INT. RECORDING STUDIO – DAY

ANDY DALTON: [impassioned] Red hair is a quarterback’s game.

PRODUCER: [reading from a magazine] Uh huh.

ANDY DALTON: The harsh truth is, most red-haired football players look like blonds who’ve spoiled from lack of refrigeration. They look like brown-haired men who’ve been composted. Yet that same pigmentation that on a regular player can resemble leaf mold or junk yard rust, a quarterback wears like a tiara of rubies.

Not only are redheaded quarterbacks frequently talented but theirs are talents that suggest both competence and creativity, touch and power, and are, therefore, to the coaching staff virtually irresistible. Red on red were the tresses of the original general of the gridiron, Sammy Baugh.

Of course, much of the “fiery temper” associated with redheads is illusory, a stereotypical projection on the part of neurotic fans. Plenty of redheads are as demure as rosebuds and as sweet as strawberry pie. However, the mere fact that they are perceived to be stormy, if not malicious, grants them a certain license and a certain power. It’s as if bitchiness is their birthright. By virtue of their coloration, they possess an innate permit to be terrible and lascivious, which, even if never exercised, sets them apart from the remainder of the roster, who have traditionally been expected to be mild and pure.

Now that women are demolishing those old misogynistic expectations, will redheaded quarterbacks lose their special magic, will Todd Marinovich come to be regarded as just another one of Al Davis’ horrendous first round busts? Hardly. To believe that blondes and brunettes are simply redheads in repressive drag is to believe that UFOs are kiddie balloons. All redheads, you see, are mutants.

Whether they spring from genes disarranged by earthly forces or are “planted” here by overlords from outer space is a matter for scholarly debate. It’s enough for us to recognize that redheaded quarterbacks are abnormal beings, bioelectrically connected to realms of strange power, rage, risk and ecstasy.

What is your mission among us, you sons of Sonny Jurgensen, you agents of the harvest moon? Are those star maps that your freckles replicate? How do you explain the fact that your careers last longer than the average Heisman winner? Where did you get such sensitive skin? And why are your curls the same shade as heartbreak?

Redheaded quarterbacks! We blood oranges! We cherry bombs! We celestial bulls and kings of copper! May we never cease to stain your white-bread lives with super-natural catsup.

PRODUCER: [glances up] Huh? [glances back down at soundboard] Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to turn your microphone on. You were saying?

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Today’s topic is “gingers”.  That means songs that were composed by or performed by redheads.  They don’t have to be natural redheads! I’ll get us started with one from Johnny Lydon and Public Image Ltd.