When I was a kid, I was crazy about sports. All of them really. Well, except soccer. I still don't see the appeal of that activity. Most of my wardrobe consisted of team apparel, sometimes of teams I didn't really like all that much. I still don't know why I ever had a Colorado Rockies Starter jacket. I think because I begged my mom for a Starter jacket, because they were ultra hip back then, and she liked the colors. I'm an Atlanta Braves fan. Or, I was, when I still thought baseball was at all entertaining. I no longer do. I had Chicago Bulls shirts, and New York Knicks shirts, and Orlando Magic shirts... I never really had a favorite basketball team; it was more about having individual heroes. My buddy Dave and I would watch the summer Olympics religiously, just to watch the Dream Team. And we frequented McDonald's during that time to get the plastic Dream Team cups.
And before I met Dave, I'd watch WWF wrestling on the weekends with my dad. I couldn't get enough. I still remember some of the obscure characters and their gimmicks. I remember when Sean Michaels was in a tag team with a guy named Marty Jannetty. They were called The Rockers, and they wore flamboyant tights with neon fringe. And then Sean Michaels turned on Marty... I couldn't believe it. It was such a betrayal. Well, in the eyes of a little kid, at least. I remember, back then I wanted nothing more than my own pair of Legion of Doom foam spiked orange plastic shoulder pads.
But they only sold those at the live events I believe, and they surely never would come to Syracuse, NY (where I used to live)...
But one day, they did. And my dad took me to see the show. I was so excited. There were promises of amazing matches with all of the superstars, which is what they do now. But when we got there, it was match after match of one superstar wrestling some unknown, un-costumed general wrestler guy. I was heartbroken. But I did get to see the Undertaker walk across the tight ropes while dragging Nameless Wrestler Guy's arm. That was cool. On, and those plastic shoulder pads? Close to $50 a pop. I did not get them. And in retrospect, they were pretty cheesy and cheaply made. But I do still have my Legion of Doom action figures.
And then I got old. WWF turned into WWE, and I learned that all of those wrestlers that I had admired for so long had severe substance abuse problems, and most of them were on copious amounts of steroids. Michael Jordan tried baseball, then retired. Larry Bird, Karl Malone, John Stockton, Charles Barkley, Dikembe Mutombo... all retired. Shaq was traded to the Lakers, and then to the Miami Heat. Lawrence Moten, my hero from Syracuse, was drafted by Vancouver in the second round... and I never saw him play again. The Buffalo Bills lost two consecutive Super Bowls, one of them because the kicker couldn't kick straight. Nolan Ryan retired, my heroes from the Atlanta Braves were traded or retired, and then the whole league went on strike. Michael Irvin was a drug user. Emmit Smith was on tv, dancing. My childhood dreams were dying. And I entered the working world, and realized that it's absurd how much money these guys made to play a game for a living. And story after story of guys not showing up to practice, or getting DUIs, or drug possession charges, or bringing weapons into the locker room, or rape charges, or spousal abuse sealed the deal for me. I was no longer a sports fan. Except for hockey. Go Rangers.
But even my beloved Rangers have let me down by signing Donald Brashear after his cheap shot on Blair Betts the year before. We don't need a dirty player like that on our team, and he's not needed in professional sports either, as far as I'm concerned. Adopting the enforcer role is one thing, but purposely injuring another player, especially with an unsolicited illegal hit is inexcusable. I miss the days when athletes were heroes. The 1994 New York Ranger team... It didn't get much better than that for me. Watching Michael Jordan take off from the free throw line and magically fly through the air, then reading a biography about him that said he left a note for the neighborhood kids telling them to come back a few days after Halloween for trick or treating, because he was out of town for Halloween, and felt bad that he couldn't give them candy. Seeing Hulk Hogan body slam Andre the Giant... Those role model moments have been replaced with athletes who cheat, fight fans, and publicly disrespect their coaches and teammates. And get paid obscene amounts of money to do it.
Which brings me back around to Reggie Bush. What he did was wrong, and rules are rules. It's just sad that he has to give up his prestigious award, and bring shame to his legacy over something that really had no bearing on his physical performance. He accepted money that he shouldn't have accepted. He didn't lie about steroids, or bring a gun to school, or sucker punch a rival athlete. But his record will always carry this mark of shame, and it may keep him from the Hall of Fame someday. It reminds me of the Pete Rose scandal. Pete Rose liked to gamble. Unfortunately, he gambled on baseball games, which is a bad thing when you yourself are a professional baseball player. But he's always denied betting on his own games, and there hasn't been any proof that he did. It's still keeping him out of the Hall of Fame, to this day though. Which, in my opinion, is a real shame. It's another infraction that really had no bearing on his physical abilities. In the age of Mark McGuire, Roger Celmens, Sammy Sosa et al, all of whom used steroids to enhance their physical abilities unfairly, gambling hardly seems like something that should forever put a pock mark on some one's career and legacy.
The Reggie Bush situation makes me wonder how the runner up must be feeling. They've so far decided not to award the returned Heisman Trophy to anyone. It seems like it should go to the runner up, who likely would have received it had these allegations come to light during the time of voting, instead of years later. But if it were me, I'm not sure I would even want it. The award would forever seem a little inappropriate. After all, Reggie Bush performed better than the runner up; bottom line. Performance wise, he deserved it. To me, it'd be like the committee saying, "Well, you weren't quite good enough then, but at least you were honest, so... our bad." So maybe it's just better to leave it be, with no winner for that year. It almost adds insult to Reggie Bush's injury, in that the record books will forever have to include a footnote explaining what happened for that year. Otherwise, the runner up will have a footnote next to his name, explaining that he didn't really win it...
Sports fandom seemed so much simpler in my youth. You had your good guys and your bad guys. Hulk Hogan was a good guy, Andre the Giant was a bad guy (relatively speaking). Michael Jordan was the good guy, and anyone trying to block him was a bad guy. The Dream Team were the good guys. etc. But now, the good guys are doing bad things. The line between good guy and bad guy is blurred. Hulk Hogan turned bad. And suddenly his theme song was completely meaningless. Right or wrong, he was the embodiment of the American spirit, at least in the eyes of a 9 year old. He'd get knocked down, then magically shake his fist, then his whole body, and fueled by the cheering crowd and the spirit of America, he'd rise to his feet, and pummel his oppressor. "I am a real American. Fight for the rights of every man. I am a real American. Fight for your rights; fight to survive!" Little did we know that part of the shaking was the steroids flowing through his bloodstream. Or that everything we saw, every victory, every breath taking moment was scripted well before the matches ever took place.
Like Brett Michaels and Poison, I just want an athlete to "give me something to believe in" again. (Yeah, it's a lame ending. I've been trying to write this for two days now...)
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