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
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