens is up to a zillion “second chances,” and good for Reid and the Eagles not to be blinking in the face of a lost season.

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