Coach's Corner

On a clear, dark night, gazing at a sky filled with stars, it's hard to believe we're the only life form in the universe. I can't prove it, but it makes sense. With thousands of athletes playing college and professional sports, mixed combustibly with millions of dollars wagered on the sports they play, it likewise belies credibility to not accept that somewhere out there, athletes are affecting the outcomes of their games. I'm not talking about fighting for that extra couple of yards. It's the bull loose in the china shop. It's chocolate found to be carcinogenic. It's the ultimate sports nightmare, perhaps the only thing capable of stopping the marketing/athletic cash cow that is modern-day sports. The magic word is fix.

I can't prove it, but doesn't it make sense? And so ridiculously easy to do. An obscure cornerback at Buckeye State has a sick mom with insurmountable bills. "Hey, kid," a friendly stranger tells the cornerback. "Take this envelope. All you gotta do is slip tomorrow. We'll take care of you and your mom."

An All-Pro linebacker has a gambling problem, in way over his head with his bookie. The linebacker's scared, not without good reason. You don't ignore these people. "Hey kid," the friendly bookmaker says. "I know a way to clear your account. Just miss a few tackles on the goal line."

Athletes are only human, subject to the same pressures and temptations as the rest of the world. Let a ball slip off your fingertips, swing through the hanging slider, mishandle a puck. It's so easy. Nobody will know. And that's the point. We don't really know. Nor do we want to think about it too much.

This is why the betting scandal rocking Boston University is a vial of nitroglycerin, an explosive threat to the core of sports. It's why nothing short of a ritual beheading of everyone involved in this mess, no matter how trivial the offense may seem, is necessary. A public flogging must occur. Credibility is all sports has. If the public can't believe an honest contest is taking place, the sport is finished. A sport could withstand an isolated incident -- we'd be assured -- of point-shaving. But what about a national network of game-fixing in baseball? You think the strike left a bad taste in your mouth?

It could happen. It really could. Which is why even the slightest whiff of athletes betting on games requires a punishment seemingly way out of proportion to the crime -- so the rest of us can be patted on the heads and reassured everything's all right... Really, it's gonna be okay... Everything's under control... Really.... The Texas Longhorns are becoming college football's version of the Detroit Lions: Begin a season with high expectations; quickly douse expectations with frequent lackluster performances; almost get the coach fired; finally win some mid-season games you were supposed to win in the first place; allowing everyone to breathe a sigh of relief; instilling a false sense of security; finish the season with a losing, but respectable bowl game performance; setting up the same situation to repeat itself next fall.

The problem with Mackovic teams is this: They never, ever play better than they're supposed to (find me an upset
win somewhere). They'll usually prevail over mid- to lower-level teams they are supposed to beat (Kansas, Baylor). A few times, every year, they'll lose games they should win by 20 points (Oklahoma).

As a head coach, his teams, no matter how talented, will play to this pattern. I like the wide-open, pro-style offense Mackovic runs, certainly better than any other I've ever seen in Austin. He'd make a fine offensive coordinator. With Mackovic, 7-4 records, respectable but not outstanding (which is all UT administrators want anyway), will be the norm... Green Bay needed that game. They needed it in the worst kind of way. This uninspired loss -- spare me the excuses -- must be psychologically devastating to the Packers. This was their Super

Bowl, underlined in fire-engine red since last December. It was imperative for them to prove to themselves, someway, somehow they could defeat Dallas. This Dallas team will never lose to this Green Bay team. I don't care if they play in an igloo. ... We might never know what caused the dinosaur to perish. We can, however, be witness to the last of a breed as it vanishes from the earth before our eyes. The Cowboys and the 49ers are the last of their kind: football dynasties. Their ancestors first rose in small Midwestern working towns in the Twenties. The first giant was in Chicago, the Monsters of the Midway. Great predators later emerged in Washington, New York, Green Bay, Oakland, Pittsburgh, and Miami. Like the great lizards of the Mesozoic Age, the beasts became too large, their feeding grounds overgrazed, besieged by smaller, more numerous but less worthy animals. The two giants still reign, but it's clear their day has turned to dusk. We are witnessing the decline and death of the pro football dynasty, possibly the demise of the last truly great football teams. Somewhere, buried far below long-forgotten, plowed-over stadiums in Akron, Boston, Brooklyn, Decatur, Dayton, Los Angeles, and Cleveland, a beast is crying. n

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