I have an apology for all of you who have been patiently waiting the next installment of "The Debunkers," the weekly fantasy-football podcast featuring Brad Rutta and myself. We were felled by a combination of illness and technical malfunctions, meaning that this week's cast could not possibly be accomplished in time for the firset games this week. Again, I apologizee, and offer in humble supplication my script for this week, which will get you some of the way there.
what makes this week's problems doubly painful is the fact that I had prepared a special mashup of Patsy Cline and Jim Mora Sr. for your listening pleasure. That at least will hold until next week.
My recommendation, lest you wonder: Play Patriots. Even if you don't have them.
And now, without further ado, the script:
Hey, and welcome one more time to the oft-imitated but never duplicated Debunkers, the fantasy-football podcasters who dare to ask the question, “Will Derek Anderson be the next Cardinals quarterback to wind up on a reality show, this time, 'Whose Quarterback Job Is It Anyway?'” I am Kit Kiefer, founding editor of Fantasy Sports magazine and little else, and over there is professional poker player and part-time thesis writer Brad Rutta, and Brad, how is that thesis coming along?
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You know, Brad, something very strange happened this past Sunday, and you know what that is?
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Well, let me tell you. The very strange thing that happened this past Sunday is – are you ready for this? – I was right.
That doesn’t happen much I know, but I was right. And here’s how I was right. You remember last week when we were talking about Vernon Davis and Troy Smith, I said that for Vernon Davis to play a role in this offense he has to be sent further down the field because Troy Smith is not a good intermediate-range passer and he does not as a rule look for his tight end, and you know what? That’s exactly what the ‘Niners did with Vernon Davis. I went to the game and made a point of watching Davis. They sent him further down the field, they lined him up off the ball standing up, and he had a great day – the day that all those Vernon Davis owners were hoping he’d have had a whole lot sooner.
Now, there a couple of things I want to talk about with this. First, Vernon Davis’ success came at the expense of Michael Crabtree, who had three catches for 45 yards. Next, all you ‘Niner fans who haven’t yet realized this need to know that one of the reasons Troy Smith does not throw the ball down the middle and does not throw the ball off the bootleg is that he’s really bad at it. Troy Smith is a collection of quarterback parts as opposed to a true quarterback. And then finally, if I am of one brainwave-length with one of the most antediluvian offenses in football I don’t know what that says. I mean, I’d much rather be dead-on with an offense like the Patriots.
So now we have Alex Smith back at the helm, and Smith is an intermediate-range passer, though still no more effective at it than Troy Smith is at throwing the long ball, so what does that mean? Based on everything I saw last week and what I know of the ‘Niner offense, I’d say play Davis, sit Crabtree if you can, and sit both Westbrook and Anthony Dixon. I don’t see enough there to merit playing time.
Speaking of the Patriots, what do you think? Is what we saw from the Patriot offense against the Jets on Monday night what we’re going to see from the Patriots offense the rest of the season?
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Elsewhere, it finally seems like some of the running backs that people expected would have good seasons are starting to have those seasons. We’re talking about Adrian Peterson, Maurice Jones-Drew, Michael Turner who you mentioned earlier, and Brandon Jacobs. Is this what we can expect from these guys the rest of the way down the stretch – and is this that running time of year, when teams try to run the ball more?
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Oh, and by the way, I should point out that teams do not run the ball more the last month of the season, which makes sense when you think about it. A team’s offense is its offense, within parameters. They may be better at running the ball from one week to the next, but their basic underlying philosophy doesn’t change as much as they’d like you to believe. Just because a team rolls up 207 yards rushing against the Indianapolis Colts does not make them a running team, the same way that rolling up 70 yards rushing against the Steelers does not not make them a rushing team. Football teams do what they do within the philosophy of their offense with the goal in mind of maximizing their return on the number of offensive plays they have. That can be dictated by the weather or the opponent, but it is not dictated by the time of year.
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Brad: Is Sydney Rice the man in Minneapolis again? He went from two points to 30 in one week. How does the QB situation change the dynamics of his role. Does Rice have the chance to outperform Moss for the year in the last 4 games of the season? He's roughly 50 fantasy points behind.
I’d rather have Rice, for a simple reason. The Titans don’t know how to use Randy Moss. That’s apparent from last week’s game. They haven’t yet figured out how he figures in an offense that’s already in turmoil. Oh, and by the way, can we please put to bed the idea that adding a top-shelf gimme-the-ball kind of receiver makes a stud running back even studier? It didn’t happen for Adrian Peterson in Minnesota when Moss arrives, it didn’t happen in New York when Santonio Holmes got healthy, and it hasn’t happened in Tennessee. That doesn’t mean it can’t happen – I think back to Herman Moore with the Lions when Barry Sanders was the guy – but it’s just as likely to fail as it is to succeed.
But back to Rice. Last game he was in I believe the X slot in the Vikings’ offense where he was so successful last year, and he had a great game. He’s back in his comfort zone with whatever QB is throwing to him, and the Vikings know what they have and how to use him. Rice is going to have more points than Moss because he’s always been in a useful place when he’s been on the field.
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Now, I have one for you. Let’s suppose Dez Bryant is on your team. Happy happy joy joy – right? But now he breaks his ankle. Your league plays three wide receivers and for whatever reason your best backup wide receiver is Chansi Stuckey. And believe it or not, you’re in the playoff hunt. Who do you pick up at this late date? Answer that question, and then we’ll go around the positions and name our All-Stopgap Team.
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My wide receiver? Robert Meachem. Available in our league, playing for a productive offense. Hey, it’s always a crapshoot with those New Orleans wide receivers, but the good news is they all get some action – just not always as much action as you’d like. Otherwise available in our league, Roy Williams. Dez Bryant’s gone and Williams has always thought of himself as Dez Bryant Sr.
Running back?
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You like Michael Bush and Tashard Choice, my guy is … no one. Those are the two guys. John Kuhn if you like cheap touchdowns. That’s it.
Quarterback?
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Well, Ryan Fitzpatrick is still out there in our league. So, surprisingly, is David Garrard. You know, sometimes the best passing performances come when you don’t have to throw, and that’s the situation Garrard finds himself in. He has people he likes throwing to in Sims-Walker, Mike Thomas, and Marcedes Lewis, and you know about the running game. So my vote right now is for Garrard over Fitzpatrick – and if I said the exact opposite last week, well – that was last week.
Tight end?
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Still a lot of depth out there, and that includes Rob Gronkowski. I really like the Patriots down the stretch, and I really like Gronkowski against some of the teams the Pats will be facing. I know in some leagues there are guys like Jermaine Gresham available, but I really like Gronkowski.
Defense?
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The Atlanta defense is still available in many leagues, and with some favorable matchups down the stretch, they’re my pick.
Finally, Kicker?
If you can get Josh Brown down the stretch, he’s my choice. They have a lot of dome games left, and I like kickers in domes at this time of year.
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In many leagues it might be time to evaluate keepers for next year. Now we don't have this option, however, we should discuss. So give me a list of potential keepers at each position.
Running back: Peyton Hillis. If you’re in a bidding league – and I know not many of you are – you’re probably not into Hillis for a huge amount. So you can afford to pay any upcharge (if your league works that way) to keep him around. One note on Hillis: next year’s role for Hillis may be colored by the presence of Montarrio Hardesty, who had a very good preseason before going down with an injury. So I would guess that Hillis will put up around 80 percent of this year’s numbers, which is still plenty good. Lagarrette Blount and Arian Foster are keepers for the same reason, with slightly different particulars.
Wide Receiver: Steve Johnson. This is a slightly more tricky category because the teams with low-cost breakout receivers are in a state of flux. I went with Johnson because Buffalo has so many other needs – both lines as well as linebacker – that my hunch is that they’ll leave the running backs and wide receivers alone. If they do that Johnson is the top guy and Lee Evans is No. 2, much like the situation with Greg Jennings and Donald Driver in Green Bay.
Tight end: Brandon Pettigrew. Undrafted in many leagues and in the best situation to garner catches and TDs over time.
Quarterback: Sam Bradford. I know he was the No. 1 pick in the NFL draft but went undrafted in many leagues because of concerns about his supporting cast. Let me tell you: the supporting cast is not bad already, and next year Donnie Avery comes back. Right now I would rather have Sam Bradford than any other young quarterback in football. Yeah, even Tim Tebow.
Brad: Give me your receiver of choice of these situations:
1. Roy Williams - Dez out with injury, is Roy a pick-up and play going into the playoffs. Roy Williams is a good play for someone, but not for me. I am so over Roy Williams. We talked about this earlier, but he’s a very good stopgap. He’s nothing more.
Chad Ochocinco - Has the TO show taken over OCNN? Would you play Ocho over Roy, Moss, or Kenny Britt?
Ocho is going to get four catches a game the rest of the way with 50 yards a game and no more than two TDs. Is that better than the three guys you mentioned? It’s better than Moss, certainly, and probably better than Roy Williams and Kenny Britt. So yeah, you’d rather play Ocho over those guys if that’s your choice. But Ocho over Deion Branch, Donald Driver, Mike Thomas, even Jacoby Ford? Not in my book.
How do the tight races for division championships and playoff berths impact fantasy playoffs? No teams beside the Pats have a real concern here in my opinion
You look at the division races, and the team with the largest lead is the Kansas City Chiefs. No matter what that team does to rest its key players for the playoffs, it’s not going to have a major impact on fantasy football the way the Colts had an impact last year when they shut down Peyton Manning. Otherwise, the plethora of close races means more key players playing hard all the way to the end, which is good for the fantasy playoffs. After all, the playoffs should be about the best roster winning, not the roster with the most players still playing the entire game.
Okay, let’s talk about this week. Who do you like?
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Shame On The Debunkers
The long-awaited (since last week, anyway) fourth episode of "The Debunkers," the fantasy-football podcast featuring myself and Brad Rutta, is now available at http://www.ourmedia.org/ia/details/KitKieferandBradRuttaDebunkers_4__ShameOnTheDebunkers_/.
You'll find out why it's titled "Shame on the Debunkers" fast enough. And sorry about the coughing. It's that time of year.
You'll find out why it's titled "Shame on the Debunkers" fast enough. And sorry about the coughing. It's that time of year.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Bad, Bad Lomas Brown
Many years ago, when one of the authors was editing one of the very first fantasy-sports magazines to grace the planet, he made the seemingly insane proposal that offensive linemen should be drafted onto fantasy teams. Yes, offensive linemen, and linebackers, and while we're at it, why not punters?
The sticking point in such a marvelous idea, of course, is how you measure the effectiveness of an offensive lineman. If a running back can turn nothing into 20, a la Barry Sanders, then the offensive line, in the words of the ol' Duke, bastes in the glory of the running back. If the running back makes three yards out of five, like Darryl Thompson, the line could run Munoz to Mix, tackle to tackle, and those five yards still come out three.
The answer is to look at the averages of all the players who run the ball for a team in a given season, not just the star running back. If you average Barry Sanders' five yards per carry with Touchdown Tommy Vardell's four yards and Cory Schlesinger's 1.8, you get an average of around 3 yards, which isn't that great in the panoply of great rushing years -- even for the Lions, who have had their years rushing and then not.
This approach has its problems, notably this: One of the reasons the Lions ran Barry Sanders 40 times a game was because the alternatives were Schlesinger and Vardell, who posed not quite the breakaway threat of a Dairy Queen. But even so, taking this approach points out an interesting truth about the Barry Sanders-era Lions: They were a team that ran the ball a lot but were not a good running team because they did not have a very good line.
And that leads us to Lomas Brown. Brown was Barry Sanders' best blocker and made the Pro Bowl enough times for Brown to qualify as a borderline HOFer. But was he really? Sanders was renowned for making something out of nothing, and for there to be nothing there had to be an absence of something, namely holes to run through. The lack of holes to run through is the line's fault, and that means Lomas Brown.
So what we ultimately have with Lomas Brown is someone who was perceived as a very good lineman yet who was not good enough to consistently create the semblance of holes for the best running back in football history.
The sticking point in such a marvelous idea, of course, is how you measure the effectiveness of an offensive lineman. If a running back can turn nothing into 20, a la Barry Sanders, then the offensive line, in the words of the ol' Duke, bastes in the glory of the running back. If the running back makes three yards out of five, like Darryl Thompson, the line could run Munoz to Mix, tackle to tackle, and those five yards still come out three.
The answer is to look at the averages of all the players who run the ball for a team in a given season, not just the star running back. If you average Barry Sanders' five yards per carry with Touchdown Tommy Vardell's four yards and Cory Schlesinger's 1.8, you get an average of around 3 yards, which isn't that great in the panoply of great rushing years -- even for the Lions, who have had their years rushing and then not.
This approach has its problems, notably this: One of the reasons the Lions ran Barry Sanders 40 times a game was because the alternatives were Schlesinger and Vardell, who posed not quite the breakaway threat of a Dairy Queen. But even so, taking this approach points out an interesting truth about the Barry Sanders-era Lions: They were a team that ran the ball a lot but were not a good running team because they did not have a very good line.
And that leads us to Lomas Brown. Brown was Barry Sanders' best blocker and made the Pro Bowl enough times for Brown to qualify as a borderline HOFer. But was he really? Sanders was renowned for making something out of nothing, and for there to be nothing there had to be an absence of something, namely holes to run through. The lack of holes to run through is the line's fault, and that means Lomas Brown.
So what we ultimately have with Lomas Brown is someone who was perceived as a very good lineman yet who was not good enough to consistently create the semblance of holes for the best running back in football history.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Tell Me More, Tell Me More
If the thrill of seeing "Football With 1 Stick Gum" on the printed ... uh, screen is not enough stimulation for your cerebral cortex, check out the fantasy-football podcast featuring F1SG creator Kit Kiefer and his colleague Brad Rutta. The latest installment is available here: http://bit.ly/bt1P5k
If you play fantasy football this may be the most important 35 minutes you spend all week. Of course, if you play fantasy football that's not saying much.
If you play fantasy football this may be the most important 35 minutes you spend all week. Of course, if you play fantasy football that's not saying much.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Faulk + Manning < James + Manning
You look at the one-year teamup of the dynamic talents Marshall Faulk and Peyton Manning and wonder: So how much better would the Colts have been if they had hung on to No. 6 all-time in all-purpose yards instead of dealing him to the Rams for the Draft Picks Known As Mike Peterson and Brad Scioli and parlaying their 3-13 record into Edgerrin James, a/k/a No. 19 all-time in all-purpose yards? Uh, how about not any better?
When Faulk was dealt, he was done with the Colts and vice versa. The team was evolving from Marshall Faulk's Team With Jim Harbaugh, a play-the-plan, improvise-in-open-space, run-first kind of team, to Peyton Manning's Team, a change-it-at-the-line, throw-it-around kind of team, and that just wasn't Faulk's deal. It wasn't that he went all Oprah; his just weren't the right set of talents, so there was nothing to be gained on either side by Faulk sticking it out in Indy.
James came in and caught swing passes and ran one-cut stuff, and that was what Manning needed to complement the slants and quick outs that are the meat of his game. Look at the backs who have filled the halfback chair since Faulk left: James, Dominic Rhodes, Joseph Addai, Donald Brown. It's not like they're Faulk-esque at all. The best you can say about their speed and elusiveness is they have a little wiggle. Otherwise they run like a diesel locomotive: plenty of torque, but if the tracks don't go there they ain't going there. No. 19 was simply a better fit than No. 6 for P-Man's Colts -- and it turned out okay for Faulk, too.
When Faulk was dealt, he was done with the Colts and vice versa. The team was evolving from Marshall Faulk's Team With Jim Harbaugh, a play-the-plan, improvise-in-open-space, run-first kind of team, to Peyton Manning's Team, a change-it-at-the-line, throw-it-around kind of team, and that just wasn't Faulk's deal. It wasn't that he went all Oprah; his just weren't the right set of talents, so there was nothing to be gained on either side by Faulk sticking it out in Indy.
James came in and caught swing passes and ran one-cut stuff, and that was what Manning needed to complement the slants and quick outs that are the meat of his game. Look at the backs who have filled the halfback chair since Faulk left: James, Dominic Rhodes, Joseph Addai, Donald Brown. It's not like they're Faulk-esque at all. The best you can say about their speed and elusiveness is they have a little wiggle. Otherwise they run like a diesel locomotive: plenty of torque, but if the tracks don't go there they ain't going there. No. 19 was simply a better fit than No. 6 for P-Man's Colts -- and it turned out okay for Faulk, too.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Debunk The One You're With
It's with great pleasure that fantasy-football expert Brad Rutta and I announce the birth of our second fantasy-football podcast, available here: http://www.ourmedia.org/ia/details/KitKieferandBradRuttaTheDebunkers_2__DebunkTheOneYou_reWith_/. You want to know what's so bad about good NFL offenses? You'll find out here. Check it out.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Greatness By Committee
There’s a book called The Pro Football Abstract that purports to do what The Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract does – and not only does it purport, it pretty much moves well beyond the purporting stage to the purloining stage, right down to aping the breakout boxes.
It’s not a bad read, but the author’s biases show through like a panty line in the days before Underalls.
He boots Gino Marchetti down the stairs by saying that while Marchetti was the first modern defensive end, he was far from the best. There are a bushel-basket of barrier-breaking athletes you can knock from their perches if you take that approach. Don Hutson. Sammy Baugh. Bill George. Bob Cousy. Bobby Orr. Bruce Sutter. Babe Ruth. Joe DiMaggio was just Carl Crawford with slick hair, if you want to play that game.
John Sandusky, who was coaching the Colts’ defensive line at the time, didn’t coach Gino Marchetti any differently or scheme with him any differently than he did with Don Joyce or Jim Mutscheller or any of the others. But only Gino Marchetti became Gino Marchetti. Only Gino Marchetti became the first. Only Gino Marchetti leapfrogged O-linemen and scared the prunes out of Milt Plum. And if he was eating up Lou Groza and Forrest Gregg and the rest, as the testimony shows he was, then he must have been pretty special. More special than Bruce Smith? At least as special as Bruce Smith.
The author also uses this sort of logic in reverse and plays favorites. He ranks Gene Hickerson third all-time among guards on the premise that the Browns ran the ball well in part because Jim Brown was carrying it and in part because Hickerson was leading the way.
Well, Hickerson was the first southern guard to pull out in front of a HOF running back with a monosyllabic last name, but he was far from the best. (See?) And seriously, while the numbers do show that the Browns were a great running team, the numbers also show that the Browns were a great running team not only before Hickerson cracked the starting lineup but also after, when it was Doug Dieken, Pete Adams, Bob DeMarco, John Demarie, and Gerry Sullivan leading the way. In fact, once Forrest Gregg got his system in place in the mid-‘70s, they were actually a better running team than they had been in Hickerson’s last five years, when he was a Hall of Fame guard leading the way for HOF running back Leroy Kelly.
What was the difference? The Browns transitioned from a scheme where one back did almost all the running to one where carries were shared. From 1960 to 1980 the Browns averaged 2,000 yards rushing a season. However, those yards were divvied up far differently in the ‘70s than they were in the ‘60s.
