The thing about Rhett Bomar is he always left you wondering.

Even now.

Let’s see, will he be somewhere else in two years? Or maybe three, a year off for the transfer and another for making lawyer money in the car business. Or could he even play this season, in Alva or Goodwell or Durant or one of the community colleges they’ve got on every street corner in Kansas?

See how that works.

He’s always been a question mark.

At the beginning, even, for all the right reasons.

He speaks well, has a great arm, at least he sounds like a leader. He certainly has the tools. Will he win one or two national championships? Probably, he’ll have to wait for Adrian Peterson to leave to win his Heisman.

He was the golden boy.

Now he’s Brent Rawls, maybe Moe Dampeer.

All the talent in the world with the judgment of a child, and not a very smart one at that. And you could almost see it coming.

He wasn’t even on campus and there were rumblings from camp Bomar, about how he’d set the world on fire just by showing up.

Asked about a tough day at the office — no, not the office at Big Red Sports/Imports — he never seemed bothered by anything he did wrong; if he ever understood he’d done anything wrong. Fumbles and interceptions? It was like somebody else was turning the ball over.

Cocky? Maybe.

Brash? Sure.

But aren’t all the great ones?