HOFtime

Now that we're through the all-time playdowns and in the midst of that sleepy time of year, I thought I'd throw out the names of some non-Hall of Famers for your consideration.

Are these guys Canton-worthy? Depends about the part of Canton you're talking about, and whether you really mean Canton, Ohio, or The Huge, Stinking Chinese City Formerly Known As Canton. But they deserve to be in one of those conversations, alongside the moo goo gai pan.

Here you go.

Bobby Dillon: Just because Sammy Baugh and Don Hutson could play D-back doesn't mean it was easy, not with the Messrs. Fears and Hirsch and Lavelli and Speedie bearing down on you and the position itself going through full-on puberty. Through the mid-'50s, when the Packers' front seven consisted of Hawg Hanner and Clayton Tonnemaker flanked by large cardboard cutouts, Bobby Dillion was supporting Val Joe Walker, Jim Psaltis, Veryl Switzer, and Clarence Self in the defensive backfield. By any measure Dillion had his own work cut out for him, yet he excelled -- four times All-Pro, five times Pro Bowl. On a better team this was Canton material. On the Packers of the mid-'50s it was self-preservation.

Steve Tasker: If a healthy disregard for sanity is a prerequisite for playing special teams, Steve Tasker's disregard was Jack LaLanne healthy. It was selling carrot juicers to all the other special-teams' guys disregards. This was fortunate for Tasker, as there are few jobs not being held by North Koreans where disregarding sanity pays so well. Tasker was the Kim Jong Il of the special-teams' world, not because he came to work in a Hongqi V12 or launched pre-emptive nuclear strikes against Vai Sikahema, but because he didn't give a rip what western civilization said, he was going to disembowel Elbert Shelley if it was his last act on earth, and damn the U.N. sanctions. Such miscreance is usually only found on SpikeTV, but it got the dude seven Pro Bowl appearances, and if they ever figure that screaming down the field 10 times a game like a candidate for the rubber room is enough to get you immortalized a short drive away from The Rubber City, Tasker is so there.

Jim David: At some point with the Detroit Lions' defensive backfield you have to ask how much of it was the reputation and how much was the players. From 1949 to 1967 the Lions had at least one All-Something D-back. From 1952 to 1963 they had two or more. Now granted, the Lions essentially defined modern D-back philosophy, and granted, the Lions stuck some tremendous players in their D-backfields. But was Jim David All-Pro for six straight seasons in the '50s because he was that good, or because the system was that advanced? With the exception of Night Train Lane, none of the Lions' D-backs played much anywhere else, so it's hard to judge. There's definitely something to the system, however. Other teams that followed it, most notably the Lombardi Packers, churned out All-Pros and HOFers, though never to the extent of the Lions. It's like the Lions discovered something that no one else could figure out or find for a decade. It's perplexing, and it really took the AFL to bring pro football around to something the Lions had known since 1951.

Dave Robinson: Three Pro Bowls, four times all-something, could match Herb Adderley stride-for-stride in a straight-line race … based on athletic ability alone, Dave Robinson would be the all-time-great Packer linebacker you'd pick first -- and then your team would be mediocre because Ray Nitschke played like a guy who missed his appointment with the exorcist. But Dave Robinson certainly had it all.

Neil Smith: Lest you think I'm just Jackson Pollock splash-painting with football words, this thing about the strength of a team resting in its lines really exists. You can prove it using a spreadsheet and the simplest of analytical tools: your brain. Go to pro-football-reference.com. Call up the page that lists current teams and their all-time records. Copy it and dump it into an Excel spreadsheet, then eliminate all the extraneous stuff, such as the all-time leading receivers for the various teams. Sure, there’s some hungover eyebrow-raising to be done at the revelation that Eric Martin is still the Saints' all-time leading receiver, but that only proves that records truly are made to be broken. Once the non-essentials have been banished to Deleteville, sort the teams by won-loss percentage, with the winningest teams at the top. You should wind up with a spreadsheet that starts with the Chicago Bears and ends with the Houston Texans. (It's not a straight oldest-to-youngest search, thanks to those Terry Feltons of the football world, Detroit and ChiStlAz.) Now, go though the spreadsheet and identify the part of each team that has historically been the strongest -- QB, RB, O-line, D-line, LB, DB,WR, special teams. Do that and you wind up with nine of the 10 best teams characterized by at least one dominant line -- and the teams have been able to perpetuate those lines over time and changes in personnel, rules, game play, and coaching staffs. You can win some games with a great QB, about as many with a great RB, proportionally less with great pass-catchers and D-backs. But you ain't perpetuating nothin' unless you're committed to building powerhouse lines every season, regardless of coach or quarterback. And while Kansas City isn't the winningest team out there, its whirpool runneth over with really solid D-linemen like Neil Smith -- a stout run-stuffer, a sack machine, and very, very comparable to Buck Buchanan. If you're wondering what a perennially great team is made of, here's your answer: Neil Smith. Four Neil Smiths, ideally.

