I have a mancrush, and his name is Jay Cutler.

It’s doomed, of course, to be an unrequited mancrush, for the very reason I’ve been so partial to him in Chicago: He doesn’t care what I think about him. He doesn’t care what you think about him, either. He doesn’t care that I’m writing this or that people will respond to me with anti-Cutler venom for writing it.

If anything, he probably thinks those who have his back are lamer than his haters. Oh, I love him so.

I love his press conferences, where he oozes disdain about the dog-and-pony show he owes the media. I love how he never pretends that asking questions of an athlete at the podium is anything but an exercise in dumbassery. I love how his incomparably photogenic “indifference face” has spawned memes that are so cool, they have finally made their way to Third World Wisconsin. I love his conversion van.

I am smitten.

Too many times over the years, Cutler has been forced to run for his life thanks to deficient Bearspass-blocking (AP)

To you, my feelings about Jay Cutler probably seem like some crazed Belieber-level fandom. Or some predictable John Hughesian plot, wherein the rebel loaner clad in tattered leather draws the fascination of the good girl despite the fact that she knows he’s no good for her. (Admittedly, as a teen, I looked more like Molly Ringwald than you might expect.) Look, I realize that I am firmly in the minority on No. 6, both nationally, and here in Chicago. Even the nerds writing about TV ratings make fun of Cutler just for the hell of it.

And sure, Jay’s no Student Council President Aaron Rodgers. Rodgers is the guy you take home to Mom and Dad, so they can dream about your future, replete with a couple of championships and a cozy little place in Canton, Ohio. But that’s safe and boring. Just like Green Bay.

I want my guy to bring some danger along with him — the potential to throw any combination of five touchdowns and interceptions in the same game. And no matter what that combo is, he’ll say of it, “Whatever.”

Cutler didn’t give up 38 points to the Packers two Sundays ago. He didn’t give up on punt coverage against the Panthers last week while an opponent picked up a loose ball and took it to the house early in the game. (Jay responded with 21 straight points thereafter, by the way.) He didn’t make Matt Forte fumble at a critical time — even if the Bears’ workhorse RB is just the kind player that Chicagoans love to project their blue-collar mythology complex on, presumably allowing him to avoid any mention whatsoever in the clickbait.

We’re talking about the same Forte who has zero rushing touchdowns through five games, too. The Bears, as a team, have exactly one rushing TD … and it’s from Cutler. Still, though, Cutler fumbling after being sacked just added to the wackiness that is this plural turnovers narrative. I guess that’s what happens when you roll your eyes and sigh a lot during postgame pressers.

Historically, if you’ll recall, Cutler admirably bit his tongue as best he could to not publicly call his former playcaller, Mike Martz, a dangerous doofus that almost got him paralyzed on a weekly basis. Yes, on-field microphones once picked up Cutler telling Martz to go fuck himself, but that was supposed to be private. (Also, it was awesome.) The Chicago QB has not made a habit of throwing others under the bus after losses, even if Brandon Marshall ran the wrong route on a crucial INT against the Packers, and Santonio Holmes was flaglessly interfered with on a pick in the Panthers game.

“There were many opportunities for us to close this out offensively,” he also said after the loss in Charlotte. “We put our defense in a bad spot. I thought they played really well given the circumstances and some of the field position we put them in. Offensively, a lot of that is on me. We’ve just got to play better.”

What a selfish jagoff, right?