Shoot, those Panthers were so ahead of the curve that the California law was changed, halting them from openly carrying weapons.
But this is what happens when certain kinds of boys self-determine, without apology, what kind of men they are going to be.
Our heroes are not supposed to smile like that, or dance like that, some say.
Some want our heroes to be predictable, one-dimensional and, yeah, humble.
But none of this mattered to the thirsty throng of media awaiting Cameron Jerrell Newton for his post-Super Bowl press conference.
Superman was overrun by raging Broncos kicking kryptonite into our wounded hero.
Cam wore a blue Carolina Panther's hooded sweatshirt, the hood part was atop his head, and his mood and energy were that of a man who was bare-fisting the brick walls of an agonizing depression.
He bowed his head several times; his left hand reached inside the hood to rub or scratch his scalp; sometimes he made eye contact with the media, most times he did not; he spoke in a hushed monotone; he could not hide the disgusted smirk that was graffiti-ed on his face.
And, yep, Huey and Cam are brothers of the same mind: equally comfortable hanging with the masses from the gutters of America's ghettoes as well as the rich and privileged with the Hermes wallets and Lana Mark purses.
Yep, Huey and Cam equally calculating and stupidly handsome in that way that make both women and men swoon and stare.