The NFL's Naughty Words List

 

You may remember the NFL’s actions against the cable soap opera, Playmakers. Well, they are at it again, once more going on the attack against freedom of expression. And since the big wigs who run pro football are apparently a bit cheap and rather lazy in addition to being proponents of censorship, they’ve automated the process of squashing free speech. It’s certainly not my intention to equate the NFL with the firemen in the novel Fahrenheit 451 who went about burning books that weren’t on the approved list. The NFL almost had their heart in the right place when they set their current procedures in place. Their goal was to restrict people from associating the NFL brand with obscenity or vulgarity. I can understand that. Personalized pro sports team jerseys has become big business in recent years, accounting for 20 percent of the NFLShop.com’s $60 million in annual revenues. But the way players move from team to team with such frequency nowadays due to free agency, it has become a risky proposition to purchase the jersey of your favorite player on your favorite team. Chances are that in a year or two he will be playing for a different team, rendering your expensive purchase obsolete. Better to put your own name, or nickname, or a favorite phrase on the jersey, since you won’t be traded or have the opportunity to accept an offer from another team with more salary cap space.

To accommodate this demand, yet also keep firm control of its officially licensed products by prohibiting fans from selecting words/phrases that were offensive and crossed the lines of good taste, a dirty word filter was installed at the NFL’s online store. This filter prevents a list of 1,159 banned words from being selected. So what could go wrong? Shortly after the last Super Bowl, a Louisiana State professor tried to purchase a jersey. The champion Patriots rookie cornerback Randall Gay happened to be a former student of the professor, and since he isn’t a big name player whose jersey could easily be found in a nearby Modell’s or Sports Authority, she decided to buy a personalized jersey to honor Randall. Her request was promptly rejected. A message popped up stating, “This field should not contain a naughty word”. This is how she learned that ‘Gay’ is one of the 1,159 words considered objectionable by the NFL. Site employees lifted the block on the word just long enough for the professor to place her order, then immediately reinstated it. As result, when Barry Gay of Raleigh, NC attempted to purchase a personalized jersey with his own last name, he too was rejected. Since it turns out that he is a homosexual, Barry was doubly insulted. If he happens to have a gay friend by the name of Susan Lesbian who supports her local team through the apparel she wears, she will also be disappointed and dismayed. At least she can take solace in the fact that ‘Gay’ has now been permanently removed from the lis.

As for me, a diehard New York Jets fan, I can’t believe I do not have the option of purchasing a Reggie Tongue jersey. Apparently ‘Tongue’ is a naughty word, along with other such peculiar selections as Athletes Foot, Barf, Black Out, Dome, Hostage, Primetime, Sweetness, Showtime, and Tang. Fans wanting to honor Jesus Christ will be rejected. Those who opt to worship Satan will receive the same treatment. Anybody choosing to give props to a murderer such as Raw Carruth will be turned down. O.J. Simpson remains up for grabs though.

Rather than rejecting a name outright because it appears on their list, you would think the NFL could install a system that would alert a buyer that a certain jersey name might not meet their criteria, but giving this person a chance to explain the choice via email. Now that the list has become public knowledge and a seemingly irresistible topic for late night talk show comedy material, perhaps the NFL will get around to taking such action. They have certainly shown themselves to be responsive in recent days, banning names such as the ever popular ‘Bin Laden” now that everybody with an internet connection who has been alerted to this Public Relations nightmare can respond to it by trying to see what insane profanity they can come up with that will bypass the filter.

Lucky for me, ‘Pickering’ has not been deemed an offensive name. Yet I can’t help but ponder the fact that it was somebody’s job to come up with the list of 1,159 (continuously expanding and diminishing simultaneously) banned words. Is it my imagination, or does pretty much everybody have a more interesting day job than mine?

Dear Evander

 

Dear Evander,

I am a great admirer of your boxing career. Even though there were a couple nights throughout the years when I found myself rooting against you, typically you were this fan's favorite. I have always considered you to be an exceptional pugilist and a class act. Your boxing career is a unique one, seemingly scripted by Sylvester Stallone in Rocky-like fashion. You frequently seemed to be facing insurmountable odds, yet more often than not, you would find a way to prevail. When you came up short, your efforts were so heroic that even in defeat you epitomized the essence of a champion.

I have never idealized you. Your flaws are as apparent as your strengths. To the former, there are various babies mamas who will attest. But as an athlete, you have been a consistent source of inspiration and worthy subject of admiration. At your natural size in your original Cruiserweight division, you were the best there has ever been. Yet rather than relaxing atop a perch that you could not be removed from, you moved on to bigger and greater challenges, both figuratively and literally. Your goal was to become Heavyweight champion of the world, and although you were often the smaller man in the ring, you usually displayed the bigger heart. As result, you accomplished your objective no less than four times over.

