Archive for football
If you happen to be in the Minneapolis area and see a young man curled in the fetal position, it just might be Teddy Bridgewater.
Bridgewater, the Minnesota Vikings rookie quarterback, is going to see Ziggy Ansah and the rest of the Lions defensive line in his sleep. The sweat will be cold, the images will be all-too-real. It might be like that cartoon of back in the day.
“Mr. Wizard! I don’t want to be a quarterback anymore!”
This was Thanksgiving Day, 1962, all over again. Upstairs, Alex Karras is grinning.
The Lions made mincemeat of Bridgewater and the Vikings on Sunday. Bridgewater played the part of Green Bay’s Bart Starr and Ansah, George Johnson, Ndamukong Suh and Nick Fairley were Karras, Darris McCord, Roger Brown and Sam Williams.
The Lions’ front four spent more time in the Vikings backfield than the referee. Or at least, as much. Bridgewater was harassed more than the only girl at a fraternity party.
Every pass play the Vikings tried in their 17-3 loss to the Lions looked like a Chinese fire drill. Bridgewater would snap the football and then immediately start running around, in survival mode. He spent more time trying to find his wits about him than finding a receiver.
In the rare times when Bridgewater found a man, the pass was often dropped, or tipped into the hands of a Lions defender for an interception. Just ask Tahir Whitehead, who if this was hockey would be called “Johnny on the Spot” by Mickey Redmond.
The slaughter wasn’t limited to passing plays.
If the Vikings tried to run the football, the Lions front four was there, too, like white on rice.
With the exception of an interception the rookie threw in the end zone in which he was baited by safety Glover Quin, the Vikings didn’t sniff paydirt. Every play they ran was between the 30 yard lines, it seemed.
The words “Lions” and “dominant defense” haven’t been used in the same sentence very much since the days of the 1960s and early-1970s, when every year the defense was way ahead of the offense—which was never more evident than in the Lions’ 5-0 loss to the Dallas Cowboys in the 1970 playoffs.
The aforementioned Thanksgiving Day game in 1962, in which the Lions poured through the usually vaunted Packers O-line and battered Starr to the tune of 11 sacks, is legendary stuff.
“Lord, we were ready for the Packers that day,” Karras wrote in his autobiography, Even Big Guys Cry.
The motivation in ’62 was the game the Lions blew in Green Bay earlier that season—a travesty that pitted the offense against the defense for years, thanks to a horrible pass play that was called in a situation that screamed for a conservative running play.
The pass was intercepted and the Packers kicked a game-winning field goal.
So on national TV on Turkey Day, the Lions destroyed the Packers, racing to a 26-0 lead as they punished Starr for the game in Green Bay, before winning 26-14.
On Sunday, Vikings left tackle Matt Kalil was about as effective against the hard-charging Ansah as a screen door in a submarine. Ansah tossed Kalil around all day like a rag doll.
Ansah was the biggest and baddest Lion on a day when the defense surrendered yardage as begrudgingly as a mother-in-law doles out compliments. Ansah was credited with 2.5 sacks but that doesn’t begin to illustrate the disruption the second-year defensive end caused on Sunday.
The Lions allowed just 212 total yards of offense.
So let’s talk about this defense, seriously.
It’s only six weeks, but the Lions are ranked no. 1 in the NFL and they haven’t only victimized rookies.
In Week 1, the Lions made two-time Super Bowl champion Eli Manning look like, well, a rookie.
In Week 3, the great Aaron Rodgers, another Super Bowl champion and a likely Hall of Famer, was flummoxed. He and partner in crime Jordy Nelson were turned into a pair of juvenile delinquents.
Granted, in Weeks 4 and 6 (the Jets’ Geno Smith and Minnesota’s Bridgewater, respectively), the Lions weren’t exactly facing elite quarterbacks. But isn’t that what (gasp!) dominant defenses do? Remind the young how young they are?
On countless occasions in the past decade, the Lions have made pedestrian, even mediocre passers look like a combination of Unitas, Montana and Elway.
Not this season, so far.
You can’t pass against the Lions. You can’t run on them. You can’t even wait for a foolish personal foul or encroachment penalty.
Let’s not underestimate the Jim Caldwell factor.
The Lions’ new head coach promised that his team would clean up the penalties. He preached discipline.
And it’s working.
Few and far between have been the roughing the passer fouls and the silly jumping offsides, induced by quarterbacks using simple changes in cadence.
There have been an acceptably low number of penalties in the defensive backfield as well.
Darius Slay, the second-year cornerback, is quietly having a Pro Bowl-type year. He did a commendable job on Nelson in Week 3, a receiver who could make a career highlight reel solely based on games against the Lions. Slay is far from a “shut down” corner, but he’s also proving to be a member of the league’s upper class, and getting better every week.
That’s another strange thing to say: the Lions finding a superior cornerback in the draft. But they have, in Slay.
Here’s another breath of fresh air: the Lions don’t have to blitz anymore to pressure the passer. They can invade handily by sending just four guys.
But despite all this slap-happiness, leave it to the no-nonsense Suh to keep things in perspective.
“(Sunday’s win) is definitely something to be proud of, but at the end of the day it’s very early in the season,” said Suh, who had two sacks. “If we’re talking Week 17 or Week 16 and we’re still at this pace, which I expect this defense to do, then we can start to be really excited about it because it’s translating to wins.”
True that. The Lions have played just six games.
But at the same time, I can’t recall a six-game stretch where the Lions have played anywhere near this good on defense in decades.
It’s not like the Lions added a boatload of new players from last year, either. They did, however, add a new defensive coordinator.
If this keeps up, Teryl Austin is going to have a statue built in his likeness in front of Ford Field, by the fans themselves.
The Lions are 4-2 and should be 5-1 if their kicker hadn’t torpedoed them. In all the wins with the exception of the Giants game, the defense has bailed out the scuffling offense.
Check for tie-dye. Are people saying “groovy”? Are the Beatles charting?
Surely this must be a time warp that we’re in.
When Rich Rodriguez stood in front of the media in Ann Arbor on that November day in 2007, having just been introduced as the next football coach at the University of Michigan, one of the sage scribes asked him what it felt like to be worse than sloppy seconds.
OK, the question wasn’t posed with that degree of temerity, but Rodriguez, lured to Michigan from what appeared to be a cushy job at West Virginia, was thought to be U-M’s third choice, behind Rutgers’ Greg Schiano, who turned Michigan down, and in all likelihood Louisiana State’s Les Miles, who was courted clumsily by then-Athletic Director Bill Martin.
Rodriguez, looking a little stiff and slightly nervous, nonetheless cracked a joke about not being his wife’s first choice, either.
The comment broke the room up.
There wouldn’t be much laughter in the ensuing three seasons, after which Rodriguez was run out of town—a man whose biggest crime may have been that he was a perceived outsider.
