Ballers, Gamers and Scoundrels

One stinking yard. Steve McNair passed for 31,304 yards during his 13-year NFL career. Had it been 31,305, he just might’ve ended up in the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

McNair, 35, announced his retirement today. He worked out hard during the off season to “see how his body would react to my mind,” he said today. “My mind was feeling, yes, but my body was saying, ‘What are you doing?’”

His legacy is clear at simple: Steve McNair was one of the toughest and most versatile quarterbacks ever to play the game. He epitomized the game’s warrior mystique, playing hurt for most of the last half of his career, taking pounds and yet most often rising to play again.

He’s one of only three QBs to amass more than 30,000 yards passing and at least 3,000 rushing. The other two are Fran Tarkenton and Steve Young, both of whom are already enshrined.

So why not McNair?

One stinkin’ yard. That’s what stood between McNair and a game-tying touchdown pass in finals seconds of Super Bowl XXXIV against St. Louis eight years ago at the Georgie Dome in Atlanta. On a play that started at the 10-yard-line, McNair hit wide receiver Kevin Dyson at the six, only to watch as Rams linebacker Mike Jones corralled and wrestled him down at the one just after the clock dinged :00.

After the game, McNair cried like a baby.

“It’s always going to be there,” McNair said three years ago, referring to the single yard that will always define his career. “I don’t care how many people say that they don’t think about it, you always replay it in your mind. I think about how sad and how bad I was feeling. It was a low point in my career because I think that we had a chance to win the game if we would have gotten that yard and went into overtime.”

The final score was 23-16. But it might as well have read “0″ for McNair HOF chances.

And that’s a shame. His numbers and longevity should at least give him due consideration.

He was also all that the NFL hopes its men to be. In an era too often defined by the likes of Pacman Jones, McNair was a family man of faith, a self-described country boy from Alcorn State - and a descendant, as it were, of Doug Williams, a player in whom many African Americans took pride.

The aura surrounding that day in the Georgia Dome was not quite like the one 12 years before when Williams led the Washington Redskins into Super Bowl XLI against the Denver Broncos. On that day, black America held its breath and the Redskins’ 42-10 victory, along with Williams’ courageous MVP performance, prompted what I like to call a national Negro holiday.

There was rooting for McNair, too, whom, like Williams, was nurtured at an historically black college. His loss was painful, but we moved on.

Something Steve McNair will never be able to do.

During a recent sports-talk show, I was asked my view on whther a certain veteran athlete should retire. The guy was coming off a mediocre season, one that fell far short of the all-World seasons he regularly produced at the peak of his career. The inference was that he should go out with “dignity,” or before he suffered some life-altering injury.

Without much thought I said: “Play on!”

Who are we to tell an athlete when he or she should retire? We do it all the time, typically wanting our icons to retire “on top,” or before we have to watch them perform like pitiable shells of their former selves. (Old guys, please let the Willie Mays thing go!)

We want New York Giants defensive leader Michael Strahan to retire after winning his first Super Bowl. (Please, the man has huge alimony payments.)

We wanted Michael Jordan to retire after nailing the NBA Championship-winning offensive foul/jumper against the Utah Jazz in the 1998 Finals. (The body said yes, but MJ’s mind clearly said no.)

Most athletes retire quietly, disappearing before we know they’re really gone. Some leave in the wake of ignominious remarks that will live in infamy. (See: Latrell Sprewell’s “feed my family” diatribe for turning down $5 million three years ago, an amount his agent called “a slap in the face.” Just recently it was reported that Sprewell’s home was in foreclosure due to more than $200,000 in payments in arrears, and that he’d auctioned off his yacht to pay the $1.32 owed on it.)

Some athletes don’t really retire retire - i.e. the spate of NBA veterans that have been dusted off of late by teams either looking for wizened reinforcements for the playoff stretch (P.J. Brown) or someone to throw into a trade deal to make the numbers work (Keith Van Horn). (The lesson: Never sign those retirement papers!)

Back in the early 90s, I waxed on about how Jimmy Connors should retire. It was 1991 and the aging, injured champion had fallen to No. 936 in the world. Because of his petulant behavior (on and off the tennis court) I had never been a huge fan. I respected his achievements and on some level admired his up-from-nowhere fire. But as he pushed 40 his act had grown weary. I was adamant that tennis (and sports) would be better off if Connors and his tantrums just faded away.