Instead of Jim Brown getting 80 percent of the work Greg Pruitt, Bo Scott, Leroy Kelly, and Ken Brown all took a hack at it. And it really didn’t matter who blocked. The Browns got their yards anyway.
Gene Hickerson – and by association, Dick Schafrath – benefitted from being very good players in a scheme calculated to net 2,000 rushing yards every year. After Otto Graham retired, the Browns’ success hinged on the passing game. A good passing year for the Browns’ QBs meant a good year for the Browns. Those incremental passing yards made the difference. And there at last you can’t say Hickerson or Schafrath made a difference.
It’s not a bad read, but the author’s biases show through like a panty line in the days before Underalls.
He boots Gino Marchetti down the stairs by saying that while Marchetti was the first modern defensive end, he was far from the best. There are a bushel-basket of barrier-breaking athletes you can knock from their perches if you take that approach. Don Hutson. Sammy Baugh. Bill George. Bob Cousy. Bobby Orr. Bruce Sutter. Babe Ruth. Joe DiMaggio was just Carl Crawford with slick hair, if you want to play that game.
John Sandusky, who was coaching the Colts’ defensive line at the time, didn’t coach Gino Marchetti any differently or scheme with him any differently than he did with Don Joyce or Jim Mutscheller or any of the others. But only Gino Marchetti became Gino Marchetti. Only Gino Marchetti became the first. Only Gino Marchetti leapfrogged O-linemen and scared the prunes out of Milt Plum. And if he was eating up Lou Groza and Forrest Gregg and the rest, as the testimony shows he was, then he must have been pretty special. More special than Bruce Smith? At least as special as Bruce Smith.
The author also uses this sort of logic in reverse and plays favorites. He ranks Gene Hickerson third all-time among guards on the premise that the Browns ran the ball well in part because Jim Brown was carrying it and in part because Hickerson was leading the way.
Well, Hickerson was the first southern guard to pull out in front of a HOF running back with a monosyllabic last name, but he was far from the best. (See?) And seriously, while the numbers do show that the Browns were a great running team, the numbers also show that the Browns were a great running team not only before Hickerson cracked the starting lineup but also after, when it was Doug Dieken, Pete Adams, Bob DeMarco, John Demarie, and Gerry Sullivan leading the way. In fact, once Forrest Gregg got his system in place in the mid-‘70s, they were actually a better running team than they had been in Hickerson’s last five years, when he was a Hall of Fame guard leading the way for HOF running back Leroy Kelly.
What was the difference? The Browns transitioned from a scheme where one back did almost all the running to one where carries were shared. From 1960 to 1980 the Browns averaged 2,000 yards rushing a season. However, those yards were divvied up far differently in the ‘70s than they were in the ‘60s.
Instead of Jim Brown getting 80 percent of the work Greg Pruitt, Bo Scott, Leroy Kelly, and Ken Brown all took a hack at it. And it really didn’t matter who blocked. The Browns got their yards anyway.
Gene Hickerson – and by association, Dick Schafrath – benefitted from being very good players in a scheme calculated to net 2,000 rushing yards every year. After Otto Graham retired, the Browns’ success hinged on the passing game. A good passing year for the Browns’ QBs meant a good year for the Browns. Those incremental passing yards made the difference. And there at last you can’t say Hickerson or Schafrath made a difference.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Slapsie Maxie
Maxie Baughan is a head-scratcher. You don't figure the NFL is holding against Maxie Baughan the fact that he slept with an assistant coach's wife when he was head coach at Cornell, do you? Isn't that what assistant coaches (and their wives) are for? But it must be that, because there are a whole bunch of HOFers besides Trippi and Hornung with worse credentials than Mad Max.
Consider that Baughan was All-Something nine times out of 10 in the Decade of the Linebacker, when teams finally concluded that, hey, it's pretty neat to have a guy who runs up into the hole and tackles Tucker Fredrickson for a loss and runs back and nails Aaron Thomas in the ribs when Gary Wood overthrows him.
Nine times out of 10 for Baughan beats Dave Wilcox's seven, which is not the same thing as Baughan being better than Wilcox. If Baughan had laid down these numbers playing the middle instead of the outside he'd have been in Canton 20 years ago, because the Decade of the Linebacker was all about the middle, and arguing middle versus outside -- especially back then -- is like arguing over which Jonas Brother has the most talent and picking the one in the middle because ... well, because he's in the middle. And he wears recycled band uniforms.
Just because Sam Huff was miked and Ray Nitschke had a steel plate in his head and Dick Butkus screamed at people and Tommy Nobis was the most fought-over No. 1 draft pick ever middle linebackers got an aura in the '60s, even though they were playing a position that five years earlier centers played in their free time. That stinks for Baughan, who really was a corker.
Consider that Baughan was All-Something nine times out of 10 in the Decade of the Linebacker, when teams finally concluded that, hey, it's pretty neat to have a guy who runs up into the hole and tackles Tucker Fredrickson for a loss and runs back and nails Aaron Thomas in the ribs when Gary Wood overthrows him.
Nine times out of 10 for Baughan beats Dave Wilcox's seven, which is not the same thing as Baughan being better than Wilcox. If Baughan had laid down these numbers playing the middle instead of the outside he'd have been in Canton 20 years ago, because the Decade of the Linebacker was all about the middle, and arguing middle versus outside -- especially back then -- is like arguing over which Jonas Brother has the most talent and picking the one in the middle because ... well, because he's in the middle. And he wears recycled band uniforms.
Just because Sam Huff was miked and Ray Nitschke had a steel plate in his head and Dick Butkus screamed at people and Tommy Nobis was the most fought-over No. 1 draft pick ever middle linebackers got an aura in the '60s, even though they were playing a position that five years earlier centers played in their free time. That stinks for Baughan, who really was a corker.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Grant Vs. Jackson, Uncivil-War Edition
Since this an election year, my current-affairs spiel.
When Ryan Grant went down for the season with an ankle injury, the pundits among us (which does not include me; I am merely a researcher with a mean streak) immediately ticked off two imperatives:
1) Fantasy-football players must pick up Brandon Jackson; and
2) The Packers must trade for Marshawn Lynch. Even noted fantasy baller (what he does can't be real) Aaron Rodgers made that call.
Sorry to stick a pin into the hot-airheads of the blogosphere, but the chances of that happening are less than the chances of a remake of Can't Stop The Music, with the Senate Foreign Relations Committee as the Village People.
There are two reasons for this, both of which are obvious as the rhymes in a Jonas Brothers song:
1) Ted Thompson doesn't want to; and
2) The Packers don't need Marshawn Lynch -- in fact, the presence of Marshawn Lynch on the field -- on the field, not in the locker room -- would be a detriment to the Packers.
The first reason is pretty obvious. Ted Thompson's guys are Ted Thompson's guys,and if you're not one of Ted Thompson's guys it's really hard to be one. A friend of mine got drunk with Ted Thompson one year at the Senior Bowl, and he said that Thompson was the sorriest drunk he'd ever seen, in the sense that even when he was ready to curl up with a bottle of Cutty Sark on the top of a pool table Thompson was still analyzing football talent, and expounding on the shortcomings of Whisper Goodman. Football is Ted Thompson's life, and his afterlife, and his after-after-afterlife. He wants to come back as The Duke. All he wants out of this life is a six-foot-seven 350-pounder who can run a 4.2 40 and keep his pads two inches from the ground.
The second reason is less obvious, and has to do with the underlying message of this blog, which is that teams have tendencies and play to tendencies, and the best teams fit their personnel to their tendencies. The Packers are a passing team. They are all about Aaron Rodgers spreading around the ball to Jennings and Jones and Driver and Finley, because that's where the talent is, where the yards are, and where the points are. The Packers run one running back almost exclusively and ask comparatively little from him: 15 carries, four yards a carry, catch passes out of the backfield, pick up the blitz.
Brandon Jackson can do this. Marshawn Lynch is not going to do significantly better than this, and he might do markedly worse, in the sense of the Packers netting fewer yards with him than without him.
Here's what I mean. The Packers are not currently tempted to run Brandon Jackson 20 times a game. They want to run him 15 times a game, get their 60 yards, and fling the ball all over the field with the rest of their plays. If the Packers were to pick up Lynch they might possibly be compelled to run him five more times a game. The Packers gain an average of eight yards per pass and three and a half yards per run. Taking five plays away from the passing game and adding them to the running game costs the Packers four and a half yards per play, or 22.5 yards. That may not seem like much, but what team wouldn't want an extra 22.5 yards to mess around with? They come in handy.
Swapping around football players like Pokemon cards is fun. Who doesn't like to dabble in human trafficking now and then? The problem is that people get so wrapped up in proposing the most lopsided trade possible -- Breno Giacomini for Randy Moss, anyone? -- that they neglect to think about how a team behaves and what it really needs to function properly. In the case of the Packers, they simply need a running back to play the part of a pantomime horse, to stand up there and pretend to be something it's not without distracting from the main activity on stage.
Ted Thompson would understand.
When Ryan Grant went down for the season with an ankle injury, the pundits among us (which does not include me; I am merely a researcher with a mean streak) immediately ticked off two imperatives:
1) Fantasy-football players must pick up Brandon Jackson; and
2) The Packers must trade for Marshawn Lynch. Even noted fantasy baller (what he does can't be real) Aaron Rodgers made that call.
Sorry to stick a pin into the hot-airheads of the blogosphere, but the chances of that happening are less than the chances of a remake of Can't Stop The Music, with the Senate Foreign Relations Committee as the Village People.
There are two reasons for this, both of which are obvious as the rhymes in a Jonas Brothers song:
1) Ted Thompson doesn't want to; and
2) The Packers don't need Marshawn Lynch -- in fact, the presence of Marshawn Lynch on the field -- on the field, not in the locker room -- would be a detriment to the Packers.
The first reason is pretty obvious. Ted Thompson's guys are Ted Thompson's guys,and if you're not one of Ted Thompson's guys it's really hard to be one. A friend of mine got drunk with Ted Thompson one year at the Senior Bowl, and he said that Thompson was the sorriest drunk he'd ever seen, in the sense that even when he was ready to curl up with a bottle of Cutty Sark on the top of a pool table Thompson was still analyzing football talent, and expounding on the shortcomings of Whisper Goodman. Football is Ted Thompson's life, and his afterlife, and his after-after-afterlife. He wants to come back as The Duke. All he wants out of this life is a six-foot-seven 350-pounder who can run a 4.2 40 and keep his pads two inches from the ground.
The second reason is less obvious, and has to do with the underlying message of this blog, which is that teams have tendencies and play to tendencies, and the best teams fit their personnel to their tendencies. The Packers are a passing team. They are all about Aaron Rodgers spreading around the ball to Jennings and Jones and Driver and Finley, because that's where the talent is, where the yards are, and where the points are. The Packers run one running back almost exclusively and ask comparatively little from him: 15 carries, four yards a carry, catch passes out of the backfield, pick up the blitz.
Brandon Jackson can do this. Marshawn Lynch is not going to do significantly better than this, and he might do markedly worse, in the sense of the Packers netting fewer yards with him than without him.
Here's what I mean. The Packers are not currently tempted to run Brandon Jackson 20 times a game. They want to run him 15 times a game, get their 60 yards, and fling the ball all over the field with the rest of their plays. If the Packers were to pick up Lynch they might possibly be compelled to run him five more times a game. The Packers gain an average of eight yards per pass and three and a half yards per run. Taking five plays away from the passing game and adding them to the running game costs the Packers four and a half yards per play, or 22.5 yards. That may not seem like much, but what team wouldn't want an extra 22.5 yards to mess around with? They come in handy.
Swapping around football players like Pokemon cards is fun. Who doesn't like to dabble in human trafficking now and then? The problem is that people get so wrapped up in proposing the most lopsided trade possible -- Breno Giacomini for Randy Moss, anyone? -- that they neglect to think about how a team behaves and what it really needs to function properly. In the case of the Packers, they simply need a running back to play the part of a pantomime horse, to stand up there and pretend to be something it's not without distracting from the main activity on stage.
Ted Thompson would understand.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
So Sad (To Watch Good Teams Go Bad)
Just so you know, I am the only writer in the world who would dare to explain Jerry Sherk and Walter Johnson by way of Gale Gillingham.
The HOF has been extremely reluctant to recognize players from teams that used to be great but were absolutely useless when these players played for them. Actually, “extremely reluctant” is not quite right. They haven’t done it, period.
Players who played their whole career for a bad team? That’s a different story. Larry Wilson, Roger Werhli, Dan Dierdorf, and Jackie Smith played for the St. Louis Cardinals from 1960-80, a team that went 136-134-12 with a near-HOF coach for half the time. The Cardinals couldn’t yank the flags off a second-grade Pop Warner halfback and ran the ball collectively as well as Sonny Jurgensen after a brewery tour, and they have four HOFers? It must have been everyone else’s fault. Larry Stallings’ fault. Johnny Roland’s fault. Jim Hart’s fault. Ernie McMillan’s fault. Okay, it was Sam Silas’ fault, but still. Good players on traditionally bad teams skate. Good players on recently bad teams suffer.
Leroy Kelly is not an example of this. The Leroy Kelly Browns were an extension of the latter-day Jim Brown Browns. And anyway, Kelly had Gene Hickerson blocking for him.
Neither is Claude Humphrey. Humphrey really was the diamond in the dungheap. There was nothing he could do to make the Atlanta Falcons anything more than unremittingly awful. And someday he’ll be in the Hall of Fame for it.
Compare their cases to that of Gale Gillingham. Gillingham didn’t get a shot with the Packers until most of the good players blew the Bay in the wake of Vince Lombardi’s departure, and while everyone and everything around him went instantly bad under Phil Bengston’s somnolent non-leadership Gillingham stayed good – great, almost. He was a five-time All-Something playing for an offense that did not exactly trot Taylor and Hornung out there, and yet there is no one touting Gale Gillingham for the HOF.
And honestly: Who is going to push enshrinement for a player whose plaque might read, “Was the anchor of a Packers’ line that went from legendary to lousy over his 11-year career”? Who among you is willing accept that Gale Gillingham played better in 1968, the year the Packers went 6-8, than the year before, when the Packers went 9-4-1? This stuff might get written about in the hopeful between-the-seasons stories, but it’s the first to escape from long-term memory when the past is re-evaluated and players are separated good from bad.
The same applies to Mike Curtis. Curtis won a Super Bowl, but the worse the Colts got the better Curtis played. He was the definitive middle linebacker of the post-definitive-middle-linebacker era, Joe Schmidt when everyone was focused on Bubba Smith. If anyone talks about Mike Curtis for the Hall of Fame they do it under their breath.
And Pete Retzlaff, whose star rose as the Eagles slowly sunk into the east, who supplied the best early definition of a pass-catching tight end and made Norm Snead look good. (Try that sometime.) And John Gordy, Alex Karras, and Roger Brown, O-line and D-line stars on a team whose offense was built out of melted-down Edsels. And Bruce Bosley, who got to block for Ken Willard instead of Joe Perry, Hugh McElhenny, and John Henry Johnson.
While it’s a fact that going down on the up escalator is not the way to get to Canton, this is not a way of making a compelling case for Walter Johnson and Jerry Sherk as Hall of Famers. Can't be done. Sherk, a Joe Klecko-type white tornado in the middle of the line, was a four-time All-Something and Johnson, a Humphrey-like pass rusher, was a three-timer, which makes them the equivalent of a Tom Keating or a Larry Hand. They’re good players, but there are better. Their teammate Jim Houston, for one.
So given that Sherk and Johnson were anchoring the D-line, Houston was linebacking, Doug Dieken was blocking his limbs down to the nubbins, and the Greg Phipps and the rest of the running-back-by-committee were cracking off 2,000 yards a season, who gets the blame for the Browns’ steady slide into mediocrity?
Forrest Gregg, just because he was rotten in Green Bay. The receiving corps, who had nothing going for them but cool names (Billy LeFear, Fair Hooker, Chip Glass, Jubilee Dunbar, Gloster Richardson). A nasty secondary beyond Clarence Scott. The rest of the linebackers and D-line. The fact that Mike Phipps had to learn on the job because Bill Nelsen couldn’t execute a five-step drop without rupturing his patellar tendon.
Guilt-by-association is easy when good teams go bad. Sherk and Johnson are undeserving of being lumped in with undeserving players. But other players deserve even better.
The HOF has been extremely reluctant to recognize players from teams that used to be great but were absolutely useless when these players played for them. Actually, “extremely reluctant” is not quite right. They haven’t done it, period.
Players who played their whole career for a bad team? That’s a different story. Larry Wilson, Roger Werhli, Dan Dierdorf, and Jackie Smith played for the St. Louis Cardinals from 1960-80, a team that went 136-134-12 with a near-HOF coach for half the time. The Cardinals couldn’t yank the flags off a second-grade Pop Warner halfback and ran the ball collectively as well as Sonny Jurgensen after a brewery tour, and they have four HOFers? It must have been everyone else’s fault. Larry Stallings’ fault. Johnny Roland’s fault. Jim Hart’s fault. Ernie McMillan’s fault. Okay, it was Sam Silas’ fault, but still. Good players on traditionally bad teams skate. Good players on recently bad teams suffer.
Leroy Kelly is not an example of this. The Leroy Kelly Browns were an extension of the latter-day Jim Brown Browns. And anyway, Kelly had Gene Hickerson blocking for him.
Neither is Claude Humphrey. Humphrey really was the diamond in the dungheap. There was nothing he could do to make the Atlanta Falcons anything more than unremittingly awful. And someday he’ll be in the Hall of Fame for it.
Compare their cases to that of Gale Gillingham. Gillingham didn’t get a shot with the Packers until most of the good players blew the Bay in the wake of Vince Lombardi’s departure, and while everyone and everything around him went instantly bad under Phil Bengston’s somnolent non-leadership Gillingham stayed good – great, almost. He was a five-time All-Something playing for an offense that did not exactly trot Taylor and Hornung out there, and yet there is no one touting Gale Gillingham for the HOF.
And honestly: Who is going to push enshrinement for a player whose plaque might read, “Was the anchor of a Packers’ line that went from legendary to lousy over his 11-year career”? Who among you is willing accept that Gale Gillingham played better in 1968, the year the Packers went 6-8, than the year before, when the Packers went 9-4-1? This stuff might get written about in the hopeful between-the-seasons stories, but it’s the first to escape from long-term memory when the past is re-evaluated and players are separated good from bad.
The same applies to Mike Curtis. Curtis won a Super Bowl, but the worse the Colts got the better Curtis played. He was the definitive middle linebacker of the post-definitive-middle-linebacker era, Joe Schmidt when everyone was focused on Bubba Smith. If anyone talks about Mike Curtis for the Hall of Fame they do it under their breath.
And Pete Retzlaff, whose star rose as the Eagles slowly sunk into the east, who supplied the best early definition of a pass-catching tight end and made Norm Snead look good. (Try that sometime.) And John Gordy, Alex Karras, and Roger Brown, O-line and D-line stars on a team whose offense was built out of melted-down Edsels. And Bruce Bosley, who got to block for Ken Willard instead of Joe Perry, Hugh McElhenny, and John Henry Johnson.