Bo Schembechler started the “Michigan Man” nonsense.
My podcast co-host, Al Beaton, said on last week’s show that if Bo were alive today, the old coach would probably wish he’d never uttered the phrase.
It was Schembechler, then the AD at Michigan, who declared that assistant coach Steve Fisher would coach the Michigan basketball team throughout the 1989 NCAA tournament, in the wake of the news that head coach Bill Frieder had accepted the job at Arizona State—an announcement that occurred practically on the eve of the tourney.
Bo would have none of Frieder coaching the kids at Michigan during March Madness, as long as an agreement was in place for the basketball coach to flee as soon as the final buzzer of the final game sounded.
“A Michigan man will coach Michigan!” Bo roared.
Fisher never attended Michigan. He was born and reared in Illinois. He played college basketball in Illinois.
But why let those facts get in the way of a good quote, right?
Fisher, the promoted assistant, guided the Wolverines to the 1989 National Championship. Bo looked like a genius.
So the “Michigan Man” term was born!
There was nothing “Michigan” about Rich Rodriguez, from the Latino surname to his football coaching resume. He was, however, another Illinois guy (born in Chicago).
Rodriguez coached just three seasons at Michigan, and when he was forced out after the 2010 season—three seasons that showed little progress, you could point to the Rodriguez years and say that they were among the most tumultuous in the school’s football history.
Oh, how good those years look now, eh?
It can now be said that Brady Hoke, Rodriguez’s successor and “Michigan Man” extraordinaire, is presiding over the most turbulent years in Michigan football history. Hoke is making the Rodriguez Era look like the halcyon days in Ann Arbor.
Hoke, in his fourth season as Michigan’s football coach—one more than Rodriguez was granted—is doing two things at once.
One, he’s showing that a “Michigan Man” can fail just as easily as an outsider.
The second thing may come as a shock to your system.
Hoke is turning the football job at Michigan into quite the plum.
Yes, I’m as sober as a judge as I write this. My temperature is 98.6 and I know what day it is and I can recite the alphabet backward.
The feeling in 2007, when Rodriguez was the presumed third choice, was that coaching Michigan football had somehow lost a bit of its luster, despite some fine work done by Lloyd Carr from 1995-2007, including a co-National Championship in 1997.
That inferiority complex wasn’t helped when Schiano, coaching Rutgers (!) at the time, reportedly turned AD Martin down.
Who turns down Michigan to stay at Rutgers, when it comes to coaching football?
But it happened, if you believe multiple reports and chatter.
When current AD Dave Brandon hired Hoke, a former Michigan assistant under Carr, from San Diego State in January, 2011, again there were rumblings that Michigan got less than their first choice.
Brandon, it was reported, would have preferred LSU’s Miles (Brandon flew down to Louisiana to interview Miles, another former Michigan assistant, but under Schembechler). But Miles politely declined a job offer.
Brandon also might have pursued former U-M quarterback and then-Stanford coach Jim Harbaugh, though that has never been confirmed. Harbaugh accepted the head coaching job with the San Francisco 49ers just days before Brandon introduced Hoke.
With the hirings of Rodriguez and Hoke, that’s two straight coaching searches where Michigan—the school that still holds the college football record for most wins, ever—seemingly had to settle.
Yet Hoke’s stunning failure that is being played out in front of us like a car wreck is actually helping Michigan, I believe.
You heard me.
Michigan got its “Michigan Man” and it isn’t working out, which may be the understatement of the year.
But at least the school got the “Michigan Man” thing out of its system.
In 2008, Rodriguez followed Carr, when the Michigan job was still thought to be one where Carr’s successor could keep U-M as a Top 20 program for years to come.
Hoke is showing that just because you were an assistant at Michigan some 15 years ago, it doesn’t guarantee success as a head coach.
The job at Michigan, though, is better than ever.
Hoke’s car wreck is setting the job up for a big name guy to come in and “save” Michigan football.
There is a lot of ego in coaching, as there should be. It’s actually a desired attribute, as long as it’s kept in check.
Michigan football now is talked about a lot in the past tense.
It’s never good when words like “was” and “used to be” and “back in the day” are used to describe your program.
But it also means that Michigan football, in the hands of the right man, is ripe for the picking, so to speak.
Somewhere out there is a high profile coach who would drool at the opportunity to bring Michigan back from the brink of irrelevance—which is where it is now.
Somewhere is a man whose eyes light up at the thought of being a near god in Ann Arbor.
Somewhere there is a coach who doesn’t look at the Michigan job as a career killer, in the slightest.
Now the Wolverines are getting clocked at home by Minnesota, just their third loss to the Golden Gophers since 1967.
That’s not a good sign.
The wild card, however, is Brandon.
The athletic director has come under fire, not only for the Hoke hire but for his presumed micro-managing of the department, especially when it comes to football. He is too involved, many critics say.
John Arbeznik was a captain on the 1979 Wolverines team. He was speaking on 105.1 FM the other day about Brandon and his frequent presence around the Michigan football facilities.
“I never saw (former athletic director) Don Canham during the season. Never,” Arbeznik told Drew Lane. “Certainly never in the locker room.”
Arbeznik was guesting Lane’s show, discussing a letter that has been signed by 30-40 former players—basically a list of grievances. The letter, Arbeznik said, was given to the university’s Board of Regents and to new school president Mark Schlissel.
What, if anything, will come from Arbeznik and company’s list of grievances, no one really knows.
Brady Hoke cannot be brought back as Michigan coach next season. That much is certain.
But the job isn’t ruined for the next guy. The football program isn’t beyond saving.
In fact, it may be at its best place in years.
Michigan just has to find the right man. And the use of “Michigan” and “man” in that sentence was purely unintentional.
He had just set a new National Football League record for longest field goal made, and he did it to win the game.
Tom Dempsey of the Saints, with half a right foot due to a birth deformity, blasted a 63 yard field goal to beat the Lions—naturally—in New Orleans on November 8, 1970. He obliterated the old mark by seven yards.
Dempsey. of course, was swarmed by reporters after the game at old Tulane Stadium.
One of the scribes asked Dempsey what was going through his mind as he lined up for the kick at his own 37 yard line (the goalposts were at the goal line in those days).
“I was thinking that the goal posts looked kind of small,” Dempsey said.
The funny thing about Dempsey, who was nothing more than a journeyman kicker in the NFL, was that he was hardly known for his kicking accuracy. In fact, after the Lions game in which he set the record, players from Detroit recalled seeing Dempsey in pregame practice missing kicks from all over the field.
Yet Dempsey kicked four field goals in the Saints victory, capped by the 63-yarder as time expired.
The record-setting kick exploded from Dempsey’s half-a-foot and traveled through the Nawlins’ air almost parallel to the ground, with none of the typical end-over-end trajectory—as if it had been shot out of a cannon.
