I'd like to tell a joke that is inappropriate in almost every social situation. Then, as with all stories written in Colorado in the past eight weeks, we will get to Tim Tebow.
A doctor spends 35 years performing circumcisions. He has an odd habit of saving the foreskin. He retires, cleans out his office, brings all the foreskin home and shows his wife. She is kind and understanding and sews the penis skin into a handsome wallet for her husband. He's out with his pals and pulls out the wallet to pay for drinks.
"Nice wallet, Stan," says one of the friends. "Where'd you buy it?"
"Well," says the doc, "actually, my wife made it. It's the foreskin from the circumcisions. The best part is when you rub it, it turns into a suitcase."
Which brings us to Tebow. As you know, the Denver Broncos' quarterback is garnering enormous attention for his ability to throw a football 20 feet over his receiver's head and knock a $26 beer out of a fan's hand in the fourth row. (Then, maybe once a game, a teammate actually catches the football for a touchdown and the Broncos somehow win, like Sunday at Kansas City.)
The errant passes cause Tebow and all the fans, except the guy with the beer-soaked jacket, to drop to one knee and shout, "Praise Jesus."
An aside: "Praise Jesus" is also what other Republican debaters would have shouted last week if Rick Perry had ever spit out the name of that third agency he would eliminate. (Except for Herman Cain, who would be trying to push someone's head toward his crotch in an incident that he would forget unless he were reminded of it, at which time he would recollect that he had forgotten, unless someone reminded him of that, too.)
Anyway, you might wonder how I plan to link the Broncos' quarterback with circumcisions. I mean, it's not like the medically untrained Tebow has helped perform circumcisions. And certainly not on, let's say, children in the Philippines.
Oops. My mistake. Seems as though Tebow has indeed — and I am not kidding about this — used surgical instruments to help perform the delicate penis-snipping operations on boys in the Philippines back in 2008.
Geez. And we're nervous when he's holding a football in his hand.
From reporter Dave Curtis of the Orlando Sentinel newspaper on May 5, 2008: "During spring break, Tebow added a new facet to his fame. In an impoverished village outside General Santos City in the Philippines, Tebow helped circumcise impoverished children."
From Tebow in that story: "The first time it was nerve-racking. Hands were shaking a little bit. I mean, I'm cutting somebody. You can't do those kinds of things in the United States. But those people really needed the surgeries. We needed to help them."
The circumcision festival was spearheaded (that might be a lousy choice of words in a circumcision story) by a Christian ministry run by Tebow's father. There was no charge for the circumcisions, although each patient left a tip.
On that day in 2008, Tebow, who was still a student-athlete at the University of Florida, started out running errands and holding instruments for the medical staff. By the end of the day, he was actively assisting, wearing gloves and a mask and snipping the surgical sutures with scissors.
"I don't remember anybody crying while we treated them," the quarterback said. "Those kids were so tough."
Not unlike the handful of Broncos' fans who stayed through the fourth quarter of that loss to Detroit.
Seriously, that experience three years ago must have left a lasting impression. Just this week, we learned that the Tim Tebow Foundation would share in the $3 million cost of building a 30-bed hospital in the Philippines, with construction starting in January. It'll be called the Tebow CURE Hospital, and many patients will be charity cases.
(Now maybe we can get Tebow to buy Memorial.)
Well, that's about it for our quarterback helping to circumcise people, and how it changed his life. Other than Broncos' center J.D. Walton, who will probably forever check Tebow's hands for scissors before he bends over, most of us will eventually forget all about it.
I bet Rick Perry and Herman Cain have already forgotten.