Tom Sestak: By all accounts Sestak, who died young, was an absolute monster. His coach, Lou Saban, said Sestak was "one of the best I've ever seen, on any field, in any league ... for strength, interior pass rush, ability to read offensive keys, instinct to fight off traps, and raw courage." His knees were goulash but his upper body was like the palisades, and he could one-arm-tackle anyone, even bruisers like Jim Nance. The nearest thing to Sestak in today's game are Minnesota's Williamses, but Sestak was better. And less heralded, but that's Buffalo.

Maxie Baughan: This is a head-scratcher. You don't figure, do you, that the NFL is holding down Maxie Baughan because he slept with an assistant coach's wife when he was head coach at Cornell? Isn't that what assistant coaches (and their wives) are for? But it must be that, because there are a 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. 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.

Bill Forester: Bill Forester may have been better than Ray Nitschke. Contemporary measurements say so; All-Pros are three-to-one in favor of Forester, and Forester has a 4-3 edge in Pro Bowls. Forester doesn't have as many rings and he spent more years playing nose tackle, of all things, on rotten teams, but he was Lombardi's first choice for defensive captain over Nitschke. Let's call it a draw then, except for one thing: Nitschke's one of the all-time greats and Forester nuzzles up to Brian Noble in the Packer Hall of Fame. Fairly unfair, in other words.

Alex Karras: The case is clearer with Karras, who deservedly or not served a one-year suspension for gambling in 1963, along with Paul Hornung. Gambling has always been the big stop stick in the road for halls of fame, and Karras hit it full-on – though, it must be noted, it didn't stop his partner in alleged crime. But with Karras, there was also Paper Lion, and the movie where he punched out the horse, and the other movie where he played a gay bodyguard, and the goofy TV series where he wore an apron, and, and ... and the lesson here, kiddies, is that if you want to have your cake and eat it too, relax, be patient, and always remember to play for Vince Lombardi. Think about this, though: At the time of their suspensions, what would have been the over on who would have the longer acting career: the curly-haired Golden Boy with the dimple, or the brick-shaped, stolid Greek? Gyro Boy’s upset win is the Jets-over-Colts of football-to-acting transitions.

Winston Hill: Hill was an accomplished tennis player, so ostensibly he was better than Franco Harris, whose tennis game was not much different from his football game (meaning that, yes, he sent it out of bounds every chance he got). Just the mere fact that Hill played tennis tells you something about him: He was very nimble as offensive linemen go, even by '60s standards. Hill was listed at 6-4 and 270 but played around 250. He made all-Star games eight times, or about four times more than he would have made it in a unified NFL, but he was probably one of the 10 best AFL linemen. The fact that he was able to stand up to the Bob Lillys and Bubba Smiths after unification tells you how good he was. And you'd best stay away from his overhead smash.

The Rest Of The Rest

If you've been following the first round matchups in our all-time head-to-head playdowns,  you're no doubt wondering what happened in all the non-marquee games. You know, the games Kevin Harlan and Randy Cross call every week.

Wait no more. Here are the results, shorter and sweeter than Christina Aguilera on a stick.

Chicago Bears vs. Houston Texans: All the history in the world vs. no history. Mario Williams bites Sid Luckman on the ankle and Matt Schaub avoids death, but to no avail. Bears 47-6.

New Orleans Saints vs. Detroit Lions: Which is to say, the 2009-10 New Orleans Saints versus the Lions. The Lions lack a quarterback but don’t lack for anything else, especially in the secondary. Barry Sanders runs for 187 and the Lions triumph 31-10.

Cleveland Browns vs. Carolina Panthers: That would be the old Cleveland Browns, plus Joe Thomas. Cleveland piles up 354 yards rushing, and Cam Newton makes a cameo as the kicking-tee retriever. Browns 37-7.