The football dropped over the crossbar with perhaps a foot to spare.
Lions coaches remarked that the sound of Dempsey’s foot meeting the ball was like someone thwacking a wet mattress with a baseball bat.
You’d think that setting a new NFL record for longest field goal made would buy a guy some job security. But a year later, Dempsey was kicking for the Philadelphia Eagles and so began his meandering through the league, playing with four teams after the Saints in a career that ended in 1979.
You know what Dempsey’s rate of success in field goal attempts was in 1970, they year he kicked the 63 yarder?
He made 18 of 34 tries for a very mediocre 52.9 percent. In 1969, Dempsey was 1-for-11 in attempts 50 yards and beyond.
But with one historic swing of his leg, Tom Dempsey lives forever in the NFL record books—and in the memory of every Lions fan 50 years of age or older.
For his career, Dempsey made good on just over 61 percent of his kicks.
Yet as pedestrian as Dempsey’s career field goal percentage of success is, it’s still some 18 percent better than Nate Freese, the Lions kicker (for the moment).
Freese, the embattled rookie kicker from Boston College, has tried seven field goals so far in his NFL career. He has made just three of them for a 43 percent rate of success. He hasn’t made any beyond 40 yards, from where is is 0-for-4.
Lions coach Jim Caldwell, who showed restraint after Freese’s disastrous Week 2, when the rookie missed two kicks beyond 40 yards early in the game, wasn’t able to corral his frustration on Sunday, after the first half of his team’s 19-7 victory over the Green Bay Packers.
Freese had pulled a 41 yard attempt left as time expired in the second quarter, moments after Matthew Stafford hooked up with Corey Fuller on a 52 yard bomb to put the Lions in (presumed) field goal range at the Packers’ 23 yard line.
Fox Sports’ Pam Oliver, at halftime, reported that she asked Caldwell during intermission about Freese and how to boost the youngster’s confidence.
Caldwell, who is not prone to hyperbole or emotion, didn’t mince words.
“I don’t have any sympathy,” Oliver said Caldwell told her. “This is the NFL. You have to make those kicks.”
Last week the Lions worked out three kickers with NFL experience in light of Freese’s early struggles. Yet, Caldwell decided to stay with the rookie, if only for another week.
Sadly, one of the kickers the Lions brought in was 36 year-old Rob Bironas, who died in a tragic car accident over the weekend.
After Caldwell showed confidence in Freese last week, albeit lukewarm in variety, it is hard to imagine that the Lions will stay with the kid from BC much longer, if at all.
The misses are piling up and no one’s confidence is being helped here.
Freese likely has little, and you think Caldwell would have had much, if he needed to send Freese into the game to kick a potential game-tying or game-winning three-pointer against the Packers on Sunday?
The fans lost confidence in Freese after Week 2.
It’s admirable to feel for Freese, who was a seventh round draft pick of the Lions last May. It certainly can’t be any fun being Nate Freese these days.
But coach Caldwell is right. This is the NFL. Fellow coach Jerry Glanville once said that NFL stands for Not For Long, if you don’t produce.
This is big boy football now. This isn’t college, and the only kicks that matter are the ones that you try during games—not the impressive 58 yarders you make in pregame warm-ups.
Nate Freese is probably a terrific young man. But his misses are killing the Lions and this isn’t about tiptoeing around the kicker’s feelings. It’s about winning football games.
Freese has no resume in the NFL. It’s not like he’s a 10-year veteran and the Lions can wait out what is likely a flukey slump.
The Packers waited out veteran kicker Mason Crosby last year when he was in a horrible funk. But Crosby wasn’t a rookie and he’d made several big kicks for the Packers in the past. Crosby eventually got his act together.
Kickers, as a lot, usually don’t have wide margins for error. The patience of coaches is known to wear thin for erratic performance.
It doesn’t help Freese that he’s playing in Detroit, which had two kickers—TWO—between 1980 and 2012 (Eddie Murray and Jason Hanson).
Lions fans aren’t used to thinking of their kickers the same way Tigers fans think of their closers.
The bottom line is this: does Jim Caldwell, a spiritual man, have faith that Nate Freese can make a big kick late in a close game?
If the coach doesn’t, then there’s no room for Freese on the Lions roster.
In fact, Freese may be an ex-Lion by the time you read this.
Right now, to steal from Tom Dempsey, the goalposts are looking kind of small for Freese.
And we’re not talking 63 yarders here.
It was yet another funereal post-game press conference for a Lions coach. The scene took place in Anaheim, with another sound defeat in the books.
The Lions had been manhandled by the Los Angeles Rams in 1983, dropping their record to 1-4.
The coach, Monte Clark, stepped up to the podium, ready to answer the usual “What happened?” questions.
Clark gave his version of what happened, trying to explain away the bloodletting on the gridiron. But just before stepping down and heading back to the locker room, Clark added one more comment.
“See you at the cemetery,” Clark told the media.
The inference was clear. Clark wouldn’t have been surprised if his firing was impending.
Clark wasn’t alone in that feeling.
The Lions were 9-7 in 1980 but missed the playoffs, despite a 4-0 start, which prompted some players to record a bastardized version of Queen’s hit song, “Another One Bites the Dust.”
The Lions went 8-8 in 1981, missing the playoffs on the final Sunday when the Tampa Bay Buccaneers handed Detroit its only home loss of the season to swipe the Central Division crown.
The Lions made the playoffs in 1982′s strike-shortened year, despite a 4-5 record. The Washington Redskins, eventual Super Bowl champs, demolished Clark’s team, showing what they thought of a team with a losing record making the postseason.
Then came 1983′s 1-4 start, which prompted Clark, in his sixth season as Lions coach, to make his ominous remark.
Clark survived the season, and in fact, the Lions won the division with a 9-7 record. They went 8-3 after the coach’s words of resignation.
Monte Clark’s “See you at the cemetery” line is just one of many defining moments of Lions coaches that have become iconic for all the wrong reasons.
Darryl Rogers, Clark’s successor, had his moment when he gazed up at the pigeons that had landed on the Silverdome’s roof during practice, circa 1988, with the Lions foundering as usual. Some writers were nearby, within earshot.
“What does a guy have to do to get fired around here?” was Rogers’ iconic moment.
Wayne Fontes said “I’m the big buck” as he talked about the criticism levied his way in the early-1990s.
Bobby Ross, Fontes’ successor, in a fit of frustration and anger after a loss on the road, railed “I don’t coach that stuff!” as he agonized over yet another mistake-filled loss.
Marty Mornhinweg, the overmatched coach tabbed by rookie GM Matt Millen in 2001, said at his introductory press conference, “The bar is high.”