While it’s a fact that going down on the up escalator is not the way to get to Canton, this is not a way of making a compelling case for Walter Johnson and Jerry Sherk as Hall of Famers. Can't be done. Sherk, a Joe Klecko-type white tornado in the middle of the line, was a four-time All-Something and Johnson, a Humphrey-like pass rusher, was a three-timer, which makes them the equivalent of a Tom Keating or a Larry Hand. They’re good players, but there are better. Their teammate Jim Houston, for one.
So given that Sherk and Johnson were anchoring the D-line, Houston was linebacking, Doug Dieken was blocking his limbs down to the nubbins, and the Greg Phipps and the rest of the running-back-by-committee were cracking off 2,000 yards a season, who gets the blame for the Browns’ steady slide into mediocrity?
Forrest Gregg, just because he was rotten in Green Bay. The receiving corps, who had nothing going for them but cool names (Billy LeFear, Fair Hooker, Chip Glass, Jubilee Dunbar, Gloster Richardson). A nasty secondary beyond Clarence Scott. The rest of the linebackers and D-line. The fact that Mike Phipps had to learn on the job because Bill Nelsen couldn’t execute a five-step drop without rupturing his patellar tendon.
Guilt-by-association is easy when good teams go bad. Sherk and Johnson are undeserving of being lumped in with undeserving players. But other players deserve even better.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
The Last(ish) Line On Linemen
I really can’t leave Dick Schafrath alone.
All the buzz these days is that left tackle is the hardest line position to play. It's the QB's blind side, there are speed rushers coming off the edge, he rarely has help -- oh, and he has to get out and lead the way on running plays. Dick Schafrath was the Browns' left tackle from 1959-71. He was All-Something six seasons and is about as far away from Canton as Pago Pago, and he's going to stay there, thanks in part to a highly obscure restriction called the Rule Of One Or Two.
I hadn't known such a thing as the Rule Of One Or Two existed until I started writing about Schafrath and thinking of reasons why he wasn't getting more consideration for Canton. The only thing I could think of that might work against him was that if he were elected to the HOF, three of Jim Brown's blockers would be in Canton, and that's a lot. That's more than every other running back ... because almost every postwar HOF running back has a lineman who blocked for him in the Hall of Fame, but never more than two, and almost every postwar HOF offensive lineman blocked for an HOF running back. Look at the list:
PLAYER -- POSITION -- YEARS PLAYED -- HOF RUNNING BACK/OL
Dwight Stephenson C 1980 1987 None
Mike Webster C 1974 1990 Franco Harris
Jim Langer C 1970 1981 Larry Czonka
Frank Gatski C 1946 1957 Marion Motley, Jim Brown
Jim Ringo C 1953 1967 Ollie Matson, Paul Hornung, Jim Taylor
Alex Wojciechowicz C 1938 1950 Steve Van Buren
Bulldog Turner C 1940 1952 George McAfee
Russ Grimm G 1981 1991 John Riggins
Randall McDaniel G 1988 2001 None
Gene Hickerson G 1958 1973 Jim Brown, Leroy Kelly
Bruce Matthews G 1983 2001 Earl Campbell
Joe DeLamielleure G 1973 1985 O.J. Simpson
Mike Munchak G 1982 1993 Earl Campbell
Tom Mack G 1966 1978 None
Larry Little G 1967 1980 Larry Czonka
John Hannah G 1973 1985 None
Stan Jones G 1954 1966 Gale Sayers
Gary Zimmerman T 1986 1997 None
Rayfield Wright T 1967 1979 Tony Dorsett
Bob Brown T 1964 1973 Ollie Matson
Jackie Slater T 1976 1995 Eric Dickerson
Ron Yary T 1968 1982 None
Anthony Munoz T 1980 1992 None
Lou Creekmur T 1950 1959 John Henry Johnson, Doak Walker
Dan Dierdorf T 1971 1983 None
Bob St. Clair T 1953 1963 Jim Perry, Hugh McElhenny
Art Shell T 1968 1982 Marcus Allen
Mike McCormack T 1951 1962 Jim Brown
Forrest Gregg T 1956 1971 Jim Taylor, Paul Hornung
Rosey Brown T 1953 1965 Frank Gifford
George Connor T 1948 1955 George McAfee
Lou Groza T 1946 1967 Marion Motley, Jim Brown
Jim Parker T 1957 1967 Lenny Moore
Jim Taylor FB 1958 1967 Forrest Gregg, Jim Ringo
Jim Brown FB 1957 1965 Frank Gatski, Mike McCormack, Gene Hickerson
Joe Perry FB 1948 1963 Bob St. Clair
Marion Motley FB 1946 1955 Frank Gatski
Paul Hornung HB 1957 1966 Forrest Gregg, Jim Ringo
Doak Walker HB 1950 1955 Lou Creekmur
Frank Gifford HB 1952 1964 Rosey Brown
Lenny Moore HB 1956 1967 Jim Parker
Hugh McElhenny HB 1952 1964 Bob St. Clair
Emmitt Smith RB 1990 2004 Larry Allen*, Big Cat Williams*
Thurman Thomas RB 1988 2000 Ruben Brown*
Barry Sanders RB 1989 1998 Lomas Brown*
Marcus Allen RB 1982 1997 Art Shell
Eric Dickerson RB 1983 1993 Jackie Slater
Tony Dorsett RB 1977 1988 Rayfield Wright
Leroy Kelly RB 1964 1973 Gene Hickerson
Walter Payton RB 1975 1987 Jay Hilgenberg*
John Riggins RB 1971 1985 Russ Grimm
Earl Campbell RB 1978 1985 Mike Munchak, Bruce Matthews
Franco Harris RB 1972 1984 Mike Webster
Larry Csonka RB 1968 1979 Jim Langer
O.J. Simpson RB 1969 1979 Joe DeLamellieure
Gale Sayers RB 1965 1971 Stan Jones
Ollie Matson RB 1952 1966 Jim Ringo, Bob Brown
John Henry Johnson FB 1954 1966 Bob St. Clair
As with any chart like this, some compromises were made in the interest of proving a point. Ollie Matson spent most of his career behind linemen other than Brown and Ringo, and Shell and Allen’s careers overlapped exactly one year. Stan Jones was playing defense when Sayers came to town – and Sayers is in Canton at least as much for his skill as a kick returner. Furthermore, linemen and running backs who played most of their careers in the AFL are out, because those players were chosen more on individual merit (on, in Floyd Little’s case, individual reputation) than on continuity or team performance. Ron Mix is in the Hall of Fame because he’s a great lineman, not because of the job he did blocking for Dickie Post. Little is in despite – or perhaps because he was – running behind no one better than Bobby Maples. You see some of this on the NFL side with Mack, Stephenson, Hannah, and Munoz, but they were clearly miles above their contemporaries and the tomato cans playing behind them, and they are decidedly exceptions.
The asterisked players are not HOFers but probably will be. The only reach here is Ruben Brown, and he could be balanced by adding Chuck Foreman behind Ron Yary’s name and the RB-esque John Elway behind Gary Zimmerman.
Some previously baffling inclusions and omissions come into focus when the Rule Of One Or Two is applied. A Hog had to make it into the Hall of Fame; John Riggins’ presence required it. Duane Putnam should have been the guy riding in on Ollie Matson’s coattails, but Matson the running back is covered and Matson the kick returner doesn’t need anyone. Conversely, the only way Mick Tinglehoff, John Niland, and Marvin Powell are going in is if the crystal doors mysteriously swing open for Dave Osborn, Calvin Hill, and Freeman McNeil. Dick Stanfel is worse off; he never even blocked for John Henry Johnson. Leon Gray is definitely out because there can’t be two HOF linemen from a Patriot team whose best runner was Steve Grogan. Instant Replay aside, Jerry Kramer isn’t a HOFer because Gregg and Ringo are already there, and three Packer linemen, even with the entire Packer backfield already enshrined, would be overkill. Schafrath isn’t going in because the voters chose Hickerson instead, and they’re not going to add a fourth guy who blocked for Jim Brown. At some point, their reasoning must go, Brown has to be given credit for what he did on his own.
It will be interesting to see how this phenomenon plays out. Unless Willis McGehee kicks it into sixth, Jonathan Ogden will go into Canton without ever having blocked for a HOF RB. Walter Jones squeaks by through his limited association with Edgerrin James. Speaking of which, someone from the Colts’ line is going to have to start looking good over time. Jeff Saturday is the likely candidate, but is Canton really going to open its gates for a four-time All-Something just because he passed the ball between his legs to Peyton Manning?
Time, and the Veterans’ Committee, has a habit of rewriting history from the way things happened into the way things should have happened. It should have happened that a great running back always had a great lineman leading the way. The fact that it didn’t always is just another inconvenient truth.
BUT WHAT ABOUT QBs?
Now, Jim in L.A. asks, "Is there a lineman-QB connection?" There’s a connection all right, but less of a one than there is for RBs:
PLAYER -- POSITION -- YEARS PLAYED -- HOF RUNNING BACK/OL
Dwight Stephenson C 1980 1987 Bob Griese, Dan Marino
Mike Webster C 1974 1990 Terry Bradshaw
Jim Langer C 1970 1981 Bob Griese
Frank Gatski C 1946 1957 Otto Graham, Bobby Layne
Jim Ringo C 1953 1967 Norm Van Brocklin, Bart Starr
Alex Wojciechowicz C 1938 1950 None
Bulldog Turner C 1940 1952 Sid Luckman
Russ Grimm G 1981 1991 None
Randall McDaniel G 1988 2001 None
Gene Hickerson G 1958 1973 None
Bruce Matthews G 1983 2001 Warren Moon
Joe DeLamielleure G 1973 1985 None
Mike Munchak G 1982 1993 Warren Moon
Tom Mack G 1966 1978 Well …
Larry Little G 1967 1980 Bob Griese
John Hannah G 1973 1985 None
Stan Jones G 1954 1966 Well …
Gary Zimmerman T 1986 1997 John Elway
Rayfield Wright T 1967 1979 Roger Staubach
Bob BrownT 1964 1973 None
Jackie Slater T 1976 1995 None
Ron Yary T 1968 1982 Fran Tarkenton
Anthony Munoz T 1980 1992 None
Lou Creekmur T 1950 1959 Bobby Layne
Dan Dierdorf T 1971 1983 None
Bob St. Clair T 1953 1963 Y.A. Tittle
Art Shell T 1968 1982 Well …
Mike McCormack T 1951 1962 `Otto Graham
Forrest Gregg T 1956 1971 Bart Starr
Rosey Brown T 1953 1965 Y.A. Tittle
George Connor T 1948 1955 Well …
Lou Groza T 1946 1967 Otto Graham
Jim Parker T 1957 1967 Johnny Unitas
Troy Aikman QB 1989 2000 Larry Allen*, Big Cat Williams*
Warren Moon QB 1984 2000 Mike Munchak, Bruce Matthews
Dan Marino QB 1983 1999 Dwight Stephenson
Steve Young QB 1985 1999 None
John Elway QB 1983 1998 Gary Zimmermann
Jim Kelly QB 1986 1996 None
Joe Montana QB 1979 1994 None
Jim Finks QB 1949 1955 None
Dan Fouts QB 1973 1987 None
Bob Griese QB 1967 1980 Larry Little, Jim Langer
Terry Bradshaw QB 1970 1983 Mike Webster
Len Dawson QB 1957 1975 Well …
Fran Tarkenton QB 1961 1978 Ron Yary
Joe Namath QB 1965 1977 Well …
Roger Staubach QB 1969 1979 Rayfield Wright
Sonny Jurgensen QB 1957 1974 Chuck Bednarik
George Blanda QB 1949 1975 Well …
Johnny Unitas QB 1956 1973 Jim Parker
Bart Starr QB 1956 1971 Jim Ringo, Forrest Gregg
Y.A. Tittle QB 1948 1964 Rosey Brown, Bob St. Clair
Norm Van Brocklin QB 1949 1960 Chuck Bednarik
Bobby Layne QB 1948 1962 Lou Creekmur, Frank Gatski
Otto Graham QB 1946 1955 Frank Gatski, Mike McCormack, Lou Groza
The ones with “Well …” in the spot where an HOFer should go are up for debate. Tom Mack played with Joe Namath for four games over the course of one season. No one associates Tom Mack with Joe Namath. Can you really say Mack blocked for Namath in the same way Larry Little blocked for Bob Griese? I say no. I also say no to every HOF lineman who played with George Blanda, since they played with him when he was a benchwarmer and a kicker, no to George Connor because Luckman was done when Connor was playing offense, and no to every HOFer who played with Len Dawson when he was mucking around with Detroit and Cleveland prior to the genesis of the AFL.
I’ll believe in the QB-OL relationship when they start putting in guys like Len Hauss and Randy Cross.
All the buzz these days is that left tackle is the hardest line position to play. It's the QB's blind side, there are speed rushers coming off the edge, he rarely has help -- oh, and he has to get out and lead the way on running plays. Dick Schafrath was the Browns' left tackle from 1959-71. He was All-Something six seasons and is about as far away from Canton as Pago Pago, and he's going to stay there, thanks in part to a highly obscure restriction called the Rule Of One Or Two.
I hadn't known such a thing as the Rule Of One Or Two existed until I started writing about Schafrath and thinking of reasons why he wasn't getting more consideration for Canton. The only thing I could think of that might work against him was that if he were elected to the HOF, three of Jim Brown's blockers would be in Canton, and that's a lot. That's more than every other running back ... because almost every postwar HOF running back has a lineman who blocked for him in the Hall of Fame, but never more than two, and almost every postwar HOF offensive lineman blocked for an HOF running back. Look at the list:
PLAYER -- POSITION -- YEARS PLAYED -- HOF RUNNING BACK/OL
Dwight Stephenson C 1980 1987 None
Mike Webster C 1974 1990 Franco Harris
Jim Langer C 1970 1981 Larry Czonka
Frank Gatski C 1946 1957 Marion Motley, Jim Brown
Jim Ringo C 1953 1967 Ollie Matson, Paul Hornung, Jim Taylor
Alex Wojciechowicz C 1938 1950 Steve Van Buren
Bulldog Turner C 1940 1952 George McAfee
Russ Grimm G 1981 1991 John Riggins
Randall McDaniel G 1988 2001 None
Gene Hickerson G 1958 1973 Jim Brown, Leroy Kelly
Bruce Matthews G 1983 2001 Earl Campbell
Joe DeLamielleure G 1973 1985 O.J. Simpson
Mike Munchak G 1982 1993 Earl Campbell
Tom Mack G 1966 1978 None
Larry Little G 1967 1980 Larry Czonka
John Hannah G 1973 1985 None
Stan Jones G 1954 1966 Gale Sayers
Gary Zimmerman T 1986 1997 None
Rayfield Wright T 1967 1979 Tony Dorsett
Bob Brown T 1964 1973 Ollie Matson
Jackie Slater T 1976 1995 Eric Dickerson
Ron Yary T 1968 1982 None
Anthony Munoz T 1980 1992 None
Lou Creekmur T 1950 1959 John Henry Johnson, Doak Walker
Dan Dierdorf T 1971 1983 None
Bob St. Clair T 1953 1963 Jim Perry, Hugh McElhenny
Art Shell T 1968 1982 Marcus Allen
Mike McCormack T 1951 1962 Jim Brown
Forrest Gregg T 1956 1971 Jim Taylor, Paul Hornung
Rosey Brown T 1953 1965 Frank Gifford
George Connor T 1948 1955 George McAfee
Lou Groza T 1946 1967 Marion Motley, Jim Brown
Jim Parker T 1957 1967 Lenny Moore
Jim Taylor FB 1958 1967 Forrest Gregg, Jim Ringo
Jim Brown FB 1957 1965 Frank Gatski, Mike McCormack, Gene Hickerson
Joe Perry FB 1948 1963 Bob St. Clair
Marion Motley FB 1946 1955 Frank Gatski
Paul Hornung HB 1957 1966 Forrest Gregg, Jim Ringo
Doak Walker HB 1950 1955 Lou Creekmur
Frank Gifford HB 1952 1964 Rosey Brown
Lenny Moore HB 1956 1967 Jim Parker
Hugh McElhenny HB 1952 1964 Bob St. Clair
Emmitt Smith RB 1990 2004 Larry Allen*, Big Cat Williams*
Thurman Thomas RB 1988 2000 Ruben Brown*
Barry Sanders RB 1989 1998 Lomas Brown*
Marcus Allen RB 1982 1997 Art Shell
Eric Dickerson RB 1983 1993 Jackie Slater
Tony Dorsett RB 1977 1988 Rayfield Wright
Leroy Kelly RB 1964 1973 Gene Hickerson
Walter Payton RB 1975 1987 Jay Hilgenberg*
John Riggins RB 1971 1985 Russ Grimm
Earl Campbell RB 1978 1985 Mike Munchak, Bruce Matthews
Franco Harris RB 1972 1984 Mike Webster
Larry Csonka RB 1968 1979 Jim Langer
O.J. Simpson RB 1969 1979 Joe DeLamellieure
Gale Sayers RB 1965 1971 Stan Jones
Ollie Matson RB 1952 1966 Jim Ringo, Bob Brown
John Henry Johnson FB 1954 1966 Bob St. Clair
As with any chart like this, some compromises were made in the interest of proving a point. Ollie Matson spent most of his career behind linemen other than Brown and Ringo, and Shell and Allen’s careers overlapped exactly one year. Stan Jones was playing defense when Sayers came to town – and Sayers is in Canton at least as much for his skill as a kick returner. Furthermore, linemen and running backs who played most of their careers in the AFL are out, because those players were chosen more on individual merit (on, in Floyd Little’s case, individual reputation) than on continuity or team performance. Ron Mix is in the Hall of Fame because he’s a great lineman, not because of the job he did blocking for Dickie Post. Little is in despite – or perhaps because he was – running behind no one better than Bobby Maples. You see some of this on the NFL side with Mack, Stephenson, Hannah, and Munoz, but they were clearly miles above their contemporaries and the tomato cans playing behind them, and they are decidedly exceptions.
The asterisked players are not HOFers but probably will be. The only reach here is Ruben Brown, and he could be balanced by adding Chuck Foreman behind Ron Yary’s name and the RB-esque John Elway behind Gary Zimmerman.
Some previously baffling inclusions and omissions come into focus when the Rule Of One Or Two is applied. A Hog had to make it into the Hall of Fame; John Riggins’ presence required it. Duane Putnam should have been the guy riding in on Ollie Matson’s coattails, but Matson the running back is covered and Matson the kick returner doesn’t need anyone. Conversely, the only way Mick Tinglehoff, John Niland, and Marvin Powell are going in is if the crystal doors mysteriously swing open for Dave Osborn, Calvin Hill, and Freeman McNeil. Dick Stanfel is worse off; he never even blocked for John Henry Johnson. Leon Gray is definitely out because there can’t be two HOF linemen from a Patriot team whose best runner was Steve Grogan. Instant Replay aside, Jerry Kramer isn’t a HOFer because Gregg and Ringo are already there, and three Packer linemen, even with the entire Packer backfield already enshrined, would be overkill. Schafrath isn’t going in because the voters chose Hickerson instead, and they’re not going to add a fourth guy who blocked for Jim Brown. At some point, their reasoning must go, Brown has to be given credit for what he did on his own.
