Santoliquito: The Real Cam Newton Arrived In The End
PHILADELPHIA, PA (CBS) — The droopy pout has become world-famous by now. Cam Newton, he of the Superman chest pull and the dabbing, could have certainly handled the beating he took from the Denver Broncos far better than he did at the Super Bowl 50 postgame press conference.
Some critics said Newton acted like a petulant 13-year old, sulking there in his hoodie spouting one-word answers. They were wrong. It was more like a 2-year old who didn't get his way. Newton just forgot to suck his thumb.
What the world actually saw was the real Cam Newton, who may be saddled with a new nickname after Sunday's debacle in the 24-10 loss—"Crash" Newton—until proven he can handle performing at a high level on the big stage.
Newton is a front-runner. Always has been since he first arrived in the NFL. He gets testy and presses when things don't go his way, and forgets to flash the gleaming smile and "team-first" mantra he feigns before turning into a skittish mess.
Was he really going to leap into the pile for that fumble Von Miller caused in the fourth quarter with the game already over in his head?
No way.
Because you see, Cam Newton is about Cam Newton. The rest—gleaming smile, childish exuberance—is all just shtick for the cameras to see and for the media to eat up.
No, it was Crash who was really on full display after the game.
"Hey, when things don't go his way, we see the body language — it's obvious," Broncos safety T. J. Ward said of Newton. "That's what we wanted to do. That was our intent: to come in this game and get the body language going. We didn't want the happy, fun-spirited, dabbing Cam. No, we want the sulking, upset, talking to my linemen, my running backs, 'I don't know what's going on' Cam Newton — and that's what we got."
He was asked if Panthers' head coach Ron Rivera said anything to the team in the locker room.
"He said a lot of things," Newton murmured.
He was asked if Denver did anything special to take away the Panthers' vaunted power running game.
"Nothing different," Crash droned.
He was asked if he could describe his disappointment.
"We lost," he whined.
Then finally, he was asked about how difficult it was losing the Super Bowl.
Crash got up and burned a path off the stage and left.
Minnesota kicker Blair Walsh blew up the Vikings' season when he missed a chip-shot field goal in the playoffs against Seattle, yet he stood there like a pro and took every postgame question. Here in Philly, when Mitch Williams lost the 1993 World Series on Joe Carter's walk-off homer, he stood there and looked his inquisitors in the eyes and answered everything thrown at him.
It's what mature pro athletes are expected to do. It's what Seattle quarterback Russell Wilson did when his team couldn't beat the Panthers. It's what Tom Brady did when the Patriots couldn't get by the eventual Super Bowl-champion Broncos.
It's why they're leaders whose teams would follow them through anything, and why some pretend to follow in fear their leader will bail at any troubling sign.
It's why Crash may never win a Super Bowl.