Unlike many pro boxers, fans never got the impression that you took your success for granted or took any opponent lightly. You always entered the ring in top shape, were always aggressive from the opening bell, and always continued to fight hard round after round until there was no more fighting to be done. When setbacks came, you did not succumb to them. Even when your health appeared to be the one foe you could not vanquish, you managed to defy the prognosis that your heart was not up to any more challenges. Your three fight series of battles versus Riddick Bowe forever defined you, even though Riddick twice emerged victorious, as one of boxing's all-time great warriors. When you defeated the Big Bad Wolf known as Mike Tyson back when he was still able to huff and puff and blow his adversaries away, your legacy was set in stone. And although you were able to accomplish no more than a draw against Lennox Lewis, it was apparent to everyone that you were the one perpetually moving in for the kill while he used his considerable height and reach advantage to keep you at bay. He got to keep his belts, but you were never shortchanged the respect that you earned from us.

Winning your fourth Heavyweight championship belt against John Ruiz should have been enough to satisfy your great ambition, just as beating Leon Spinks should have been enough to make Muhammad Ali retire for good way back when. At 42 years of age, with millions of dollars in your bank account rather than mostly diverted into Don King's, you ought to be content looking back on what was a remarkable career. They say it is difficult for many boxers, even those fortunate few with financial security, to leave the sport gracefully. Lennox Lewis proved to be the exception to this rule by going out on top even as challengers called him out daily. There was nothing left for him to prove, just a life of leisure outside the ring that he was anxious to move on to. But for every Lennox Lewis, there are far more boxers who fight well beyond the day that their reflexes have considerably dulled.

Evander, you are stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the obvious and concede that your best days are behind you. You have set out to once again become the undisputed Heavyweight champion of the world. Your opponents know this will not be happening. You have ceased to strike fear into them. Your most avid fans have accepted that a new era in the heavyweight division has dawned, and you are not part of that picture. They are not being disloyal, merely realistic. Two of your previous trainers have said that they wish you would retire. They have only your best interests at heart. Critics state both plainly and eloquently that the time has come for you to hang up your mitts. They're merely calling things as they see them. As we have come to learn about you over the years however, the more vocally people proclaim that a task is beyond your ability to achieve, the more passionately you strive to prove them wrong. The strength of your conviction has become your greatest weakness, because there is no convincing you that on any given night in the ring, you cannot summon the skills from your younger days and deliver another performance for the ages. The same belief in self that allowed you to become a champion is now the danger you are unable to protect yourself from.

Boxing is a young man's game, yet it has had its share of late bloomers. You are three years younger than George Foreman was in 1994 when he regained the world heavyweight title. Archie Moore was competitive at a ripe age, as is Bernard Hopkins currently. Perhaps this motivates you. If so, please consider looking elsewhere for inspiration. After James Toney came up in weight and gave you a boxing clinic, I thought that would be the last time I ever saw you in the ring. I thought your body would rebound, but your pride had been damaged beyond repair. I was wrong about that, just as you are wrong not to see that you are not the fighter you used to be. Last weekend you fought 37 year old journeyman, Larry Donald. Although a credible fighter, he has been dominated every time he's tried to move up in class against a quality opponent. There was a time when you would have considered him barely worthy to be one of your sparring partners. Yet you were thoroughly dominated by an average fighter whose best days are behind him. The scorecards had you winning no more than a single round. Ringside stats credited Larry Donald with landing 216 punches, compared with only 78 landed by you. You looked old and uncoordinated and slower than molasses running uphill. You have won only twice in your last nine fights. Yet when the inevitable question was asked, you once again insisted that you will not call it quits until regaining the heavyweight title.

There is nothing left for your fans to do but fear for the worst. They know what happened to Greg Page, a former champion who now views the world from his wheelchair. Eventually a younger, bigger, quicker, stronger man will make a name for himself at your expense, and you will be carried out of the ring not on your shield, but on a stretcher. If lucky, the damage inflicted on you will be short term. But luck is very fickle, particularly in boxing, and perhaps you've already used up your share.

Consider becoming a boxing commentator. One of the television or cable networks may be interested in creating a reality TV show about your exploits after boxing - The Real Deal World. If Ron Artest is qualified to record a rap album, then surely you're qualified to record a gospel album. It's never too late to take acting lessons and go knocking on Hollywood's door. Charitable work can keep a person quite busy, plus make you feel great about yourself in the process. There are innumerable opportunities for you to pursue. You have fame, wealth, and your health. That is definitely a winning combination. If you can't think of anything at this moment more rewarding than fighting, instead of signing another contract with Don King or Bob Arum or Satan, try thinking a little longer until something occurs to you. You still have many years ahead of you. Do you wish to spend them in an incoherent state, being attended to by a full time nurse wiping drool from your chin?

Evander, you appreciate nothing as much as a challenge, the more difficult the better, so I pose this one to you. Show us that you possess the mental, spiritual, and intellectual strength to walk away from the ring now. Prove to us that you are not just another stereotypical fighter determined to have a punch drunk future because you cannot let go of your glorious past. We'll always remember you as one of the great ones. We are already suitably impressed by your accomplishments. Your résumé will reserve a place for you in boxing's Hall of Fame. So please exercise some wisdom rather than muscle and show us that you truly are the Real Deal, not merely another real tragedy.

