Two Guys Named Flacco and How They Inspired Us

(Well, one of the names is spelled with one ‘c’ and the other with two.)

Photo credits: Getty Images / The New York Times

If you follow the NFL, you are aware that the Cleveland Browns did not renew the contract with Joe Flacco, the quarterback they signed from the Jets last season to replace the ailing Deshaun Watson. The Browns were at the low end of the championship drive, destined for a sad closing of the season that had initially looked very promising with an outstanding defense when suddenly they acquired Joe Flacco, bench quarterback for the Jets who was let go in ’22 to languish in the Elysian Fields of ‘has-beens.’ Joe was home, playing football with his sons when the call from Cleveland came. Having exhausted their fairly deep line of quarterbacks, five before Joe came, the Browns took a chance on the aging guy who was voted MVP as a Baltimore Raven in 2012. He had one Super Bowl victory in his legacy when he led the Ravens to that championship in 2013; he tied with Tom Brady with seven road playoff wins. Flacco was a truly seasoned player:  salted with the air of the Chesapeake Bay for 11 years in Baltimore and peppered with the mountain chill of Denver for one year and the grilling cheesesteak of Philadelphia for another. He never complained. He kept fit as he waited. And waited.

And lead, he did. Out of the canon with the Browns, he broke team records throwing 300 yards four times in a game and 13 touchdowns in his first five starts. He was calm on the field; he exuded purpose and strategy. His teammates rallied and his fans adored him. So, you can imagine how these fans felt when it was announced that Joe Flacco was not coming back to Cleveland. I’m told some people cried in their beers at local taverns and kids included him in their night prayers wishing him well. A few weeks ago, it was announced Joe will be the backup quarterback for the Indianapolis Colts. I was relieved that he got another NFL job and so were many of his Cleveland fans. He deserves it. And the Colts deserve a mature lover of the game who doesn’t pander to a gaudy, pompous life off the field. A family man. Joe Flacco.

The spelling of the other Flacco’s name is with one ‘c;’ he was Flaco, the Eurasian Eagle Owl who died last month in New York City after hitting a Manhattan high rise. Flaco had escaped from the Bronx Zoo after vandals had ripped the fence enclosure that housed him since 2010. He had been on the run, or flight shall we say, for one year and three months. He was one month from his 14^th birthday. Eurasian Owls have the largest wingspan of the bird kingdom, a full six feet. They thrive in mountains and are apex predators, among the largest in the world. They are also beautiful. Flaco attracted photographers from all over New York. Tri-pods cluttered sidewalks just to get pictures of the handsome bird with an auburn-colored chest, and white and black-feathered wings. Residents would report his whereabouts whenever they spotted him on some perch, preferably the top levels of fire escapes or the roofs of high-rise buildings. He even had a favorite tree in Central Park! People watched him like Clevelanders watched Flacco with two ‘c’s. And, like that Flacco, he had a stealth to him, a strategy, a wary eye on possible danger. And when he flew, he flew silently into the end zone and turned around victoriously on the perch proud of his achievement. 

One resident reported that Flaco appeared on her fire escape railing for several nights, but she could never get any game official to capture him. (Hmmm. So like Flacco with two ‘c’s.) Flaco with one ‘c’ could be heard in different parts of the city at night singing for a mate. This was hauntingly sad as he was the only Eurasian Owl in New York City and possibly the United States. Captivity would have provided not only a mate, but, like all male owls he would have been a doting father bringing food to his offspring, even in the Zoo.

After a year of enchanting New Yorkers and becoming the cause celebre of bars and apartment and backyard parties, Flaco disappeared having flown into a building in the Upper West Side. His remains were found by the superintendent while the bird was still alive but died shortly after. A necropsy revealed that if the crashing into the building didn’t kill him, he would have died soon after of high toxic levels of rat poison and feral pigeon herpes. Parks outside the city administer the poison against the burgeoning population of rodents. 

Birds like owls are not made for city life. Our buildings pollute our skies with too much light and electric towers use fierce blinding lights which birds cannot tolerate, especially night flying birds like owls. The prey for owls, in particular, is very compromised by poisons for other animals. I was saddened by Flaco’s death. There is a petition to the police department to aggressively locate the vandals who violated his enclosure. So far, there are 50,000 signatures. I hope they resolve this crime.    

Reflection

I think there are lessons we can teach our children in the context of these two guys named Flacco or Flaco. What about patience and commitment? Good sportsmanship? Getting the job done even if you are at the mercy of team owners or zookeepers? What about being happy using your skills and delighting in the play of whirling the football or cruising on to a goal post? Or simply, always accepting a challenge? What about respecting animals and heroes of the game?

Can you think of any other qualities stemming from a look at two ‘guys’ who are doing and who did what they were created to do—who just happen to have the same name but come from different species. Isn’t God wonderful?