There comes a time in a bruised, battered and broken quarterback’s life when it’s time to say the word that is so hard to say.

Goodbye.

Cam Rising … that time has come.

Say it any which way you want. Make it brief or elongate the thing, say it loud, say it proud, say it in hushed tones, say it with a whisper and a tear, say it with a smile, say it the way Truman Burbank so famously did … Good morning, and in case I don’t see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night.

The show is over.

Come on, say it with us now … goodbye … farewell … so long … adios … au revoir … sayonara … auf Wiedersehen … adieu … arrivederci …cheerio … toodle-oo.

Too many ows and ouches, and all the expletives that go with them, have already been said.

Cam, you’ve done enough, won enough, hurt enough, rehabbed enough, stood on the sideline enough, made enough, strung your teammates and coaches along enough. Enough is enough. Sometimes enough is too much.

For seven years now you’ve been on and at and engaged in this college quarterbacking pursuit. At least five injuries — we’ve lost count — some of them serious have hampered you, the latest one occurring just the other night, when after sitting out three games with damage to your throwing hand, you attempted a comeback and suffered again. Kyle Whittingham told us this injury means the end of your season.

This most recent news, which comes as no surprise to anybody who watched Friday night’s loss to Arizona State, when you were heaving the ball around like a 100-pound bag of peat moss, must be killing you. We get it. Pain, for you, is an enemy that you’ve been forced to befriend. Rehab is taken for granted by so many of us, but for you, it’s been real and real hard, a constant uphill climb.

Here’s the thing: Now that the lower extremity of your leg is dinged, putting you on the shelf again at this juncture of what was presumed to be your final college season, the upper extremity, the dog ear of your personal page is ready to be turned.

Turn that page, Cam.

Ah, ah, ah … don’t even think about coming back for an eighth year. You heard what your coach said on Monday, that that could be a possibility. His exact words: “We’ll have to explore that in detail with the compliance department. And I’m not even sure Cam would be interested in going that route. He’s got a lot to think about, and so [he needs] to just take a step back and let them get this most recent injury thoroughly diagnosed. … But that would be something we’re talking about sooner rather than later.”

No, no, no, no. You can’t take a step back because your right leg hurts like hell. You can’t think about an eighth year of college football because that would make a serious situation laughable. And you don’t want to become the punchline to anyone’s joke. What does Cam Rising’s college career have in common with the lifespan of the average opossum? Yeah, eight years. You don’t want to play college ball for twice the amount of time it takes for a “normal” student to graduate.

I know, you’re bagging a cool million in NIL money this season, and anybody’s collective would be out of its mind to fork over a fraction of that amount for one more year, given the history.

Sometimes it’s better just to move on. Better for you, better for Utah football. Where one door shuts, a window opens for the both of you. It looks like Isaac Wilson will grab the wheel moving forward. He’s 18, ready to be developed, you’re turning 26 in May, ready to be as old as or older than NFL quarterbacks Jordan Love, Justin Fields, Will Levis, Trevor Lawrence, Brock Purdy, Bo Nix, CJ Stroud, and others. You’re within shouting distance of similar rings around the trunk — yes, a mixed metaphor — as Justin Herbert, Tua Tagovailoa, and Jalen Hurts.

At this point, it looks as though your dreams of playing and lasting in the NFL are as dim as your chances are slim. Do you really want to hang around these college kids through the 2025 season, whatever the NIL bennies might be?

To each his own. It’s your decision, and maybe if pro football looks like a bridge too far, college ball might continue to scratch any itch that’s left. But it’s just as likely to hammer you back into the sick bay. And nobody wants to see that.

Your college achievements will be remembered. You’ll always have 2021 and 2022, when you passed for 2,493 yards and 3,034 yards, when you threw for 20 touchdowns the one year and just five interceptions, and the other year when you threw 26 touchdown passes against just eight picks. You won Pac-12 championships and led your team to Rose Bowls, although we know how those turned out.

It would’ve been nice for you to finish off your push at Utah with a stellar season this time. You’re a talented, swashbuckling dude who is, as Whittingham has said many times, “a great quarterback and a great leader.” What he didn’t say, because he didn’t have to, is you’re also China in a bull shop. And in a brutal game you’ve mastered when healthy, an athlete who plays the most important position on the field has to be counted on to actually play.

The football gods have cheated you by making you too human to be counted on. Perhaps now you can be valuable china in a different shop, a shop where your shoulders and knees and fingers and legs won’t get busted up through no fault of your own.

Say it, Cam. Say what Truman said with such conviction, such dignity, such freedom. Say your goodbye and be good with it.

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