Caleb Williams has a habit of making us — the NFL world — uncomfortable. He doesn’t care about optics. He doesn’t waste thought on what the average NFL fan (or GM or coach) might think.
He reacts authentically. He’s sensitive. He feels.
He hurts — publicly. You don’t see that often in the NFL. You don’t see that enough, frankly.
Think back to when he sought out his mother to cry in her arms at USC. Think back to when he used to let his mother paint his nails. Think back to that photoshoot where Williams was sitting in a — how to put this? — vulnerable position.
And, of course, think back to Sunday when he sat on the injury cart and pumped his fist with tears in his eyes. That’s the incident that’s all over social media. You can guess by now: I don’t have a problem with it.
And it’s hilarious to watch people crying on social media with criticisms about … another man crying. But it’s no surprise. Hypocrisy isn’t hard to find on X, Instagram or TikTok.
The criticism is getting absurd. The memes — well, some of them are objectively funny. The silliness is fair, now that we know he could play again in Week 3.
This is 2026. Williams isn’t just a public figure — he’s the NFL’s rising superstar, fed to fans all offseason through the media and Madden hype. He has opted into some of that, but not all. (The Bears and Williams, for example, declined a one-on-one interview when I visited camp this summer, in part because the buzz was going too far.) After putting up 59 points in Week 1, this was the most anticipated matchup of Week 2.
When he does something objectively theatrical, people will respond with good-natured jokes. But the genuine pearl-clutching and hand-wringing? The idea that the injury cart is somehow sacred and reserved only for career-ending injuries?
Get out of here. Let’s go back to the play where the injury happened for context. Trying to escape a sack late in the fourth quarter, Williams slid.
He held his hamstring and screamed, captured clearly by the broadcast. He banged the turf with his fist in frustration. The team got out the cart, and — this part you’ve surely seen — he covered his face with a towel, eventually pulling it away to show his red, watery eyes.
He pumped the air, like he was Kobe Bryant after tearing his Achilles. This is high drama worthy of reality television. But folks, I hate to break it to you.
The NFL is reality television. The NFL is all about its drama. It’s no mystery why Madden wanted to put Williams on its cover.
He’s fascinating on and off the field. He’s a great football player. But he’s also unique.
And it’s this sensitivity that — I think — makes him different than the average NFL player, coach or fan. I can see why Williams was upset. It’s not all that different than the last time we saw him publicly crying after that big loss at USC.
It was the sheer disappointment of a missed opportunity. He was on the 6-yard line — just a handful of yards away from a go-ahead touchdown. In an ugly game.
Against a division rival. If he and the Bears had scored, no one would have cared that the Vikings won the X’s and O’s and stymied what was supposed to be a historic Chicago offense. That’s a tough thing for an injury to take away.
We also have no idea what that injury might have felt like — the level of pain. But I’m sure everyone can relate to a disappointment of this magnitude. The season looked so promising, even in that ugly game.
For the rest of the fourth quarter, it looked like Williams’ season might be in jeopardy. Williams had to reconcile with his game — and his season — ending in major disappointment. Then we got the first sign of good news.
"I'm actually happy it's nothing with the knee. That was my first inclination," coach Ben Johnson said during a postgame press conference. "But yeah, the hamstring could be pretty damaging as well.
So, we'll see how bad it is tomorrow and we'll go from there. … We need the points desperately at that point. It's a shame." Now here’s a criticism that I’ll buy: Williams’ theatrics distracted the team’s focus at the game’s most crucial moments. "Everybody wants to keep morale up," Bears defensive lineman Grady Jarrett told reporters after the game.
"Because Caleb is the guy here, and so nobody wants to see him go down. Definitely have got to rally up, do more. We’ve got to finish the game at the end of the day." It’s a bit hypothetical for my taste to wonder if the Bears would've won if Williams hadn’t taken the cart, hadn’t pumped his fist and didn't have tears in his eyes?
If the answer is yes, then the Bears have to examine their team-wide focus before examining Williams’, because one man’s tears should not leave the other 47 players without resolve. Football is a sport where toughness is — quite literally — on a player’s scouting report. Obviously, this series of events left us questioning Williams’ toughness.
But bigger than that, if Williams is a superstar and he isn’t "tough," can he be successful in the NFL? The way I see it: The tears don’t matter. The hamstring injury does.
If there was a way for Williams to play through the injury, then there’s a problem there, because his departure worsened their chances. If there was no way for Williams to get back on the field, then what are we arguing about? The manner that he left the field?
Again, get out of here. Let’s all take this opportunity to take a deep breath and try to get comfortable with seeing a grown man cry. From my vantage, that’s what this is about.
People don’t like seeing their quarterback cry. I’m not one of them. I’m all for it.