He did nothing of the sort, of course. And that fall Connors put on what may have been the greatest show in tennis histor, reaching the semifinals of the U.S. Open and stirring all of New York in the process. On his 39th birthday, he defeated 24-year-old Aaron Krickstein 3-6, 7-6(8), 1-6, 6-3, 7-6(4), overcoming a 2-5 hole in the final set, in 4 hours and 41 minutes of the most scintillating sports exhibition I may have ever witnessed.

An exhibition we would have missed had Connors retired, as so many were saying he should do.

After that, I’ve been loathe to judge whether any athlete should retire. Play on.

Yesterday, Brett Favre retired “on his terms,” as we like to say. He said simply that, after 17 NFL seasons, he was tired. He had nothing left to prove to anyone, including himself. Some lament that the certain Hall-of-Fame QB’s last pass was an ill-thrown interception in the NFC title game that led to Green Bay being eliminated from the Super Bowl Derby. Hogwash. The all-time everything QB will be remembered for far more than that.

What will we remember about Roger Clemens? I’m not sure whether he’s thrown his last pitch from a major-league mound. but it certainly seems unlikely now that he’ll stare down another batter. He’s too busy staring down the rest of us. He’s too busy telling us what few others believe to be true - that he did not take steroids, was not at Jose Conseco’s party, did not influence a caretaker about her potential testimony and did not tell Andy Pettitte his drug use.

And soon he may have to stare down a federal investigator trying to determine if he lied to Congress.

Right now, all the greatness Clemens displayed on the mound, the greatness that led us to debate whether he was the best pitcher ever, seems pretty insignificant relative to the ugliness that surrounds him now.

Definitely not a way to go out.

Spygate isn’t going away, despite the NFL owners’ best wishes. It’s not going away because some things don’t make sense. Not to me, and not to Republican Senator Arlene Specter. The politician says NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell - whose tenure thus far has pretty much been a fairy tale - is “stonewalling” his effort to get behind the league’s “investigation ” of the New England Patriot’s tendency to You Tube opponents by videotaping defensive signals, a violation of league rules.

This all could have been avoided had Goodell responded promptly to the Senator’s initial inquiry into Spygate, a latter sent to the league office. But somehow the letter never reached Goodell, or something. Whatever the reason, Specter did not appreciate being ignored. He went public with his dissatisfaction and finally met with Goodell.

Goodell thought the matter was settled. Back in October, after revelations that Patriot coach Bill Belichick had illegally taped the New York Jets signals, fined the coach $500,000 and charged the team $250,000 and a first-round pick in the April draft. But once the “investigation” was done and the penalty levied, Goodell did something curious: He destroyed the evidence.

Heck, I’m supposed to keep my gas receipts for seven years; my tax returns and bank statements for seven years. The NFL destroys evidence in about seven weeks? What they ran out of storage room? This is the kind of subterfuge that, as Arsenio Hall made famous, “Makes you go, ‘Hmmm.’”

More recently, it has become known that a former Patriots employee, Matt Walsh, might have information regarding allegations that the Patriots videotaped a St. Louis Rams’ practice before Super Bowl XXXVI in New Orleans in February 2002. Trouble is, it doesn’t seem like the NFL really wants to hear from Walsh. They say differently, telling us that they’ve made substantive offers to Walsh’s attorney’s to allow the former video assistant to speak to the league under condition that would spare him from any prosecution. Specter isn’t so sure the league offers are genuine.

“If they had wanted Walsh to talk, it would have been done a long time ago,” he told ESPN.com. “They are not helping by keeping him on ice, unless they intend to keep him on ice.”

I’d like to believe they want him to talk. I’d like to believe that Goodell, who’s left no police report unturned in his quest to investigate untoward behavior by players, would exhibit the same dogged pursuit of possible wrongdoing by a coach or team official.

It’s hard to believe, though, after hearing the league’s voices this week. After a four-hour meeting, the NFL’s competition committee essentially said they were done with it. “I’m tired of hearing about it,” New York Giants president John Mara said. “It’s been thoroughly investigated, thoroughly handled.”

And, it seems, throughly shoved under the turf.

