Sure, Deion is a great athlete, but so are scores of others who do not go around acting like they are some kind of royalty. It's just a game. It's just a job - but more and more like show business than a game. When I was a Federal agent in Philly, I saw Bednarik play. A true legend. I look back wistfully at guys like him and some of the real heroes of the Cowboys - and other teams - from years past. Yeah, kids, it's another old guy talking about the "good old days." Well, stick it. They were the good old days. Read Judge Bork's new book, something about sliding into Gomorrah. That's a polite way of saying the country's moral fiber is going to hell. Definition:
Go·mor·rah: An ancient city of Palestine near Sodom, possibly covered by the waters of the Dead Sea. According to the Old Testament, the city was destroyed by fire because of its wickedness.
Actually, it is easy to see the main problem with pro athletes from all sports who get off the path. They have too much too soon and simply can't handle it. I have had long talks with very famous Dallas Cowboys about this problem over the years. When I was publishing books, one all-pro lineman, who wanted me to publish his career story, shared tapes and notes with me of discussions he had with players who were oblivious of the future. Most lived for the day.
A 24-year-old does not need a Porsche or a Mercedes. They may deserve one, but when you have so much so young, what do you have to look forward to? If they have a $2 million house at age 26, what can they aspire to at age 50? Too much money is also a temptation to partake of too much partying and the ability to buy all the illegal drugs one can consume. The fan adulation is more than any mortal, especially a very young one, is prepared to cope with. Years ago I wrote a letter for the Sports page of the Dallas Morning News regarding the clamor for higher and higher salaries. I suggested that playing football was a job, not the road to Sainthood. In Dallas, there are entirely too many pseudo-Saints on the football team. Put part of the blame on the fans.
If I were Football Commissioner I would propose a plan that no matter what his salary, the total yearly checks for a player could never exceed $150,000. The remaining (millions?) would go into an NFL superfund to be invested in stable, but grow-oriented investments. After he retired, the player could withdraw his proportionate part of the pot - aside from any retirement pension. I would last one week as Commissioner with that plan. But, too many players fritter away their money or lose it in bad investments. Tony Dorsett, who is an acquaintance from the Aerobics Center and elsewhere, ran into deep financial problems. He was and is in good - or bad - company in the NFL. So much for the soapbox. Now to my real heroes. And some stories along the way.
For many years I was a member of Dr. Kenneth Cooper's Aerobics Center in Dallas. It was a mecca for athletes and those who were serious about good health and good health habits. Frank Shorter, the Olympic marathoner, used to come by and titillate us by offering to race a mile or two. I once nearly beat Frank in a race. Of course, he gave several of us more than a half mile head start. It was neck and neck at the finish. The Dallas Cowboys made the place their second home in the off season. Staubach, Dorsett, Cliff Harris, Too Tall Jones at times, Robert Newsome, Tony Hill, Otto Stowe, Mark Washington, and many others came to play basketball, jog, and lift weights. I once made the mistake of trying to have a conversation with Too Tall as close to his level as I could get. My calf muscles were sore for a week from standing on tiptoe.
Well, that last tremendous effort popped my right hamstring. Loudly! You could hear it pop. I fell to the ground in a heap. Roger and his friend came over and helped me to the locker room. As I limped along, Roger said, "Rhodes, do know what your problem is?"
"No, Rog. What?"
"You are too competitive."
I could not believe my ears. Anyone who knew Roger Staubach knew he was one of the most competitive athletes in the history of the NFL. Many come-from-behind thrillers. A separated shoulder making a "real" tackle (Dionne please note) on a man who had intercepted a pass. This from a man who had so many concussions that his doctor told him to give up football when he was still a very effective player. He was telling me I was too competitive? Scenes flashed back as we ambled along. Me behind in a tennis match with Roger by 4 games and maniacally running around the court smashing and scooping up shots to eventually win. He and I standing at near mid-basketball court to see who could sink the most long shots. Me swimming a mile in a full leg cast after I broke and ankle stepping on a tennis ball while running backward on the court. And so on. A virtual nut case! Finally, someone I admired and respected had put it into perspective for me.