Twenty-seven losses in 32 games followed. Maybe Marty meant that the bar of embarrassment was high.
Steve Mariucci followed, and his introduction was over the top at Ford Field. There was a long walk to the stage and the whole thing was awash in pomp and circumstance.
“Wow,” Mooch said as he gazed at the press in 2003 as Millen and the Lions presented him as the savior.
A little more than two years later, Mariucci was fired after a cringe-inducing loss on Thanksgiving Day to the Atlanta Falcons.
Rod Marinelli, Mariucci’s successor, talked of “pounding the rock.” The Lions pounded it to the tune of a winless season in 2008.
Jim Schwartz came after Marinelli, and Schwartz was a hothead that couldn’t execute a post-game handshake without drama. His players got into trouble off the field a lot. Schwartz also gave it to the fans last year with a less-than-respectful gesture. The players, under Schwartz, took on his personality, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
Before all of the above, Harry Gilmer was pelted with snowballs as he jogged off the Tiger Stadium field after what would turn out to be his final game as Lions coach, in 1966.
All iconic moments and quotes from Lions coaches, and none of them good.
Jim Caldwell, the new head coach for 2014 and beyond, doesn’t seem to have that gene.
It’s hard to imagine Caldwell, a fine, experienced, intelligent man, sinking to the level of the aforementioned coaches by saying something untoward or doing something weird.
The Lions coach seems to have his act together.
There certainly won’t be any words or actions from the new coach that will induce eye-rolling and sighs. My opinion.
Caldwell, on the surface and beyond, seems to be the Lions’ most refined coach since George Wilson. And Wilson coached in Detroit some 50 years ago.
Joe Schmidt (1967-72) remains the last Lions coach to leave the franchise with a winning record in Detroit. But Schmidt had his moments of frustration, which culminated in him resigning in January 1973, the loser in a power struggle with GM Russ Thomas.
Jim Caldwell is a grounded, spiritual, experienced coach who doesn’t have the “embarrassing” gene in him. His foot doesn’t seem destined for his mouth.
That’s not to say that Caldwell won’t eventually be fired by the Lions without achieving his goal of winning a Super Bowl in Detroit. But if that happens, it won’t be because of multiple losses of composure.
There doesn’t appear to be drama in the Lions’ future with Caldwell as coach. Even in this day of the NFL’s players on a string of bad behavior off the field, Caldwell exudes calm and control. You get the feeling that the ship is under a firm, experienced hand.
Again, whether that translates into wins and success remains to be seen.
The Lions are 1-0 at this writing, having summarily dismissed the considerably inferior New York Giants last Monday night.
But the Lions’ lack of discipline, a thorn in the team’s side for years, appeared to have reared its head against the Giants, with eight penalties for 85 yards in the first half.
It’s not clear what Caldwell said or did at halftime, but his team played a clean second half—zero penalties.
He even had a clean handshake after the game with Giants coach Tom Coughlin.
The coach can’t make his players write, “I will not commit a holding penalty” 100 times on the chalkboard. He can’t make them stand in the corner, facing the wall. It’s not even as simple as benching a guy in favor of his backup.
But I do know that football players often take on the personality and behavior of their coach, for good or for bad.
I won’t make any predictions about the Lions’ won/loss record this year.
I will, though, say that it doesn’t seem like Jim Caldwell is destined to say or do anything goofy that will become his defining moment as Lions coach.
That, in of itself, would seem to be an upgrade over coaches of the past.
There’s some sad irony in the Ray Rice conundrum as far as the National Football League is concerned.
The NFL is a league that has a legacy of toughness and images of “real men” doing battle on mud-strewn gridirons, snow and other unfavorable elements.
It’s a league whose players like to throw around the word “respect,” whether it’s not getting enough or giving too much.
“Real men” and “respect” don’t fit Rice, the ex-Baltimore Ravens running back who was caught red-fisted via security camera, cold-cocking his fiancee in an elevator last February.
This blog is expressly for my non-sports rantings, but just because the first several paragraphs have been littered with NFL references, the Rice situation has nothing to do with pro football, per se.
Real men don’t hit women. And that’s not how you gain respect. It is, however, all about not having any of the R-word for your fellow human beings, let alone the woman to who you are now married.
Rice’s wife, Janay, has publicly asked to call off the dogs when it comes to the playing of the video that shows Rice punching her so hard that she was knocked out cold from slamming her head against a metal railing inside the elevator.
She could have been killed, had she hit her head on the rail in a different way.
Janay Rice, understandably, wants us to know that her life with Ray is theirs and this horrible incident is theirs to deal with, privately.
She’s right, of course, but good luck with that.
It’s not for any of us to judge Janay Rice on her decision to stand by her husband despite the disgusting act of violence he perpetrated against her for all the world (it turned out) to see.
She has her reasons and they ought to be respected. There’s that R-word again.
The most troublesome part of the Rice saga is not that Janay chose to stay with her fiance and marry him.
The focus right now, as it should be, is on the NFL and its handling of the Rice situation.
There have been several missteps along the way.
First was the ridiculously meager two-game suspension that NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell levied on Rice, based (supposedly) on the original video, which showed Rice dragging an unconscious Janay out of the elevator.
Even without the much more damning second video, sitting Rice for two games based on the original video was even too lenient. A slap on the wrist for a direct punch to the face.
Then the second video emerged, courtesy of those busy beavers over at TMZ.
The second video shows the harrowing images of Rice as his fiancee approaches him in anger. He slugs her and she hits her head on the rail before collapsing, unconscious.
No one knows what goes on behind closed doors? Thanks to our “cameras are everywhere” society, not always.
The second league miscue, an unforced fumble, was Goodell’s office claiming that the league never saw the second video until last week, although a law enforcement person has proof (via a voicemail) that someone within the NFL received the video five months ago—a DVD copy that the law enforcement person sent, acting on his/her own sense of obligation.
This is where the NFL is going off the rails, potentially.
If it is indeed proven beyond a reasonable doubt that the league viewed the second video before metering out the feeble suspension, then this moves directly to the “cover up” category without passing GO and without collecting $200.
The NFL seems to be riding a technicality already; in other words, it seems like their defense is going to be that, yes, we may have received a video a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean that anyone viewed it.
This is malarkey, of course, and it’s on its way to be proven false because the voicemail in question includes this comment from a female voice whoconfirmed the video’s receipt: “You’re right/ (The video)’s terrible.”
Why would you call a video terrible if you’d never viewed it?
Goodell switched Rice’s suspension from two games to indefinite after the second video came to light. A cynic would tell you that Goodell switched gears only after proof of the second video’s existence was revealed to everyone.
Big difference between the two sentences above this one.
In Watergate lexicon, “What did the commissioner know and when did he know it?”
That question—the one of what did a power-to-be know and when was it known—is the question that frequently is the first domino that leads to resignations or firings.