It will be interesting to see how this phenomenon plays out. Unless Willis McGehee kicks it into sixth, Jonathan Ogden will go into Canton without ever having blocked for a HOF RB. Walter Jones squeaks by through his limited association with Edgerrin James. Speaking of which, someone from the Colts’ line is going to have to start looking good over time. Jeff Saturday is the likely candidate, but is Canton really going to open its gates for a four-time All-Something just because he passed the ball between his legs to Peyton Manning?
Time, and the Veterans’ Committee, has a habit of rewriting history from the way things happened into the way things should have happened. It should have happened that a great running back always had a great lineman leading the way. The fact that it didn’t always is just another inconvenient truth.
BUT WHAT ABOUT QBs?
Now, Jim in L.A. asks, "Is there a lineman-QB connection?" There’s a connection all right, but less of a one than there is for RBs:
PLAYER -- POSITION -- YEARS PLAYED -- HOF RUNNING BACK/OL
Dwight Stephenson C 1980 1987 Bob Griese, Dan Marino
Mike Webster C 1974 1990 Terry Bradshaw
Jim Langer C 1970 1981 Bob Griese
Frank Gatski C 1946 1957 Otto Graham, Bobby Layne
Jim Ringo C 1953 1967 Norm Van Brocklin, Bart Starr
Alex Wojciechowicz C 1938 1950 None
Bulldog Turner C 1940 1952 Sid Luckman
Russ Grimm G 1981 1991 None
Randall McDaniel G 1988 2001 None
Gene Hickerson G 1958 1973 None
Bruce Matthews G 1983 2001 Warren Moon
Joe DeLamielleure G 1973 1985 None
Mike Munchak G 1982 1993 Warren Moon
Tom Mack G 1966 1978 Well …
Larry Little G 1967 1980 Bob Griese
John Hannah G 1973 1985 None
Stan Jones G 1954 1966 Well …
Gary Zimmerman T 1986 1997 John Elway
Rayfield Wright T 1967 1979 Roger Staubach
Bob BrownT 1964 1973 None
Jackie Slater T 1976 1995 None
Ron Yary T 1968 1982 Fran Tarkenton
Anthony Munoz T 1980 1992 None
Lou Creekmur T 1950 1959 Bobby Layne
Dan Dierdorf T 1971 1983 None
Bob St. Clair T 1953 1963 Y.A. Tittle
Art Shell T 1968 1982 Well …
Mike McCormack T 1951 1962 `Otto Graham
Forrest Gregg T 1956 1971 Bart Starr
Rosey Brown T 1953 1965 Y.A. Tittle
George Connor T 1948 1955 Well …
Lou Groza T 1946 1967 Otto Graham
Jim Parker T 1957 1967 Johnny Unitas
Troy Aikman QB 1989 2000 Larry Allen*, Big Cat Williams*
Warren Moon QB 1984 2000 Mike Munchak, Bruce Matthews
Dan Marino QB 1983 1999 Dwight Stephenson
Steve Young QB 1985 1999 None
John Elway QB 1983 1998 Gary Zimmermann
Jim Kelly QB 1986 1996 None
Joe Montana QB 1979 1994 None
Jim Finks QB 1949 1955 None
Dan Fouts QB 1973 1987 None
Bob Griese QB 1967 1980 Larry Little, Jim Langer
Terry Bradshaw QB 1970 1983 Mike Webster
Len Dawson QB 1957 1975 Well …
Fran Tarkenton QB 1961 1978 Ron Yary
Joe Namath QB 1965 1977 Well …
Roger Staubach QB 1969 1979 Rayfield Wright
Sonny Jurgensen QB 1957 1974 Chuck Bednarik
George Blanda QB 1949 1975 Well …
Johnny Unitas QB 1956 1973 Jim Parker
Bart Starr QB 1956 1971 Jim Ringo, Forrest Gregg
Y.A. Tittle QB 1948 1964 Rosey Brown, Bob St. Clair
Norm Van Brocklin QB 1949 1960 Chuck Bednarik
Bobby Layne QB 1948 1962 Lou Creekmur, Frank Gatski
Otto Graham QB 1946 1955 Frank Gatski, Mike McCormack, Lou Groza
The ones with “Well …” in the spot where an HOFer should go are up for debate. Tom Mack played with Joe Namath for four games over the course of one season. No one associates Tom Mack with Joe Namath. Can you really say Mack blocked for Namath in the same way Larry Little blocked for Bob Griese? I say no. I also say no to every HOF lineman who played with George Blanda, since they played with him when he was a benchwarmer and a kicker, no to George Connor because Luckman was done when Connor was playing offense, and no to every HOFer who played with Len Dawson when he was mucking around with Detroit and Cleveland prior to the genesis of the AFL.
I’ll believe in the QB-OL relationship when they start putting in guys like Len Hauss and Randy Cross.
Monday, August 30, 2010
The Terrifically Transitional Ozzie Newsome
What do we want from our Hall of Fame tight ends? The answer has changed over time.
The tight end became an established position throughout the NFL in approximately 1960. Not surprisingly, the first incarnation of the HOF tight end was as a bruising blocker who could also catch passes.
Bobby Walston may have been the first-best, but there were others around about that time. Certainly there were large, physical pass receivers who were also good blockers playing end before 1960. Cf. Ron Kramer, just to name one.
That early definition of the position certainly has its adherents. HOF voters have repeatedly turned aside the best pass-catching tight ends of the '60s and '70s -- Pete Retzlaff and Jerry Smith -- in favor of the better blockers: Charlie Sanders, Mike Ditka, Jim Langer, John Mackey, and Jackie Smith.
However, starting in the '80s the top tight ends were the pass-catchers for whom blocking was as big of part of their game as holding on extra points: Kellen Winslow, Keith Jackson, and Newsome.
This is hardly a revelation. As the game moved towards a pass-first track meet, the idea of the tight end as an extra left tackle who can run the occasional slip route has grown as antequated as the cassette deck. The All-Pro tight ends of the last 30 years haven't been the Pete Metzelaars and Toolbox Wests of the tight-end world; they've been Antonio Gates and the Tony Gonzalez. In that context Newsome shapes up as a transitional guy.
Transitional for this too: He's one of the few old Browns to travel with the franchise and become a new Raven. The new Browns (as by association, the Ravens) are problematic, and not just because they have a front office whose combined skill is not proportional to its combined weight. Does the time line for the Browns run Cleveland to Baltimore or Cleveland to (pause) to Cleveland?
The NFL, ignoring the precedent of every other team (including the previous tenants of Charm City) has deigned that in the case of the Browns, the line runs from Brown's Browns to Kosar's Browns to the Browns of Montario Hardesty.
Wow. Good morning, Baltimore, indeed. Newsome has made it work, but no one else could -- not Art Modell, certainly -- but only because Newsome had experience in the position.
The tight end became an established position throughout the NFL in approximately 1960. Not surprisingly, the first incarnation of the HOF tight end was as a bruising blocker who could also catch passes.
Bobby Walston may have been the first-best, but there were others around about that time. Certainly there were large, physical pass receivers who were also good blockers playing end before 1960. Cf. Ron Kramer, just to name one.
That early definition of the position certainly has its adherents. HOF voters have repeatedly turned aside the best pass-catching tight ends of the '60s and '70s -- Pete Retzlaff and Jerry Smith -- in favor of the better blockers: Charlie Sanders, Mike Ditka, Jim Langer, John Mackey, and Jackie Smith.
However, starting in the '80s the top tight ends were the pass-catchers for whom blocking was as big of part of their game as holding on extra points: Kellen Winslow, Keith Jackson, and Newsome.
This is hardly a revelation. As the game moved towards a pass-first track meet, the idea of the tight end as an extra left tackle who can run the occasional slip route has grown as antequated as the cassette deck. The All-Pro tight ends of the last 30 years haven't been the Pete Metzelaars and Toolbox Wests of the tight-end world; they've been Antonio Gates and the Tony Gonzalez. In that context Newsome shapes up as a transitional guy.
Transitional for this too: He's one of the few old Browns to travel with the franchise and become a new Raven. The new Browns (as by association, the Ravens) are problematic, and not just because they have a front office whose combined skill is not proportional to its combined weight. Does the time line for the Browns run Cleveland to Baltimore or Cleveland to (pause) to Cleveland?
The NFL, ignoring the precedent of every other team (including the previous tenants of Charm City) has deigned that in the case of the Browns, the line runs from Brown's Browns to Kosar's Browns to the Browns of Montario Hardesty.
Wow. Good morning, Baltimore, indeed. Newsome has made it work, but no one else could -- not Art Modell, certainly -- but only because Newsome had experience in the position.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Shootout At The Fantasy Factory
I'll level with you: There is an ulterior motive to this, beyond the undeniable thrill of laying unadulterated smart-aleck comments on a fawning public. It's fantasy football.
The underlying premise of much of Football with 1 Stick Gum is that professional football teams have tendencies, and these tendencies cannot change overnight. Even in the age of free agency teams cannot simply be swapped out, the way you'd pop out Madden 9 and pop in Madden 10. Teams cannot transform; they can only evolve.
Furthermore, there are only so many plays that can be run in a game, and only so many yards that can be gained in a season. Yards gained in the NFL have increased season over season, but slowly. There has never been one season where everything simply exploded beyond the simple addition of games and teams, not even the post-AAFC and post-AFL merger years. It's not really possible. The laws of time and effort take over, and everything, as always, regresses to the mean.
As an aside, this tendency is even more pronounced the further down the football chain you travel. In the early ‘80s the University of Wisconsin hired Don Morton as its head coach. Morton made his reputation at the University of Tulsa as the progenitor of the veer offense, a sort of half-assed wishbone with a couple of pass plays. Morton came to Madison and tried to install the veer using the athletes who were running the Badgers’ patented crummy pro-style offense. It was enough to make the body-passers, the pot-smokers and the other miscellaneous faithful moon for the days of Mike “The Polish Rifle” Kalasmiki.
At that time I was moonlighting as a color commentator for the radio broadcasts of Wisconsin high-school football powerhouse D.C. Everest. They ran the veer too, and ran bubble screens and run-‘n’-shoot passes and plays that would never have showed up on Don Morton’s board if he had stayed at Madison a millennium.
The difference? The veer was D.C. Everest’s system, not the coach’s system. In Madison, the veer was Don Morton’s system, not Wisconsin’s system. The Badger players were the wrong ones to run the plays, and the plays were the wrong plays to boot. Wisconsin not only couldn’t flip a switch over to a new system, but the new system was a total botch. (Something to think about, Fighting Irish fans.)
What does this have to do with fantasy football? Basically, it means that everything the so-called experts think is special really isn't as special as they'd have you believe. If you read the magazines – and I've read a scad-load – you'd think that every player in the league is going to do 10 percent better than he did last year. And then there are the rookies – my Gawd, the rookies!
Well, it's bunk. It's not statistically possible. There are only so many plays in a game and yards in a season, there are only so many opportunities, and no single player or coach is capable of producing sea change overnight. Sam Bradford? Puh-leeze. No one to throw to, no line to protect him, and the game is going to look faster to him than Michael Phelps in a cheat suit. Mike Martz in Chicago? Martz has Johnny Knox, who does not equal Isaac Bruce, a couple of possession receivers who together don't add up to Ricky Proehl, a decent tight end that in the Martz scheme of things is as useful as a backup long snapper, and Jay Cutler, who resembles Kurt Warner the same way that Brett Favre resembles Bart Starr. There is no Torry Holt and no Marshall Faulk, and Soldier Field in December does not offer the same cushy consistency of the TWA Dome.
The way this game works is that players are slotted into roles, and it's those roles, not the players in them, that matter. The No. 1 receiver lines up here and does this, and ultimately it matters little whether it's Greg Jennings or Donald Driver.
The fantasy disconnect is that when you draft Greg Jennings you're not really drafting Greg Jennings. You're drafting the Packers' No. 1 receiver. And while roles don't change much over the course of the season, the players in those roles can, either through injury or performance. The Jets' No. 1 running back will be good for a ton of fantasy points this year, but at what point does that position gravitate from Ladanian Tomlinson to Shonn Greene?
All right, so here’s the first rule of drafting fantasy football players: Draft roles, not players. If the St. Louis Rams are going to be primarily a running team in 2010 – which they will – and you draft Steven Jackson, it’s not a bad idea to draft his backup as well. If you draft Tomlinson, save room to grab Greene. If things are really in a state of flux – read Buffalo – either save room for three RBs from one team or move on to a more settled situation. Besides, if you’re a fantasy-footballer who feels his team will not be complete without a Buffalo running back you’re beyond this column’s ability to help.
Second, realize that every gain has to be matched with a loss somewhere. Okay, so Jay Cutler throws for 10 percent more yards in 2010. He throws on more downs, which means fewer rushing opportunities for Matt Forte and Garrett Wolfe, and fewer rushing yards, more than likely. Since the Bears defense is projected to be worse than last year, the Bears will probably not gain any offensive opportunities. Therefore, it is extremely unlikely that Jay Cutler will pass for 10 percent more yards and Bears running backs will rush for 10 percent more yards.
Here’s another way of approaching the same question. Was Adrian Peterson a worse running back after Brett Favre’s arrival than he was before? Of course not, that fumbling thing aside. However, there were fewer situations in which handing the ball to Adrian Peterson was the No. 1 option. And what of all those pundits who figured that Brett Favre’s arrival would make Peterson even better, because it would keep the defenses honest? They forgot three immutable facts: 1) there are only so many plays to go around, 2) keeping the defenses honest also means keeping the offenses honest, and 3) Brett Favre is an incorrigible ball-hog.
Saying that Favre and Peterson could both bump their numbers proportionally by playing together would be like saying that Dwayne Wade, Chris Bosh and LeBron James will all increase their scoring averages now that they’re Heats, and no one is saying that. Instead, they’re laying bets on whose average will suffer most. Anyone with a milligram of hoops sense knows that there can be only so many trips down the court in a basketball game, and there’s only one ball. Football thinkers would be wise to pay attention.
This is the long way ‘round to the key question: Which roles will produce the most points in 2010? Here are my calculations, based on a specially weighted average of past years and a projection of trends and performances this year. The league gives six points for each touchdown scored, three for each TD pass, and half a point for each reception.
I can tell you this: I ran these same numbers last year and scored the most points of anyone in my league. This is the way football works. Ignore it at your peril.
1 Green Bay QB
2 San Diego QB
3 New Orleans QB
4 Indianapolis QB
5 New England QB
6 Tennessee RB 1
7 Dallas QB
8 Jacksonville RB 1
9 Minnesota QB
10 Houston QB
11 Minnesota RB 1
12 New York J RB 1
13 Miami RB 1
14 Pittsburgh QB
15 Baltimore RB 1
16 New York G QB
17 Philadelphia QB
18 Baltimore QB
19 Arizona QB
20 Carolina RB 1
21 Washington QB
22 San Francisco QB
23 Atlanta QB
24 Denver QB
25 St. Louis RB 1
26 Cincinnati QB
27 Dallas RB 1
28 Indianapolis WR 1
29 San Francisco RB 1
30 Atlanta RB 1
31 Chicago QB
32 Houston WR 1
33 Seattle QB
34 Philadelphia RB 1
35 Jacksonville QB
36 Green Bay RB 1
37 Arizona WR 1
38 Green Bay WR 1
39 Houston RB 1
40 Washington RB 1
41 Kansas City RB 1
42 Seattle RB 1
43 Chicago RB 1
44 Carolina RB 2
45 Philadelphia WR 1
46 Cleveland RB 1
47 San Diego RB 1
48 New England WR 1
49 New England RB 1
50 Detroit RB 1
51 Miami QB
52 Pittsburgh RB 1
53 Kansas City QB
54 New Orleans RB 1
55 Tennessee QB
56 Arizona RB 1
57 Dallas WR 1
58 Detroit WR 1
59 New Orleans WR 1
60 Minnesota WR 1
61 Oakland RB 1
62 Indianapolis WR 2
63 New York G RB 1
64 San Diego WR 1
65 Pittsburgh WR 1
66 Denver RB 1
67 New York J RB 2
68 New York G WR 1
69 New England WR 2
70 Green Bay WR 2
71 Cincinnati RB 1
72 New Orleans WR 2
73 Buffalo RB 1
74 Atlanta WR 1
75 Indianapolis RB 1
76 Tampa Bay RB 2
77 Houston WR 2
78 Cincinnati WR 1
79 San Diego WR 2
80 Detroit QB
81 Pittsburgh WR 2
82 Minnesota WR 2
83 Washington WR 1
84 Baltimore WR 1
85 Kansas City WR 1
86 Carolina QB
87 New Orleans K
88 Buffalo RB 2
89 Oakland QB
90 Dallas WR 2
91 New York G WR 2
92 New York J QB
93 Tampa Bay RB 1
94 Chicago WR 1
95 Detroit RB 2
96 Miami WR 1
97 Denver WR 1
98 Jacksonville WR 1
99 Miami RB 2
100 San Diego K
The underlying premise of much of Football with 1 Stick Gum is that professional football teams have tendencies, and these tendencies cannot change overnight. Even in the age of free agency teams cannot simply be swapped out, the way you'd pop out Madden 9 and pop in Madden 10. Teams cannot transform; they can only evolve.
Furthermore, there are only so many plays that can be run in a game, and only so many yards that can be gained in a season. Yards gained in the NFL have increased season over season, but slowly. There has never been one season where everything simply exploded beyond the simple addition of games and teams, not even the post-AAFC and post-AFL merger years. It's not really possible. The laws of time and effort take over, and everything, as always, regresses to the mean.
As an aside, this tendency is even more pronounced the further down the football chain you travel. In the early ‘80s the University of Wisconsin hired Don Morton as its head coach. Morton made his reputation at the University of Tulsa as the progenitor of the veer offense, a sort of half-assed wishbone with a couple of pass plays. Morton came to Madison and tried to install the veer using the athletes who were running the Badgers’ patented crummy pro-style offense. It was enough to make the body-passers, the pot-smokers and the other miscellaneous faithful moon for the days of Mike “The Polish Rifle” Kalasmiki.
At that time I was moonlighting as a color commentator for the radio broadcasts of Wisconsin high-school football powerhouse D.C. Everest. They ran the veer too, and ran bubble screens and run-‘n’-shoot passes and plays that would never have showed up on Don Morton’s board if he had stayed at Madison a millennium.
The difference? The veer was D.C. Everest’s system, not the coach’s system. In Madison, the veer was Don Morton’s system, not Wisconsin’s system. The Badger players were the wrong ones to run the plays, and the plays were the wrong plays to boot. Wisconsin not only couldn’t flip a switch over to a new system, but the new system was a total botch. (Something to think about, Fighting Irish fans.)
