Prior to Super Bowl XXII between the Denver Broncos and Washington Redskins, quarterback Doug Williams was badgered with questions for two weeks about being the first black quarterback to start in the NFL's biggest game. (Yes, even bigger than the Pro Bowl and the Hall of Fame Game, if you can believe it.)
He was asked about being "like Jackie Robinson." About whether his good fortune should somehow entitle him to be an activist voice in the black community, and whether he sought that role. Hell, even about school integration.
(FYI — Next time the issue of race and the NFL comes up, consider this: There are more black NFL head coaches right now than there are black reoccurring characters on "The Simpsons." Now, is it time for Homer to start playing by the Rooney Rule or what?)
Legend has it Williams was even asked a question that, to this day, remains symbolic of both the frivolity of pre-Super Bowl hype and the incredible lunkheadedness of white sports journalists talking about racial issues with African-American athletes:
"Doug, how long have you been a black quarterback?"
Thanks to those cynics at Snopes.com — the urban-myth site that continues to provide needles for a plethora of balloons — we now know that demeaning question was never asked of Williams. The reporter actually said: "'Doug, obviously you've been a black quarterback your whole life. When did race begin to matter to people?" Only Williams misunderstood him, and repeated "How long have I been a black quarterback?", and the answer replaced the question in our mind's eye.
Perception is always a primary issue when talking about NFL quarterbacks, black or otherwise. The majority of fans are apt to think of a quarterback looking like the proverbial Mr. Touchdown — white, sox-foot-something drop-back passer with a chiseled jaw and a steely reserve. Johnny Unitas, Dan Marino, John Elway, and now Peyton Manning and Tom Brady fit the bill.
Warren Moon didn't ... probably because he didn't have that chiseled jaw.
Are we more likely to laud the accomplishments of Joe Montana or Steve Young? By all accounts, Young was the better athlete; but Montana was the better passer. And that's what we want out of our signal callers — a quarterback, not a running back.
That's why, 17 years after Doug Williams was named a Super Bowl MVP, I think the debate over what a black quarterback should be is more a debate of what a quarterback should be.
Michael Vick is not a quarterback — he's a running back who occasionally calls the halfback option. If you're like me, then you don't really care if Vick swallows the ball whole and then craps it out, just as long as he's in the end zone when he does it. For other people, the fact that he doesn't fit the mold of a traditional quarterback is really quite bothersome.
Donovan McNabb has became that traditional quarterback — for a variety of reasons — yet is still considered to be the same kind of run-first, pass-later field general who scurried 86 times for 629 yards in 2000.
Of course, it all comes back to perception: McNabb actually had more passing attempts that season (569) than he's had in any of this other five years as a pro.
Are black quarterbacks all painted with the same broad brush as players who aren't hardwired to be successful drop-back passers?
I don't think so. But then again, I've seen Tony Banks play.
No, this is just another case of institutional bias against running quarterbacks. For example, if the Falcons win this weekend, we can expect a deluge of stories about how Michael Vick won't be able to "figure out" either the Pittsburgh or the New England defense. It's not because he's black; it's because there's a perception that he can't pass the ball well enough to win, and that's why he has to leave the pocket so damn much.
Rush Limbaugh had it wrong (I know ... shocker!). The media no longer cares whether the quarterback is black or white; it's more concerned with how he plays the game.
And if the media is still "very desirous that a black quarterback do well," I wonder what Rush would make of the journalistic fellatio given to Peyton Manning before the Colts lost to the Patriots.
That wasn't desirous; that was flat out lustful...
Random Thoughts
The best Golden Globes? Charlize Theron's...
Not to make light of what could be a very tragic situation ... but is Boston's panic level in regards to a terrorist "dirty bomb" blowing up in the middle of the city tempered in any way by the Red Sox winning the World Series?
And would anyone have an iota of anxiety had it not been for the fact that the Pats are two wins away from a repeat?
SportsFan Magazine columnist Nick Prevenas wrote a very insightful review of the Samuel L. Jackson basketball opus, Coach Carter — a film I will only see if Sam begins his halftime speech at the big game with a passage from Ezekiel 25:17.
Prevenas's review featured a rundown of all the basketball movies ever made, from the good (Hoosiers) to the bad (He Got Game) and the fugly (Juwanna Mann). He makes a good point: there hasn't been that seminal, landmark film about basketball yet. And perhaps there never will be.
Great baseball films are either about its place in Americana, the honor among its warriors, or the quality of its groupies. Great boxing movies are never actually about boxing. Great football films are typically focused on the players, and typically feature football segments that don't compare to the real thing. (Save for Any Given Sunday, which actually should have featured more on-the-field action and less Cameron Diaz playing the least convincing team owner since Donald Sterling.)
But what all of these films have in common is that they strike a balance between honoring their sports and telling a story. Great basketball movies have successfully told a story — see Hoosiers, White Men Can't Jump, and Love and Basketball — but none have ever been able, in my eyes, to make basketball seem anything more than a job or a hobby. I felt more passion from the fans in Hoosiers than I did the players; could you say the same thing about a film like Miracle?
There's only one film I've seen that successfully marries basketball with life, love and loss — Hoop Dreams. But saying that's the best basketball movie of all time is like saying Faces of Death is the most disturbing horror film of all time ... there's no substitute for the real thing.
Could it be that, in all of these basketball films, screenwriters and directors simply don't "get" hoops like other directors "get" a sport like baseball? What will it take for a basketball movie to actually connect with us as a movie about basketball?
More importantly: where the hell is the Caddyshack/Major League/Necessary Roughness/Slap Shot of the basketball genre?
I used to have a comedy kicking around in my head about a wacky NBA team with an eccentric owner, a curmudgeonly coach, a nutty forward from West Germany who everyone thinks is a stoner, and a 7-foot-6 white dude who plays center, yet has no discernable skills.
And then somebody went off and made something called the Dallas Mavericks...
Finally, here's my latest theory on Ashlee Simpson:
Her father is attempting to make her into the heel version of Jessica Simpson.
Think about it: she wants to be as big a star as her big sister. But Jessica can sing; Ashlee can't. Jessica is an attractive blond; Ashlee is a brunette with a nose that can be seen from the International Space Station. Jessica is sexy yet wholesome; Ashlee has to sing about dressing like a French maid and licking milk off the floor just to get noticed.
So I think the SNL and Orange Bowl debacles are orchestrated to make Ashlee Simpson into America's tartheart. I think she's supposed to be someone who we actually love to hate, and that's why we'll tune into her reality show on MTV like we used to tune into "Dallas" to hiss J.R.
It's actually quite brilliant, from a PR standpoint.
Who knew Ashlee Simpson would become the Ric Flair to Jessica's Dusty Rhodes?
Wooooooo!
Greg Wyshynski is also a weekly columnist for SportsFan Magazine. His columns appear every Saturday on Sports Central. You can e-mail Greg at [email protected].
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