Casualties of Sports - RIP Beethavean Scottland and Korey Stringer

On June 26th of 2001 several boxing matches were staged on the Intrepid, a retired aircraft carrier moored on the Hudson River. The evening of fisticuffs was televised by ESPN 2, and I happened to catch what was expected to be a routine roundup of Tuesday night fights. Instead, I witnessed a tragedy of the sort that no dramatized screenplay or reality television program can truly replicate.

Light heavyweight George Khalid Jones had been scheduled to do battle against David Telesco. When Telesco was forced to pull out due to a broken nose suffered during training camp, the search for a replacement opponent turned up 26 year old Beethavean Scottland. Scottland had been in training to fight Glen Burnie on June 21, but Burnie was injured three days before he was to step into the ring. And so it came to be that George Jones faced off against Beethavean Scottland. Jones weighed in the day before at four pounds heavier than his opponent, but the weight disparity appeared more like ten pounds on fight night according to ringside observers. Being the bigger and stronger man, Jones dominated the action in a brutal contest. Referee Arthur Mercante seemed on the verge of stopping the contest on two or three occasions, but whenever it looked like Jones was doing little more than pounding away on a barely animated punching bag, Scottland would retaliate with a flurry of his own to show that he was still a game competitor with a puncher's chance to turn the tide of the fight. Each round mirrored its predecessor. The undefeated Jones demonstrating his superior ring skills in a merciless manner, the 20-6-1 Scottland showing if nothing else - his great will, pride, and heart. Unfortunately the attributes displayed by Scottland can sometimes result in far more harm than good. An overmatched warrior subjects himself to considerable harm where a more cowardly nature will caution one to run away in order to fight another day.

Scottland's tenacity enabled him to have his best moments towards the end of the fight. By continuing to come forward in the face of Jones' barrages, Beethaeven managed to win the eighth and ninth rounds on the scorecards of all three judges. His chances at victory were quite obviously slim to none, but no one would dare say that this was due to lack of effort. Then in the tenth and final round with a scant 37 seconds left to fight, Jones caught Scottland flush with a vicious, short right. Scottland crumpled and dropped to the mat. By the time he reached a count of three, Mercante saw that there was no need to continue. The courageous Scottland would not be rising to finish on his feet.

Initially he was conscious and attempted gamely to get up. But after a few seconds of flailing about, he became disturbingly still. He had fallen into a coma. He was put on a stretcher and rushed to a hospital where two operations were performed to relieve pressure on his brain. But it was too little too late. Six days later Scottland died in Bellevue hospital, leaving behind his wife Denise, a daughter Chanelle, 8, and a son, Beethavean Jr., 2, earning $7,000 plus expenses for his trouble.

Boxers being killed by the practice of their trade is not something you see everyday. But it is a little too common an occurrence for comfort. Since 1970, more than 50 professional fighters have died from boxing related injuries. The Jones-Scottland fight is but the latest sad piece of evidence that much work remains to be done in order to fully legitimize boxing, whose participants do not yet have a mandatory retirement fund or guaranteed medical coverage. People like Senator John McCain urge the formation of a national commission to regulate boxing. Two pieces of legislation spearheaded by McCain that aim at protecting boxers and cleaning up the sport have passed in recent years. Perhaps the time is soon to come when boxing will more closely resemble the structure of the NBA, NFL, NHL, MLB, etc., and come off less as a merciless opportunity for the few to make millions at the expense of the many who routinely shed sweat, blood, and sometimes their very lives. But even if this time had already come to pass, would the events of June 26th have turned out any differently? Would Beethavean Scottland still be alive? Probably not. As long as boxing remains a sport where men throw punches at one another with bad intentions, there will always be the chance of someone going down for the count.

Boxing is not the only sport that contains the risk of serious injury or worse. Twenty-seven year old Korey Stringer, an offensive lineman for the Minnesota Vikings, recently suffered heatstroke and died during training camp, leaving behind his wife Kelci, and three year old son, Kodie. That a man went from being a Pro Bowl football player to a nationally known casualty of sport is seen mostly as an aberration instead of a call to arms, being that it was the very first incident of its kind in the NFL. It is actually more common on the high school level than in the pro ranks for athletes to pay a grave price for training to be in peak shape. Long gone are the days when pro football players practiced for a couple of hard hours before being given permission to take a water break. It's no longer considered unmanly for a player to listen to the distress signals being sent out by his body. Sure, there are those who are outraged and cry out for radical changes to be made. They want the players to be better protected from their own desire to excel so that they may earn playing time. But the fact is that all of the proper precautions were taken that should have prevented Stringer from meeting such an early demise for so frivolous a reason. Does the existence of the multiple safeguards that were in place but made no difference make this tragedy more senseless or less? Does the seeming lack of people to blame make Stringer's death easier or more difficult to swallow? These are questions without answers. The only thing definitive at the end of these queries is a corpse that was once a young man with most of his promising life ahead of him.

In a sport where huge men ram into each other at full speed; where they prepare for the rigors of a full contact winter season by pushing themselves to the limit beneath the blazing summer sun; it is inevitable that on certain unexpected but fully comprehensible occasions, somebody will go down for the count. And so it goes. 