What does this have to do with fantasy football? Basically, it means that everything the so-called experts think is special really isn't as special as they'd have you believe. If you read the magazines – and I've read a scad-load – you'd think that every player in the league is going to do 10 percent better than he did last year. And then there are the rookies – my Gawd, the rookies!
Well, it's bunk. It's not statistically possible. There are only so many plays in a game and yards in a season, there are only so many opportunities, and no single player or coach is capable of producing sea change overnight. Sam Bradford? Puh-leeze. No one to throw to, no line to protect him, and the game is going to look faster to him than Michael Phelps in a cheat suit. Mike Martz in Chicago? Martz has Johnny Knox, who does not equal Isaac Bruce, a couple of possession receivers who together don't add up to Ricky Proehl, a decent tight end that in the Martz scheme of things is as useful as a backup long snapper, and Jay Cutler, who resembles Kurt Warner the same way that Brett Favre resembles Bart Starr. There is no Torry Holt and no Marshall Faulk, and Soldier Field in December does not offer the same cushy consistency of the TWA Dome.
The way this game works is that players are slotted into roles, and it's those roles, not the players in them, that matter. The No. 1 receiver lines up here and does this, and ultimately it matters little whether it's Greg Jennings or Donald Driver.
The fantasy disconnect is that when you draft Greg Jennings you're not really drafting Greg Jennings. You're drafting the Packers' No. 1 receiver. And while roles don't change much over the course of the season, the players in those roles can, either through injury or performance. The Jets' No. 1 running back will be good for a ton of fantasy points this year, but at what point does that position gravitate from Ladanian Tomlinson to Shonn Greene?
All right, so here’s the first rule of drafting fantasy football players: Draft roles, not players. If the St. Louis Rams are going to be primarily a running team in 2010 – which they will – and you draft Steven Jackson, it’s not a bad idea to draft his backup as well. If you draft Tomlinson, save room to grab Greene. If things are really in a state of flux – read Buffalo – either save room for three RBs from one team or move on to a more settled situation. Besides, if you’re a fantasy-footballer who feels his team will not be complete without a Buffalo running back you’re beyond this column’s ability to help.
Second, realize that every gain has to be matched with a loss somewhere. Okay, so Jay Cutler throws for 10 percent more yards in 2010. He throws on more downs, which means fewer rushing opportunities for Matt Forte and Garrett Wolfe, and fewer rushing yards, more than likely. Since the Bears defense is projected to be worse than last year, the Bears will probably not gain any offensive opportunities. Therefore, it is extremely unlikely that Jay Cutler will pass for 10 percent more yards and Bears running backs will rush for 10 percent more yards.
Here’s another way of approaching the same question. Was Adrian Peterson a worse running back after Brett Favre’s arrival than he was before? Of course not, that fumbling thing aside. However, there were fewer situations in which handing the ball to Adrian Peterson was the No. 1 option. And what of all those pundits who figured that Brett Favre’s arrival would make Peterson even better, because it would keep the defenses honest? They forgot three immutable facts: 1) there are only so many plays to go around, 2) keeping the defenses honest also means keeping the offenses honest, and 3) Brett Favre is an incorrigible ball-hog.
Saying that Favre and Peterson could both bump their numbers proportionally by playing together would be like saying that Dwayne Wade, Chris Bosh and LeBron James will all increase their scoring averages now that they’re Heats, and no one is saying that. Instead, they’re laying bets on whose average will suffer most. Anyone with a milligram of hoops sense knows that there can be only so many trips down the court in a basketball game, and there’s only one ball. Football thinkers would be wise to pay attention.
This is the long way ‘round to the key question: Which roles will produce the most points in 2010? Here are my calculations, based on a specially weighted average of past years and a projection of trends and performances this year. The league gives six points for each touchdown scored, three for each TD pass, and half a point for each reception.
I can tell you this: I ran these same numbers last year and scored the most points of anyone in my league. This is the way football works. Ignore it at your peril.
1 Green Bay QB
2 San Diego QB
3 New Orleans QB
4 Indianapolis QB
5 New England QB
6 Tennessee RB 1
7 Dallas QB
8 Jacksonville RB 1
9 Minnesota QB
10 Houston QB
11 Minnesota RB 1
12 New York J RB 1
13 Miami RB 1
14 Pittsburgh QB
15 Baltimore RB 1
16 New York G QB
17 Philadelphia QB
18 Baltimore QB
19 Arizona QB
20 Carolina RB 1
21 Washington QB
22 San Francisco QB
23 Atlanta QB
24 Denver QB
25 St. Louis RB 1
26 Cincinnati QB
27 Dallas RB 1
28 Indianapolis WR 1
29 San Francisco RB 1
30 Atlanta RB 1
31 Chicago QB
32 Houston WR 1
33 Seattle QB
34 Philadelphia RB 1
35 Jacksonville QB
36 Green Bay RB 1
37 Arizona WR 1
38 Green Bay WR 1
39 Houston RB 1
40 Washington RB 1
41 Kansas City RB 1
42 Seattle RB 1
43 Chicago RB 1
44 Carolina RB 2
45 Philadelphia WR 1
46 Cleveland RB 1
47 San Diego RB 1
48 New England WR 1
49 New England RB 1
50 Detroit RB 1
51 Miami QB
52 Pittsburgh RB 1
53 Kansas City QB
54 New Orleans RB 1
55 Tennessee QB
56 Arizona RB 1
57 Dallas WR 1
58 Detroit WR 1
59 New Orleans WR 1
60 Minnesota WR 1
61 Oakland RB 1
62 Indianapolis WR 2
63 New York G RB 1
64 San Diego WR 1
65 Pittsburgh WR 1
66 Denver RB 1
67 New York J RB 2
68 New York G WR 1
69 New England WR 2
70 Green Bay WR 2
71 Cincinnati RB 1
72 New Orleans WR 2
73 Buffalo RB 1
74 Atlanta WR 1
75 Indianapolis RB 1
76 Tampa Bay RB 2
77 Houston WR 2
78 Cincinnati WR 1
79 San Diego WR 2
80 Detroit QB
81 Pittsburgh WR 2
82 Minnesota WR 2
83 Washington WR 1
84 Baltimore WR 1
85 Kansas City WR 1
86 Carolina QB
87 New Orleans K
88 Buffalo RB 2
89 Oakland QB
90 Dallas WR 2
91 New York G WR 2
92 New York J QB
93 Tampa Bay RB 1
94 Chicago WR 1
95 Detroit RB 2
96 Miami WR 1
97 Denver WR 1
98 Jacksonville WR 1
99 Miami RB 2
100 San Diego K
Monday, August 23, 2010
Anonymity, Thy Name Is Chuck Walker
One of the criteria for judging the worth of a football player prior to about 1977 was how many times they appeared on football cards. Football sets in the pre-merger days routinely checked in below 200 cards, and they didn't double in size right away after the merger. You had to be of a certain quality -- Joe Auer and above, or Max Choboian and below -- to make it onto a football card, and then you had to be of a certain slightly higher quality -- Clendon Thomas country or thereabouts -- to stay on football cards more than one year, unless you were on an expansion team or Topps had a really good collection of photos of you it had to use up, which appears to be the only explanation for Bo Roberson.
This criterion was not infallible, though. Warren Raab appeared on a football card. Marion Rushing appeared on a football card. Steve Thurlow appeared on a football card. Steve Tensi, Gerhard Schwedes, A.D. Whitfield, Hal Bledsole, James Stiger, Pete Perrault, Wahoo McDaniel, Bob Cappadonna, and Tom Nomina all appeared on football cards, and not just in the team photos. Don Trull appeared on so many football cards you forgot he was a backup quarterback for a sub-.500 AFL team (though he will someday be one of the top quarterbacks in the league). Even Cosmo Iacavazzi appeared on a football card, and he never played a game in either league.
But Chuck Walker, two-time All-Pro, 13-year vet, appeared on only one football card, in 1970. To a football-loving kid of the era, Chuck Walker was on the same football footing as Iacavazzi and Raab and Nomina and -- yeesh! -- Perry Lee Dunn. As a practical matter this was very nearly true, since he was a defensive lineman for the Cardinals and therefore almost nonexistent.
But the funny thing was, Walker wasn't bad. Better than multiple-card-appearer Sam Silas certainly, which makes you wonder: Did Topps and Philly have better Sam Silas photos, and if so, why? Silas looked like Werner Ohland channeling Porky Pig. Walker merely had a flat-top with a bald spot, no different than Ken Rice or Sonny Bishop or John Olszewski or 30 other multi-card guys. It's strange that one of the major measuring sticks for player goodness can be so arbitrary. But then again, measuring sticks usually are.
This criterion was not infallible, though. Warren Raab appeared on a football card. Marion Rushing appeared on a football card. Steve Thurlow appeared on a football card. Steve Tensi, Gerhard Schwedes, A.D. Whitfield, Hal Bledsole, James Stiger, Pete Perrault, Wahoo McDaniel, Bob Cappadonna, and Tom Nomina all appeared on football cards, and not just in the team photos. Don Trull appeared on so many football cards you forgot he was a backup quarterback for a sub-.500 AFL team (though he will someday be one of the top quarterbacks in the league). Even Cosmo Iacavazzi appeared on a football card, and he never played a game in either league.
But Chuck Walker, two-time All-Pro, 13-year vet, appeared on only one football card, in 1970. To a football-loving kid of the era, Chuck Walker was on the same football footing as Iacavazzi and Raab and Nomina and -- yeesh! -- Perry Lee Dunn. As a practical matter this was very nearly true, since he was a defensive lineman for the Cardinals and therefore almost nonexistent.
But the funny thing was, Walker wasn't bad. Better than multiple-card-appearer Sam Silas certainly, which makes you wonder: Did Topps and Philly have better Sam Silas photos, and if so, why? Silas looked like Werner Ohland channeling Porky Pig. Walker merely had a flat-top with a bald spot, no different than Ken Rice or Sonny Bishop or John Olszewski or 30 other multi-card guys. It's strange that one of the major measuring sticks for player goodness can be so arbitrary. But then again, measuring sticks usually are.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
The Numbers Are A Beast
I know I promised I wouldn't drag numbers into this, but I just couldn't help myself.
Just assuming for a second that all numbers are not whacked when it comes to evaluating the relative merits of O-linemen, let’s let the actuaries and allied number-crunchers make their case.
It just so happens I have actuaries who are my friends. It happens when you work in insurance. It especially happens when you work in insurance and marry an actuary.
Anyway, one of the endearing things about actuaries is that they’re so amazed to find someone talking to them that they will do practically anything you ask them to, as long as it involves numbers and not talking to members of the opposite sex.
(I make an exception to this in the case of my wife, who will most emphatically not do anything I ask her to. In her case, matrimony overrules actuarialism.)
So I was thinking about offensive linemen in the Hall of Fame, and wondering why Gene Hickerson was in and others were out. It’s not that I have anything against Gene Hickerson; not at all. He was one of my heroes growing up. Basically any football player who struck the elbows-out O-lineman pose was my hero, and looking back I have no bloody idea why.
Anyway, the Hickerson thought led me to wonder why Frank Gatski was in when others were out, which led me to wonder why Mike McCormack was in when others were out. The common denominator was that they were Cleveland Browns linemen, and lo and behold, the Football HOF is just down the road a piece from Cleveland. Could there be a geographic bias in the selection of linemen for the Hall of Fame?
At this point I called up my actuary buddy and asked him to take a swag at the question. He boogied over to pro-football-reference.com and grabbed the average career value of HOF linemen and ranked the linemen on that basis.
What he got was this:
Anthony Munoz 137
Bruce Matthews 121
Ron Yary 119
Jim Ringo 113
Gene Upshaw 111
John Hannah 106
Forrest Gregg 104
Rosey Brown 103
Randall McDaniel 103
Art Shell 103
Mike Webster 103
Jim Parker 102
Gary Zimmerman 102
Jim Otto 100
Lou Groza 100
Larry Little 99
Jackie Slater 93
Gene Hickerson 92
Bob Brown 91
Tom Mack 91
Lou Creekmur 90
Stan Jones 88
Joe DeLamielleure 86
Rayfield Wright 86
Dan Dierdorf 86
Mike Munchak 84
Jim Langer 82
Bob St. Clair 80
Mike McCormack 80
Ron Mix 77
George Connor 73
Frank Gatski 72
Dwight Stephenson 71
Russ Grimm 63
Billy Shaw 50
Okay, so Hickerson ranked higher than I thought, but otherwise I could justify pretty much everything I saw.
Then I realized that average value isn’t an average at all. It weights its numbers based on longevity, and longevity along does not get you into the HOF.
So when you factor for longevity the rankings go like this:
Anthony Munoz 11.42
George Connor 10.43
Jim Parker 10.20
Dwight Stephenson 10.14
Bob Brown 10.11
Lou Creekmur 10.00
Gary Zimmerman 9.27
John Hannah 8.83
Rosey Brown 8.58
Ron Yary 8.50
Jim Ringo 8.07
Bob St. Clair 8.00
Gene Upshaw 7.93
Randall McDaniel 7.92
Mike Munchak 7.64
Larry Little 7.62
Tom Mack 7.58
Jim Langer 7.45
Art Shell 7.36
Stan Jones 7.33
Mike McCormack 7.27
Joe DeLamielleure 7.17
Rayfield Wright 7.17
Dan Dierdorf 7.17
Jim Otto 7.14
Ron Mix 7.00
Forrest Gregg 6.93
Bruce Matthews 6.72
Frank Gatski 6.55
Mike Webster 6.44
Russ Grimm 6.30
Billy Shaw 6.25
Gene Hickerson 6.13
Jackie Slater 4.89
Lou Groza 4.76
Better. Hickerson drops but Stephenson rises, which is okay, seeing as he was the Practically Perfect Center for most of his career. Gregg and Matthews might be low, or their reputations may be so strong that they overshadow their real accomplishments.
Okay, now I did the same for a lot of HOF suspects. Just looking at their career AVs gives you this:
Mick Tinglehoff 102
Mike Kenn 100
Russ Washington 99
Dick Schafrath 98
Lomas Brown 96
Jim Tyrer 96
Larry Allen 91
Chris Hinton 83
Jerry Kramer 83
Ken Gray 82
Leon Gray 81
Marvin Powell 80
Bob DeMarco 78
Duane Putnam 78
John Niland 78
Ed Budde 77
Ruben Brown 71
Ernie McMillan 70
Dennis Harrah 66
Dick Stanfel 65
Rich Saul 56
Mick Tinglehoff as an HOFer? It’s a satisfying thought. It feels right. On the other hand, look who else is up there: a bunch of offensive-line lifers and Dick Schafrath (whose raw score is way better than Gene Hickerson’s).
Ah, but these numbers overvalue longevity. Correcting for that brings this:
Dick Stanfel 9.285714
John Niland 7.8
Jerry Kramer 7.545455
Dick Schafrath 7.538462
Leon Gray 7.363636
Marvin Powell 7.272727
Duane Putnam 7.090909
Jim Tyrer 6.857143
Russ Washington 6.6
Larry Allen 6.5
Chris Hinton 6.384615
Ken Gray 6.307692
Mick Tinglehoff 6
Bob DeMarco 6
Mike Kenn 5.882353
Ed Budde 5.5
Ruben Brown 5.461538
Lomas Brown 5.333333
Dennis Harrah 5.076923
Ernie McMillan 4.666667
Rich Saul 4.666667
This may be going too far in the other direction, but it makes more sense. Stanfel was a heck of a lineman for bad teams, and Schafrath was great no matter how you slice it. And it throws the long-lived slugs to the bottom, which is where they belong in this exercise.
So what I wound up finding was not necessarily that there’s regional bias in the selection of HOF OLs (though three of the bottom seven linemen are Browns, and then there’s Leroy Kelly over in the RBs) but that longevity is overvalued. Playing 16 pretty good years is more valuable than playing 10 great ones. And that’s just not the way it is.
Just assuming for a second that all numbers are not whacked when it comes to evaluating the relative merits of O-linemen, let’s let the actuaries and allied number-crunchers make their case.
It just so happens I have actuaries who are my friends. It happens when you work in insurance. It especially happens when you work in insurance and marry an actuary.
Anyway, one of the endearing things about actuaries is that they’re so amazed to find someone talking to them that they will do practically anything you ask them to, as long as it involves numbers and not talking to members of the opposite sex.
(I make an exception to this in the case of my wife, who will most emphatically not do anything I ask her to. In her case, matrimony overrules actuarialism.)
So I was thinking about offensive linemen in the Hall of Fame, and wondering why Gene Hickerson was in and others were out. It’s not that I have anything against Gene Hickerson; not at all. He was one of my heroes growing up. Basically any football player who struck the elbows-out O-lineman pose was my hero, and looking back I have no bloody idea why.
Anyway, the Hickerson thought led me to wonder why Frank Gatski was in when others were out, which led me to wonder why Mike McCormack was in when others were out. The common denominator was that they were Cleveland Browns linemen, and lo and behold, the Football HOF is just down the road a piece from Cleveland. Could there be a geographic bias in the selection of linemen for the Hall of Fame?
At this point I called up my actuary buddy and asked him to take a swag at the question. He boogied over to pro-football-reference.com and grabbed the average career value of HOF linemen and ranked the linemen on that basis.
What he got was this:
Anthony Munoz 137
Bruce Matthews 121
Ron Yary 119
Jim Ringo 113
Gene Upshaw 111
John Hannah 106
Forrest Gregg 104
Rosey Brown 103
Randall McDaniel 103
Art Shell 103
Mike Webster 103
Jim Parker 102
Gary Zimmerman 102
Jim Otto 100
Lou Groza 100
Larry Little 99
Jackie Slater 93
Gene Hickerson 92
Bob Brown 91
Tom Mack 91
Lou Creekmur 90
Stan Jones 88
Joe DeLamielleure 86
Rayfield Wright 86
Dan Dierdorf 86
Mike Munchak 84
Jim Langer 82
Bob St. Clair 80
Mike McCormack 80
Ron Mix 77
George Connor 73
Frank Gatski 72
Dwight Stephenson 71
Russ Grimm 63
Billy Shaw 50
Okay, so Hickerson ranked higher than I thought, but otherwise I could justify pretty much everything I saw.
Then I realized that average value isn’t an average at all. It weights its numbers based on longevity, and longevity along does not get you into the HOF.
So when you factor for longevity the rankings go like this:
Anthony Munoz 11.42
George Connor 10.43
Jim Parker 10.20
Dwight Stephenson 10.14
Bob Brown 10.11
Lou Creekmur 10.00
Gary Zimmerman 9.27
John Hannah 8.83
Rosey Brown 8.58
Ron Yary 8.50
Jim Ringo 8.07
Bob St. Clair 8.00
Gene Upshaw 7.93
Randall McDaniel 7.92
Mike Munchak 7.64
Larry Little 7.62
Tom Mack 7.58
Jim Langer 7.45
Art Shell 7.36
Stan Jones 7.33
Mike McCormack 7.27
Joe DeLamielleure 7.17
Rayfield Wright 7.17
Dan Dierdorf 7.17
Jim Otto 7.14
Ron Mix 7.00
Forrest Gregg 6.93
Bruce Matthews 6.72
Frank Gatski 6.55
Mike Webster 6.44
Russ Grimm 6.30
Billy Shaw 6.25
Gene Hickerson 6.13
Jackie Slater 4.89
Lou Groza 4.76
Better. Hickerson drops but Stephenson rises, which is okay, seeing as he was the Practically Perfect Center for most of his career. Gregg and Matthews might be low, or their reputations may be so strong that they overshadow their real accomplishments.
