Why don't we ridicule Percy Harvin?
Why don't we relegate him to the same virtual asylum of temperamental NFL receivers that is home to the guy who shot himself in the leg, the guy who changed his last name to the Spanish word for his uniform number, the guy who played when he wanted to play, the guy who sideline-stalked every quarterback who ever threw him a pass, and the guy who agreed to security guards 24 hours a day because he can't be trusted to avoid becoming the next NFL star receiver to shoot himself in the leg?
Harvin's résumé doesn't stack up with the most problematic receivers of all time. But he's promising.
He was suspended a few times for transgressions in high school, and tested positive for marijuana at the NFL combine. He missed games in college because of a sinus infection. He's missed flights, offseason team activities and the NFL rookie symposium because of illness, and has missed NFL games and practices because of migraines.
He's had two NFL head coaches. He's screamed at both. He argued with Brad Childress on the practice field, and on Sunday he yelled at Leslie Frazier on the sideline during a game, presumably angry over either play-calling, quarterback play, or both.
This summer, he pouted during minicamp, presumably over some combination of his contract status and the team's woes, leading Frazier to call him in for a chat.
Why aren't we more offended by Harvin?
For decades now, the receiver-screaming-on-the-sideline video clip has been television gold. That's what's strange about Harvin: He screams at his nice-guy coach about his nice-guy quarterback, and the resulting sound, in Minnesota and around the league, is that of crickets wrapped in cotton shrugging.