Roger was right. I was no kid. And I was always overweight to some degree. I probably weighed about 215 that day (at 5' 10"+). If I kept on trying to beat Roger Staubach or others like him, I would probably have a massive heart attack and keel over. From that day on, I backed off. Never again did I try to "win at any cost," either in sports or in business. Years later, I sent him a letter in which I mentioned, among other things, the valuable lesson he had taught me that day on the sunny lawn at the Aerobics Center.
Bobby Hayes, who was known as the Worlds Fastest Human after his Olympic victory, and who was a wide receiver for the Cowboys, sauntered up in his sweats. He volunteered to play defense. I said okay and we all set ourselves. Bobby would lay back a ways and I would go out and make my cut. The ball would hit me just after the cut. Slam! Bobby never came close. He moved further in. More of the same. Pass after pass and Bobby Hayes was not able to knock one away. I would give a great deal for a video tape of that day. A great deal. Finally, Roger grew tired of throwing. My hands were starting to swell, and my chest felt like somebody had been beating on it with a sledgehammer. I thanked Bobby for helping to make it such a memorable day for me. (See Note: at the end.)
From under a tree, a large, tall, black man in sweats walked toward me. "Man, you're fast," he said.
"Not bad for a fat man over 40," I replied.
He introduced himself as Jean Fugett, the new wide receiver/tight end for the Cowboys. We chatted and that began a friendship that lasted as long as Jean was in Dallas. I did not know it then, but writing was one of our common interests. He went on to be a reporter for the Washington Post in the off-season when he was traded to the Redskins. And the last I checked in, he was chairman of one of the largest black-owned businesses in the United States.
Back inside I spotted Staubach sitting on the edge of the track again. By now, I was higher than a kite. I swaggered by and said, "Well, Rog, the NFL may have its oldest rookie this year."
He smiled. "Only one problem, Rhodes. We block and tackle." Details! Killjoy!
To this day, I admire Roger Staubach and respect him as a player, a businessman, and a family man. He was part of a vanishing breed, as trite as that sounds. I am proud, and better off, for having known him all those years.
If you think I made this all up, you can call Roger at his office (The Staubach Company in Dallas) and ask him. But be warned that Roger will probably try to lease you a very large office building in Dallas. He did not fritter his money away on fast cars, fast women, booze, and drugs during his playing days. He laid a foundation for a lifetime of financial success. Current players take note. Buy Coke stock, not the powdered kind.
Footnote:
This story was posted by me on Oct. 6, 1996. In another amazing coincidence, on October 18, 1996, Roger Staubach and his company were the subject of a feature article on page B1 of the Wall Street Journal. It gets scary at times.
Note re Bobby Hayes:
In no way am I trying to say that I could outrun Bobby Hayes. There are about four characteristics that go into the ability of most athletes, strength, speed, quickness, and endurance. I always was fast, but never sprinter fast. But, I was very strong and extremely quick. I could change direction on a tennis court or a football field on a dime and be gone like the Roadrunner. It is quickness that allows a pass receiver, for example, to get open. So, my ability to change directions rapidly and put on a little afterburner, along with having passes thrown by one of the best quarterbacks ever to play the game, accounted for the fact that Bobby Hayes didn't knock down any passes that day. At least not that I recall.
One day I was standing in the parking lot near the laundry room. A very attractive lady in shorts came up and asked if I had change for the laundry machines. I don't remember if I did, but I do remember her. A couple of days later several of us were hanging around a new Corvette one of the guys had bought. I asked if anyone knew the gal in the upstairs apartment to our right and pointed there. "Don't know her," one guy said. "But early every morning a big guy comes out of there and goes jogging." Nuff said.
