Somewhere between beating Alabama in college and being booed by an entire city that eats sadness for breakfast (looking at you, Cleveland), Baker Mayfield decided he wasn’t changing for anybody. Not for the media. Not for haters. Not even for analytics nerds whose greatest physical achievement is typing “actually his EPA is mid” on Twitter.
Baker didn’t evolve. The world just learned a new word for what he already was: moxie.
And moxie deserves denim. Good denim. Touch-football-in-a-pasture-with-your-friends denim.
I’ve seen the future. It’s a Wrangler commercial starring Baker, and it’s so beautifully stupid that America will unite behind it. This isn’t marketing. This is destiny in bootcut.
The only proper way to present this… is to script it.
THE COMMERCIAL — OFFICIAL SCRIPT FORMAT BECAUSE WRANGLER CALL US
TITLE: Wrangler Presents: “Moxie” LENGTH: 60 Seconds VIBE: Football meat meets farm-core chic
SCENE 1 — PODIUM / PRESS CONFERENCE CAMERAS FLASH. Reporters bark like angry ducks. AUDIO — BAKER (VO):
“They say it used to be cocky… It used to be immature…” Baker smirks. “Now they call it moxie.” beat “Same s***. Different day.”
QUICK CUT MONTAGE: • Baker scrambling for his life • Shoulder-charging a linebacker like a chihuahua fighting a bear • Sliding unnecessarily because it looks cool
GRAPHIC FLASH: WRANGLER PERFORMANCE DENIM
SCENE 2 — OPEN FIELD, GOLDEN HOUR Pickup trucks parked like loyal steeds. Blue collar America nods silently.
Baker walks into frame wearing jeans. Real ones. Jeans that could fix a barn.
BAKER: “Hike!”
He flicks a spiral so tight it could cut fruit. Cut to interns pretending to be defenders. TD. TD. TD.
He hears: “He’s too short!” He laser-eyes a ball past their ear. Petty heroism.
PRESSER AUDIO BLEEDS BACK IN:
“I’m not here to be liked.”
CLOSE ON BAKER — DIRECT TO CAMERA:
“They said I wasn’t a role model…” “…Well, I’m not. I’m a jeans model.”
FOOTBALL HITS LENS — CUT TO BLACK
SUPER + MUSIC STING: WRANGLER JEANS For Life’s Two-Minute Drills
— END —
Back to me now — your narrator, fellow Tampa citizen, believer in denim-driven destiny.
Here is the truth: Baker isn’t being embraced by this city because he’s flawless and majestic like Brady descending from the clouds. We like him because he’s flawed, stubborn, resilient, and absolutely refuses to accept his place in the QB cast system. He is the human embodiment of “try me.”
When Baker throws a touchdown, he looks like he’s screaming at every scout who ever questioned his height and everyone who ever said his ceiling was “Honda Civic with 150k on it.” And maybe it is. But Civics last forever and run on spite.
That’s Wrangler energy.
And let’s be transparent journalism here: the man’s butt looks Hall of Fame in denim. Write it on his Canton plaque.
There’s poetry in a quarterback who’s been everywhere, doubted constantly, yet keeps swinging like the game owes him a happy ending. There’s poetry in a dude who could absolutely sell you a truck even if you weren’t shopping for one.
In a world that keeps asking Baker to shrink, he keeps choosing tight jeans.
And they always fit.
All I’m saying is… Wrangler… what are we doing here? The commercial exists. The thighs are ready. Tampa is ready. Put him in the field. Give him a guitar twang soundtrack. Let him cook in denim.
Because Baker Mayfield isn’t just our quarterback.
He’s our Jeans Messiah.