When will people of authority realize that it’s not the first act of misdeed that will bring your organization to its knees; it’s the attemped covering up of said act of misdeed that will do it.
Maybe the NFL is filled with real men of respect, after all. Quite a few of the league’s players have taken to social media to express their anger and disgust over Rice’s actions.
But let’s see how the players respond if it turns out that the league was derelict in its handling of this matter.
The game was played the day after Christmas, a Saturday in 1970. The match still haunts the Lions franchise.
The National Football League, expanded in one season from 16 to 26 teams thanks to the merger with the American Football League, changed its playoff format for the 1970 campaign.
The league had split, like an amoeba, into two conferences with three divisions in each of the NFC and AFC. So Commissioner Pete Rozelle added a Wild Card in each conference. The Wild Cards would combine with the three divisional winners to form a Final Four in each conference.
The Lions, for all their ignominy, nonetheless have the distinction of being the NFC’s first-ever Wild Card team.
The Lions won the last five games of their 1970 schedule and finished the season 10-4, which was the best record of all the second place teams in the NFC. Hence the Wild Card berth.
A trip to Dallas awaited the Lions to play the franchise’s first post-season game in 13 years. The playoff game against the Cowboys would be contested in the old Cotton Bowl. It was December 26, 1970.
It turned out to be a bizarre, frustrating, horribly iconic afternoon in Texas. One that the franchise still hasn’t truly gotten over.
It would be the only playoff game for a host of great Lions players: Alex Karras (his final game played); Wayne Walker; Lem Barney; Charlie Sanders; and Dick LeBeau to name a few.
The Lions lost in Dallas in that playoff game of 1970 by the maddening score of 5-0, despite the Lions possessing one of the NFL’s most potent offenses that year.
Barney and Sanders are Hall of Fame Lions, and only Barry Sanders has joined them in Canton as representing Detroit since the aforementioned Lions careers’ ended in the late-1970s.
Barry Sanders, for his part, played in the Lions’ only playoff win since 1957—a busting up of Dallas in 1991-92. But Barry never saw any real team success as a Lion, despite a few other playoff appearances.
Lem Barney, Charlie Sanders and Barry Sanders—three Hall of Famers whose Lions careers all lacked any semblance of team success.
It would be a total shame if Calvin Johnson followed in that trio’s misfortune.
Johnson is the next Lions Hall of Fame player. With seven seasons under his belt and his eighth about to begin on Monday against the New York Football Giants, Johnson practically already possesses the individual stats needed to be inducted into the Hall.
In seven seasons, Johnson has played in one playoff game. In that respect, his career seems to be trending just like those of Barney and the two Sanders—heavy on personal greatness and light on the team’s.
But if you ask Johnson, that trend is about to turn the other way.
“I believe this is our best chance to win a championship.”
The speaker was Johnson earlier in the week and presumably he said it to the media with a straight face.
“I honestly believe that,” Johnson added about his heady prediction regarding the 2014 Lions.
There’s nothing wrong with optimism on the eve of a new football season. After all, if you can’t look at things through rose-colored glasses when your record is 0-0, then when can you?
It’s difficult to tell, when simply reading Johnson’s remarks, whether he was trying to convince the press or himself of the Lions’ championship chances. But he did expound, apparently with conviction. And the man reverently called Megatron was heaping praise on his new head coach, Jim Caldwell.
“You’ve got to buy in. You’ve got to buy into the coaches’ philosophy, and we have. I believe that everybody is doing exactly what the coaches want us to do, and if we’re not, if something is not like he wants it, he’s going to tell us and we’re going to get better at it and he only has to tell us one time.”
That doesn’t necessarily explain the lack of success of everyone from Rick Forzano to Jim Schwartz, but there you have it.
Johnson is, literally and figuratively, head and shoulders above his league brethren at wide receiver. He is bound for Canton, wearing the mustard yellow blazer and giving an acceptance speech. Someday.
But it would be awfully nice if, in addition to all the personal accolades, Calvin Johnson turns out to be a Hall of Fame Detroit Lion who has more than just an impressive set of individual numbers on his resume.
Or, to put it more bluntly, it would be criminal if the Lions wasted yet another superstar career with zero team success.
It took Barney and Charlie Sanders several appearances on the ballot before they were finally elected to the Hall of Fame. I have no doubt that the Lions’ mostly losing ways contributed greatly to Lem and Charlie’s delayed inductions, given that they were each among the best of their respective positions for most of their careers.
Barry Sanders was a first-ballot inductee, but that was a no-brainer, no matter what team he played for. Think Gale Sayers and those awful Bears teams.
Now here we have Johnson, who is the Lions’ best player since Barry Sanders, and Calvin is eight years into a professional career that has seen as many winless seasons as playoff games.
But the rub is that Johnson, I believe, today plays on as good of a Lions team as Barry Sanders ever did, and there ought to be some multiple playoff appearances in the near future.
Johnson’s remarks certainly agree with my very non-expert opinion.
It all has to be proven on the field, of course. And the Lions traditionally don’t do that.
The Lions wasted the genius of Lem Barney, Charlie Sanders and Barry Sanders. They’d better not do so with Calvin Johnson, their next Hall of Famer.
With the pro football fan base ushering in new and younger members every autumn, it’s time to write this column, because we’re getting dangerously close to the point where the newest and the youngest may not know of what I am about to impart.
Gather ’round the keyboard and let me tell you of a time when the NFL was terrorized by the Silver and Black.
For those who remember it, the dominance of the Oakland/Los Angeles Raiders occurred in a time that only exists in grainy NFL Films footage. It’s something you recall only with John Facenda’s voice narrating.
And any recollection surely must involve images of managing general partner Al Davis prowling the field before a game, donning sunglasses, wearing lots of jewelry and with his hands shoved into his polyester pants pockets. He looked like a disco owner.
The Raiders—or, more accurately, Da Raiduhs—were a collection of misfits and rough customers whose slogan was “Just Win, Baby” and whose theme was A Commitment to Excellence.
The Raiders didn’t just win football games, they beat the opponents into submission. Teams went into the Coliseum in Oakland and the first things they were offered were a blindfold and a cigarette. Before playing, the opposition asked that the game be commuted.
The Raiders glory days began in February, 1969 in the American Football League, when Davis—who once coached the team himself earlier in the decade—hired a little-known assistant named John Madden to take over the team from predecessor John Rauch. Madden, at age 32, became pro football’s youngest head coach.
In Madden’s ten years coaching the Raiders before switching headsets from the coaching ones to the broadcasting variety (1969-78), the team’s winning percentage was .763. The Raiders beat the Minnesota Vikings in January, 1977 to win Super Bowl XI.
The recipe for success was odd but effective.