It’s easy to pick the Giants, and you can blame Tom Brady. Super Bowl XXXVI was supposed to be a blowout. The NFC champion St Louis Rams scored about a gazillion points a game, and Brady was still young and untested - a sixth-round draft pick who had no business leading his team to the Super Bowl. The score was tied with two minutes to go, prompting John Madden to declare that the Pats should be satisfied with the tie and try to beat the favored Rams in OT. Thankfully (at least for Pats fans), Madden was not the voice in Brady’s helmet. Instead, the second-year QB guided the underhounds down the field and set the table for a championship-winning, time-expiring field goal by Adam Vinatieri

Brady was named Super Bowl MVP but do you remember his stats? A paltry145 yards passing, one touchdown, and no interception. Zzzzz. Not exactly best-QB-of-all-time numbers, but at the time, who knew?

Eli Manning is that Tom Brady. Not that he’ll ever be this Tom Brady, but for the moment he’s young and untested - for the moment.

On Sunday night, that will change.

And if he throws zero picks, as that Brady did, we’re talking Giant upset and MVP. Brother-to-brother rings.

But as good as it sounds, as easy as it would be to craft that tale, it won’t happen.

Like their predecessors - the Patroits’ two prior playoff victims - the boys from New York will have to play perfect football to beat these Pats. Gimpy ankle or no. They’ll have to score touchdowns and not field goals (In fact, if we even see Lawrence Tynes before the end of the fourth quarter, fork it.) They’ll have to sack TB at least three times and bust him in the head at least three more. They’ll have to get 100+ yards from Thunder and Lightening in the backfield. And they’ll have to get at least one cheap TD - a fumble recovery at the one, a punt or kick-off return or a prancing INT.

And they might need all of those things to win.

Or they just might need history. 18-0 is no joke. And there’s a reason no team has gone 19-0.

It’s just too hard. Cheating or not, it’s just too unlikely.

The 1972 Miami Dolphins notwithstanding, God don’t like undefeated.

So hear me now. It’s easy to pick the Giants because we’ve seen this story. They have the young idol-in-training. They are supposed to get trounced. And the ‘72 Dolphins have champagne on ice that should not go to waste.

My head tells me the Pats, 35-17. But since when did I start using my head?

Giants 31-28.

Enjoy.

Somehow, I cannot believe the last pass thrown by Brett Favre will be an INT. It won’t end that way. Just won’t happen. Destiny thought it was too cold to show up ay Lambeau tonight. But no matter. Brett Favre will be back.

He didn’t say as much after the Grenn Bay Packers lost to the New York Giants, 23-20, in a thrilling OT NFC title game. But I didn’t expect him to, not after the last couple of years when it seemed to take him forever to make the decision to return. He did say it wouldn’t take as long this time.

This is why he’ll return. This team’s best times are tomorrow. They’re young and this year they achieved beyond expectations. Next season they should be better, which should make Favre better.

They still may not reach the Super Bowl, but the way he played this season and given the youth and talent surrounding him, I can’t believe B Favre won’t give it one more shot.

This is the worst week of the NFL season. Most teams with Super Bowl aspirations have clinched playoff berths, so with a single game - of absolutely no import - left to play, their coaches most balance the need to stay sharp with the risk of injury. Play your horses are keep them in the barn?

Most often, I’d never criticize a coach for taking the safe tact. Rest ‘em. Or play them for a quarter. Whatever. The wrath of losing an all-pro in the fourth quarter with noting at stake far outweighs those who say resting starters comprises “the integrity of the game.” Please. You don’t get a ring for winning in Week 16.

That said, I’m loving Tom Coughlin about now. Not for anything spectacular he’s done this season. The Giants are a methodically boring deal that has pretty much underperformed. But today he showed me something. The Giants have qualified for the playoffs. They even know who they’ll play in the opening round -m Tampa Bay. But still, he said today he’ll play to win against the undefeated, unblemished, untarnished New England Patriots on Saturday night. No rest. No safe tact.

That’s the right move. Anything less would indeed besmirch the integrity of the game. Anything less would be unfortunate.

Yes, a Giant might get hurt. Heck a Giant could be hurt in the first series, let alone the fourth quarter. But the Giants will not reach the Super Bowl. This is their Super Bowl. Beat the Patriots and a likely first-round lost to the Bucs will become a forgettable footnote for the history books. Beat the Bucs and this will be a ream worth remembering. Otherwise, it is little more than a bunch of guys in blue playing out the string.

