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
Write me: Coach36@aol.com
This article appears in November 22 • 1996 and November 22 • 1996 (Cover).