Davis, an old AFL guy from the league’s gunslinging days, never met a forward pass he didn’t like. So in 1967 he traded for Daryle Lamonica, a quarterback from Notre Dame who’d been Jack Kemp’s backup in Buffalo, and Davis told Lamonica to let it fly.
The Raiders treated 3rd-and-four like it was 3rd-and-40. They stretched the field like a rubber band.
Eventually Lamonica would be tagged with the nickname “The Mad Bomber” for his propensity to try to move down the field in two or three plays, max.
The other oddly successful part of Davis’ recipe was his fascination with the ne’er-do-well.
Starting in earnest in the 1970s, the Raiders became a home for players who had been cast-offs by other teams in the NFL.
Some of the players were released or traded because their former teams didn’t think they were good enough to play in the league. Others rubbed their former bosses the wrong way. In both instances, the Raiders welcomed those ostracized players into the Silver and Black fold with open arms.
The eclectic blend of homegrown Raiders and guys plucked off the waiver wire, under Madden, ran roughshod over the NFL in the ’70s. Except in the playoffs.
To be a member of the Raiders was to have an annual sour taste in your mouth when the final gun sounded in the postseason.
Finally, in 1976, Madden’s guys went all the way, blasting the Minnesota Vikings out of the Rose Bowl in Super Bowl XI, 32-14.
Two more Super Bowl wins followed after the 1980 and 1983 seasons, both under coach Tom Flores (a former AFL quarterback) and quarterback Jim Plunkett, who was the epitome of the Rescued Raider.
Plunkett was a two-time loser with the New England Patriots and the San Francisco 49ers, the no. 1 overall draft pick out of Stanford in 1971. The words “draft bust” began to follow him around when Davis came calling in 1979.
Plunkett wasn’t even in the league when the Raiders signed him, having missed the 1978 season. And he was 33 years old when he led the Raiders over the Philadelphia Eagles in SB XV. Three years later, at 36, Plunkett did it again—beating the heavily favored Washington Redskins.
By this time the franchise had begun its 13-year stay (1982-94) in Los Angeles.
Those days of Silver and Black dominance are long gone. Today’s Raiders are dressed just like their brethren did in the salad days—the uniforms haven’t changed in almost 50 years—but they play like a bad Double-A affiliate. The colors are the same, but today they are silver and black, sans the capitalization.
Since playing (and losing) in Super Bowl XXXVII after the 2002 season, the Raiders are 53-123. A typical season is 4-12 or 5-11. The closest they came to a winning record was a pair of 8-8 seasons in 2010 and 2011.
Just Win One, Baby.
Al Davis is dead and so is the Raiders mystique.
Never have the Raiders, in their 54 year history (dating back to their AFL debut in 1960), gone through a dry spell anywhere near as long as this current 11-year sojourn in the desert.
Since the Super Bowl appearance in 2003, the Raiders have burned through six coaches. Their current, and seventh one is someone named Dennis Allen, who’s also the first of the bunch to start so much as a third season.
The Raiders used to intimidate. Their black jerseys with the silver numerals and their silver helmets with the dude with the eye patch used to define winning in an iconic way.
The Raiders, with their nine seasons of double-digit losses in the past 11, are a laughing stock.
ESPN, to which I loathe to give too much credit, nonetheless released their Week 1 power rankings today.
The Worldwide Leader lists the Raiders 32nd—dead last—in the NFL.
Part of the reason why ESPN doesn’t like the Raiders all that much is that they don’t have a quarterback, among other things.
Coach Allen named Derek Carr as the starter last week. You’re excused if you don’t know who he is. Carr is the Raiders’ second round pick this past May, out of Fresno State. He beat out veteran Matt Schaub for the starting job.
Truth is, the Raiders haven’t had a quarterback for years. Or a running game. Or much of a defense.
That’s why they go 4-12 every year.
So the Derek Carr Era begins.
Just try not to embarrass yourself, baby.
He was a moon-faced behemoth of a defensive tackle out of Clemson, with a grin as wide as his generously-sized rear end. And he soon became a pawn between his head coach and his defensive coordinator.
They called William Perry “The Refrigerator” and not long after the Chicago Bears picked him in the first round (22nd overall) of the 1985 NFL Draft, the wisdom of his selection was bandied about between head coach Mike Ditka and defensive coordinator Buddy Ryan.
The coach and the DC didn’t get along, and since Perry was Ditka’s pick, naturally Ryan was against it.
Ryan reacted by refusing to play Perry on the Bears’ talented defensive line. Ditka responded by using Perry as an oversized fullback in short yardage situations.
All this drama played out during the Bears’ 15-1 season, which culminated in a blowout of the New England Patriots in Super Bowl XX.
About mid-season, Ryan relented once he realized how talented Perry was, despite his extreme girth (Fridge weighed over 375 pounds).
Perry still carried the football on occasion and even caught a pass, but he was a defensive tackle by trade—and he proved to be a pretty good one.
Perry might have been great, but continuous battles with the scale torpedoed him and limited his career to good status.
Perry played 10 years in the NFL but he could have been so much more.
Fast forward to 2014. Another talented defensive tackle is finding that fast food and doughnuts are proving to be more challenging than offensive guards.
But it could be that it’s not just calories that are bedeviling Nick Fairley.
Fairley, the Lions’ DT who was the team’s first round pick in 2011, was supposed to be, by now, forming a ridiculous tandem with Ndamukong Suh on the defensive interior front for Detroit.
The two slabs of beef were supposed to make it damn near impossible for opponents to run against the Lions between the tackles. And as a bonus, the pass rush from the inside was to be terrifying.
After Fairley’s first three years in the league, the expectations have far exceeded reality.
Suh, for the most part, has (ahem) carried his weight.
Fairley has turned out to be one of the Lions’ most enigmatic players in memory, and considering the perplexing sorts who have worn the Honolulu Blue and Silver, that’s saying a lot.
It’s easy to look at Fairley’s spotty production and blame it on his weight. After all, the next time the Lions are flagged for too many men on the field on defense, two of them might be Fairley.
But as William Perry proved, you can play at a high level even when the scales are begging you to get off.
The trouble with Nick Fairley isn’t just what goes on between his hips. It’s what happens between his ears.
The Lions have tried to challenge Fairley to get better. So far the results have been sketchy at best.
They declined the option on the fifth year of his rookie contract, making this season a make-or-break year of sorts for Fairley.
The Lions demoted Fairley this training camp to second string.
Things have gotten so desperate that even Suh, not exactly known as a player who exhibits model behavior himself off the field, tried to motivate Fairley recently by declaring the Auburn grad more talented than Suh, a three-time Pro Bowler.
Nothing has really worked.
Fairley sank on the depth chart because he deserved it—not just as a way to light a fire under his big butt.
MLive.com reported that Fairley has isolated himself from teammates and his practice efforts leave a lot to be desired.