Okay, now I did the same for a lot of HOF suspects. Just looking at their career AVs gives you this:
Mick Tinglehoff 102
Mike Kenn 100
Russ Washington 99
Dick Schafrath 98
Lomas Brown 96
Jim Tyrer 96
Larry Allen 91
Chris Hinton 83
Jerry Kramer 83
Ken Gray 82
Leon Gray 81
Marvin Powell 80
Bob DeMarco 78
Duane Putnam 78
John Niland 78
Ed Budde 77
Ruben Brown 71
Ernie McMillan 70
Dennis Harrah 66
Dick Stanfel 65
Rich Saul 56
Mick Tinglehoff as an HOFer? It’s a satisfying thought. It feels right. On the other hand, look who else is up there: a bunch of offensive-line lifers and Dick Schafrath (whose raw score is way better than Gene Hickerson’s).
Ah, but these numbers overvalue longevity. Correcting for that brings this:
Dick Stanfel 9.285714
John Niland 7.8
Jerry Kramer 7.545455
Dick Schafrath 7.538462
Leon Gray 7.363636
Marvin Powell 7.272727
Duane Putnam 7.090909
Jim Tyrer 6.857143
Russ Washington 6.6
Larry Allen 6.5
Chris Hinton 6.384615
Ken Gray 6.307692
Mick Tinglehoff 6
Bob DeMarco 6
Mike Kenn 5.882353
Ed Budde 5.5
Ruben Brown 5.461538
Lomas Brown 5.333333
Dennis Harrah 5.076923
Ernie McMillan 4.666667
Rich Saul 4.666667
This may be going too far in the other direction, but it makes more sense. Stanfel was a heck of a lineman for bad teams, and Schafrath was great no matter how you slice it. And it throws the long-lived slugs to the bottom, which is where they belong in this exercise.
So what I wound up finding was not necessarily that there’s regional bias in the selection of HOF OLs (though three of the bottom seven linemen are Browns, and then there’s Leroy Kelly over in the RBs) but that longevity is overvalued. Playing 16 pretty good years is more valuable than playing 10 great ones. And that’s just not the way it is.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Aeneas Williams And Three Guys Named "HOF."
Hard to believe considering the relative quality of everything else in ChiStlAz, but Aeneas Williams is the only one of the Cards' all-time starting D-backfield to not be in the HOF. Larry Wilson is, Roger Werhli is, and Dick "Night Train" Lane is.
That sort of quality is like finding Alcantara leather in a Geo Metro, but when you're the Cardinals you take these things where you can find them.
Taking it for granted that Williams will make it into the Hall of Fame -- and while nothing is ever for certain, keeping an eight-time All-Something like Williams out of Canton would be like barring George Bush from the Former Presidents Club just because he spent eight years thinking he was still president of the Texas Rangers -- only one other team will have the distinction of an all-time all-HOF D-backfield, and it's not obvious either.
That team is .... wait for it ... the Detroit Lions, who invented the modern defensive backfield and got three Hall of Famers out of it (including Lane), with Lem Barney coming along later. Williams, the pending Hall of Famer, may be the best of the Cards' bunch, though it's always hard to vote against the inventors of the horsecollar and the safety blitz.
That sort of quality is like finding Alcantara leather in a Geo Metro, but when you're the Cardinals you take these things where you can find them.
Taking it for granted that Williams will make it into the Hall of Fame -- and while nothing is ever for certain, keeping an eight-time All-Something like Williams out of Canton would be like barring George Bush from the Former Presidents Club just because he spent eight years thinking he was still president of the Texas Rangers -- only one other team will have the distinction of an all-time all-HOF D-backfield, and it's not obvious either.
That team is .... wait for it ... the Detroit Lions, who invented the modern defensive backfield and got three Hall of Famers out of it (including Lane), with Lem Barney coming along later. Williams, the pending Hall of Famer, may be the best of the Cards' bunch, though it's always hard to vote against the inventors of the horsecollar and the safety blitz.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Brown Power
Before we get into the nuts of Jim Brown, a story. A friend who lives in Green Bay met Dick Schaap in a bar and asked him about Jim Brown as a lacrosse player. Brown played lacrosse at Syracuse and crossed paths (and sticks) with Schaap, who played goalie at Cornell. At the time Brown was Brown-shaped and completely healthy, which meant he had muscles on the outside of his shorts, and Schaap was at his adult height of five-foot-eleven, of which an honest eight inches was hair.
Schaap intercepted some of Brown's shots but wasn't religious about it. As he told my friend, "Brown wasn't much of a lacrosse player, but he didn't have to be. No one wanted to get in his way."
That might be the essence of Jim Brown the athlete right there. People got in his way but no one wanted to. Not even Sam Huff at the height of his manic-insurance-salesman powers said, "Man, I can't wait to get me a piece of that Jim Brown."
But the thing of it was, when Jim Brown was on the field everyone knew he was going to get the football, because the Browns offensively had two options: hand the ball to Brown or punt. The QB of Brown's Browns was either math whiz Frank Ryan or Milt Plum, the magician behind the Lions’ dynamic punting game of the mid-‘60s. Gary Collins, who ran like a fully loaded game-show host, was the split end. At the other end was Johnny Brewer and the mattress attached to his back. Rich Kreitling was in the mix too, to the amusement of D-backs throughout the league.
Given a choice between Jim Brown and that in the NFL of the late '50s, what did Browns GM Brown tell Coach Brown to have RB Brown do? Exactly.
The numbers tell the story. Jim Brown represented 32 percent of the Browns’ offense for his career, just rushing the ball. Add in his catches and that number jumps to 38 percent.
No running back in the postwar era comes close to those numbers for a career. O.J. Simpson was half the Bills’ offense in his 2,000-yard season, but he couldn’t sustain it. Neither could Earl Campbell or Gale Sayers. In Barry Sanders’ best year his rushing yards were 35 percent of the offense -- less if you factor in Scott Mitchell’s givebacks.
Here’s another way of looking at it. Here are the differentials between Brown and the second-place rushers for the eight seasons Brown won a rushing title.
Year Brown's Yards Runner-Up Yards Differential % Differential
1957 942 700 242 25.69%
1958 1,527 791 736 48.20%
1959 1,329 1,036 293 22.05%
1960 1,257 1,101 156 12.41%
1961 1,408 1,307 101 7.17%
1963 1,863 1,018 845 45.36%
1964 1,446 1,169 277 19.16%
1965 1,544 867 677 43.85%
Two times in his career Brown had almost twice as many rushing yards as the league’s second-best rusher. Only once was the gap single digits.
By comparison, in Barry Sanders’ huge 1997 season he won the rushing title by 295 yards over Terrell Davis – roughly a 14-percentage-point cushion. Brown beat that gap six times out of eight.
The one-dimensional Neanderthalism of the Browns’ early ‘60s offense hadn't been seen in the NFL since Ernie Nevers took his Duluth Eskimos on a three-month romp through the playgrounds and garden spots of central Ohio, and Jim Brown took it with him when he left. In the post-Brown era every great RB required a posse, even if it was Willie Gault and Matt Suhey. The DIY ethos was gone forever.
You start with a whole lot of running backs, and what you’re left with in the end is Jim Brown. Jim Brown was his own video game before video games were invented. Jim Brown had Jim Brown and some blockers taking on platoons of HOFers, all with steel plates in their heads, and Jim Brown dominated. He was as black and proud as the truth.
Schaap intercepted some of Brown's shots but wasn't religious about it. As he told my friend, "Brown wasn't much of a lacrosse player, but he didn't have to be. No one wanted to get in his way."
That might be the essence of Jim Brown the athlete right there. People got in his way but no one wanted to. Not even Sam Huff at the height of his manic-insurance-salesman powers said, "Man, I can't wait to get me a piece of that Jim Brown."
But the thing of it was, when Jim Brown was on the field everyone knew he was going to get the football, because the Browns offensively had two options: hand the ball to Brown or punt. The QB of Brown's Browns was either math whiz Frank Ryan or Milt Plum, the magician behind the Lions’ dynamic punting game of the mid-‘60s. Gary Collins, who ran like a fully loaded game-show host, was the split end. At the other end was Johnny Brewer and the mattress attached to his back. Rich Kreitling was in the mix too, to the amusement of D-backs throughout the league.
Given a choice between Jim Brown and that in the NFL of the late '50s, what did Browns GM Brown tell Coach Brown to have RB Brown do? Exactly.
The numbers tell the story. Jim Brown represented 32 percent of the Browns’ offense for his career, just rushing the ball. Add in his catches and that number jumps to 38 percent.
No running back in the postwar era comes close to those numbers for a career. O.J. Simpson was half the Bills’ offense in his 2,000-yard season, but he couldn’t sustain it. Neither could Earl Campbell or Gale Sayers. In Barry Sanders’ best year his rushing yards were 35 percent of the offense -- less if you factor in Scott Mitchell’s givebacks.
Here’s another way of looking at it. Here are the differentials between Brown and the second-place rushers for the eight seasons Brown won a rushing title.
Year Brown's Yards Runner-Up Yards Differential % Differential
1957 942 700 242 25.69%
1958 1,527 791 736 48.20%
1959 1,329 1,036 293 22.05%
1960 1,257 1,101 156 12.41%
1961 1,408 1,307 101 7.17%
1963 1,863 1,018 845 45.36%
1964 1,446 1,169 277 19.16%
1965 1,544 867 677 43.85%
Two times in his career Brown had almost twice as many rushing yards as the league’s second-best rusher. Only once was the gap single digits.
By comparison, in Barry Sanders’ huge 1997 season he won the rushing title by 295 yards over Terrell Davis – roughly a 14-percentage-point cushion. Brown beat that gap six times out of eight.
The one-dimensional Neanderthalism of the Browns’ early ‘60s offense hadn't been seen in the NFL since Ernie Nevers took his Duluth Eskimos on a three-month romp through the playgrounds and garden spots of central Ohio, and Jim Brown took it with him when he left. In the post-Brown era every great RB required a posse, even if it was Willie Gault and Matt Suhey. The DIY ethos was gone forever.
You start with a whole lot of running backs, and what you’re left with in the end is Jim Brown. Jim Brown was his own video game before video games were invented. Jim Brown had Jim Brown and some blockers taking on platoons of HOFers, all with steel plates in their heads, and Jim Brown dominated. He was as black and proud as the truth.
Monday, July 26, 2010
He's Got Size And Speed, And He Stinks
Much is made in modern football of the miraculous case of the short D-back. For these players, the convention seems to be that the shorter they are the faster they run, and the faster they run the better they cover. That would put the double whammy on Fischer, who was small without being fast.
But just wait a minute, Pat; don't go nowhere. Speed is not inversely related to size. If it was, Usain Bolt would be the size of a gluon. And if speed is truly all that matters for a D-back, why not simply stick Usain Bolt back there and let wang chung? But Usain Bolt is not a D-back and no one is talking of making Usain Bolt a D-back, much less letting wang chung.
What's going on?
What's going on is a lie. It's like the old saw about how it's not the size of the dog in the fight but the size of fight in the dog. It's not about size but quickness, and not about quickness but about a specific type of quickness: the ability to change directions quickly.
You hear a lot of talk at the scouting combines about how a D-back prospect is either fluid in the hips or not fluid in the hips. This is not a hip thing the way some puppies get a hip thing and have to be put down. This is a hip thing that means a good D-back has to quickly throw his hips to change direction to keep up with a quick-cutting wide receiver.
Yeah, not running like Sherman Plunkett is a good thing, but assuming a D-back can cover ground faster than a garden slug, or the aforementioned Mr. Plunkett, it's far, far better to be able to stop in a heartbeat and whip the hips and catch up to a flanker coming out of a cut than it is to have another tenth in the 40.
Pat Fischer could change direction faster than Eric Mangini trying to describe his latest loss, plus he had the engaging aggressiveness of a Looney Tunes weasel contemplating Foghorn Leghorn's drumstick. He was not fast, was never fast, but was quick enough to start at corner until he was 37. It's possible. But it really has nothing to do with size.
But just wait a minute, Pat; don't go nowhere. Speed is not inversely related to size. If it was, Usain Bolt would be the size of a gluon. And if speed is truly all that matters for a D-back, why not simply stick Usain Bolt back there and let wang chung? But Usain Bolt is not a D-back and no one is talking of making Usain Bolt a D-back, much less letting wang chung.
What's going on?
What's going on is a lie. It's like the old saw about how it's not the size of the dog in the fight but the size of fight in the dog. It's not about size but quickness, and not about quickness but about a specific type of quickness: the ability to change directions quickly.
You hear a lot of talk at the scouting combines about how a D-back prospect is either fluid in the hips or not fluid in the hips. This is not a hip thing the way some puppies get a hip thing and have to be put down. This is a hip thing that means a good D-back has to quickly throw his hips to change direction to keep up with a quick-cutting wide receiver.
Yeah, not running like Sherman Plunkett is a good thing, but assuming a D-back can cover ground faster than a garden slug, or the aforementioned Mr. Plunkett, it's far, far better to be able to stop in a heartbeat and whip the hips and catch up to a flanker coming out of a cut than it is to have another tenth in the 40.
Pat Fischer could change direction faster than Eric Mangini trying to describe his latest loss, plus he had the engaging aggressiveness of a Looney Tunes weasel contemplating Foghorn Leghorn's drumstick. He was not fast, was never fast, but was quick enough to start at corner until he was 37. It's possible. But it really has nothing to do with size.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Of Greatness, Real And Presumed
In 1950, when the NFL swelled from 10 teams to 12 with the addition of the Browns and 49ers, the NFL must have thought it had invented the sports equivalent of color TV. I mean, 12 teams? The league hadn’t had that many teams since the days when every town in Ohio was required by law to have a team, and a Nesser brother playing on it. Twelve teams was the outer bound of the universe; go any further and one would surely fall off the edge – right?
Possibly. But a funny thing about that huge new NFL. There were 12 teams, and eight HOF QBs. Nine, if you count George Blanda with the Bears.
Think about that for a minute. Twelve teams, and eight or nine HOF QBs.
That would be like every team in the modern NFL having an HOF QB except the Bills, Browns, Jags, Chiefs, Redskins, Lions, Bucs, and Rams. My God! That would make Bruce Gradkowski an HOF QB!
Now, there is a little fudge going on. The Bears had two HOF QBs on the roster in Blanda and Luckman but started Johnny Lujack. The Rams had Waterfield and Van Brocklin and split their snaps. Still, you’d have to think there will never again be a time when the density of HOF QBs is that … uh, dense.
So when you’re smacked in the face with a question like this, you have to ask why. Why were there proportionally more HOF QBs in the ‘50s than any other decade? And once you ask this question you had best strap yourself in for the answers.
The first answer is that the position evolved in the ‘50s, and the game evolved with it. In 1940 teams passed for 13,788 yards. In 1950 they passed for 25,856. For the first time since the NFL’s inception, every NFL team in the ‘50s had a QB who was primarily a passer. More passers meant more passes. More passes meant more passing records. Baugh, Layne, Luckman, Waterfield, Van Brocklin, Tittle, and Graham – and later in the decade, Starr and Unitas -- rewrote the record books. (Trippi and Blanda didn’t.) Halls of Fame recognize rewriters of record books.
Had these QBs played 10 years earlier the game wouldn’t have been ready for them. Had they played 10 years later they would have been Babe Parilli or Frank Ryan.
The second answer is that defenses were slow to catch on. Whenever someone throws three shutout innings in a spring-training game you hear, “Oh, that’s because the pitchers are so far ahead of the hitters right now.” That was the NFL of the early 50s. Frankie Albert was in the shotgun and Norm Van Brocklin was bombing Nagasaki, and Steve Owen was still stuffing nine slow guys in the box. Once the Detroit Lions started to figure out pass defense in 1955 league passing numbers fell fast and far – from 27,593 yards in 1954 to 23,009 in 1955 to just over 21,000 passing yards in 1956. It took the rest of the decade for total passing yards to approach 1950 levels.
The ‘50s also had the greatest concentration of football talent spread among the fewest teams. There were rival leagues at the end of the ‘40s and the start of the ‘60s, but the NFL had the ‘50s all to itself. African-American players finally infiltrated the game, raising the level of athleticism. The perception has been that these HOF QBs were supremely talented players excelling in a realm of supremely talented players. True that, but also realize that pro scouting was in its infancy and the college game was still running antiquated offenses, and many potentially great NFLers went right into beverage distributorship instead of taking the scenic route through Green Bay. It was largely impression that the NFL was at its zenith.
And not just the NFL. The two Golden Ages of Sport in the 20th century were the ‘20s and the ‘50s. Media was infatuated with sport in the ‘50s and got the populace squarely behind them. Red Smith, Jimmy Cannon, Grantland Rice, Bill Heinz, Dan Daniel, and Joe Palmer were spinning the yarns of Mickey Mantle and Jim Brown and building Bobby Thomson into a Scottish Paul Bunyan. Television in the ‘50s put games and athletes into every bar and living room. Cooperstown and Canton (and Toronto, too) are filled with players from these decades who would have lived the life of Ron Santo, minus the squeals, had they played at a different time. Charlie Trippi and Doak Walker had their equals in Hal Newhouser and Bobby Doerr.
In the pro game, the writers were paying attention to quarterbacks and running backs, largely to the exclusion of everyone else. That’s why there were 13 HOF QBs in the ‘50s (counting Trippi and Blanda but not Jim Finks, who made it to Canton on the strength of assets other than his right arm) and 16 running backs (though teams ran the ball less in the ‘50s) against seven HOF receivers, though the ends and flankers were just as responsible for the offensive explosion as the QBs.
So to sum up, in the ‘50s you had the prime movers of hot offenses playing against bum defenses at a time when great writers were in the business of glorifying QBs and everybody was paying attention.
In fact, by the end of the ‘50s every NFL team had had an HOF QB for at least two seasons – except for the Giants, who were coincidentally one of the league’s most successful teams.
If that seems preposterous now, rest assured it wasn’t preposterous then – but only because it wasn’t true. Every Lions-49ers game did not pit a backfield of two HOFers against a backfield of four HOFers, with John Henry Johnson rotating out on passing downs. We’ve simply made it out to be that way.
Possibly. But a funny thing about that huge new NFL. There were 12 teams, and eight HOF QBs. Nine, if you count George Blanda with the Bears.
Think about that for a minute. Twelve teams, and eight or nine HOF QBs.
That would be like every team in the modern NFL having an HOF QB except the Bills, Browns, Jags, Chiefs, Redskins, Lions, Bucs, and Rams. My God! That would make Bruce Gradkowski an HOF QB!
Now, there is a little fudge going on. The Bears had two HOF QBs on the roster in Blanda and Luckman but started Johnny Lujack. The Rams had Waterfield and Van Brocklin and split their snaps. Still, you’d have to think there will never again be a time when the density of HOF QBs is that … uh, dense.
