I'm sorry, Jay Cutler, I'm done defending you. No more being true to my school -- our school -- Vanderbilt. Time for some tough love.

I'm calling you out, pal, just before you take the national stage again on "Monday Night Football."

I'm not buying what I saw from you a week ago Sunday, when you wrecked San Francisco's housewarming with the best stretch of quarterback I've ever seen you play. Four touchdown passes, zero "no, Jay, no" turnovers. You took a helmet to the chest that would have brought the trainer and doctor running for a lot of QBs. You jumped up and played what ESPNChicago.com columnist Jon Greenberg called your signature game.

I hope he was right.

I've always praised and defended your physical toughness. But your mental toughness ... I suspect you played so beautifully -- dare I say so patiently -- against the 49ers because you felt little to no pressure. Nobody expected you to win that game. Brandon Marshall (ankle) and Alshon Jeffery (hamstring) weren't healthy enough to run an errand, let alone a route. So for once you didn't try to live up to your "rocket arm" reputation. You didn't take any of your usual "watch this, world" risks. You game-managed, dinked, dunked and threw four short TD passes of 17, 5, 3 and 3 yards for a grand total of 176 yards passing.

Meanwhile, Colin Kaepernick went Jay Cutler. He launched misguided missiles into three bad-idea interceptions and lost one careless fumble. You, Jay, from Santa Claus, Indiana, are usually the one handing presents to opponents. You probably were as surprised as anybody by the final score: Bears 28-20.

You won, Jay -- something you've never done nearly enough to match your ridiculous talent and ridiculous contracts. Just after the past season ended with your Bears going 8-8 and your missing the playoffs for the seventh time in your eight NFL seasons, you were given three more seasons with guaranteed base salaries totaling $54 million (plus four more years with club options). That's in the ballpark of guaranteed money awarded to Drew Brees ($60 million), Matt Ryan ($59 million), Tony Romo ($55 million) and Aaron Rodgers ($54 million) in the past year and a half. Santa Claus has always been very good to you, Jay, even when you've been bad.

In your career, you've played in all of two playoff games. You won one at home and played little more than a half of that 2010 season's NFC Championship Game at home against archrival Green Bay. That was the turning point moment in which you asked out of the game because you said you could no longer plant and throw on an injured knee (later reported to be a sprained ligament), even though you pedaled an exercise bike on the sideline. On "First Take," I angrily defended you for days, months, even years after that game and said no QB is tougher than you. That season alone you were sacked an NFL-high 52 times.

But maybe I missed the point. Maybe this had nothing to do with pain threshold and everything to do with self-belief. Maybe you didn't trust yourself enough to lead your team back against Aaron Rodgers and a 14-0 halftime deficit you helped create with an interception. Maybe you hid behind a knee that no doubt was hurt ... but so much so it kept you from the greatest opportunity of your career and a moment you might never again know?

I was so pumped when the Bears traded for you after your three seasons in Denver. I thought you could soon own a city whose heart beats strongest for its Bears; I know because I was once a columnist for the Chicago Tribune. You were a 6-foot-3, 225-pound quarterback with a little linebacker in you. Bears fans would roar for that.

Even now, when you ask a Chicago fan to name a Bears quarterback, it's still Jim McMahon, who of course led the 1985 Bears to Chicago's most recent Super Bowl victory. I thought you would soon change that. Heck, win a couple of Super Bowls, and your football legend might even start to threaten Michael Jordan's basketball legacy in Chicago.

Somewhere, Michael Jordan is rolling his eyes.

The more I watched you in Chicago, Jay, the more I thought of Phil Mickelson. Yep, remember the many years Mickelson failed over and over to break through and win a major championship? That didn't happen until Mickelson was 33 at the 2004 Masters. Until then, Mickelson (like you) was known for always going for broke, damn the consequences. When Mickelson went for broke and blew it, he always said something like, "Well, that's just the way I'm built."

He hid behind his gambling "nature," which always gave him an excuse, an out, as if he couldn't help himself. That's you, Jay.

I'm now convinced you sometimes gunsling passes just to enhance your big-arm, big-guts mystique. Your excuse: You have such a competitive cannon that you just can't keep yourself from trying to pull off the near-impossible throw. Many times you have completed "Wow Factor" throws that have made you a ton of money. Too many times, you have thrown it to the wrong team or waited too long for a deep route to develop and gotten the ball swatted from your careless grip.

I still haven't quite recovered from this season's opener at home against Buffalo. Your two interceptions canceled your 349 yards passing and two touchdown passes and helped cost your team a 23-20 loss to Buffalo.

After a decade of bleeding Vanderbilt black and gold for you on "Cold Pizza"/"First Take," I'm now mostly bleeding guilt, Jay.

It started your junior year at Vandy, when I boasted on air about how you could be the next Brett Favre, and I pretty much got laughed off the debate desk.

Of course, Vandy was viewed as the SEC's doormat, and the notion a Vandy quarterback could be an NFL star was preposterous to those who hadn't watched you. But I continued to rave about your lightning release, your effortless velocity and the way you went after the Georgias and Floridas and Tennessees as if you were the superior talent.

Cutler has probably peaked in the NFL as a high-risk, low-reward quarterback. Patrick McDermott/Getty Images

What amazed me most was you played SEC football with the arrogance of the pre-med National Merit Scholars with whom I had to compete in freshman biology. You did my heart proud, Jay.

Of course, though your senior team went 5-6, the combined record of your four Vandy teams was 11-35. Nobody really expected you to win much. Your biggest college triumph was probably SEC offensive player of the year.

But when Denver coach Mike Shanahan traded up four spots to take you with the 11th overall pick in the draft, right behind Heisman winner Matt Leinart, I looked pretty good. I looked even better when you made the Pro Bowl in your third and final year in Denver, albeit off an 8-8 season.

But once you got to Chicago, where I have lots of media friends, the arrogance that mesmerized me at Vandy began to alienate reporters and teammates alike. You often refused to accept any blame after multi-interception losses. You sometimes showed up teammates by chewing them out in plain sight during games. You came off as a condescending jerk ... while people who know you away from football have told me you can be a fairly quiet, nice guy.

Have you been using your arrogance as a shield to cover your insecurity?

In your ninth NFL season, the Bears have invested once again in your prototypical potential, your perennial on-the-verge-ness, your 57 career wins (!) and 49 career losses (?), your 161 career touchdown passes (!) and 114 career interceptions (?).

Mickelson finally figured out what it took to win five majors. Favre's high-risk, can't-help-himself nature also was high reward: He won 13 of his 24 playoff games, including one of his two Super Bowls.

So Monday night against Rex Ryan's Jets defense, will we see the Buffalo you or the San Francisco you, Jay? Did you finally "get it" against the 49ers? Or was it just another misleading tease, compliments of "Jay" Kaepernick?

I minored in history at Vandy, Jay. Yours tells me you will be what you've always been.