Looting Records and Reputations

Back in the day I told the tale of how Mark Gastineau dishonestly had his NFL single season sack record taken from him. See below. I believe he would like to have it back now.

via GIPHY

Records are made to be broken, and no place is this sentiment more truthful than in sports. Some records appear fragile when they are set, seemingly destined to fall into the hands of another within a brief matter of time. On the other end of the spectrum are those records that seem impenetrable to the assaults of mere mortals. A perfect example of the latter scenario was the 70-homerun season posted by Mark McGwire that eclipsed the long standing mark of 61 set by Roger Maris. Many felt that McGwire would hold the record for as long as Maris had possessed it, or perhaps for half as long, or at least for a full decade. But appearances can be deceiving. Barry Bonds came along and smacked 72 balls out of the park a mere three years after Big Mac’s season to remember.

In my youth I had the privilege of watching a record set by a man who played for my favorite football team. This athlete had an extremely brash style that did not sit well with many, but I for one enjoyed every minute of his remarkable success on the gridiron. Not everyone was happy about Barry Bonds’ assault on McGwire’s still fresh homerun record, for Big Mac was an immensely popular player while the somewhat surly Bonds is less universally liked. It has been conjectured that disappointment at the brevity of time his name stood atop the record books hastened McGwire’s retirement. This could serve to even further diminish Bond’s popularity.  But whereas Barry Bonds may be less than loved by all, Mark Gastineau was flat out hated during the years he displayed his mastery of quarterback sacking. Gastineau played in a less selfish era than the current one. When he was in his prime, athletes in team sports were not supposed to draw excessive attention to their own individual exploits. Yet that is precisely what Mark did. He was setting a trend that would take a little while to be embraced. You could say he was a man ahead of his time, and such men are often disdained. Remember, once upon a time Muhammad Ali was largely despised for his braggadocio in the ring. Today he’s the beloved subject of a big budget movie.

Nowadays, when a football player scores a touchdown it is routine procedure for him to launch into a celebratory dance or over the top pantomime, just so long as it doesn’t cross the line into taunting. Some of the more elaborate performances look as if they were choreographed by the people who make pop groups like NSYNC and the Backstreet Boys appear to have such wonderful rhythm. Athletes like Deion Sanders came to prominence at a time after showboating had become acceptable and downright mainstream. Advertisers jumped on board to help cultivate the images of such crowd pleasing athletes, making a lot of people rich in the process. Free agency has made allegiances to players more practical than loyalty to particular teams. The more flamboyant an athlete is, the easier he is for Middle America to recognize, which makes him the easier to market, and ultimately, the easier to cash in on.

Back when Mark Gastineau was invading opponents’ backfields, however, he was supposed to be a representative of the New York Jets first and foremost, a member no more prominent than the others. But when he recorded a sack and then proceeded to perform his infamous dance, all eyes instinctively drew to him alone. This was certainly not appreciated by the quarterback who had just been thrown to the ground, the offensive lineman who had failed to hold his block, or by fans of the opposition. And as it turned out, the displeasure Gastineau inspired spread much wider than to those most directly affected by his behavior, wider than he probably ever imagined it would. Pretty much everyone in the NFL grew annoyed by the spotlight Mark cast upon himself, including his teammates.

Over the years, Mark Gastineau continued to wreak havoc on his reputation. Most of this harm was done off the field, much of it after his career was already over, and it often involved battered women and prison sentences, not to mention Brigitte Nielson. Look up “jerk” in the dictionary and nobody would be surprised to find Mark’s photograph. He became a sad joke, a parody of conceit and lack of control. He would screw up, promise to sin no more because he was now rehabilitated, then screw up all over again. Yet one noble thing could not be wrenched from his grasp for more years than expected. Gastineau had recorded a greater number of sacks in a single NFL season than anyone else.

This season, New York’s other football team followed up a Super Bowl appearance with a disappointing failure to even qualify for the playoffs. The Giants stumbled into week 17 playing for only one thing other than pride and paycheck. One of their own, Michael Strahan, entered the game only one sack short of breaking the long standing record. Seemingly greater pass rushers had come and gone in the intervening years without eclipsing Gastineau’s mark. Now at last the record appeared to be within striking distance. Mark’s most notable accomplishment was clearly in peril. Strahan had four quarters in which to get to Green Bay’s Brett Favre just once.

The passing of the crown seemed inevitable at the game’s start. Yet the big moment was delayed time and time again, until there were only a couple of minutes remaining in the fourth quarter. The Packers owned a comfortable lead, so their interests lay in doing no more than literally running out the clock. Executing several consecutive handoffs was the most logical game plan, obvious to the most casual football fan. There was no reason for Brett Favre to put himself, or his team’s lead and playoff position, in harm’s way. So everyone watching was shocked when he inexplicably failed to hand the ball off to a running back. Instead he rolled right, as in right into the path of an unblocked Michael Strahan. Favre slid safely to the ground, Michael tapped him to record the sack, then dropped to his knees in a posture that suggested he was weeping tears of joy.