So when you’re smacked in the face with a question like this, you have to ask why. Why were there proportionally more HOF QBs in the ‘50s than any other decade? And once you ask this question you had best strap yourself in for the answers.
The first answer is that the position evolved in the ‘50s, and the game evolved with it. In 1940 teams passed for 13,788 yards. In 1950 they passed for 25,856. For the first time since the NFL’s inception, every NFL team in the ‘50s had a QB who was primarily a passer. More passers meant more passes. More passes meant more passing records. Baugh, Layne, Luckman, Waterfield, Van Brocklin, Tittle, and Graham – and later in the decade, Starr and Unitas -- rewrote the record books. (Trippi and Blanda didn’t.) Halls of Fame recognize rewriters of record books.
Had these QBs played 10 years earlier the game wouldn’t have been ready for them. Had they played 10 years later they would have been Babe Parilli or Frank Ryan.
The second answer is that defenses were slow to catch on. Whenever someone throws three shutout innings in a spring-training game you hear, “Oh, that’s because the pitchers are so far ahead of the hitters right now.” That was the NFL of the early 50s. Frankie Albert was in the shotgun and Norm Van Brocklin was bombing Nagasaki, and Steve Owen was still stuffing nine slow guys in the box. Once the Detroit Lions started to figure out pass defense in 1955 league passing numbers fell fast and far – from 27,593 yards in 1954 to 23,009 in 1955 to just over 21,000 passing yards in 1956. It took the rest of the decade for total passing yards to approach 1950 levels.
The ‘50s also had the greatest concentration of football talent spread among the fewest teams. There were rival leagues at the end of the ‘40s and the start of the ‘60s, but the NFL had the ‘50s all to itself. African-American players finally infiltrated the game, raising the level of athleticism. The perception has been that these HOF QBs were supremely talented players excelling in a realm of supremely talented players. True that, but also realize that pro scouting was in its infancy and the college game was still running antiquated offenses, and many potentially great NFLers went right into beverage distributorship instead of taking the scenic route through Green Bay. It was largely impression that the NFL was at its zenith.
And not just the NFL. The two Golden Ages of Sport in the 20th century were the ‘20s and the ‘50s. Media was infatuated with sport in the ‘50s and got the populace squarely behind them. Red Smith, Jimmy Cannon, Grantland Rice, Bill Heinz, Dan Daniel, and Joe Palmer were spinning the yarns of Mickey Mantle and Jim Brown and building Bobby Thomson into a Scottish Paul Bunyan. Television in the ‘50s put games and athletes into every bar and living room. Cooperstown and Canton (and Toronto, too) are filled with players from these decades who would have lived the life of Ron Santo, minus the squeals, had they played at a different time. Charlie Trippi and Doak Walker had their equals in Hal Newhouser and Bobby Doerr.
In the pro game, the writers were paying attention to quarterbacks and running backs, largely to the exclusion of everyone else. That’s why there were 13 HOF QBs in the ‘50s (counting Trippi and Blanda but not Jim Finks, who made it to Canton on the strength of assets other than his right arm) and 16 running backs (though teams ran the ball less in the ‘50s) against seven HOF receivers, though the ends and flankers were just as responsible for the offensive explosion as the QBs.
So to sum up, in the ‘50s you had the prime movers of hot offenses playing against bum defenses at a time when great writers were in the business of glorifying QBs and everybody was paying attention.
In fact, by the end of the ‘50s every NFL team had had an HOF QB for at least two seasons – except for the Giants, who were coincidentally one of the league’s most successful teams.
If that seems preposterous now, rest assured it wasn’t preposterous then – but only because it wasn’t true. Every Lions-49ers game did not pit a backfield of two HOFers against a backfield of four HOFers, with John Henry Johnson rotating out on passing downs. We’ve simply made it out to be that way.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Swann Song
I spent a summer as the assistant GM of the U.S. National Semi-Pro Football Team, accompanied the team on its British tour, and heard a ton (metric) of Eric Swann stories on the road to the first-ever World Bowl and over pints in the pubs of the appropriately named British resort town of Blackpool.
Swann was the only semipro player in the modern era to be drafted No. 1 by any team, and by the modern era we mean the days when a scouting trip to watch players did not require knowing the password to a speakeasy.
The members of the U.S. National Semi-Pro Football Team, those who realized that passport photos cannot be taken in the backyard, in front of a tree, with a favorite dog, said that Swann wasn't the best player they ever played against and therefore shouldn't have gone No. 1 to the Cards, but they're wrong. Jackie Robinson wasn't the best baseball player of color; he was the appropriate player.
While Eric Swann was no Jackie Robinson, he was young and properly proportioned and had a clean criminal record, which put him at least one leg up on 90 percent of his semipro competition. Furthermore, he was going to the Cardinals, so it's not like the leap was huge.
If Swann never lived up to the Paul Bunyanesque expectations it's not his fault, or the fault of semi-pro football. Not every trailblazer blazes a trail clean through.
Swann was the only semipro player in the modern era to be drafted No. 1 by any team, and by the modern era we mean the days when a scouting trip to watch players did not require knowing the password to a speakeasy.
The members of the U.S. National Semi-Pro Football Team, those who realized that passport photos cannot be taken in the backyard, in front of a tree, with a favorite dog, said that Swann wasn't the best player they ever played against and therefore shouldn't have gone No. 1 to the Cards, but they're wrong. Jackie Robinson wasn't the best baseball player of color; he was the appropriate player.
While Eric Swann was no Jackie Robinson, he was young and properly proportioned and had a clean criminal record, which put him at least one leg up on 90 percent of his semipro competition. Furthermore, he was going to the Cardinals, so it's not like the leap was huge.
If Swann never lived up to the Paul Bunyanesque expectations it's not his fault, or the fault of semi-pro football. Not every trailblazer blazes a trail clean through.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Why I Hate Charlie Trippi
Okay, I don't hate Charlie Trippi. But I don't think he's a Pro Football HOFer based solely on his on-field performance.
Trippi's closest comp among modern quarterbacks is … well, it's Ronnie Brown, actually. Runs more than passes, blockers out front. It's not very complicated or scenic, but it got Trippi a couple of All-Pro nods and a place in the Hall of Fame.
It's mind-blowing that a runner who never won a rushing crown or a passer with a 5-11 record at quarterback and whose best showing on the all-time charts is 182nd place in punting average could be a Hall of Famer, but Trippi was the best player on the Cards' only championship team, and that's ... that's enough. Those Kurt Warner doubters may want to reconsider.
Ah, but let's not leave the remains of Charlie Trippi quite so soon. This you need to know about Trippi: He filled the stands. Like Doak Walker, Trippi was a college player who came out of school dripping excitement. The postwar National Football League needed Charlie Trippi just like it needed Red Grange in the early days. There was no TV contract; what the players, teams, and league got was based almost exclusively on the number of people who came out to watch the game. And if, like Grange, Trippi was less of a player on the field than he was in the newspapers, it's somewhat secondary. He helped salvage the game by bringing out the crowds, and that, along with being the best player on the Cards' only championship team, is more than enough.
Trippi's closest comp among modern quarterbacks is … well, it's Ronnie Brown, actually. Runs more than passes, blockers out front. It's not very complicated or scenic, but it got Trippi a couple of All-Pro nods and a place in the Hall of Fame.
It's mind-blowing that a runner who never won a rushing crown or a passer with a 5-11 record at quarterback and whose best showing on the all-time charts is 182nd place in punting average could be a Hall of Famer, but Trippi was the best player on the Cards' only championship team, and that's ... that's enough. Those Kurt Warner doubters may want to reconsider.
Ah, but let's not leave the remains of Charlie Trippi quite so soon. This you need to know about Trippi: He filled the stands. Like Doak Walker, Trippi was a college player who came out of school dripping excitement. The postwar National Football League needed Charlie Trippi just like it needed Red Grange in the early days. There was no TV contract; what the players, teams, and league got was based almost exclusively on the number of people who came out to watch the game. And if, like Grange, Trippi was less of a player on the field than he was in the newspapers, it's somewhat secondary. He helped salvage the game by bringing out the crowds, and that, along with being the best player on the Cards' only championship team, is more than enough.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Bulldog Turner, Dick Lebeau, And Hunk Anderson, In A Heap
Dick LeBeau is going into the Hall of Fame, and good for him. He was a superb defensive back and has been unsurpassed as a defensive coach, though it's a fair bet that from this point forward HOF voters will still equate putting assistant coaches into the Hall of Fame with eating wood ticks.
However, LeBeau's ascendance into Valhalla has a dark side in that his coattails will be as short as Supergnat Smith, and Hunk Anderson isn't going to be invited for the ride.
Rotten, because what LeBeau has been to defenses and D-backs Anderson was to lines, the Bears line in particular. He also -- Mr. LeBeau please note -- helped invent the blitz.
More Bears linemen are in the Hall of Fame in part because Anderson was their coach. Does that mean Bulldog Turner wouldn't have been a Hall of Famer if his coach had been, say, Aldo Donelli? Well, not in this case. Turner was an athletic, durable lineman, as smart as anyone who's made a career out of geting kicked in the head, and one of those marvelous center-linebackers of the late '30s and '40s. But Hunk Anderson helped make him, and George Musso and Joe Stydahar and George Trafton and Danny Fortmann and George Connor, and that shouldn't be forgotten.
However, LeBeau's ascendance into Valhalla has a dark side in that his coattails will be as short as Supergnat Smith, and Hunk Anderson isn't going to be invited for the ride.
Rotten, because what LeBeau has been to defenses and D-backs Anderson was to lines, the Bears line in particular. He also -- Mr. LeBeau please note -- helped invent the blitz.
More Bears linemen are in the Hall of Fame in part because Anderson was their coach. Does that mean Bulldog Turner wouldn't have been a Hall of Famer if his coach had been, say, Aldo Donelli? Well, not in this case. Turner was an athletic, durable lineman, as smart as anyone who's made a career out of geting kicked in the head, and one of those marvelous center-linebackers of the late '30s and '40s. But Hunk Anderson helped make him, and George Musso and Joe Stydahar and George Trafton and Danny Fortmann and George Connor, and that shouldn't be forgotten.
The Last Word On Don Coryell
Don Coryell was a Sid Gillman-caliber offensive innovator, he won everywhere he went, he could motivate a 30-year veteran of the DMV, and he made bad teams better and the players and coaches on those teams into stars. If that's not the definition of a Hall of Famer, I don't know what is.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
The ChiStlAz Cardinals, For Better Or ... Better? What Am I Saying?
If the Cardinals were a car they would be a Fiat. The gear shift would come off in your hand, the steering column would disconnect randomly, the windshield washers would spout brake fluid, the motor would turn over only on French holidays, and you could watch the highway go by through the holes in the floorboards.
In all fairness, the Cardinals have not always been a Fiat. At times they have been a Hillman Minx.
From this you should gather that not only have the Cardinals been abysmal, but that they have been wantonly, willfully abysmal, so much so that you expect to learn that the Cards’ GM for the last 50 years has been Sacha Baron Cohen.
This has not been the case, of course. The Cardinals have for most of their history been controlled by the Bidwill family, which is to inept football management what the Kennedys have been to bed-hopping Irish machine politics only with fewer assassinations, though not for lack of want-to.
The result of this despotism is remarkable: One world championship in 89 seasons, and that clouded by the state of the post-WWII NFL. Seven playoff appearances. A .413 winning percentage. More losses than any other team in NFL history by a margin of 100. Six Hall of Famers who spent the bulk of their careers with the team (coaches not included, and Bill Bidwill definitely not included).
Besides moving and losing, the Cardinals are known for three things: kick returners, defensive backs and offensive linemen. Of these, only offensive linemen are not commonly found on stinkers. In the post-1960s game, the weaker your defensive line the more time your quarterback has to throw, the more pressure put on the defensive backs, and the better the defensive backs appear by sheer dint of workload. The Bears have had no better than mediocre defensive backs since 1960, and they’ve not only been largely successful, they’ve earned a reputation as a defensive powerhouse because no one throws on the defensive backs – not because the defensive backs are so good but because the quarterback has no time, because the defensive line and linebackers are so good.
As for kick returners, if returning kickoffs is a big part of your game you either have Gary Hogeboom as your quarterback, Freddie Joe Nunn as your defensive anchor, or both. The Cardinals have had four or five of the top 50 kick returners in the league since 1960 – Stump Mitchell, Vai Sikahema, Abe Woodson, Terry Metcalf, and Ollie Matson, depending on your yardstick, with Willard Harrell and Eric Metcalf in reserve. A good team has one or two, and then only if they hang around for a decade out of sheer inertia, like Brian Mitchell or Troy Brown.
It is a lie that the Cardinals have never been able to run the ball except when it is kicked. There have been five distinct periods when the Cardinals have been able to run. The first was when they had Ernie Nevers and everyone ran the ball. That lasted three years. The second was when they won a championship and everyone on their team ran the ball. That lasted three years. Then there was the Ollie Matson Era, when King Hill and Sam Etcheverry gave the ball to Matson and watched him run. That lasted five years, until Matson was traded to the Rams for nine football-team parts. (Incidentally, trading one player for nine football-team parts makes sense if the team getting the parts is the Monongahela Pig-Iron Ingots of the Wyoming Valley Industrial League. It makes less sense for an NFL team, or the Cardinals.) This was succeeded by – surprise! – the John David Crow Era, which was numerically more impressive than the previous era – but, oh, King Hill and Sam Etcheverry were still the quarterbacks. And finally, there was the Ottis Anderson Era, which lasted most of six seasons, until Anderson’s yards per carry could be measured in microns. And then they traded him. To the Giants. Where he was MVP of the Super Bowl.
There you go. Twenty years out of 90 when the Cardinals really ran the ball. Heck, we’ll throw in Stump Mitchell’s thousand-yard season and Jim Otis’ good year and the year MacArthur Lane led the league in rushing TDs and call it 23. Twenty-three years out of 90. One-quarter of all seasons yay, and the remaining three-quarters populated by failed scatbacks like Leeland McElroy and mud-slow fullbacks like Earl Farrell.
The D-line and linebackers have been more a story of bad luck. Andre Wadsworth blew out a knee. E.J. Junior got hurt. Eric Swann got hurt. Seth Joyner got old. Dave Butz woke up in Washington. So did Ken Harvey. Darryl Sims never woke up at all. Jamir Miller and Simeon Rice wanted market value. Bad luck, that’s what it is. There are signs this may be changing, but the minute you say that Darnell Dockett chafes at the franchise tag and there you are, snakebit again.
There’s a lesson here, namely: It’s all about the lines, but not always. The Cards’ D-line has been a botch from the get-go. It could not have been worse had it been manned by the Backyadigans. But sometimes one line is all that’s needed to ensure a lifetime’s mediocrity, especially when the word from the Bidwills on high is that Joe Childress and Willis Crenshaw is a perfectly acceptable backfield tandem and that Edgerrin James in his Wile E. Coyote/legs-churning-furiously-in-midair phase is worth $9 million a year. In that case it doesn’t matter if Dan Dierdorf, Conrad Dobler, and Tom Banks are blocking. Anthony Munoz and Jonathan Ogden could pitch in and Tootie Robbins could be the H-back and they’d still average -3 per carry.
There are signs of a turnaround in the desert, but there are always signs in the desert. They’re mirages, or small voices of dissent crushed by a Buddy Ryan hitting town or an Aeneas Williams pulling out. It’s Tienamen Square, with Solomon Wilcotts as the sideline reporter.
No, we simply ought to consign ourselves to the reality that the Cardinals have always been bad and will always be bad. The perpetuation of the species depends on it. And there, at last, is the justification for King Hill.
In all fairness, the Cardinals have not always been a Fiat. At times they have been a Hillman Minx.
From this you should gather that not only have the Cardinals been abysmal, but that they have been wantonly, willfully abysmal, so much so that you expect to learn that the Cards’ GM for the last 50 years has been Sacha Baron Cohen.
This has not been the case, of course. The Cardinals have for most of their history been controlled by the Bidwill family, which is to inept football management what the Kennedys have been to bed-hopping Irish machine politics only with fewer assassinations, though not for lack of want-to.
The result of this despotism is remarkable: One world championship in 89 seasons, and that clouded by the state of the post-WWII NFL. Seven playoff appearances. A .413 winning percentage. More losses than any other team in NFL history by a margin of 100. Six Hall of Famers who spent the bulk of their careers with the team (coaches not included, and Bill Bidwill definitely not included).
Besides moving and losing, the Cardinals are known for three things: kick returners, defensive backs and offensive linemen. Of these, only offensive linemen are not commonly found on stinkers. In the post-1960s game, the weaker your defensive line the more time your quarterback has to throw, the more pressure put on the defensive backs, and the better the defensive backs appear by sheer dint of workload. The Bears have had no better than mediocre defensive backs since 1960, and they’ve not only been largely successful, they’ve earned a reputation as a defensive powerhouse because no one throws on the defensive backs – not because the defensive backs are so good but because the quarterback has no time, because the defensive line and linebackers are so good.
As for kick returners, if returning kickoffs is a big part of your game you either have Gary Hogeboom as your quarterback, Freddie Joe Nunn as your defensive anchor, or both. The Cardinals have had four or five of the top 50 kick returners in the league since 1960 – Stump Mitchell, Vai Sikahema, Abe Woodson, Terry Metcalf, and Ollie Matson, depending on your yardstick, with Willard Harrell and Eric Metcalf in reserve. A good team has one or two, and then only if they hang around for a decade out of sheer inertia, like Brian Mitchell or Troy Brown.
It is a lie that the Cardinals have never been able to run the ball except when it is kicked. There have been five distinct periods when the Cardinals have been able to run. The first was when they had Ernie Nevers and everyone ran the ball. That lasted three years. The second was when they won a championship and everyone on their team ran the ball. That lasted three years. Then there was the Ollie Matson Era, when King Hill and Sam Etcheverry gave the ball to Matson and watched him run. That lasted five years, until Matson was traded to the Rams for nine football-team parts. (Incidentally, trading one player for nine football-team parts makes sense if the team getting the parts is the Monongahela Pig-Iron Ingots of the Wyoming Valley Industrial League. It makes less sense for an NFL team, or the Cardinals.) This was succeeded by – surprise! – the John David Crow Era, which was numerically more impressive than the previous era – but, oh, King Hill and Sam Etcheverry were still the quarterbacks. And finally, there was the Ottis Anderson Era, which lasted most of six seasons, until Anderson’s yards per carry could be measured in microns. And then they traded him. To the Giants. Where he was MVP of the Super Bowl.
There you go. Twenty years out of 90 when the Cardinals really ran the ball. Heck, we’ll throw in Stump Mitchell’s thousand-yard season and Jim Otis’ good year and the year MacArthur Lane led the league in rushing TDs and call it 23. Twenty-three years out of 90. One-quarter of all seasons yay, and the remaining three-quarters populated by failed scatbacks like Leeland McElroy and mud-slow fullbacks like Earl Farrell.
