Chad Ocho Cinco should just blow up the Hall of Fame

As an NFL fan for nearly twenty years, there's been a ton of names that have passed through my subconscious.

Many of them are Eagles, since that's my team. From watching the Eagles play every other team at least once, watching huge playoff games, and spending copious hours honing my skills on Madden, I'm able to remember more football player names than I am words in Spanish, a class I took for three years in school.

People will remember what they wish to remember. Every human being has the capacity to crack whip over their subconscious and supress bad thoughts and memories, as well as fill their minds with whatever leisurely thoughts they desire.

The Hall of Fame is, technically, supposed to be an exclusive club of the game's most elite players, coaches, administrators, and contributors. Not 300 people have their busts displayed inside the corridors of Canton, in a world where perhaps hundreds of thousands have dared try and make their mark.

Can you name everyone in the Hall of Fame?

Even the most devout of purists would struggle. Sure, the players of the nineties who are in should be easy. Emmitt Smith, Jerry Rice, Troy Aikman, Reggie White, Steve Young, John Elway, yeah, they were easy. Hallowed names like Joe Namath and John Madden and Terry Bradshaw and Joe Montana, sure. If you can name fifty, there's a chance that you "can't recall" the last time you had sex.

As I left work on Saturday night, it struck me that the Hall of Fame ceremony was airing. A co-worker and I were talking about it as I prepared to swipe my timecard to freedom, and I said "Hell yeah, Emmitt and Rice...." and I trailed off. I remembered Dick LeBeau off the top of my head, perhaps because my friend is a Steelers fan and I instantly made the connection.

The drive home, I was straining to remember who the other four men were. I got Russ Grimm and John Randle (whose face-painted mug on that one video game cover haunts me in my sleep), and I remembered Rickey Jackson as I pulled into my driveway. But I was missing one.

It would turn out to be Floyd Little, a nine-year vet of the sixties and seventies who played his whole career with Denver, as their scrappy running back. He has three Pro Bowls to his credit, and was a two time AFL All Star as well.

Yet, I couldn't remember him.

Of course, Little retired eight years before I was born, but still, considering that he's one of the chosen few that gets a bust carved of his kisser, I think as a devoted football fan, I should be able to remember.

Then again, Little doesn't exactly steal headlines.

Modern players such as Kurt Warner, Marshall Faulk, Jamal Lewis, Brian Dawkins, Derrick Brooks, Shaun Alexander, Brian Urlacher, Reggie Wayne, among others, will all get Hall of Fame consideration after they've retired and the five year waiting period elapses. All of them have a strong case, or at least a reasonable one.

How many of them steal headlines?

I hate to say it, and it sickens me a bit to have to, but the world today on average doesn't care about achievement. When ESPN.com hypes up the Hall of Fame ceremony, it emphasizes Smith and Rice, but could care less about the other five men.

The line of thinking is that the internet is a youthful medium, and Rice and Smith were just playing football what seemed like five minutes ago. There's no 20 year in this world, save for a Broncos devotee, that's going to give a fraction of a damn about Floyd Little. Most 20 year olds think of Dick LeBeau and Russ Grimm as those out-of-shape and old coaches in the sidelines, if they even recognize who they are.

You'd think after the physical sacrifices made by these seven men, that all of them would be promoted like mythic figures.

Sadly, advertising Rickey Jackson and Russ Grimm doesn't seem to have much return on investment.

I'm 26 going on 56 as I write this, because I understand the sad reality that Chad Ocho Cinco will make some bizarre proclamation, or pull a bouquet of flowers out of his jock after a touchdown, and that will dominate the chatter of ESPN's talking heads the next day.

ESPN, unfortunately, is reflecting a youthful culture that's tied up in trivial controversy and self-promotion, as opposed to equally paying lip service to the men who were a positive part at making football fun.

It's not just sports, so let's not put ESPN on the gallows alone. We heard more about Kayne West interrupting Taylor Swift than we ever have about Chesley Sullenberger. When does marring a tedious acceptance speech over a mainstream song deserve more recognition than a man who saved 175 lives with a daring landing on the Hudson River?

It shouldn't, but it does.

I figure maybe we should just get rid of the Hall of Fame. It'd be appropriate if Chad Ocho Cinco blew it up with C4 as his latest stunt for attention. It'd be the only way the Hall of Fame could crack ESPN's top stories when there isn't an induction going on.

Would you miss the Hall of Fame if it were gone?

I mean, Super Bowl titles kind of outrank the Hall of Fame for avid watchers of the game. You live for Sunday, not for a Saturday five years from now when your favorite player may or may not get inducted, and thus make a speech you'll probably miss anyway.

I always thought our world was a funny one: people simultaneously feed off the bullshit of trashy celebrities, glorify criminals, and celebrate the controversy of the modern world, yet are nostalgic for "how things used to be".