“I don’t know where his head’s at. I wish I knew,” d-line cohort C.J. Mosley was quoted by NFL.com last week.
“If I knew, man, I’d grab his head and bring it back to where it’s supposed to be. I just don’t know.”
I once wrote that Shaun Rogers, aka “Big Baby,” another supremely talented defensive tackle who played for the Lions in the mid-to-late 2000s, could have owned Detroit.
Rogers was big but he played big. He was an unmovable force at times and when he rambled some 50-plus yards for a touchdown after a fumble recovery against Denver in 2007, the Ford Field crowd roared. The score was a punctuation mark to a 44-7 Lions victory—and a 6-2 record.
But after that game, Rogers didn’t want to talk to the media. He didn’t seize his moment, which I found odd and disturbing.
Maybe Rogers knew something that we didn’t, because after that win, the Lions lost 24 of their next 25 games.
Regardless, Shaun Rogers played big but only when the spirit moved him, which wasn’t nearly often enough to achieve greatness.
Refrigerator Perry survived 10 NFL seasons and while he probably didn’t realize his potential, his effort was never questioned—especially at the buffet.
Nick Fairley is four years into a pro football career that has been pocked with head scratching, eye rolling and frustrated sighs—from fans, teammates and coaches alike.
So far, no one has been able to push the right buttons.
This may be it for Fairley—his last stab at the NFL in anything more than benchwarming capacity. There’s a new coach, who seems to be more than willing to give Fairley the benefit of the doubt and who has almost gone out of his way to toss no. 98 a bone of praise that is quite possibly undeserving. Fairley, it seems, has a clean slate with Jim Caldwell.
But will it be enough?
Fairley showed up to camp weighing in at 305 pounds, but last week it was reported that the scales actually were tipping past 315.
“My eating habits have got in the way in the past two weeks,” Fairley told reporters as he tried to explain his pedestrian performances in practice and in the first two preseason games.
I don’t think the Lions should be worried about Fairley’s eating habits.
They should be worried about his thinking habits.
The scales that measure those are on the football field—if Fairley can ever get on it.
Twenty years ago, Scott Mitchell was the NFL’s biggest winner. Two decades later, he’s trying to be the Biggest Loser.
Lions fans no doubt snickered upon the news this week that former quarterback Mitchell was going to be among the contestants on NBC’s “The Biggest Loser,” which is a competition show—in this case, to see who can lose the most weight.
And Mitchell has a lot to lose.
Mitchell, it was announced, checks in these days at 366 pounds. He is now as big as the behemoths assigned to protect him on the offensive line back in the day.
It’s fitting that Mitchell has a lot to lose, because never did an NFL quarterback gain as much as Mitchell did from someone else’s Achilles heel injury.
I have often wondered if Mitchell sends Dan Marino a Christmas card every year. Or maybe a check would be more appropriate.
In 1994, Mitchell was a free agent. He parlayed an injury to Marino’s Achilles in 1993 into big bucks with the Lions.
I remember watching the game where Miami’s Marino went down. It was in Cleveland. The play was innocuous. Marino, who was never much of a scrambler, got some happy feet in the pocket during a pass rush and in a freak way, landed funny on his Achilles.
He heard that dreadful “pop” sound and went down like a sack of doorknobs.
The date was October 10, 1993.
Mitchell was 25 years old at the time, a fourth round draft pick in 1990 out of Utah. In his first three seasons as a Dolphin, Mitchell threw eight NFL passes, completing two.
Now he was called upon to replace the greatest QB in Dolphins history and one of the best to ever play the position in NFL history.
The Dolphins had a bye week after Marino’s injury, which put him out for the rest of the season. In a panic, the Dolphins signed 39 year-old Steve DeBerg as insurance.
But DeBerg didn’t know the Dolphins’ offense. Mitchell did. Three seasons plus five games holding a clipboard teaches you something, I suppose.
Mitchell won his first start, a 41-27 win over the dreadful (at the time) Indianapolis Colts. Mitchell completed 12 of 19 passes for 190 yards and a touchdown.
The next week, Mitchell was much better, against a much better opponent.
Going up against the Kansas City Chiefs and Joe Montana, Mitchell went 22-for-33 for 344 yards and three touchdowns. The Dolphins won, 30-10 to improve to 6-1 on the season.
Then, a loss to the New York Jets. Mitchell was 23/44 for 297 yards with a TD and an interception. A dose of reality struck.
The following week, Mitchell was bad before an injury put him out of the game. Miami coach Don Shula turned to DeBerg as the Dolphins season was teetering.
DeBerg went 2-2 as the starter before he relinquished the job back to Mitchell, who was now healed.
The Dolphins’ 7-2 start spiraled into a 9-7 finish, which put them out of the playoffs.
But it was Mitchell’s personal performance in relief of Marino that made him a hot commodity as the 1994 free agent season beckoned, despite the team’s decline toward the end of the season.
His numbers as Marino’s replacement weren’t gaudy but they weren’t bad, either: 133/233 (57.1); 1,773 yards; 12 TD; 8 interceptions. His record was 3-4.
It wasn’t Johnny Unitas stuff, but the Lions, as usual, were desperate for a quarterback.
They had tried a triumvirate of Rodney Peete, Erik Kramer and Andre Ware in 1993, and even though the team went 10-6 and made the playoffs, that three-headed monster wasn’t going to be the answer at the game’s most important position.
So the Lions gave Mitchell’s agent a ring in early 1994.
If Mitchell was good enough for Shula to make do with, then who were the Lions to question?
Mitchell signed a fat contract with Detroit. The Lions finally found their quarterback!
There was a lot to like about Scott Mitchell in 1994. He was 6-foot-6. He was agile. He had learned the position at the feet of Marino and Shula, two Hall of Famers. And he had been pressed into action in 1993 and while the results weren’t overwhelming, nor were they atrocious.
Mitchell struggled to start the 1994 season before he went down with an injury about halfway through the season. The injury was well-timed, because the fans were well on their way to dismembering Mitchell on sports talk radio and around the water cooler—and at the Silverdome.
He completed less than 50 percent of his passes, which in the era of rules designed to punish defensive backs, was shockingly bad.
Veteran Dave Krieg took over for Mitchell and led the Lions to the playoffs. But Krieg split as a free agent after the season.
Mitchell, healed, set records for the Lions in 1995 in completions, attempts, yards and touchdowns. The Lions made the playoffs for the third year in a row, with three different starting quarterbacks, which is just like them.
But under the postseason spotlight in Philadelphia, Mitchell laid one of the biggest eggs of any quarterback in league playoff history.
Mitchell was 13/29 with a TD and four interceptions—all in the first half, after which the Eagles led the Lions, 38-7. One of the four picks was returned for a touchdown.
