My nephew plays high school football and loves it. He runs, catches passes and plays the game with joy and unbridled enthusiasm.
When I watch the smile on his face - the uniform covered in grass stains and mud – I’m transported back to my own youth when my body was a lot lighter, a little more flexible and filled with much more energy than the person banging these keys has now.
Playing football was freedom – an escape from the routine. Growing up, the entire neighborhood would get together every weekend for some backyard football. Believe you me, those games were just as fun as watching my nephew now.
Like every generation before and after, we worshiped our football heroes. Walter Payton, Earl Campbell, Chuck Foreman, Roman Gabriel, Roger Staubach and yes, even Terry Bradshaw (Although a Steeler fan I’m not) were some of ours.
Age has shown me that no one is a saint. But you could look up to the athletes of the past and not be ashamed to do so.
Of course steroids were going around and a few bad apples were in the mix, but for the most part the pros played for the thrill of victory and their love of the game.
There were no holdouts for more money and players didn’t air their dirty laundry all over the media landscape. They didn’t showboat when a touchdown was scored or a tackle made – unless of course you’re Billy ‘White Shoes’ Johnson. They knew that tackling and scoring was part of the job description. And obviously, they didn’t rent out boats and prostitutes to try and pump up the team – literally and figuratively.
Instead of me, me, me – the football player of the past was about team. Individual goals came second to the goals of the organization. Winning a championship was above personal stats and glory.
And yes I know quite well that I’m romanticizing the past a bit, but just compare the game to what’s going on today.
Players have cell phones hidden in the goal post padding and Sharpies tucked away in their pants just in case they score. After a tackle or sack – some guys gyrate so much you think they’re having a seizure.
It’s a sad fact that in this age of instant gratification, players are more focused on themselves and their own glow than the team, the game and what it’s given them.
The beer commercial about Leon, the pampered athlete, is all too real in this day and age of multi-million dollar contracts and huge endorsement deals. I am all that matters, nothing else.
Which brings us to Terrell Owens – the poster boy for the spoiled, self-centered athlete.
T.O. is a psychiatrist’s wet dream. If any person reading this is a psych major – make your thesis about hyper-narcissism and use Owens as a case subject. I guarantee you’ll pass with flying colors.
He is selfishness personified. T.O. has taken arrogance to new heights of exploration. Owens is never wrong – according to Owens that is.
Fighting with coaches and chastising his quarterback in a public forum – nothing is off limits. Even his so-called apologies are hollow.
Sorry T.O., but getting your agent to read a public apology, while at the same time praising you, is the height of disrespect to your teammates and to the organization that gave you 49 million bucks to play in the City of Brotherly Love. Brotherly love – how ironic is that?
I was truly surprised that Owens didn’t read his apology considering how he loves to hear the sound of his own voice.
The sad fact is we hold some responsibility for the creation of a Terrell Owens and all others cut from the same cloth. At no time has the hero worship of the athlete been as high.
They’re given tons of money, boatloads of press, every creature comfort a heart desires and massive adulation from the fans. That in turn gives them a sense of entitlement.
T.O. is a superb athlete and an excellent football player. It’s too bad that he’s wasting his God-given abilities because his head is too big for the game that treated him so well.
Athletes don’t have a long shelf life. Owens doesn’t realize this or he would make the most of it. No matter how talented you are time catches up. It always does. Struggle is useless. How sad that a great talent will only be remembered for his arrogance and loud mouth.
The only thing that really concerns me is how many other T.O.’s are waiting in the wings? How many coming up will make Owens seem like a choirboy? Young people have a tendency to copy what they see and what they’re looking at now isn’t good.
I love watching my nephew play football. I just hope he doesn’t have a Sharpie hidden in his uniform.
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