New York Giants vs. Seattle Seahawks: Closer than you might think, since the Seahawks are pretty good everywhere. But real good beats pretty good 27-17.

Baltimore Ravens vs. Tennessee Titans: If the Ravens were allowed to be the Browns this would be a different story. As it is, Munchak and Matthews neutralize the Ravens' front seven, Earl Campbell rushes for two and Warren Moon throws for one, and the Ravens still don’t have an offense. Baltimore bows 24-10.

Jacksonville Jaguars vs. Pittsburgh Steelers: Fifty years of backstory a/k/a everything prior to Chuck Noll doesn’t help the Steelers much. But they don’t really need the help. Steelers 20-6.

Philadelphia Eagles vs. Indianapolis Colts: See above. Pete Pihos and Alex Wojciehowicz don’t add much to the bottom line. Peyton Manning throws for 346 in a 37-20 shootout.

Buffalo Bills vs. San Francisco 49ers: Too much San Fran offense makes up for a so-so defense. San Fran wins the Battle for O.J. 31-20.

New York Jets vs. Oakland Raiders: The Jets at their best have never been as good as a pretty good Raider team. Joe Namath throws four picks in a 28-3 Oakland win.

Cincinnati Bengals vs. Minnesota Vikings: Too much D, too much O, and zero Ochocinco. Minnesota 41-13.

Atlanta Falcons vs. Green Bay Packers: Reminiscent of their first matchups, when it was Nitschke, Davis & Co. versus Cannonball, the Hawk and the Wheel. Starr throws for two and Favre (in a mop-up role) throws for one, and the running game runs. Packers 38, Falcons 7.

Tampa Bay Buccaneers vs. Dallas Cowboys: Tampa’s defense tries to make it close, but tires in the fourth. Aikman throws for one and Dorsett runs for two in a 27-13 ‘Boys win. Jerry Jones dances on the Texas Stadium star to celebrate.

You eagle-eyed readers no doubt detected a missing matchup. That game is just finishing up as we speak, and if we can ever get Kenny Albert to shut up we may have the results for you later this week. In the meantime, pray for laryngitis.

Warren Raab And Chuck Green -- During Meals, Even

Our phy-ed classes with Mr. Royer, the guy with the zip-in knees who looked like Burt Reynolds, fell into one of two categories: fun stuff — dodgeball, floor hockey, basketball — and dancing.

The dancing unit lasted eight months and consisted of the Virginia Reel, square dancing and novelty dances. The novelty dances consisted of “Go, You Chicken Fat, Go!” and the Hokey Pokey, which everyone hated and which resembled physical education about as much as a salt-and-flour relief map of the United States actually resembles the United States.

Whenever I see Warren Raab I think of the Hokey Pokey. The you-stick-your-right-foot-out part.

Similarly, before Jack Kemp came along, the Buffalo Bills featured the most unremittingly mediocre set of quarterbacks in the history of modern professional football. In their first three years, they trotted out Johnny “Chuck” Green, Tom O’Connell, M.C. Reynolds, defensive back Richie Lucas, Manuch Wheeler, and Bob Broadhead — and still won more than half their ballgames.

It’s easy to see why Green wasn’t a better quarterback. He suffered from some rocket-scientist’s misguided calculation that the way to get more velocity on a downfield pass was to first jump real high; he had a bad number; and he had a horrible nickname.

Quarterbacks aren’t supposed to have nicknames anyway, unless it’s something flashy, like Kenny “The Snake” Stabler or “Broadway” Joe Namath, or unless their given names are beyond hope, like Christian Adolph “Sonny” Jurgensen. But Chuck? It would be like nicknaming Gomez Addams “Lee.”

The back of Green’s card reads, “With the height and weight to take a chance at running the ball, Green worries would-be rushers because of his accuracy on the long throw.”

Uh, right. You bet.

-- From the original Football With 1 Stick Gum, 1999

Pete Gogolak: Better Than Blackpool

Not just anyone can write Football With 1 Stick Gum – with a straight face, anyway. You gotta be qualified. Among my more unusual qualifications is that I accompanied the U.S. National Semipro Football team to Blackpool, England, as assistant general manager. It wasn’t just rolling out the balls, either. I had to drive. A stick-shift car with the stick in my left hand and the steering wheel in my right, and the driver’s side where the passenger’s side ought to be. In London. Trying to find Wembley Stadium. Which no one, in those pre-Mapquest days, could find. And I had to shepherd Lucky Jim, who swore he could drive a stick and drove 12 miles out of Heathrow without once shifting into second. They towed the car, and we went back for Lucky Jim and his mates. It was later he broke ribs running into the hotel staircase, and never played a down on the trip.