The set up fooled no one. Afterwards it was revealed that a running play had indeed been called, and Green Bay’s running back was fully expecting to be handed the ball. But Brett chose to do a favor for his friend, a man with a stellar reputation who is liked and admired by just about all of his peers. Michael Strahan became the single season sack leader. The record had been removed in dubious fashion from the hands of former public enemy number one, a man with few friends, not even amongst his own teammates. A man fighting so many demons that he wasn’t even capable of liking himself, much less earning the fondness of others. The sack record had become a popularity contest, not an accomplishment to be earned but a gift to be bestowed on the winner, and such a contest Mark Gastineau will always lose.

I still consider Mark Gastineau to be the NFL’s greatest ever sack master. Perhaps I’m partial due to the fond memories elicited by the legendary Sack Exchange. Those Jets teams of yesteryear, like all Jets teams since, were not quite good enough to go all the way. But their defensive line certainly did its job of putting fear into many a quarterback’s heart. As for the best player on that line, he may not have been very popular among his co-workers. He may not have had the largest fan club. At home, he certainly did not play well with others. There is no doubt that he made some bad choices and did some very bad deeds. Mark Gastineau is a convicted felon, and for this, I suppose being screwed out of an NFL record is mild punishment indeed. Then again, had he not already been punished by the law? Mark claims to be a new man now, a born-again Christian. I personally have no reason to doubt his sincerity. But he is such a notorious repeat offender of heinous conduct that there is plenty of room for his doubters to congregate in. Ironically, Michael Strahan is the man now being vilified in the press, the one who has alienated Giants fans and teammates alike with his contract demands. The line between hero and villain in sports is a constantly shifting one. It is far more difficult to grasp the truth than to create a myth, whether the creation be one of good or one of evil.

Yet there are certain truths that cannot be stolen from Mark Gastineau as easily as his record was. Like him or not, there’s no denying that he sure could sack, and when he did get to the quarterback, self-servingly or not, that white boy sure could dance.

RICKY WILLIAMS is LIT

FROM 2004 

Miami Dolphins fans were none too pleased when they learned of Ricky Williams' stunning decision to retire from the NFL at the ripe young age of 27. They certainly cannot be blamed for their disapproval. After all, the team's offensive scheme revolved around Williams' ability to carry the ball as much or more than any other running back in the league, and to run it well, thus keeping defensive pressure off of their quarterback. For his services, the Dolphins were paying Ricky Williams millions of dollars. No doubt they gave their All Pro running back the star treatment that his abilities warranted. So why would he suddenly up and quit at the peak of his career with minimal advance warning, and with such awful timing?

Ricky Williams provided the following explanation. "This is an opportunity to be a real role model. Everyone wants freedom. Human beings aren't supposed to be controlled and told what to do. They're supposed to be given direction and a path. Don't tell me what I can and can't do. Please. I don't feel like I have to explain myself to anyone. All I end up doing anyway is giving rebuttals, and it is boring. I don't want to do it anymore. That's it. I don't want to do this anymore. If people really care about me, that would be enough for them."

Does this make things any clearer for you? I suppose not. When understandably pressed for clarification, Ricky admitted that he had recently tested positive for marijuana for the third time. He was tired of getting caught. More than that, he was tired of having to hide his hobby (supposedly done by drinking a special liquid concoction he claims many NFL players imbibe before drug tests, though medical experts insist there is no such elixir capable of nullifying a positive marijuana test), and sick of needing to justify his actions. Ricky Williams marches to the beat of his own drummer, that's for sure. He found himself in the rather tricky situation of being a non-comformist individual trapped in the highly structured team environment of the NFL. So what was Ricky to do? He likes to get high, and he saw this as strictly his own private inclination, not the business of the NFL. But since the NFL does make such interest in illegal substances their business, Ricky Williams simply decided not to do business with them any longer. To prevent us from confusing the order of the chicken and the egg here, Ricky did stress that he failed a drug test because he wanted to quit playing football, not that he quit football because he failed a drug test.

Plenty of people want to retire early (count me among them), and if afforded the opportunity by making a ton of money in a very short amount of time, they would proceed to do just that. In this regard, it is unfair to view Ricky's decision as a particularly peculiar one. He quit a job that he no longer required to pay his bills and keep himself living comfortably. The gig he had may seem like fun and games to those of us who view it from the luxury of our couches or stadium seating, but to Ricky, it had become a grind he no longer wished to endure. Fair enough, though those whose first reaction was to label him as a nut job do have past history to support their reaction. Ricky Williams has a well earned reputation for strange behavior. Lest we forget, it was not very long ago when as a member of the New Orleans Saints, he conducted interviews while wearing his helmet. It was eventually determined that he suffers from an anxiety disorder. But since being traded to the Miami Dolphins a couple seasons ago, Ricky seemed to have grown more comfortable being in the spotlight. After three somewhat disappointing seasons in New Orleans that came on the heels of his winning the Heisman trophy in college, Mr. Williams appeared rejuvenated by a change in scenery. Over the past two seasons with the Miami Dolphins he rushed for an impressive 3,225 yards. His present looked fine and dandy, his future mighty bright. Then Ricky dropped his bombshell.

