Rick Osentoski / AP

Of the three major American sports, football seems to be the toughest in which to predict the arc of a career. Injuries are ubiquitous, and the game is highly complex; even the most important players are working with 10 teammates at once. A guy who comes out of the gate fast might get hurt and never play again, or he might just not turn out to be as good as we thought he was, his weaknesses having been hidden by teammates or the strategic moves of a coach.

That being said, if Robert Griffin III doesn't become a LeBron James-sized figure in American culture, I'll be surprised.

Merely on the field, RGIII has exploded as a rookie, almost from day one becoming one of the NFL's most thrilling and innovative players. Quarterbacks as smart as he is aren't supposed to move that way; quarterbacks who move that way aren't supposed to have that accuracy and power. Off the field, he has done the miraculous, turning one of the league's most reviled and pathetic franchises, a team constantly hamstrung by a petty and dickish owner, into a vehicle of fun, appealing football. Washington, D.C. adores him with the love that only comes out of a resurrection. And he's doing this as a black quarterback, one of the most racially and culturally under-the-microscope positions in sports.

Want a concrete measure of his icon status? Griffin's jersey sold more this year than any other player's jersey has ever sold in a single season. He's 22.