Halfbak3d had the audacity to publish a blog claiming Baker Mayfield should be the new Wrangler Jeans model. And unfortunately, the world has responded by making me read it. As a respected (self-proclaimed) sports critic with elite athletic potential tragically withheld from society, it is now my duty to provide the definitive review of that post — and the commercial concept — because apparently no one else on staff is brave enough to speak the truth about denim-based quarterbacking.
Let’s be clear: I was one spiral away from the NFL. Yes, that spiral technically slipped, yes it rolled into a storm drain, and yes I tripped over my own foot when trying to retrieve it — but the point stands. So when I say I’m qualified to critique this blog and the Wranglermayhem that inspired it, you should listen. I may not have played college football. I may not have played high school football. I may not have successfully caught a football thrown directly into my hands during a casual beach outing. But greatness calls to greatness.
Which is why Baker Mayfield confuses me so deeply.
He stars in a commercial — and now a blog — that asks us to admire him as a denim icon. Wrangler Mayfield. Quarterback of Jeans. A man who once planted a flag into artificial turf so feebly that the turf essentially rejected him like a bad Tinder opening line. A man who ran from police behind a food truck and got tackled into cement like the sidewalk owed him money. A man who grabbed his crotch on live television as if that gesture alone paid his rent. These are the moments that define… a fashion ambassador?
And yet Halfbak3d wrote about him with the confidence of someone who has never watched a Baker two-minute drill end in flames. They pitched Baker as a jean-wearing superhero while ignoring the harsh truth: everything looks like a scramble drill when you don’t know what you’re doing.
But sure — let’s talk modeling.
He’s sprinting around a field in denim so stiff it could stop small-arms fire. That commercial is basically performance art titled “Chafing Toward Victory.” Nobody runs like that unless a bee flew up their zipper or they’re auditioning for a remake of Footloose directed by a concussion.
Wrangler’s angle appears to be: “If our jeans can handle Baker’s poor decision-making, imagine what they can do for you.”
Meanwhile, I could’ve been the perfect Wrangler model. I once sprinted 15 full yards at a family barbecue without spilling my soda. My denim doesn’t chafe — it fears me. But do I get a commercial? No. Society suppresses my athletic aura. The NFL fears my potential. Wrangler is threatened by my symmetrical calves.
Back to the original blog: it glorified the chaos. It treated Baker like a lovable rogue instead of a quarterback who regularly throws the most exciting interceptions you’ve ever seen. The author (who I assume has never witnessed my flag football dominance) praised Baker’s resilience like he’s a war hero instead of a guy who once lived in a stadium accidentally, like a stray raccoon with a progressive commercial deal.
Look, the writing was strong — surprisingly strong — but that just means the delusion is spreading. Baker isn’t a role model. He’s a chaos model. His stat sheet should come with a parental advisory label. He is what happens when talent and trouble fall in love at a Buffalo Wild Wings.
Here’s my problem with this celebration of Wrangler Mayfield: it enables him. It makes him believe he can do anything. Next he’ll star in a cooking show about burning toast. He’ll release a motivational book titled “Confidence: It Doesn’t Matter If You’re Right.” He’ll give financial advice after investing exclusively in hoverboards and mini-donuts.
And we’ll eat it up. Because Baker Mayfield has one undeniable trait:
He’s so stupidly entertaining that we can’t stop watching.
Which brings me to my uncomfortable admission: The original Halfbak3d blog made me laugh. It made me nod. It made me… believe.
For one shameful moment, I thought: “Yes. He should be the jeans model. He’s perfect.” And that betrayal of my own intelligence will haunt me forever.
Because that is the Baker Experience™. He ruins everything… and then wins you over anyway. He’s the definition of a terrible idea that somehow works.
So my official, expert, elite review:
The Baker ‘Jeans Model’ Blog Post: 4 out of 5 belt loops Strong writing. Dangerous hope. Few typos. Excessive forgiveness for a man who high-fives police reports.
Baker Mayfield as Wrangler’s Chosen One: 1 star as a quarterback, 5 stars as a denim disaster we can’t quit
Halfbak3d — you sick geniuses. You got me.
But mark my words: When my rec-league stats finally go viral and Wrangler comes calling for my commercial… Baker’s jean-wearing reign will crumble.
Because if there’s one thing I know about myself — the true athlete trapped inside this writer’s body — it’s this:
I was born to look heroic in pants.
— Bitterman Rantsworth, The Franchise You Missed. The Critic You Deserve.
