In the brutal, often unforgiving landscape of the National Football League, careers can be made or shattered in an instant. For young quarterbacks, the chosen franchise can be either a launching pad to superstardom or a quagmire of unfulfilled potential. This stark reality has been brought into sharp focus by NFL legend Herm Edwards, who recently delivered an incendiary, almost desperate plea to rookie quarterback Shedeur Sanders: walk away from the Cleveland Browns. Edwards’s explosive counsel isn’t just a critique; it’s a scathing indictment of a franchise he believes is historically cursed, a “quarterback graveyard” where talent goes to die, inextricably linked to the gargantuan, fully guaranteed contract of Deshaun Watson.

Edwards, a man who has spent decades in the trenches of professional football, both as a player and a coach, sees a familiar, tragic pattern unfolding. He views the Browns’ handling of Sanders not as a developmental strategy, but as a slow-motion disaster, a systemic failure rooted in pride, politics, and a refusal to acknowledge past mistakes. “They’re not going to be in first place in this division,” Edwards stated bluntly, questioning why the Browns wouldn’t play a promising young talent like Sanders to “find out what you got.” For Edwards, keeping Sanders on the sidelines, “bubble-wrapped like a collector’s item,” is not just a missed opportunity; it’s an act of career sabotage.

The core of Edwards’s argument, echoed by other analysts and former players, centers on the Browns’ infamously tumultuous quarterback history. The team has burned through more signal-callers than any other NFL franchise since its return in 1999, creating a narrative of dysfunction that has become almost legendary. Johnny Manziel, the “so-called savior,” disappeared faster than his own hype. Baker Mayfield, the “cocky gunslinger,” clawed his way back to respect elsewhere only after his Cleveland tenure became a “late-night joke.” These are not isolated incidents but recurring tragedies in a “quarterback graveyard” where dreams are buried and potential is wasted.

Edwards sees Shedeur Sanders, with his “patience, precision, and that calm under pressure,” as a “walking highlight reel,” a rare talent deserving of a real shot. Yet, the Browns, in Edwards’s estimation, are denying him the very thing that could unlock his career: live reps on the field. “Quarterbacks don’t grow by waiting,” Edwards asserts. “They grow by getting hit, by learning from bad reads, by fighting through chaos in the pocket.” True leadership isn’t learned “holding a clipboard”; it’s forged “in the huddle when the game’s on the line and the lights are blinding.” The Browns, however, are treating Sanders as an “NFL intern,” forcing him to take notes instead of snaps, under the illusion that “patience is progress.”

The central antagonist in this unfolding drama, according to Edwards and many other observers, is Deshaun Watson’s fully guaranteed contract. The massive financial commitment to Watson has essentially handcuffed the Browns, trapping them in a “toxic marriage” they refuse to leave. Cleveland, Edwards argues, “can’t admit they messed up” or bench Watson without “looking foolish.” This isn’t about loyalty; it’s “stubborn pride,” a pride that “poisons a locker room.” As a result, Sanders is caught in the middle, battling not Watson’s skill, but Watson’s contract and the accompanying politics. In Cleveland, “contracts always outrank performance,” creating an environment where a gifted rookie, no matter how talented, can become “invisible.”

Even after a preseason game where Sanders “didn’t play well,” Edwards honed in on a critical coaching decision: the Browns’ choice to bench Sanders for the two-minute drill, putting in a quarterback who “probably won’t be on the roster come Tuesday.” This move, despite Sanders’s struggles with a “D6 offensive line,” highlighted the team’s reluctance to give him crucial developmental opportunities, even in moments where the game was on the line. Edwards and others argue that this decision underscores a systemic problem: the Browns are more focused on “damage control” and “saving face” regarding Watson’s deal than on building the future.

The tragedy, Edwards laments, is that Cleveland isn’t just mishandling Sanders; they’re “wasting him.” Every snap he doesn’t take, every game he doesn’t play, every season he spends watching from the sidelines is “time he can’t get back.” Quarterbacks, unlike fine wine, “don’t sit on a shelf and magically get better with age.” They need to “play to fail to adapt to grow”—a process Cleveland is actively denying Sanders. Edwards’s message is a desperate plea for survival: “If Shadore stays too long, Cleveland’s dysfunction will eat him alive.” The history of the Browns, he warns, shows that “no quarterback is ever truly safe there,” and the odds of escaping their “claws” are “almost zero.”

Edwards’s warning is not just for Shedeur Sanders; it’s a cautionary tale for any young, promising quarterback contemplating a future in Cleveland. He’s begging Sanders to “find a team that values his talent, not just his name on a depth chart,” a team that “hands him the keys instead of asking him to keep the engine running while someone else drives it straight off a cliff.” Because, as Edwards grimly concludes, if there’s one thing everybody knows about the Browns, “it’s that if there’s a cliff they’ll find it and when they do they’ll make sure the quarterback goes over first.” In the eyes of Herm Edwards, for Shedeur Sanders, the only path to a successful NFL career might just be a swift exit from Cleveland.