In the cold, sterile annals of NFL history, the final score will read as a win for the Cleveland Browns. But for every person who witnessed the sloppy, uninspired, and borderline offensive display of football on Sunday, that “win” felt like the most hollow and meaningless victory imaginable. This wasn’t just a football game between two struggling 1-5 franchises. It was, as sources inside the organization are calling it, a “crime scene.” And the fallout, which is just beginning, is reportedly centered on one man: owner Jimmy Haslam, who is said to be “absolutely, positively” furious.

His rage, described as “nuclear,” is not directed at the opponent, but at his own head coach, Kevin Stefanski. The charge? Willful, stubborn, and arrogant organizational malpractice. The crime? Spitting in the face of the owner, the fans, and the very concept of competitive football by stubbornly starting quarterback Dillon Gabriel, only to watch him post a humiliating, pathetic 55 passing yards in an entire half of play—all while the presumed future of the franchise, Shedeur Sanders, sat on the bench collecting splinters.

This, ladies and gentlemen, may have been the final straw. The ticking time bomb in the Browns’ quarterback room has finally detonated, and the collateral damage could claim Stefanski’s entire future in Cleveland.

Let’s set the stage for this unmitigated disaster. The Browns and the Miami Dolphins, both limping into the game with identical 1-5 records, were not battling for greatness. This was a grim fight to see who could “suck less.” From the opening whistle, the product on the field was sloppy, uninspired, coaching-malpractice-level garbage. The Dolphins, playing without their nuclear weapon, Tyreek Hill, were predictably lost on offense. Quarterback Tua Tagovailoa was just as inept as Gabriel, managing only 37 yards in the first half.

But Miami had an excuse. Their entire offense is built around Hill’s gravity. What was Cleveland’s excuse? What was Kevin Stefanski’s excuse for his offense being a national embarrassment?

The excuse was the man he chose to start. The man he refused to bench.

The coaching staff’s trust in Dillon Gabriel was so profoundly absent that it manifested as an insult to the game itself. Those 55 yards were not the result of failed deep shots or unlucky drops. They were the sum total of a game plan built on fear. The play-calling was the dead giveaway—a predictable, timid, and utterly pathetic stream of bubble screens, two-yard dump-offs, and check-downs on third-and-long. It was high school JV-level garbage. Stefanski wasn’t just coaching; he was actively hiding his quarterback, terrified of what would happen if Gabriel was asked to make a real NFL throw.

It was a performance that screamed to the heavens that the coaches know, deep in their hearts, that the Dillon Gabriel experiment is a catastrophic failure. They know he cannot read a defense, cannot process information quickly, and lacks the arm or the courage to challenge anyone deep. Yet, in an act of baffling stubbornness, Stefanski sent him out there anyway.

The absurdity of this decision was magnified by the heroic, one-man-band effort of rookie running back Quinshon Judkins. While Gabriel played scared, Judkins ran like his life depended on it. In that same first half, Stefanski was forced to hand the ball to his rookie 18 times. Judkins churned out 75 hard-earned yards, single-handedly keeping the offense afloat.

Think about what that means. Your running back had more rushing yards than your quarterback had passing yards. Your running back had 18 carries in 30 minutes. That isn’t a game plan. That is a white-knuckled, pants-on-fire panic. It is a coaching staff waving a giant white flag, admitting to the world that their quarterback is a bust and their only hope is to run their rookie into the ground.

And where was Shedeur Sanders during this 55-yard circus act? Sitting. Watching. Waiting.

The irony was so thick it was suffocating. The cameras made sure we all knew it, too. In the stands were Shiloh Sanders and Pilar Sanders, Shedeur’s mother. They did not fly to Miami for the sunshine or to watch bubble screens. They were there to make a statement. Their frustrated, disbelieving faces told the whole story. They were watching the same train wreck as the rest of us, wondering why one of the most poised, NFL-ready quarterbacks in the draft was holding a clipboard while Gabriel completed passes that went backward.

The fans in the stadium knew it, too. They could be heard booing their own team—during a game they would eventually win—because the product was so boring, so offensive, and so disrespectful to their intelligence.

This entire debacle explodes the single biggest lie the organization and its media allies pushed all offseason: the narrative that Dillon Gabriel was “more athletic” than Shedeur Sanders. Where was this mythical athleticism? On one play, a defender barely touched Gabriel, who froze and accepted the sack like it was inevitable. He didn’t step up, didn’t escape, didn’t throw it away. He just folded.

Anyone who has watched five minutes of tape knows what Sanders would have done. He would have felt the pressure, calmly slid up in the pocket with his eyes downfield, and delivered a strike. That is the difference. Sanders, the son of a legend, has lived under the most intense pressure his entire life. He dominated at Jackson State and turned around a laughingstock program at Colorado with trash offensive line play. Pressure is his home. Gabriel, conversely, looks like a man who just realized he doesn’t belong.

This isn’t just about one bad game; it’s about the rot it creates. The disaster is having consequences far beyond the stat sheet. Think about the locker room. Myles Garrett, perhaps the best defensive player on the planet, had to diplomatically tell the media that the offense is garbage. It’s code. It means the defense is tired of carrying this team. It means they are exhausted from getting a stop, only to watch their offense go three-and-out with another pathetic check-down.

How can players like Garrett, who are putting their bodies on the line, respect a coaching staff that willingly and repeatedly puts an inferior product on the field? How can receivers respect a quarterback who cannot get them the ball? This is how you build a toxic, divided, finger-pointing locker room.

The Dolphins’ defense, one of the worst in the league, figured it out by the second quarter. They loaded the box with nine or ten men, daring Gabriel to beat them. They knew he couldn’t. They knew his coach was scared. And he couldn’t make them pay.

This is no longer about football. It is about organizational dysfunction. It is about a front office and coaching staff who made a mistake and are too arrogant to admit it. By “protecting” Shedeur on the bench, they are not saving him. They are sabotaging him. They are robbing him of the real, live-game reps he needs to develop. They are wasting another year of Myles Garrett’s prime. They are wasting a year of Quinshon Judkins’ rookie contract. They are wasting the fans’ time and money.

Yes, the Browns won. Congratulations. They beat the other JV team, which was missing its best player. But that win changes nothing. It only delays the inevitable. It gives Stefanski just enough rope to hang himself when he trots Gabriel out there again, and this entire nightmare repeats.

The season is over, but it doesn’t have to be a wasted season. The path forward has never been clearer. The organization has two options.

Option one: Continue this charade. Keep running the failed Gabriel experiment into the ground, alienating the fanbase and igniting a mutiny in the locker room, all to avoid admitting a mistake.

Option two: Wake up. Jimmy Haslam must walk down to Stefanski’s office and make the call himself. Make the change that every single person with a pair of eyes knows needs to happen. Start Shedeur Sanders. Give him the keys. Let him make rookie mistakes, let him learn, but let him play.

Whatever growing pains come with a rookie quarterback, it cannot and will not be worse than the 55-yard embarrassment we are all being forced to watch right now. The Dillon Gabriel experiment has failed. It is time for the Shedeur Sanders era to begin. Every single second Cleveland waits is another admission that they care more about saving face than about winning football games.