The Lumberman’s Inspired by Good Timber, a poem by Douglas Malloch ​ ​ Not much came easy for lumbermen. They spent their days of yesteryear in forests, harvesting trees with hand saws and axes, relishing daily challenges. They took pride in their craft, and clung to the roots of a livelihood that was rapidly changing. Poet Douglas Malloch knew these characterizations well. A native of Michigan born into the heart of the lumbering industry, he spent his childhood jaunting around forests, logging camps, and lumber yards. Yet, though entrenched and entranced by the lumberjack life, he turned down a career of crosscut saws and calluses, choosing instead to exercise his hand with the pen. His words reflected for lumbermen the beauty of nature and the value of their work, and shortly into his writing career, Malloch was nicknamed “The Lumberman’s Poet.” “Good timber does not grow with ease, The stronger wind, the stronger trees…” Lumberjacks were manly men. They prided themselves in competitive attitudes, heroic tales, and daring acts. If professional football would have emerged when lumbering was an illustrious career, the men in the forests would have noted the sport. Being that they inducted a poet into their fraternity, they surely would have welcomed Josh McCown, a gallivanting quarterback with a bagful of felled trees and galvanizing tales of the trade. “The further sky, the greater length, The more the storm, the more the strength…” Not much came easy for Josh McCown. Born in East Texas, he learned how to bail hay and herd cattle at an early age, years before he ever learned how to throw a tight spiral. As a growing adolescent, he spent summers working in his dad’s pallet mill, sawing and hammering lumber in the humid Texas heat. Though undersized and underestimated, his “never quit” work ethic earned him a spot on the Southern Methodist University football team after his high school career ended. Three seasons of limited opportunities at SMU led him to transfer to Sam Houston State, where he threw thirty-two passes and won a conference playoff game. The successful senior campaign allowed McCown to further his career, and the football winds blew him westward when Arizona drafted him in the third round of the 2002 NFL Draft. In the sped-up games of the NFL, challenges only mounted for McCown. His seasons with the Cardinals nurtured experience but yielded little success. After three years, Josh packed up his grinding axe and headed north to Detroit, where an opportunity arose to compete for the Lions starting job. Leaning into the competitive storm that is the NFL, he battled valiantly but found himself again unable to complete the task at hand. The Oakland Raiders were chopping wood. They had just drafted JaMarcus Russell but felt they needed a bridge QB as the LSU stand out adjusted to NFL life. McCown fit the bill, but produced underwhelming results in his first real crack at starting for an NFL team. In short order, it was time to pack up and set up camp elsewhere. His next stop was Carolina, where his landing was brief and his production ended after only six passes and one sprained knee. Further skies, greater lengths, the more the storm, the more the strength. At this point, McCown desired something different — be it tree, tool, or venturing to an entirely different forest. He signed with the of the United Football League, an aspiring, offshoot football association. It was here he finally earned the right to yell, “timber,” and won the professional starting quarterback position he had sought for so long. However, his play didn’t sustain the needed outcomes to topple many trees. He honored his one-year contract and again packed his gear for forests unknown. In the following NFL year, a midseason injury to forced Chicago to offer McCown a new opportunity in THE league. With the Bears, he was employed for two seasons as a backup QB. At one point, Josh kept the team in playoff contention over a five-game stretch following another Cutler injury. He was named to the NFL’s All-Joe team, which honored “first-rate players who receive second-rate recognition.” Douglas Malloch may have observed the recognition as a “first-rate lumberman resigned to cutting second rate timber.” Second-hand compliments noted, McCown’s success wasn’t enough to keep the Windy City football owners satisfied. He signed with the , where without preseason competition, he was immediately named the starter. Sunny skies turned to storms quickly, as Josh battled injuries throughout the season. After the team went 2-14, “All-Joe” Josh was on the move again. Next, McCown walked into the camp toting his old sawmill attitude and football arm. He was ready to get to work, but modernization had settled like a chainsaw on the team in the name of . The locker room didn’t quite feel like the old logging camps McCown had grown accustomed to in his lumberman’s life. He was a mentor now, but try as he might, there was no sawing through the knot in Manziel’s head. Two years of sawdust later, both were seeking new employers.

