Feets, don't deviate now

The National Football League is the Miss Shields of professional sports.

It's always telling its players to write ... a THEME. It's always collecting their fake teeth with its face set in a humorless frown. It's always giving Baker Mayfield a C+ on his theme, and telling them their guilt will gnaw at them for goading Mitch Trubisky to freeze his tongue to that metal pole, and fretting endlessly about margins, margins, margins.

And you better tuck in that shirt and wear the right shoes, too, mister.

The Needless Folderol League imposed its groupthink on Browns receivers Odell Beckham Jr. and Jarvis Landry for the latter yesterday, on account of they wore cleats that caused thousands of offended fans to turn off their TVs and flee stadiums all over the league.

OK. So none of that happened. But it could have, darn it, because ... because ...

Because, well, OBJ and Landry were not properly shod. OBJ wore special white cleats done up to look like the Joker. Landry wore gold cleats with, yes, orange laces and Nike swooshes, but not the proper shade of orange. It was more Denver orange than Cleveland orange! Good God!

So he and OBJ were ordered to change cleats at halftime or not play the second half.

OBJ and Landry did so, but not without a fair amount of shaking their heads at the absurdity of their world. This is because they are rational humans who understand that conformity is all in that world, and minutiae its graven image. Lockstep is the only step. And comb that hair, buddy!

You would think a professional enterprise that no longer knows what a catch or a legitimate tackle looks like would have enough on its plate without obsessing over what shade of orange a player is wearing on his feet. But, nah.

Several years back, remember, the fussbudgets in the league office told Peyton Manning he couldn't wear black hightops to honor Johnny Unitas, the Colts icon who had just died. And OBJ was fined $14,000 earlier this season because he showed up for a game in pants that didn't cover his knees.

You could almost see Roger Goodell with a ruler in his hand, measuring the length of OBJ's pants the way fussy school principals used to measure the length of girls' skirts. I'm sorry. You'll have go home and change, Odell. And here's a note for your parents.

Yeesh. Where's Jim McMahon when you need him, wearing a headband with "Rozelle" written on it?

Like that wouldn't have driven Miss Shields bonkers.