Being an NFL running back is no picnic. It takes a tremendous physical toll. Ricky Williams is not the first elite running back to retire when he seemed to be on top of his game with plenty of mileage left in his tank. Hall of Famers like Jim Brown and Barry Sanders, at just 30 and 31 respectively, did the very same thing. So too did Robert Smith, recently retiring at the age of 28. So precedents have been set. Additionally, Ricky Williams is a friend of former NFL great, Earl Campbell, who at the age of 49 is now hobbled as result of his stellar but bruising playing career. Campbell had a similar running style to that of Ricky Williams. People have therefore speculated that one of the main reasons for Ricky's early retirement decision is to avoid a similar fate. The man wants to get stoned at his leisure, and he wants to be able to walk just fine in his middle age. These are reasonable enough desires I suppose, particularly the latter.

Some fans who are angered at Ricky Williams for leaving the Dolphins in the lurch can accept his decision and his reasons for it. Far less acceptable to them is the way he went about it. Had he informed the team months or even a few weeks earlier, they could have secured the services of a quality running back to replace him in time for training camp and the preseason. Instead, the Dolphins are forced to rely on their less than All Pro caliber back-ups, or else find a washed up veteran cast off and hope for the best. The Dolphins had been entering this season with high expectations. Now their entire game plan has been annihilated, not by the typical reasons such as injuries or money hungry defection by a star to another team, but seemingly on a last minute whim. Ricky Williams has let down and no doubt infuriated his coaches, his teammates, his fans, and the man who signed his paychecks and believed he had an iron clad contract in hand to control Ricky's actions. In doing so, Williams gained freedom from an environment that he felt was oppressive, and such freedom is obviously of more value to him than the opinions of others, or all those digits on his paychecks.

I personally wish Ricky Williams the very best of luck in his future endeavors, whatever they may be. I hold no grudges against the man for choosing to follow his heart off the playing field. Perhaps by retiring young, his legacy will be of far greater value than had he gone the conventional route of playing for as long as his body held out and a team was willing to pay him to run. The large number of inner city youths who believe a career in athletics is their only ticket out of poverty and obscurity may learn from Ricky's example that there can indeed be greener pastures out there for them, and choose to seek other, more realistic goals for contributing to society and achieving success. The legendary Jim Brown was right on point when he stated the following about reaction to Ricky Williams' retirement: "The fan is going to be the fan, football is great, you got young people coming in. It's a great game and it's great entertainment and that's what's going to prevail. Let's not think that Ricky owes the fans something. He doesn't owe anybody anything because he left a lot of money on the table and a lot of fame on the table. It takes a lot of courage to do that. We also have to look at the sensitivity of this young man. He doesn't have a father. He carries a lot of economic weight and people expect him to be many things that he's not. All young people are not capable of carrying those types of loads and dealing with those types of expectations."

So you will hear no complaints from me.

Then again, I may be just a little biased since I'm a diehard Jets fan and couldn't be happier to see the Dolphins' hopes crushed. Bon voyage, Ricky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~```

RICKY WILLIAMS' original retirement would not last since as you've likely deciphered about him, nothing about the guy is traditional or predictable. Years later he gave a different reason for his original retirement.

Fast forward to 2018 and Ricky Williams is back in the headlines again with a mission to give professional football players A LEAGUE OF THEIR OWN.

BREAKING: Former Pro Bowler Ricky Williams announces new Freedom Football League, founded in part by former NFL players. Teams will be "partly owned by the players, partly owned by the fans, and partly owned by the operators." pic.twitter.com/sEonBKygr9

— Outside The Lines (@OTLonESPN) December 6, 2018

Remember the XFL?

I do. And way back when it was trying in earnest to be a thing, I wrote about it.

When I first learned that Vince McMahon of all people was founding a professional football league, I greeted the news with skepticism about its chances of survival. McMahon may be a modern day P.T. Barnum when it comes to entertaining the masses, and perhaps he does have his finger on the pulse of the adolescent male audience, but none of this alters the most crucial factor to be considered. There is simply no need for another football league. The most diehard fan gets more than his fill with the NFL, NFL Europe, Arena football, and collegiate games. So if the XFL is to entice pigskin enthusiasts to emotionally invest in a whole new set of teams, it will have to offer considerably more than the same old same old. After all, the USFL, which legitimately attempted to compete with the NFL for talent by offering competitive salaries, failed in its noble attempt. For McMahon's league to avoid a similar fate, he would have to reach deeply into his bag of tricks. To his credit, the XFL does present some interesting innovations that promote more action and a quicker pace, not to mention increased violence and mayhem.

The fair catch has been abolished, and kick off returners cannot take a knee in the end zone but must attempt to advance the ball. Quarterbacks in the XFL are not protected by the in- the-grasp rule. Punts travelling 25 yards or more are considered a live ball, recoverable by either team. Only one foot needs to be in-bounds when making a reception or interception, like in college ball. The point-after-touchdown kick has been replaced by a far less reliable and more interesting one-down play from the 2-yard line. Both teams are given opportunities to score when a game goes into overtime (once again emulating the college game). And my personal favorite, instead of the opening kickoff scenario being decided by a coin toss, a mad dash for the ball that has been placed at midfield starts games off.