The Hall of Fame ceremony provides a weekend of nostalgia, yet not many people seem to care.

By Monday morning, we'll all be remarking about some crazy thing that Chad or TO or Roy Williams or Pacman did in the Hall of Fame game Sunday night, not talking about Emmitt breaking down during his speech.

If Emmitt broke down during his speech because Chad blew up the Hall of Fame, that'd be another story.

That'd be the lead story.

And there'll be Bram Weinstein, asking Sal Paolantonio if Chad's act will have any effect on Brett Favre's retirement.

The cycle continues.

Couch Groove Football

Couch Groove on Facebook

Mind Wanderings 8/2/10

MIND WANDERINGS

By Justin Henry

FAT, LAZY, AND OVERPAID IS NOT A BAD WAY TO GO THROUGH LIFE, SON
What would you do with one hundred million dollars?

Well, for one thing, if I had that kinda scratch, I wouldn’t be pecking away at the keyboard. These words I’m typing right now, as you read them, were etched while I dreamed of the life of luxury. You know, no more early mornings, shaving and showering before work. No more worrying about bills, and living it up with leisure time to spare.

So yeah, with a hundred million Washingtons at my disposal, I think I’d be taking it easy.

That’s also what Albert Haynesworth thinks.

Haynesworth, for those who have been too busy to keep track, signed a seven year contract for just such a sum approximately seventeen months ago with the Washington Redskins.

There are still six seasons to be played for this contract, which means there’s a mighty assload of cash that still has to be doled out.

That’s not to mention that Haynesworth wanted a trade elsewhere, because he didn’t like the new defensive scheme that was coming into play. The scheme in question would have rendered him the lone defensive tackle on the field, but would create an additional linebacker spot.

Haynesworth has a problem with this, likely because it might involve having to do more work himself.

Now, if you have a problem with me questioning Big Al’s work ethic, I take you to the next little bit of evidence, and that would be his antics since he shut his big mouth and has reported to training camp.

I don’t know about you, but if I’m getting paid $100 million, that would seem to indicate that there’s a lot riding on my output. Not many other Redskins rake in that kind of cash. For example, the only way Devin Thomas will see $100 million is if he marries Lady Gaga and then slits her throat after she finishes editing her will at knifepoint.

But anyway, Albert failed two or three conditioning tests, meaning that all of his mouth-running in the offseason couldn’t offset his blubber expansion.

$100 million to a man who can’t pass a simple conditioning test?

Meanwhile, if you head north to Foxboro, you’ll see a wide receiver named Wes Welker, who tore his ACL on January 3 during a week seventeen game. A lesser man would be finished for an entire calendar, but here he is, seven months after the unfortunate injury, and he’s doing running drills in training camp.

By the way, Welker injured that ACL in a game that he didn’t technically have to play in, since New England’s playoff spot was etched in stone.

He played because he wanted to.

And for $100 million, he’d be the same Welker.


THAT’S WHAT HE NEEDS THE MONEY FOR
If there’s one thing that Twitter has made possible, it’s the potentially volatile combination of would-be hype-generating pro athletes, and the ability to send their most random thought to the world within seconds of typing it.

Case in point, New York Jets cornerback Darrelle Revis, who may be the best corner running the hashes today.

Revis is holding out of training camp for the Jets because he feels he’s owed more after a stellar 2009. That’s an arguable point, as Revis did, in fact, dominate just about every wide receiver he encountered last season.

Maybe Revis is underpaid?

Well, actually, if you go to his Twitter site (http://www.twitter.com/revis24), he makes the following statement in response to a fellow Tweeter on July 26, just after noon eastern time, printed verbatim:

“brother i can buy any car i want, i aint hurtin for money.”

Hope the Jets front office doesn't see this


BUT ENOUGH NEGATIVITY
I probably have little right to criticize lazy and money-hungry athletes, since the most athletic thing I do these days is play catch with friends, and hope to the Almighty Tebow that I don’t blow out my sciatic nerve trying to run down deep passes.

I shouldn’t even criticize Sam Bradford, who just got a honey of a deal from the Rams.

As the first overall pick, Bradford has something of a linear entitlement to a bundle of loot, and he got just that with a six year, $78 million deal.

So, let’s put our ducks in a row here.

Bradford may not throw a single pass in 2010, as he’s going to simply observe AJ Feeley (the starter, for now), and digest the playbook.

As he sits down, reads a playbook and watches Feeley crumble for four months, he makes about $13 million.

So never laugh at back-ups, brethren.

HIGHLIGHT OF MY WEEK
Emmitt Smith’s Hall of Fame speech, of course. The man was so glorious in trying to form complete sentences on ESPN, that I was actually saddened to see him get fired. If the NFL Network shuttles in Moses Malone to provide closed captioning translation, my life just may be complete.

I’m Justin.