Some days later, my son Mark and I were playing tennis. It was near the end of our allotted reservation. A man and a woman approached. We offered to leave and the man said that we should finish our game. Then, I noticed that the girl was the one who had asked me for change for the laundry. The man was Mike Ditka, then a coach for the Dallas Cowboys. Ooops! Mike watched us play out our game and asked if I would play tennis with him sometime. So, that is how we began to play tennis and become friends. To this day, I have never told Mike the story about "change for the laundry." I think I am correct in saying that the lady in now his wife.
Mike had a part ownership in a theme restaurant that had an African motif. It was called the Hungry Hunter. My date and I would go there and Mike would be moving from table to table, with a glass of wine in his hand - schmoozing the guests. It was hard to believe that this was the same guy they called "Iron Mike." He was affable, intelligent, articulate, and rather laid back. One day he asked me if I wanted to go into the kitchen and get a full place setting of the china, which was specially made for the restaurant, to put in my apartment. I declined, but did take the glass I was drinking my Scotch from. I still have that glass in the cupboard, with its big flared bottom and etched Ram's head and "Hungry Hunter" on it. Damn, I should have taken the china. What fun it would be to serve dinner on those plates and tell the story. The restaurant folded, anyway. They would never have missed a few plates.
The more I got to know Mike, the more I began to see a sensitive and caring side of him that few people saw. And I knew he was a lot smarter than most people assumed. He would get me tickets for the Cowboy games on the 50 yard line. One time, all he could get were visitor's side 50-yard line. I got there early, dragged my date all the way around the stadium to the area behind the Cowboy bench. I asked someone to have Mike come over. He came over and I introduced my friend. Mike apologized for not getting me seats behind the bench. Wow, was my date impressed. As if 50 yard-line seats on the opposite side, with two days notice, were not special enough.
When Mike took the coaching job in Chicago, we kept in touch. A note here and there. A Christmas card (mine of the Bears team, signed by the coach). Eventually, I asked him for an autographed photo. I am not a collector of autographs or photos of the famous. I have only four. Roger Staubach; Mike Ditka; Linda Gray, with whom I became friends during my days associated with the TV show "Dallas"; and a female news anchor from New York City whom I befriended after watching her newscast on DSS satellite. She and I have exchanged letters and talked on the phone. Each photo has a very personal and treasured inscription. Two great guys. Two great women. They look marvelous up there next to each other.
Mike Ditka is a hero of mine for several reasons. He is a man of conviction with an unswerving sense of mission. He typifies the "work ethic" that is rapidly being lost in this country. He does not tolerate excuses from himself or those who follow him. He is in fact the essence of a Conservative. I once suggested to him in a letter that he run for the U.S. Senate after his coaching days. But he, like me, probably would not fit in on the Hill. He would be too tempted to punch out some of the idiots with whom he would share the Senate chamber. At least, the old Mike Ditka would have. After all, national politics is about winning and losing. It is about being on stage. It is about good press relations. It is very little about good governing.
For those who only remember Mike Ditka from the tiny vignettes you saw of him on TV, throwing a clipboard on the sidelines, jumping all over Jim Harbaugh, spitting venom at the question of some moron at a press conference, you must be thinking I am smoking something funny to talk about his sensitive, caring side. Well, sports fans, you saw only the Mike Ditka who was so focused that while he was on the field of play, as a player or as a coach, he was like General George Patton. Win. Suck it up. Do more than you thought you could. No excuses. And so forth. Even on the tennis court, you might see that same side of Mike. As for the media. Mike does not suffer fools well. In general, the sports media harbors a lot of fools. How many times can you ask a question and expect to get some answer other than "We're playin' em one game at a time"? I jumped for joy when Mike chewed them out. About time. Weenies. But in the lounge over a drink, with no pressure to win a game, with no media hounding him, you would see the man that I knew was behind that blustering, bombast, and bullying.