McCown’s next job, with the , was to tutor another young arm, but this teammate was different. shared some of the lumberman’s mentality, which allowed for Josh’s experiential lessons to expedite Sam’s growth. In 13 starts, McCown threw 18 — the best stretch of his career. Noting his success, the Jets brought him back the following year, but it was his tool of mentorship the team desired, not his craftsmanship. It was time for the kid to run the show. McCown was back to the same old, same old: being the backup. “By sun and cold, by rain and snow,” About this time in his career, McCown began to see the forest through the trees and decided enough was enough. He would finish out the season, honor the contract, just like he had done his whole career, like a lumberman would, then go home. For good. Not to the next city. Not to the next role. He’d just put the saw down, admit it had lost its edge a long time ago, and roll it on home. And that’s what he did. ESPN called, and McCown joined their team as an analyst. But you can’t tell me a lumberjack can retire and see trees the way everyone else does. He will never forget how sweet the oak’s sap smelled, how it stuck to his clothes, made it hard to wipe his brow, and drove his wife crazy when he went home. He’ll remember how it felt to be in the forest hacking, and how naked he feels walking by a tree without an axe. He’ll remember it so vividly, and think about it so frequently, that he can’t just walk away. A part of him will always want it again. Maybe that’s why the 40-year-old listened a little longer when the called before the 2019 season. Maybe that’s why he went for a visit and signed a contract. The chance to compete and mentor again. One last season in the woods. “In trees and men good timbers grow.” McCown backed up for the season — a rollercoaster that saw the Eagles overcome a 5-7 midseason record and clinch an NFC East title. They hosted Seattle in the Wild Card Round. It was only the second time McCown had ever played on a playoff team. On the Eagles’ second drive, Wentz got hit in the head and left with a concussion. All eyes turned to McCown. The unsung NFL player, the quintessential wingman, the lumberman’s quarterback was getting a turn in the spotlight. However, his axe was no match for the towering timber he faced. The only thing that was brought to the ground was McCown, who was sacked six times by the Seahawks’ pass rush. He threw for 174 yards and kept Philly in the game, but Seattle always kept the Eagles at arm’s length, eventually securing a 17-9 victory. The unlikely season was over, and so was McCown’s career. He held his head high as he walked off the field, refusing to break down until he was out of sight. Once in the tunnel, the weight of a career that was anything but a walk in the park hit him at once. It was the realization that this was how it was supposed to happen. McCown didn’t go out on top, but lumbermen rarely do. He walked off the field a student, not a teacher. He hung up muddy cleats instead of clean ones, sawdust in the grooves. He was exhausted physically and satisfied mentally, the way lumbermen like to feel. A day’s work, a life’s work, well done. Maybe that was all he ever wanted. A lumberman never leaves his job a crowned champion; he leaves it a warrior. He leaves it a man who gave it everything he had, scarred with experience. McCown tore his hamstring off the bone in the second quarter of that Wildcard game. Watching his performance, you wouldn’t have known. He stood at the podium, tears welling in his eyes like morning dew on the leaves, and told everyone he didn’t know what or where his next season in life would lead him. But that was the thing — in all his years as a quarterback, he never knew what the next stop would be. Nevertheless, lumberjacks always figure something out and find a clearing to cut good timber. Good timber, like a good lumberman, doesn’t ask for attention. It stands unassumingly and goes about its achievements, its growth almost imperceptive to the eye. If one doesn’t notice or acknowledge it, it is not because it doesn’t stand with a presence to be seen. The lumberman knows this fact. He epitomizes this fact. He sees the beauty of this fact inherent in ferns, oaks, and mighty redwoods. He feels it in the recognition of Douglas Malloch. He notes it in the football career and character of Josh McCown, legendary and revelatory in his own lumberman way, distinguished perhaps as some of the strongest timber the NFL has ever known.