Kirk Cousins is shrinking before our eyes, melting like sugar in hot tea, and unlike his frazzled and frayed predecessors, he is capable of detonating an entire franchise.
Cousins' wobbly kneed performance Monday at Seattle got offensive coordinator John DeFilippo fired, a move that should be viewed as a preview of coming events should the current Vikings quarterback continue to look small as a theater mouse on a large stage.
If Cousins can't demonstrate more mental toughness in big games, if he can't deliver playoff victories to a team that signed him specifically to do just that, the general manager who paid him big money and the coach who was handed a fully funded team might be the next to forfeit their TCO Performance Center key cards.
Less than a year after playing in the NFC Championship Game with a backup quarterback, the Vikings are a .500 team with one of the league's most expensive. They remain likely to make the playoffs, but Cousins' inability to look even composed in three telling road games — at Chicago, New England and Seattle — has made the prospects of a playoff appearance unsavory.
The worst part of Cousins' implosion is that he looks unnerved. Having covered the NFL since 1989, I don't say this lightly.
Football players regularly display an astonishing level of physical bravery and mental fortitude. They accept a high risk of injury and the likelihood of pain. I wouldn't question a football player's resolve if squeamishness wasn't so obvious.
The Vikings would have been better off in their past three losses if Cousins had channeled his inner Favre and tried to wedge passes between defenders — or if he had channeled his inner Bridgewater and maintained his cool. The Vikings would be better off if his problem was throwing interceptions. It's easier to coach bad passes out of a quarterback than it is to teach aggression under pressure.
Of Cousins' many unsightly moments Monday, two linger like bad smells: His backward pass to Latavius Murray and his forced pass to Kyle Rudolph in the end zone.