If you were lucky enough to see the long interview that Bob Costas did with Mike on Internight on MSNBC, you might have wondered if you were listening to Mike's "good" twin brother. Even Costas found the new, the real, Mike Ditka, hard to believe. Mike said that when he watched replays of him jumping all over Harbaugh, he did not like himself. He talked about how much he was enjoying life, how mellowed out he had become. He nearly apologized for the over exposure during his and Bear's heyday for all the commercials he did. But, as he said, it came with the territory. Basically, Mike said that he finally realized that there was more to life than winning a football game. He said he was going back into the restaurant business in Chicago and was enjoying his job on NBC sports as a commentator. Hey, Mike, call me when the restaurant opens. I'll be back in the kitchen scooping up several sets of china and some crystal too.
I sent Mike a copy of my first novel several years ago. The inscription to him, though very short, was something that showed how well I understood the real Mike Ditka. He commented on it later. Now, after all these years of people questioning my judgment about his true nature, the layers of iron have been peeled away. The good twin has emerged. I love you, big guy. Always did, but you knew that.
I am sending a letter to Mike with this page's URL citation. I want him to read the "change-for-the-laundry room" story here - for the first time. It ought to be good for a laugh - for the new Mike Ditka. The Pussy Cat. Hey, maybe a Kibbles commercial? Nah!
Update: In 2004, there was a movement to draft Mike Ditka to run as a Republican Senator from Illinois. As noted in the above paragraphs, I once suggested to him in a letter than he run for the Senate when his football days were over. I also found a letter-to-the-sports-editor of the Dallas Times Herald that I wrote in 1990 in which I was extolling the real Mike Ditka that I knew. One sentence was: "Ditka for Senate." Incredible!
Many days at the Aerobics Center in Dallas, I would shoot baskets in the late afternoon, with an enormously high percentage of shots made from around 17 feet, from the free-throw line, and running hook shots from around the foul line. A lot of Dallas Cowboys played roundball at the Center. During a break in their game one day, Tony Dorsett came up to me and said: "Man, you can shoot some hoops." Tony suggested that we shoot together sometime, which we never got around to doing. But, we did run into each other at an upscale cocktail lounge in North Dallas one night. It turned out that he and I had been married in the same grass-hut chapel on the island of Kauai in Hawaii. We sat down. He bought me a Scotch and we had a far-ranging talk. I even suggested that Tony would like ham radio, since he could meet a lot of folks around the world and only be known on the air as "Tony." I went on to tell him of the many famous hams, like my friend Sen. Barry Goldwater, and so on. Other Cowboys were there that night. I remember having a rather long conversaton with Too-Tall Jones and getting cramps in my calves from standing on my tiptoes. Too-Tall had attended Dorsett's wedding on Kauai, and I noted that at the time I lived on the island but had no idea the weddding was taking place - or I would have crashed it.Note:
If you are so damn talented, you ask, how come you never made All American or played in the pros? After high school I enlisted in the Marines. During college I got married and had a child. At that time, if you were a military veteran, you could get into law school with only two years of undergraduate study. So, in deference to my family obligations and an upcoming entry into law school, I quit a championship baseball team at the University of Minnesota before the season got fully underway. I passed on an opportunity to go out for the football team for the same reason. A few years later, when I was working in Philly as a Federal agent, I chatted with an old friend from the Marines who was then pitching for the Phillies. He had talked to the coaches and wanted to know if I wanted to come out for a tryout at catcher (I mostly played catcher and outfield). I turned it down. I had this crazy notion that being a Federal agent was an important calling. The folly of being an idealist youth. Just as important, in those days the starting salary in the Majors was about what I was making with the government! Thus, it was not a good career gamble.
So, I have lived vicariously through the many pro athletes I have had the pleasure of knowing - or knocked a ball around with, or pulled a hamstring with.
Roger Staubach, Mike Ditka, and Tony Dorsett are in the Football Hall of Fame. Drop by Canton, Ohio and check it out.
Richard C. Rhodes
10/06/96