In addition to these tweaking of rules, there are plenty of additional changes regarding the coverage of games. Twenty players on each team have microphones implanted inside their helmets, providing viewers with audio of every hit and load of trash talking that takes place. This serves to give live action football the feel of a video game, which ironically brings matters full circle, since sports video games strive to capture the feel of actual games. The camera work in the XFL is particularly intrusive, with cameras inside the huddle and suspended by wire overhead. Increased focus has been put on artificially enhanced cheerleaders, who are allowed and are seemingly encouraged to date players and then fill us in on whatever it is McMahon thinks we might want to know about them. Broadcasters sit outside in the stands rather than being pampered in an enclosed booth. One of these broadcasters happens to be former wrestler, Jesse "The Governor" Ventura. Even the salary structure (these guys will deservedly be paid far less than NFL players) seems to be inspired more by televised game shows than traditional sports leagues. By far, the wisest decision made about the XFL was having its season begin in January, after the NFL's ends, for direct competition would have been suicide.


All of these elements to various degrees created intrigue about the birth of the XFL, but despite clever advance advertising, my skepticism remained in place. I knew the only thing that might possibly abolish it would be the games themselves. Week 1 arrived as put up or shut up time. As much as I love football, rather than watching it year round, I prefer to balance my sports viewing with basketball, baseball, boxing and tennis. Toss hockey, golf and a few other sports into the mix and there is already athletic competition of some sort to be found practically 24/7, 365 days a year. In order to stand out from the pack and lure us to a new product, the XFL promised the same brand of outrageousness and titillation that its predecessor the WWF delivers. Professional wrestling is not a sport, but rather, pure mindless entertainment that by its nature is tailor made for the theatrics of heroes, villains, and vixens. The WWF is a live action cartoon for an adult male audience. It's a unique commodity, one that isn't competing against or mimicking a more established enterprise. The NFL is a legitimate sports league, and therefore satisfies different desires than McMahon's wrestling venture. We watch football games because we want to see true non-rigged competition amongst athletes at the top of their field. Cheerleaders are a nice diversion, a choreographed touchdown celebration can be amusing, the occasional brawl after a play satisfies our primitive blood lust, but basically, we watch the games to see the games, not the side dishes. The XFL purposely promoted the sides more than the games themselves, so this is what its audience was anxious to see, and this aspect of the games would be essential to either holding or losing our interest. Close-ups of cheerleaders, larger than life characters without the benefit of scripts, and "Any Given Sunday" style editing were the chosen threads for the XFL's hopes to hang on.


Three weeks later, having watched XFL action both on television and nearly being deafened by catching a sparsely attended game live at the Meadowlands, I feel that my doubts have been validated. True, the XFL did pull in big ratings for its debut night. But this is accounted for by the curiosity factor that grows weaker with each passing week. I along with millions of others tuned in for the debut to see what delights Vince McMahon had in store us. Not much, as it turned out. Run of the mill football being played by a watered down talent pool. All of the hype in the world could not change what had been obvious from the get go. The game of football and its loyal fans never needed the XFL, and just as we have lived without it up until now, we'll be fine and will hardly miss it after its inevitable departure. Vince McMahon has earned my admiration for his effort, but in the end, nothing matters beyond the execution, which in this case comes off as forced and obviously inferior to what already exists. No doubt some further tweaking will be done as the ratings plummet. Perhaps quarterbacks won't be allowed to wear helmets on third down, or maybe the cheerleaders will get to run a few plays in blowout games. But I'm guessing it will be too little too late. At best, the NFL will benefit from the XFL's sure to be brief existence by borrowing a couple of rules, a few technical innovations, some snazzy team logos, and a handful of cheerleaders who will soon be looking for employment.

What Kobe Taught Us

Kobe Bryant has announced that the 2015-16 season will be his final one as a player in the NBA. He had one hell of a career and will be missed by many who enjoyed watching him play the game of basketball at its highest level. Lakers fans are left to wonder who their next franchise legend will be. Those of us with long enough memories will remember that Kobe's legacy includes not only on court heroics, but also some off the court debauchery that threatened to stop his candidacy for Greatest Of All Time in its tracks. Ultimately he didn't let the disgrace get in his way of having a Hall of Fame caliber career. Avoiding a criminal case and meeting the right price in a settlement case probably has a lot to do with that. I have no doubt that by some people he remains unforgiven. That's his cross to bear.  But whoever's job it is to judge him, it for sure isn't mine.

Below is what I had to say (some of it dated, some of it timeless) about Kobe's extracurricular activities and what there was to learn from it back in 2003.