My mentor in this endeavor was my ad manager at the time, a fellow named John Guy. John talked like The Great Gildersleeve and looked like a Bozo the Clown Rock 'n' Bop and had a career ambition of owning a 10,000-watt AM station in Odessa, Texas.

John was, in many ways, a match for his charges. I remember one linebacker in particular who believed it was perfectly acceptable to take a passport picture with an Instamatic camera in your backyard, in front of a tree, with your cat. He never made it out of the country.

A word about Blackpool before I move on. Blackpool is an English resort town. As a sentence, this is the equivalent of saying “Lady Gaga is beautiful.” You know that under the pushups, powder and paste is a walnut. And not one of your cuter walnuts. The temperature never got above 50, the wind howled like Yoko, and it seemed that every other storefront was selling something they claimed was rock candy but I’m sure was crystal meth. That’s the only way anyone could have gotten a holiday out of the place.

The kicker on that trip was a 55-year-old Yugoslavian who claimed to have taught Pete Gogolak how to kick a football soccer-style. The Yugoslavian’s story sounded convincing despite the fact that Gogolak is Hungarian and he wasn’t, but it was late at night and the cider is mighty strong over there. In his defense, the Yugoslavian did have a trick were he would line up 10 footballs on tees and kick them one after the other, with the object being to kick the 10th through the uprights while the first was passing over the bar. He pulled it off with the surety and slick patter of someone who has kept 10 footballs in the air more than once, and his continental arrogance about this and other things began to bug the team after a while. In response, the members of the extra-point squad decided to lay down instead of block on an extra point after the team was comfortably ahead, which in the case of this game (like most of the games over there) was early in the second quarter. The linemen took it a step further by telling the opposing linemen, “Hey, we’re going to lay down on the extra point. Get in there and knock that kick back in that idiot’s face,” or somesuch. When the ball was snapped and the linemen hit the deck there was a split second of incredulity followed by several moments of lyric poetry that could only be matched by Van Morrison scat-singing WWE results. The British American footballers performed their duties with élan and then some, as the block actually spurred a brief rally on the Brits’ part. The Americans took the game by 10 points, give or take, and all except the Yugoslavian agreed a close game was a small price to pay for the satisfaction.

In the Bills' championship year of 1965 Jack Kemp was the AFL's MVP, despite not leading the league in a single statistical category. In fact, the Bills' offense was pretty awful that year. It was seventh in team passing, which is understandable given the Buffalo climate and the Buffalo pass-catchers, the best of which was either the speedster Elbert Dubenion or ex-CFL tight end Ernie Warlick. MVP Jack Kemp chipped in with 13 TD passes and 24 interceptions. The rushing offense wasn't much of a panacea, either, finishing sixth in the league, averaging 3.3 yards per carry and fumbling away the ball 28 times. So how'd the Bills do it? Defense and astonishing kicking. The Bills D allowed four rushing touchdowns all year, and only 226 points in 14 games. Punter Paul Maguire averaged 43 yards per punt; try that sometime in a Buffalo winter. (To put it in perspective, the supposed king of winter punting, the Packers' Don Chandler, averaged 42.9 yards/punt in '65.) And not only was Pete Gogolak perfect on all his extra-point tries (as was every other kicker in the league), but he kicked eight more field goals than anyone else. Twenty-four points to a team that gives up a rushing touchdown every fourth game would seem to be immense, but if Gogolak kicks 10 fewer field goals the Bills go 9-5 and still win it all. If he doesn't kick a single field goal the Bills still win it all; that's how bad the AFL's Eastern Division was that year. That doesn't diminish Gogolak's accomplishments; he was a phenom. He just happened to play for a team that didn't need one.

The question of how quickly an AFL-less NFL would have caught on to soccer-style kickers is moot. Gogolak was kicking footballs in college, as was his brother. College-football innovations migrated quickly to the pros in those days. At best Gogolak sped up the process by two or three years. Had there been no Gogolak and no AFL there would have been Jan Stenerud in 1967. He was simply too good to ignore.