A tale of two Taylors: Fred (above) and Sean.

Typically, the only people who truly care about Pro Bowl selections are players, their relatives, their agents and those NFL wonks who’ve somehow created a Fantasy League based on who did/didn’t make the NFL’s annual after-season Irrelevant Bowl. This year, though, the announcement of yesterday’s rosters stirred an unusual tone when it was learned that Washington Redskins safety Sean Taylor was named to the team less than a month after he was killed in a robbery in his home.

Taylor was leading the league in INTs at the time of his death, and was one of the leading vote-getters at the time. Bravo.

Conversely, Fred Taylor got screwed. The Jacksonville Jag Running back is the NFL’s sixth-leading rusher be he’s earned more yards per-carry than all but one of the men ahead of him: Minnesota’s sensational rookie, Adrian Peterson. But this is the deal: Last month, Taylor becaome only the 21st rusher in league history to surpass 10,000 yards. Each of those men made the Pro Bowl at some juncture during their careers. Not Fred. He’s never earned a seat on the Honolulu boondoggle. Not once.

Too bad.

The NFL had a great opportunity to do the right things, but they got only halfway there.

May I provide some clarity to the noise that crackled across the airwaves and digital space all day following the sentencing of Michael Vick to 23 months in prison on charges stemming from his involvement in the well-chronicled dog-fighting mess? Here me on this: Michael Vick got what he deserved. He messed up (that change of language is for the little children who may stumble upon this post) - or made a severe “error in judgment,” as his able attorney, Billy Martin, so aptly stated today - and now must pay his debt.

Some said they were stunned that U.S. Henry E. Hudson levied a judgment that that exceeded the prosecutions recommendations of up to 18 months. Others (some of them journalists, sadly) railed that Vick was hit harder than the parade of the celebrities of late who’ve been sentenced to, oh, 90 seconds in jail for DUI and other related charges that, some said, “put humans in danger.”

Help me, please. The latter group needs to get a grip. The comparison is apples and zebras. Michael Vick bankrolled a heinous, illegal dogfighting and gambling operation. Emphasis on bankrolled. “He did more than fund it,” prosecutor Michael Gill said, speaking of the “Bad Newz Kennels” dogfighting operation. “He was in this thing up to his neck with the other defendants.”

Vick was the proverbial “big fish” the law always seeks. He was the kingpin, the Godfather, as it were. Moreover, he participated in said heinous and illegal acts. And he killed dogs. Killed.

Those facts alone were putting him at the high-end of the prison vacation pool. Now why did Judge Hudson go beyond the recommendations. Again, this is all on Vick.

He was stupid. Knowing that he would be tested for drugs, he failed a test for marijuana while under indictment. Dumb.

Now dumber. Given the opportunity to be forthcoming to authorities after pleading guilty, he was “less than truthful” with the feds, the judge said today. (Is that a polite way of saying “He lied?”) It was reported that when Vick did not admit to being involved to the extent that his co-defendents said he was. Even worse, when during a polygraph test he was asked if he participated in the killing of dogs he, well, was again “less than truthful.”

D umber.

Once again, this year is showing us what the Feds were the sports story of the year. Don’t mess with ‘em. Don;t step on their toes. And, Lord, don’t lie to them. Ask Barry Bonds. Ask Marion Jones. Ask Bud Selig. Ask, well, just about any athlete in almost any sport.

Ask Michael Vick. Maybe now he’ll tell the truth.

Uh, ya think?

Eric Rivera, Jr., the 17-year-old accused shooter (murderer) appeared in court for the first time today and was denied bail by Judge John Thornton, Jr. Later, Rivera’s attorney, Sawyer Smith, said he hoped to strike a deal with prosecutors. Not sure if it’s remorse or fear driving the strtegy, but its already looking like his co-defendants will turn on him before you can say “Michael Vick.”

“When the State Attorney’s Office is ready,” said Smith, “we would like to sit down and begin discussion with them so we can move towards a resolution in the case that has the best interest of all parties in mind. We want to minimize the impact of case resolution on the Taylor family and find a result that’s in the best interest of justice.

The best interest of justice. Hmmm. Be careful what you wish for.