Two years later, the Lions made the playoffs again and Mitchell pulled another infamous postseason stunt.
In Tampa, running a sneak play, the players all got up from the turf accept for one: Scott Mitchell.
Mitchell was down and he stayed down for several minutes. It was a stinking sneak play but Mitchell acted like he had been shot.
He was carted off the field on a stretcher. The Lions lost.
Whatever doubts Lions fans—and teammates—had about Mitchell’s durability and, frankly, courage, were confirmed on the field at Tampa in that playoff game.
Two games into the 1998 season, after throwing a pick-six in overtime at home against Cincinnati, Mitchell was demoted to being rookie Charlie Batch’s backup.
Three years later, Mitchell was out of the league.
He coached some high school football at his alma mater (2008-2012) before resigning to spend more time at his software business.
Now he’s 366 pounds and wants to be the Biggest Loser.
Mitchell turned his good fortune due to Marino’s injury into two bad (for the Lions) contracts—his original one signed in 1994 and an extension a couple years later. Marino’s popped Achilles made Scott Mitchell millions.
According to Mitchell’s bio on “The Biggest Loser” website, the former QB suffers from sleep apnea and high blood pressure. He blames poor diet choices and a busy lifestyle for the startling weight gain.
Mitchell’s era at quarterback is one of many dark spots in Lions history. But his father died earlier this year from obesity-related issues and if there’s anytime to root for Scott Mitchell to lose, it’s now.
The irony is that, 20 years ago, when he came to Detroit, Mitchell had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
If they wanted to put a punter into the Pro Football Hall of Fame long before now, I have one for you.
Of course, they didn’t call Sammy Baugh “Slingin’ Sammy” because of his foot.
Baugh isn’t famously known as “Bootin’ Sammy.” I get it.
But Baugh, the Washington Redskins Hall of Fame quarterback/defensive back (he intercepted 31 passes) from 1937-51, did triple duty from 1939-47, functioning as the team’s punter as well. And his numbers booting the ball for the Skins are eye-popping.
Baugh’s career punting average was 45.1 yards per kick, and Sammy wasn’t kicking the harder, lighter, more tightly-sewn pigskin that is used in the more modern era. The footballs Baugh punted were sort of like kicking sacks of flour.
In 1940, Baugh punted 35 times to the tune of a 51.4 yard average.
In Baugh’s day, “hang time” referred to public executions. But the grainy film footage that still exists shows Baugh’s kicks weren’t just long, they were high and majestic.
The Pro Football Hall of Fame inducted its 2014 class over the weekend, and one of the new members is Ray Guy.
You could hear the snickers from Maine to California when the Oakland Raiders made Guy, from Southern Mississippi, their first round pick (23rd overall) in the 1973 draft.
To that point, no NFL team had selected a pure punter in the first round. In fact, punters weren’t picked in the second, third, or fourth rounds all that much, either.
There were a few reasons for this.
One, Guy came along at a time when NFL rosters began to expand, giving teams the luxury of having foot specialists of sorts on board. In the days of the 40-man roster, anyone who could rear a leg back and boot a ball doubled as punter. Quarterbacks punted. Linebackers punted. Defensive backs punted (as Lem Barney did for the Lions in his first two years in the league, and as Yale Lary did before Barney). Placekickers punted.
Two, the strategy of playing for field position was a foreign concept before Ray Guy started booming footballs into the sky.
Three, the concept of hang time was also mostly disregarded until teams saw that when Guy punted, the Raiders coverage team arrived at the same time as the ball did into the return man’s hands.
Guy’s leg, when fully extended after a boot, turned his body into the letter “E” with the top and bottom missing.
Guy punted, and the football would stay in the air forever. You could watch Guy catch the snap, and you could then go to the bathroom, and come out in time to see the return.
Around the time Guy entered the league, another term started cropping up. It was called the “coffin corner,” and it referred to punts that would be buried deep in the opponents’ zone, out of bounds, usually inside the ten yard line.
Guy was a master of the coffin corner kick as well.
But it was the hang time, those often five-plus seconds that the football was in the air, that made Guy a consistent Pro Bowl and All-Pro punter.
Guy punted. That’s all he did. He didn’t place kick. He didn’t hold. He wasn’t the Raiders’ backup quarterback.
But Guy was a weapon for the Raiders, and leave it to maverick owner Al Davis to envision how valuable a leg like Guy’s could be to his team’s well-being.
Guy changed field position to the Raiders’ advantage on a consistent basis. His punting wasn’t just long and high, it was precise and strategic. Guy was like the champion golfer who could back spin an approach shot onto the green from 175 yards out of the rough, over trees and in front of the bunkers, and have it land six feet from the pin.
With Guy as their punter, the Raiders weren’t playing football on a gridiron like the other teams; they were playing on a battlefield and Guy’s kicks were like grenades landing in the opponents’ soft underbelly.
But despite Guy’s success, no other NFL team could pull the trigger on drafting a punter in the first round.
But again, here’s where Guy’s influence comes into play.
Thanks to Guy, the Godfather of Punting, the game of football from head to, um, toe, began grooming punting specialists, starting at the high school level. The result was that the lot of pure punters increased exponentially, so there wasn’t as much urgency to grab a punter in the early rounds of the draft.
At the 1973 draft, Raiders owner Davis had a decision to make.
Guy was available, but so was a brute of a guard out of Michigan State named Joe DeLamielleure. And though the Raiders prided themselves on many things, a stellar offensive line was high on the list.
DeLamielleure would go on to a Hall of Fame career, but even he acknowledged that Davis made the right choice in selecting Guy over the guard from MSU.
“Mr. Davis, you are a smart man,” DeLamielleure said he told Davis in 1976 at the Pro Bowl in New Orleans. “I’ve never seen a right guard win a game, but I’ve seen Ray Guy win them. You made the right choice.”
When news broke early this year that Guy would be part of the Hall’s Class of 2014, a couple members of his football fraternity got an idea.
Former NFL punters Greg Coleman and Bryan Barker burned up the phone lines, inviting as many fellow punters as they could to induction weekend at Canton, Ohio.
The result was a gathering of 18 punters whose careers spanned nearly five decades.
“He put us on the map,” Coleman said of Guy. “There weren’t too many punters who had a five-second hang time in the league.”
Because of Guy, the TV networks started superimposing hang times on the screen on Sundays. Punters started being graded on how many seconds the football was in the air and where the ball landed, in addition to sheer length of kick.
It’s not bluster to say that Ray Guy, in his way, changed the game of football.
Fittingly, he has three Super Bowl rings for his work, to boot (sorry).
It was Guy’s first pro coach, John Madden, who perhaps summed it up best, from the Raiders perspective. He spoke of Guy before the enshrinement on Saturday.
“When we got Ray Guy, fourth down wasn’t as bad as it used to be.”