In the Summer of 2003, high profile athletes have been adept at getting themselves into trouble away from the workplace. About every other week or so, a story breaks about some player who has earned the spotlight’s glare for something other than the sports heroics expected of him. The usual suspects have had their fair share of mention for customary behavior, such as Mike Tyson getting into yet another out-of-ring altercation. When we see Mike’s mug shot on the evening news, we scarcely take notice anymore. Nor are we especially surprised to learn of various NBA/NFL/MLB players getting arrested over a variety of infractions that we know will cost them little more than pocket change and community service. But on top of the same old same old, a few athletes have managed to earn the type of media attention not seen since O.J. was trying to make that glove fit before a televised audience. Ohio State tailback Maurice Clarett snagged a few headlines that otherwise may have gone to NFL preseason action and NBA offseason trades. By far the most grave sports story of this Summer was the murder of Baylor basketball player Patrick Dennehy, and the subsequent arrest of his teammate Carlton Dotson. But the story to capture the most national attention, due in no small part to the fame of its leading man, has been the arrest of Kobe Bryant for his alleged rape of a hotel employee in Eagle County, Colorado.

There has been much talk about the conjectured guilt or innocence of Mr. Bryant. It has been acknowledged by all parties involved that sex did take place between Kobe and a nineteen year old woman who caught his attention. Whether or not that sex was consensual, I leave up to a jury to decide. I do not personally know either the accused or the accuser. What I do know of Kobe is merely his reputation, and up until this Summer, it was as solid as they come. Before the accusations and denials began to fly, Kobe was the heir apparent to the legacy left behind by Michael Jordan. He has the requisite skills, the championship rings, the polished demeanor, clean-cut good looks, and a lovely young bride on his arm. Numerous endorsement deals were in his hands and plenty more were likely to come. Kobe is the anti-Allen Iverson, opting not to “keep it real” (a.k.a. having a huge posse and a multitude of tattoos), but instead, to keep it marketable. Other than having to share some of the spotlight with Shaquille O’Neal (granted, Shaq does take up a pretty big portion of it), and now also an influx of additional Hall of Famers by the names of Gary Payton and Karl Malone, there really was no discernible flaw in Kobe’s grand design. He needed only to fill up more highlight reels, collect a few more trophies for his mantle, and flash his pearly whites for Nike, Sprite, McDonald's, Nutella and whoever else could afford to associate their name with him. The last thing anybody expected was that instead of seeing countless wannabes sporting Kobe’s Lakers jersey this Summer, there would instead be sightings of people in “Free Kobe” T-shirts. But that is the very twist his road has taken, while a public intrigued by personal triumph, but far more fascinated by the downfall of a hero, goes along for the ride.


Rather than guessing what happened on that fateful night when Kobe broke his wedding vows to Vanessa, and despite lacking the zen-like wisdom of a Phil Jackson, I decided to postulate on what can be learned from this headline making event. I came up with twelve lessons.


1) Image is neither everything nor nothing. Rather, it is an intangible element that can be carefully crafted over time to make someone very popular and wealthy, and that can be demolished overnight.

2) Boys will be boys, most especially when they are pampered and praised like royalty. Regardless of how squeaky-clean Kobe’s image was, nobody was surprised to learn that he had engaged in extramarital activity. Never mind that he is a newlywed and a new father, or that his wife is drop dead gorgeous, or that his reputation was on par with Ward Cleaver. The flesh is often as strong or as weak as the options presented to it, and NBA stars are not short on options.

3) Even when a husband’s infidelity becomes back and front page news (not to mention a popular water cooler and internet chat topic), a good woman will forgive her man, provided that he can afford four million dollar apology jewelry.

4) Michael Jordan is still without peer when it comes to marketing himself as the most beloved and admired athlete of all time. Like Mike, Kobe should have known not to put his private business out in the public domain until the latter part of his career when he had already been immortalized by a sculptor and had his number retired by at least one team. Let’s see how well Lebron James does now that all remaining sponsors’ eyes will turn to him. There is simply no shortage of good breaks for that kid.

5) In remarking that Kobe Bryant's legal problems are good for NBA business, Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban illustrated that you can always count on him to say something that will piss off Commissioner Stern.

6) I’m having some fun with this article, but if in fact Kobe is guilty of rape, that is certainly no laughing matter and he deserves to have the book thrown at him. No always means no, even when spoken to a superstar with the world at his feet. If Kobe didn’t learn from Michael Jordan, he should have learned the lesson taught to Mike Tyson by Desiree Washington. Otherwise, Mike and Kobe could end up as bunkmates in a prison cell any day now.

7) There actually are celebrity relationships to talk about other than Ben and J-Lo.

8) Mismatches are boring. When combatants do battle, what onlookers want most is a fair fight. By obtaining the likes of Payton and Malone for next season without even having to break their bank, the Lakers made themselves (at least on paper) a man amongst boys in the NBA. The distraction of Kobe Bryant’s legal problems may serve to make LA a little vulnerable after all. Parity is much more entertaining than slaughter.

9) There's always somebody willing to toss in the race card as soon as an opportunity arises to deal it.

10) "He-said, she-said" is an awful game that's no fun for anybody. No wonder Playstation never patented a computerized version of it.

11) Apparently Magic Johnson did not corner the market on Lakers superstars who engage in high risk sex.

12) Winning a Teen Choice award for most popular athlete does not grant one immunity from criminal prosecution.