azdad1978
Championship!!!!
Dan Bickley
The Arizona Republic
Oct. 22, 2004 12:00 AM
Two NFL legends will share the same field on Sunday, each wearing a strange bird on his helmet.
It will be a testament to the power of pride and the power of delusion.
Cover your eyes and hope for the best.
"I just saw him in the preseason," the Cardinals' Emmitt Smith said of the Seahawks' Jerry Rice. "It's a bigger deal to you all than it is to me."
Alas, that's always the case with great ones and their legacies.
Once, the sight of Smith and Rice on opposing sidelines was sufficient proof that a huge game hung in the balance. That was when the Cowboys and 49ers shared a glamorous rivalry, the NFC version of Yankees-Red Sox.
This weekend, the confluence is merely a carnival attraction. It will be the first time since 1984 that the NFL's all-time leading rushing yardage leader (then Walter Payton) squares off against the NFL's all-time leader in receptions (then Charlie Joiner). It will make Sun Devil Stadium a one-day museum exhibit.
If they had the time, Smith and Rice could gather at midfield and find much common ground. Both have spent a lifetime fueled by the doubt of others. Both are meticulous about their appearance. Both are Hall of Fame players discarded by their original employers.
Yet neither has the time to reminisce because they are still caught up in the chase, believing they can leave the game on their terms.
While there's no shame in trying, this is rarely easy on the eyes.
"Once the season starts, I'm in tip-top shape," Rice said Tuesday after joining the Seahawks. "And I still believe I can run that nine route (a deep pattern), and I can run by these young guys and catch the deep ball."
Somehow, this does not explain Rice's five catches in the first six games of 2004.
To his credit, Smith has scored a small victory in his private quest. In a league where a hard salary cap often necessitates rough treatment of aging stars, he has carried his grudge against the Cowboys with mostly silence and class.
He also has rebounded from an abysmal debut season in Arizona, producing more than a few shining moments in 2004.
Rice is a different matter. He has worn his bitterness like eye black, kicking and screaming on his way to the easy chair.
The 49ers released him in 2001, when Rice lost his spot to Terrell Owens the way Joe Montana lost his to Steve Young. This year, the Raiders simply erased him from their game plan, and when Al Davis thinks you're done, well, the turkey probably needs a little gravy.
After all, Oakland is the safe house for aging rebel stars and their last gasp.
Of course, this is not the way Rice sees it. When his consecutive games streak for receptions ended at 274 in Week 2, he seethed on the sidelines and kicked his helmet over a metal bench. It never occurred to him that if he were really that open, the football would've surely come his way.
Then again, it didn't bother him a bit that the best receiver in history was just traded for a seventh-round draft pick. Or that it seemed shockingly self-consumed to fit himself in Steve Largent's No. 80 upon arriving in Seattle, a jersey that was retired by the Seahawks. It's a concept that Rice might want to ponder in the wake of his 42nd birthday.
"I don't expect him to be a savior or the top guy or anything like that," Seattle coach Mike Holmgren said. "I just, one, believe he can still help us in the vast majority of our offense. . . . And secondary, very much a secondary thing, having someone like him in your locker room - not unlike Emmitt Smith is the comparison I draw - helps a developing, young football team."
Rice hears this and nods his head. But surely, he is planning on proving us wrong once again and has circled the Seahawks' upcoming game in San Francisco. Warning to Jerry: Go ask Emmitt about his deflating homecoming in Dallas. It hurt in more ways than one.
Problem is, the really great ones refute hard evidence until their bodies simply fail them, and sometimes that isn't enough.
At age 35, where Smith stands now, Rice underwent reconstructive knee surgery. He grew so impatient in rehabilitation that he sawed off his cast. He came back in 3 1/2 months from an injury that was supposed to last a year, stunning his coaches.
And in the first game back, he fractured the patella in his damaged knee on Monday Night Football. It was proof that his obsession to play football was borderline dangerous.
Yet great athletes do not get that way by thinking like the rest of us. It is why they can't see what makes us cringe, or how every storybook finish (John Elway) brings countless tales of guys that hung on too long (Franco Harris, Joe Namath, O.J. Simpson, Tony Dorsett).