The D-line and linebackers have been more a story of bad luck. Andre Wadsworth blew out a knee. E.J. Junior got hurt. Eric Swann got hurt. Seth Joyner got old. Dave Butz woke up in Washington. So did Ken Harvey. Darryl Sims never woke up at all. Jamir Miller and Simeon Rice wanted market value. Bad luck, that’s what it is. There are signs this may be changing, but the minute you say that Darnell Dockett chafes at the franchise tag and there you are, snakebit again.
There’s a lesson here, namely: It’s all about the lines, but not always. The Cards’ D-line has been a botch from the get-go. It could not have been worse had it been manned by the Backyadigans. But sometimes one line is all that’s needed to ensure a lifetime’s mediocrity, especially when the word from the Bidwills on high is that Joe Childress and Willis Crenshaw is a perfectly acceptable backfield tandem and that Edgerrin James in his Wile E. Coyote/legs-churning-furiously-in-midair phase is worth $9 million a year. In that case it doesn’t matter if Dan Dierdorf, Conrad Dobler, and Tom Banks are blocking. Anthony Munoz and Jonathan Ogden could pitch in and Tootie Robbins could be the H-back and they’d still average -3 per carry.
There are signs of a turnaround in the desert, but there are always signs in the desert. They’re mirages, or small voices of dissent crushed by a Buddy Ryan hitting town or an Aeneas Williams pulling out. It’s Tienamen Square, with Solomon Wilcotts as the sideline reporter.
No, we simply ought to consign ourselves to the reality that the Cardinals have always been bad and will always be bad. The perpetuation of the species depends on it. And there, at last, is the justification for King Hill.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
A Brief, Pointed Observation On Larry Wilson
Wilson is credited with inventing the safety blitz, but this is much less of an accomplishment when viewed from Wilson's practical perspective. If your front four was Don Brumm, Sam Silas, Joe Robb, and Chuck Walker, leaving only you and Dale Meinert to tackle anyone, you'd sure as hell crowd the line of scrimmage, too.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
So Is It Nature Or Nurture, Harlon Hill?
So were the Bear quarterbacks so bad because they were throwing to Tom Waddle and Willard Dewveall, or were the Bear wide receivers so bad because Steve Walsh and Jack Concannon were doing the throwing?
The Bears' career-receiving-leaders list is a smorgasbord of mediocrity peppered with Brian Baschnagels and Marty Bookers, but part of that was by design. In the first NFL draft, while the rotten teams were drafting the Jay Berwangers of the world, George Halas drafted eight linemen; subsequently he perfected a devasting rushing offense.
Under Halas and the subsequent Halas-lite leadership, first-round draft choices have been spent on running backs, linemen and linebackers, with only the occasional nod to a wide receiver (c.f., the fast but perpetually disappointing Willie Gault).
Harlon Hill was the pinnacle of Bears wide-receivership from the '30s through the '80s, rivaled only by Johnny Morris for a couple of seasons. He was a genuine home-run threat who still ranks eighth all-time in yards per catch. That and three All-Pro nods won't get you into the Hall of Fame or even buy you a cup of coffee, but by Bears standards it puts you right at the top ... yelling at Sid Luckman to throw you the damn ball.
The Bears' career-receiving-leaders list is a smorgasbord of mediocrity peppered with Brian Baschnagels and Marty Bookers, but part of that was by design. In the first NFL draft, while the rotten teams were drafting the Jay Berwangers of the world, George Halas drafted eight linemen; subsequently he perfected a devasting rushing offense.
Under Halas and the subsequent Halas-lite leadership, first-round draft choices have been spent on running backs, linemen and linebackers, with only the occasional nod to a wide receiver (c.f., the fast but perpetually disappointing Willie Gault).
Harlon Hill was the pinnacle of Bears wide-receivership from the '30s through the '80s, rivaled only by Johnny Morris for a couple of seasons. He was a genuine home-run threat who still ranks eighth all-time in yards per catch. That and three All-Pro nods won't get you into the Hall of Fame or even buy you a cup of coffee, but by Bears standards it puts you right at the top ... yelling at Sid Luckman to throw you the damn ball.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Is Troy Aikman The Worst HOF QB, Or Just A Pale Imitation Of The Worst HOF QB?
Hall of Famers in any sport (and rock ‘n’ roll as well, though the very idea of a Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame still chaps us worse than bike shorts) can be dumped into one of three buckets: The absolute greats, the quite good, and the momentarily good. Halls of fame should be repositories for only the absolute greats, but if they did that they’d be out of business in a month, because the necessarily meager number of absolute greats and their fans means the halls’ rust-belt towns would go a-begging two years out of three. Canton needs Gene Hickerson fans. Cooperstown needs bonkers Cubs fans to spend like pork-barrel congressmen in support of the opium dream that Andre Dawson is actually worthy of sitting at Hank Aaron’s elbow.
The momentarily good are another issue. Sometimes it’s obvious why they make it – they only got half a career because of segregation, for instance – and other times it’s more obscure than the enduring popularity of cute cat pictures. Joe Tinker, Crab Evers and Frank Chance, for instance. They’re in the Baseball HOF because of a poem. That’s like putting the Old Spice guy in Canton because he looks good on a horse.
More on topic, Red Grange blew out his knee in his first pro season, and his career was less distinguished than that of Gob Buckeye. But Red Grange was pro football’s first great draw. Without him there might have been no Chicago Bears, no pro football, and no Football HOF. Enshrining him was an act of self-preservation akin to enshrining fire in the Hall of Great Inventions.
To a lesser extent this explains Charlie Trippi as much as anything can. Trippi was the postwar Grange and he led the Cardinals to their only championship. Call it a sop to Bill Bidwill or a nod to Trippi’s ability to put butts in seats regardless of his on-field performance, because Trippi is the worst HOF QB ever in the same way that Cy Young is the all-time winningest pitcher. No one will win 700-plus games in the majors again, and no QB will be elected to the HOF with worse numbers than Charlie Trippi. You can quit holding your breath, Stan Gelbaugh.
So the question is, which bucket gets Troy Aikman? Aikman was the Cowboys’ QB when they truly were America’s Team, a lurching juggernaut controlled by J.R. Ewing from the Mini-KISS version of Dallas. He was Tom Brady in cowboy boots without a supermodel mama on his arm, and he led his team to many a big win. Does he qualify on numbers, or did he fly in on some Texas-sized je nais se quoi?
The skinny on Aikman places him squarely in the quite-good bucket. His career comps are guys like Mark Brunell and Donovan McNabb, upper-echelon guys whose careers were nonetheless marred by an inability to win the big game. Troy Aikman, then, is an upper-echelon guy who takes the next step: a McNabb who beats the Patriots, a Brunell who beats the Oilers and gets J-Ville into the big game, a Steve McNair playing in a market that feels about football the same way Osama bin Laden feels about the Koran. Lest you think that A) winning the big game and B) playing in Dallas don't matter, consider Troy Aikman Exhibit A in the case for the prosecution.
It does beg the question, though: Even if he’s not just momentarily good, is Troy Aikman the worst non-Trippi HOF QB ever?
A very simple test is to examine the ever-helpful career comps at pro-football-reference.com. If someone was worse than Aikman they would likely have fewer HOFers in their career comps. So we checked the career comps and lo and behold! Roger Staubach, Bart Starr, and Joe Namath have two HOFers as career comps; Aikman, Y.A. Tittle, and Terry Bradshaw have three.
Okay, so Aikman escapes there. Let's dive deeper into the numbers. We created an index that measures how the postwar HOF QBs (and Peyton Manning, Brett Favre, and Tom Brady) finished on categories that have nothing to do with a 16-game season versus a 12-game slate -- things like completion percentage, yards per attempt, passer rating, career value, All-Something nods, and interception percentage. When we plotted where the QBs fit, here’s what we got (FYI: lower is better):
Manning 8.67
Young 13.44
Montana 18.67
Marino 22.56
Favre 25.00
Brady 25.78
Fouts 42.22
Kelly 43.44
Moon 43.78
Graham 47.50
Elway 49.67
Staubach 52.22
Tarkenton 53.00
Layne 60.38
Jurgensen 62.22
Aikman 67.67
Griese 72.22
Starr 73.44
Van Brocklin76.50
Unitas 77.00
Tittle 77.00
Dawson 77.11
Bradshaw 90.89
Namath 109.33
Blanda 194.78
Maybe we chose the wrong categories if we’re trying to prove Aikman’s lack of worth. Looking at it this way, the QBs separate themselves neatly into five distinct bands: The undisputed greats (Manning, Young, Montana, Marino, Favre, and Brady); the greats (Fouts, Kelly, Moon, Graham, Elway, Staubach, and Tarkenton); the consistently quite good (Layne, Jurgensen, Aikman, Griese, Starr, Van Brocklin, Unitas, and Tittle); the momentarily good (Bradshaw and Namath); and George Blanda, who we can only assume made it in as a kicker.
Aikman fares acceptably, which makes sense. He threw for a decent amount of yards in a game, and to the intended receivers, and put the ball in the end zone with reasonable frequency. He nestles in a little sub-group with the superb game managers Bob Griese and Bart Starr, and that’s about right. Aikman managed things in Dallas as well as anyone could, and that alone justifies his trip back to the rust belt.
The momentarily good are another issue. Sometimes it’s obvious why they make it – they only got half a career because of segregation, for instance – and other times it’s more obscure than the enduring popularity of cute cat pictures. Joe Tinker, Crab Evers and Frank Chance, for instance. They’re in the Baseball HOF because of a poem. That’s like putting the Old Spice guy in Canton because he looks good on a horse.
More on topic, Red Grange blew out his knee in his first pro season, and his career was less distinguished than that of Gob Buckeye. But Red Grange was pro football’s first great draw. Without him there might have been no Chicago Bears, no pro football, and no Football HOF. Enshrining him was an act of self-preservation akin to enshrining fire in the Hall of Great Inventions.
To a lesser extent this explains Charlie Trippi as much as anything can. Trippi was the postwar Grange and he led the Cardinals to their only championship. Call it a sop to Bill Bidwill or a nod to Trippi’s ability to put butts in seats regardless of his on-field performance, because Trippi is the worst HOF QB ever in the same way that Cy Young is the all-time winningest pitcher. No one will win 700-plus games in the majors again, and no QB will be elected to the HOF with worse numbers than Charlie Trippi. You can quit holding your breath, Stan Gelbaugh.
So the question is, which bucket gets Troy Aikman? Aikman was the Cowboys’ QB when they truly were America’s Team, a lurching juggernaut controlled by J.R. Ewing from the Mini-KISS version of Dallas. He was Tom Brady in cowboy boots without a supermodel mama on his arm, and he led his team to many a big win. Does he qualify on numbers, or did he fly in on some Texas-sized je nais se quoi?
The skinny on Aikman places him squarely in the quite-good bucket. His career comps are guys like Mark Brunell and Donovan McNabb, upper-echelon guys whose careers were nonetheless marred by an inability to win the big game. Troy Aikman, then, is an upper-echelon guy who takes the next step: a McNabb who beats the Patriots, a Brunell who beats the Oilers and gets J-Ville into the big game, a Steve McNair playing in a market that feels about football the same way Osama bin Laden feels about the Koran. Lest you think that A) winning the big game and B) playing in Dallas don't matter, consider Troy Aikman Exhibit A in the case for the prosecution.
It does beg the question, though: Even if he’s not just momentarily good, is Troy Aikman the worst non-Trippi HOF QB ever?
A very simple test is to examine the ever-helpful career comps at pro-football-reference.com. If someone was worse than Aikman they would likely have fewer HOFers in their career comps. So we checked the career comps and lo and behold! Roger Staubach, Bart Starr, and Joe Namath have two HOFers as career comps; Aikman, Y.A. Tittle, and Terry Bradshaw have three.
Okay, so Aikman escapes there. Let's dive deeper into the numbers. We created an index that measures how the postwar HOF QBs (and Peyton Manning, Brett Favre, and Tom Brady) finished on categories that have nothing to do with a 16-game season versus a 12-game slate -- things like completion percentage, yards per attempt, passer rating, career value, All-Something nods, and interception percentage. When we plotted where the QBs fit, here’s what we got (FYI: lower is better):
Manning 8.67
Young 13.44
Montana 18.67
Marino 22.56
Favre 25.00
Brady 25.78
Fouts 42.22
Kelly 43.44
Moon 43.78
Graham 47.50
Elway 49.67
Staubach 52.22
Tarkenton 53.00
Layne 60.38
Jurgensen 62.22
Aikman 67.67
Griese 72.22
Starr 73.44
Van Brocklin76.50
Unitas 77.00
Tittle 77.00
Dawson 77.11
Bradshaw 90.89
Namath 109.33
Blanda 194.78
Maybe we chose the wrong categories if we’re trying to prove Aikman’s lack of worth. Looking at it this way, the QBs separate themselves neatly into five distinct bands: The undisputed greats (Manning, Young, Montana, Marino, Favre, and Brady); the greats (Fouts, Kelly, Moon, Graham, Elway, Staubach, and Tarkenton); the consistently quite good (Layne, Jurgensen, Aikman, Griese, Starr, Van Brocklin, Unitas, and Tittle); the momentarily good (Bradshaw and Namath); and George Blanda, who we can only assume made it in as a kicker.
Aikman fares acceptably, which makes sense. He threw for a decent amount of yards in a game, and to the intended receivers, and put the ball in the end zone with reasonable frequency. He nestles in a little sub-group with the superb game managers Bob Griese and Bart Starr, and that’s about right. Aikman managed things in Dallas as well as anyone could, and that alone justifies his trip back to the rust belt.
Bronko Nagurski, Not Live From Nowhere
The amazing thing looking back at Bronko Nagurski and how he got to be there was how direct it all was. When he came down from the Iron Range all brawn and hard consonants there was no national recruiting war; he went to the University of Minnesota.
When he got out of school after four years of two-way greatness there was no protracted drama over where he would play professional football, no raccoon-coated Mel Kiper bellering at passers-by through a megaphone, "Nagurski to the Stapletons at number three; great value pick at that position."
They would have looked at him like he was completely daft, and they would have been right. They would have taken his pennant away, too.
The Bears were there first with the most money, and so he signed. Then when he got in the backfield they so much as shouted across the line, "We're running Nagurski now; try and stop us," which they couldn't, because there were three Hall of Famers in front of Nagurski, who himself was as big as their biggest lineman and ran like the 20th Century Limited. And when Nagurski retired to wrestle and fish he said, "I'm retiring to wrestle and fish," and it was done without SportsCenter on-location at Rainy River or Rich Eisen babbling live from the Mankato Armory.
People in the '30s had the tech savvy of stuffed animals and were casually bigoted, offandedly cruel, and foolishly superstitious chain smokers and binge drinkers, but they weren't so idiotic as to care where Bronko Nagurski fished, what he caught, and how the fish felt about the whole thing. Advantage them.
When he got out of school after four years of two-way greatness there was no protracted drama over where he would play professional football, no raccoon-coated Mel Kiper bellering at passers-by through a megaphone, "Nagurski to the Stapletons at number three; great value pick at that position."
They would have looked at him like he was completely daft, and they would have been right. They would have taken his pennant away, too.
The Bears were there first with the most money, and so he signed. Then when he got in the backfield they so much as shouted across the line, "We're running Nagurski now; try and stop us," which they couldn't, because there were three Hall of Famers in front of Nagurski, who himself was as big as their biggest lineman and ran like the 20th Century Limited. And when Nagurski retired to wrestle and fish he said, "I'm retiring to wrestle and fish," and it was done without SportsCenter on-location at Rainy River or Rich Eisen babbling live from the Mankato Armory.
People in the '30s had the tech savvy of stuffed animals and were casually bigoted, offandedly cruel, and foolishly superstitious chain smokers and binge drinkers, but they weren't so idiotic as to care where Bronko Nagurski fished, what he caught, and how the fish felt about the whole thing. Advantage them.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Have No Fears (Literally)
Fears is the missing -- okay, not truly missing, but certainly underappreciated -- link between Don Hutson and Lance Alworth. A long strider with hops and less of Elroy Hirsch's jitterbug stuff, Fears won three straight receiving titles running under bombs in the Waterfieldian era, then had his numbers tumble as the Dutchman took over and the offense opened up like the headers on a hemi.
However, Fears was only a one-time All-NFLer, and for that blame must be laid squarely at the feet of East Coast writers pretending the league ended at Chicago.
Consider this: In 1948, Fears' rookie year, Fears caught 57 passes for 698 yards and was named second-team all-NFL by two out of six major publications or syndicates. The other five all-NFL ends, Ken Kavanaugh, Bill Swiacki, Mal Kutner, Pete Pihos, and Ed Cifers, caught 18, 39, 41, 46, and 0 passes -- and none of them played west of the Mississippi. Pihos, Kutner, and Swiacki finished second, third and fourth in receiving; Kutner, Pihos, and Fears were the top three in receiving yards and yards per game; Kutner, Pihos, and Swiacki were 1-2-3 in receiving TDs, and Kutner was second in yards per catch. Kutner, Pihos, and Fears were the NFL's top three ends in 1948; Swiacki was there because he was a Columbia boy and a college legend, Cifer was a D-end, and Kavanaugh was there because he was a Bear and George Halas threatened to beat up any sportswriter who didn't vote for him.
Fears got the short end of the stick in '48, the stick got longer in '49, and he got full measure in '50. After that Fears' numbers dropped, others' rose, and he was done.
However, Fears was only a one-time All-NFLer, and for that blame must be laid squarely at the feet of East Coast writers pretending the league ended at Chicago.
Consider this: In 1948, Fears' rookie year, Fears caught 57 passes for 698 yards and was named second-team all-NFL by two out of six major publications or syndicates. The other five all-NFL ends, Ken Kavanaugh, Bill Swiacki, Mal Kutner, Pete Pihos, and Ed Cifers, caught 18, 39, 41, 46, and 0 passes -- and none of them played west of the Mississippi. Pihos, Kutner, and Swiacki finished second, third and fourth in receiving; Kutner, Pihos, and Fears were the top three in receiving yards and yards per game; Kutner, Pihos, and Swiacki were 1-2-3 in receiving TDs, and Kutner was second in yards per catch. Kutner, Pihos, and Fears were the NFL's top three ends in 1948; Swiacki was there because he was a Columbia boy and a college legend, Cifer was a D-end, and Kavanaugh was there because he was a Bear and George Halas threatened to beat up any sportswriter who didn't vote for him.
Fears got the short end of the stick in '48, the stick got longer in '49, and he got full measure in '50. After that Fears' numbers dropped, others' rose, and he was done.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Why Bart Starr is Better Than Brett Favre, Ch. 1
Starr: 9-1 record in the playoffs, five NFL championships, two Super Bowl wins, 94-57-6 record as a starter.
Favre: One Super Bowl win, one Super Bowl loss, 2-3 record in NFC championship games, 160-93 record as a starter.
Any questions? Good. On to Chapter 2.
Favre: One Super Bowl win, one Super Bowl loss, 2-3 record in NFC championship games, 160-93 record as a starter.
Any questions? Good. On to Chapter 2.
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