My solitary New
Year’s resolution of 1995 was modest: a golfer’s prayer to break 100. I did, a
99… once. It’s more common to use this time of year as a period of
reflection, a time to think of the year past, to wish for good things in the
coming year. I’m not big on late-December personal reflection, possibly because
I reflect and worry neurotically about everything I do, say, or think, at least
18 hours every day. However, these seasonal musings are usually reserved for
thoughts of a more personal nature. Here are some reflections on the 1995 year
in sports.
Since the Seventies, when athletes were freed — for good or ill —
from the shackles restricting their ability to move from team to team, the
debate has raged: The big fish will swallow the guppies in the open market
where, in theory anyway, the teams with the most money (the biggest markets)
would be able to buy the best athletes. The salary cap was created to address
this issue. 1995 has clearly demonstrated team owners pay as much attention to
the cap as Austin drivers do to stop signs. The unexpected and surprising fact
is that big market teams dominating and destroying the meek and the lame
doesn’t seem to have any basis at all. In San Francisco, the 49ers, with two
teams competing in a relatively small market, have dominated the landscape of
pro football for longer than I can remember. The league created two new teams
in sleepy Jacksonville and Charlotte. Businessmen paid $40 million dollars for
these teams. Someone thinks they can succeed. The Oilers and Browns are
leaving respectable markets for much smaller ones. This year’s NBA final
featured Houston vs. Orlando. Not exactly New York-Paris. Baseball has a long
history of small-market teams competing quite successfully; St. Louis,
Minnesota, Oakland, and Cleveland, to name only a few recent World Series
participants. In fact, spending huge goobers of money has never proved to be a
reliable gauge or guarantee of success in the world of sports. Ask the ’95
Dolphins. In the end, the basics are true: Successful teams are — with the
notable exception of the megalomaniac up in Dallas — well-run, staffed with
professionals who understand their business and make wise, not flashy,
decisions with their money.
It’s been an odd, though not particularly stimulating, season in the NFL; the
collapse of Miami (my Super Bowl selection), the rise from the dead of the
Bills (the quintessential example of a successful small market team), the
shocking slippage of the Cowboys. No one has called Bill Parcells a genius
since the bizarre disappearance of the Patriots. What strikes me most though,
is the lack of interesting games. Sure, Pittsburgh still plays Oakland. But you
know what? It’s not really Pittsburgh and Oakland anymore. It’s just
guys in the same colored uniforms — impostors really — mucking about. Sundays
once held the promise for at least one sexy, violent encounter between
talented, passionate rivals. Today, the scores may be close, but the games are
boring, completely devoid of drama.
The unkindest criticism of athletes is that if they don’t have a
championship ring on their finger, they are somehow flawed. The year began with
a class act, Steve Young, emerging from the shadow of Joe Montana to win a
Super Bowl. This forced the ravenously perched media vultures to flee to
another still-warm carcass. Look out, Charles Barkley.
How can a loyal fan exist in a fickle, deceitful climate, where not only are
your favorite players likely to be playing for your most bitter rival next
year, but your team can and will be moved at the whim of a cash-poor owner?
This year has witnessed long-entrenched teams leaving Los Angeles, Cleveland,
and Houston. Even original NFL charter members the Chicago Bears will likely be
playing soon in Gary, Indiana… Gary, Indiana, for Christ’s sake! My
advice, though I never take it myself: If you insist on falling in love, you’d
better protect your heart.
A couple of years ago, a reporter asked Bobby Knight about his point
guard. Knight, being his normal obnoxious self, replied, “What’s a point
guard?” For about 95 years, since James Naismith invented the game in 1891, you
had your guards, forwards, and centers. I can understand that. Then, getting
hip in the age of techno-babble, we had the point guards, which so perplexed
Knight. Soon to follow, off guards, small forwards, and power forwards. Still,
I was there. Today’s hoop-speak has “advanced” to something about “ones” and
“twos” and “fours”. This new coachspeak leaves me in the dust. I don’t know
what or who they’re talking about — an example of basketball coaches
pretending they’re NASA scientists. My vote for the most remarkable player in
the NFL? The Chiefs’ Marcus Allen. Playing a position, running back, where the
average career span is about three years, Allen, still fast, productive, and
tough, is in his 14th season.
Hey, thanks for all the
nice things you say when you meet me and thanks for getting this far down in
the column. Have a happy and healthy new year. May at least one-third of your
wishes come to pass. See you next year.
Write me: coach@auschron.com
This article appears in December 22 • 1995 and December 22 • 1995 (Cover).