For some legends, this is simply the way it has to be. Blinders are their blessing and their curse. It's why heroic endings are rarely part of the NFL package.
http://www.azcentral.com/sports/cardinals/articles/1022bickley1022.html
The Arizona Republic
Oct. 22, 2004 12:00 AM
Two NFL legends will share the same field on Sunday, each wearing a strange bird on his helmet.
It will be a testament to the power of pride and the power of delusion.
Cover your eyes and hope for the best.
"I just saw him in the preseason," the Cardinals' Emmitt Smith said of the Seahawks' Jerry Rice. "It's a bigger deal to you all than it is to me."
Alas, that's always the case with great ones and their legacies.
Once, the sight of Smith and Rice on opposing sidelines was sufficient proof that a huge game hung in the balance. That was when the Cowboys and 49ers shared a glamorous rivalry, the NFC version of Yankees-Red Sox.
This weekend, the confluence is merely a carnival attraction. It will be the first time since 1984 that the NFL's all-time leading rushing yardage leader (then Walter Payton) squares off against the NFL's all-time leader in receptions (then Charlie Joiner). It will make Sun Devil Stadium a one-day museum exhibit.
If they had the time, Smith and Rice could gather at midfield and find much common ground. Both have spent a lifetime fueled by the doubt of others. Both are meticulous about their appearance. Both are Hall of Fame players discarded by their original employers.
Yet neither has the time to reminisce because they are still caught up in the chase, believing they can leave the game on their terms.
While there's no shame in trying, this is rarely easy on the eyes.
"Once the season starts, I'm in tip-top shape," Rice said Tuesday after joining the Seahawks. "And I still believe I can run that nine route (a deep pattern), and I can run by these young guys and catch the deep ball."
Somehow, this does not explain Rice's five catches in the first six games of 2004.
To his credit, Smith has scored a small victory in his private quest. In a league where a hard salary cap often necessitates rough treatment of aging stars, he has carried his grudge against the Cowboys with mostly silence and class.
He also has rebounded from an abysmal debut season in Arizona, producing more than a few shining moments in 2004.
Rice is a different matter. He has worn his bitterness like eye black, kicking and screaming on his way to the easy chair.
The 49ers released him in 2001, when Rice lost his spot to Terrell Owens the way Joe Montana lost his to Steve Young. This year, the Raiders simply erased him from their game plan, and when Al Davis thinks you're done, well, the turkey probably needs a little gravy.
After all, Oakland is the safe house for aging rebel stars and their last gasp.
Of course, this is not the way Rice sees it. When his consecutive games streak for receptions ended at 274 in Week 2, he seethed on the sidelines and kicked his helmet over a metal bench. It never occurred to him that if he were really that open, the football would've surely come his way.
Then again, it didn't bother him a bit that the best receiver in history was just traded for a seventh-round draft pick. Or that it seemed shockingly self-consumed to fit himself in Steve Largent's No. 80 upon arriving in Seattle, a jersey that was retired by the Seahawks. It's a concept that Rice might want to ponder in the wake of his 42nd birthday.
"I don't expect him to be a savior or the top guy or anything like that," Seattle coach Mike Holmgren said. "I just, one, believe he can still help us in the vast majority of our offense. . . . And secondary, very much a secondary thing, having someone like him in your locker room - not unlike Emmitt Smith is the comparison I draw - helps a developing, young football team."
Rice hears this and nods his head. But surely, he is planning on proving us wrong once again and has circled the Seahawks' upcoming game in San Francisco. Warning to Jerry: Go ask Emmitt about his deflating homecoming in Dallas. It hurt in more ways than one.
Problem is, the really great ones refute hard evidence until their bodies simply fail them, and sometimes that isn't enough.
At age 35, where Smith stands now, Rice underwent reconstructive knee surgery. He grew so impatient in rehabilitation that he sawed off his cast. He came back in 3 1/2 months from an injury that was supposed to last a year, stunning his coaches.
And in the first game back, he fractured the patella in his damaged knee on Monday Night Football. It was proof that his obsession to play football was borderline dangerous.
Yet great athletes do not get that way by thinking like the rest of us. It is why they can't see what makes us cringe, or how every storybook finish (John Elway) brings countless tales of guys that hung on too long (Franco Harris, Joe Namath, O.J. Simpson, Tony Dorsett).
For some legends, this is simply the way it has to be. Blinders are their blessing and their curse. It's why heroic endings are rarely part of the NFL package.
http://www.azcentral.com/sports/cardinals/articles/1022bickley1022.html
