The Greatest Football Writers Of All Time

Appeared on Football.com in January 2015

By Ronald N. Guy Jr.

This is equal parts impossible task and fabulous challenge. The best football writers ever? How can this possibly be confined to one column? That’s insane. A book could be written about the greatest purveyors of gridiron prose. In fact, the late great writer and historian David Halberstam did just that – sort of - in his 1999 book “The Best American Sports Writing of the Century”, a sport non-specific bible of narrative geniuses.

Where to start? Where to stop? This monumental undertaking required structure. Parameters. It needed to be condensed into an executable formula, an E = mc² for football writers. The magic equation started with an obvious element: credentials. Did the writer have a reasonably decorated resume? No hacks here, not even close (although this was far from just a beauty pageant).

The next component was passion. Could you consistently feel the scribe’s passion in their work? Did the words jump off the page, grab you by the throat and not let go, even if you attempted to tap out, until the last word had been read? Vanilla is not an available flavor. It’s similar to identifying good music; you don’t just hear it, you feel it in your bones. When the sound or words are authentic, it is unmistakable.

Lastly, homage needed to be paid to writers past and present. Considering how much football and coverage of the game has changed over the years, it seemed completely necessary to include past greats and provide a crumb trail to modern times. So a couple entrants are vintage; others are still active. There are no-brainers and a couple that provided considerable inspiration for this writer.

Okay, the launch cycle has started. Just three more administrative points and the succulent main course of narrative mastery will be served. First, most of the writers have covered various sports. When you talk all-time greats, it is rare to find a writer whose career was dedicated solely to one particular sports genre. Second, I didn’t even try to rank them. They are just there…placed on a spectacular, roughly chronological continuum. Great is just great. It is a fraternity of brothers with equal standing. And lastly, an admission: dubious selections and obvious omissions are inevitable. The candidate list is too long and the variables are too great. I have my own experiences and biases, as do you, the reader. If this list inspires an equal number of affirmative nods and expressions of outrage, it’s a success. My sincere hope is that you will be left doing the same thing I did at the beginning of this assignment: pondering the great writers whose pieces established sports’ place in pop culture and helped create the deep connection we have with the game of football. 

The Godfather: Grantland Rice

If the sports writing crime family had a godfather, it would be Grantland Rice. He kind of started it all, you know? Who can compete with a World War I veteran and the guy credited with naming the 1924 Notre Dame backfield “The Four Horsemen”? 1924! Rice’s name appears on literary awards and scholarships and a now defunct college bowl game. Not bad, eh?

The one chink in Rice’s armor was his majestic phraseology, a style Deadspin took to task. A test of good product – be it a song, art or a work of literature – is how it ages. Rice’s profound metaphors and decorated analogies (for example his usage of scripture to coin his famous Four Horsemen nickname) would likely fall flat today. The great Grantland Rice wrote largely in time before television, when the reader often lacked a visual of the event or the players involved. The unknown created a void that allowed Rice to paint extravagant pictures, ones perhaps more grand than the reality itself. If Shakespeare had a brother that went into sports writing, Grantland Rice could have played the part.

But that’s a nit. Rice’s work was superb in its time and contains a complexity and elegance rarely seen today. He enhanced the games he covered and his influence on the field of sports writing is virtually unrivaled. Perhaps the most obvious testament to the extent of Rice’s reach was ESPN’s decision to use his name for Grantland.com, a website started in 2011, 67 years after the legendary writer’s death.

The Capital’s Institution: Shirley Povich

Shirley Povich is best known for his coverage of baseball, but during his 75-year career at The Washington Post, his gridiron musings were significant. Povich was over a decade into his remarkable run in the nation’s capital when the ‘Skins moved south from Boston and established roots in Washington in 1937. He covered Sammy Baugh, Sonny Jurgensen, John Riggins, Art Monk, Darrell Green, the arrival of Vince Lombardi in 1969 and his death a year later. Povich sat in the press boxes for ‘Skins game at Griffith Stadium, RFK Stadium and Jack Kent Cooke Stadium (now FedEx Field) and he saw all five of Washington’s pro football championships (’37, ’42, ’82, ’87 and ’91).

Povich was also persistent in his criticism of Washington’s failure to integrate its roster (the ‘Skins were the last NFL to do so) and of then owner George Preston Marshall. In a piece published in The Washington Post on October 31, 1960, Povich took a not-so-subtle shot at the ‘Skins’ when he described a Jim Brown touchdown. Wrote Povich, “From 25 yards out, Brown was served the ball by Milt Plum on a pitch-out and he integrated the Redskins’ goal line with more than deliberate speed, perhaps exceeding the famous Supreme Court decree. Brown fled the 25 yards like a man in an uncommon hurry and the Redskins’ goal line, at least, became interracial.” In a 2011 piece, Washingtonian magazine credited Povich with writing this upon learning of the ‘Skins’ integration in 1962: “It could be the beginning of better football for Washington fans and is certainly the beginning of a more dignified football situation here.”

During his career Povich won the Grantland Rice Award (1964), the Red Smith Award (1983) and was elected to the National Sportswriters Hall of Fame (1984). Impressive, but what I remember most about the Washington icon - and human institution – is a single word often used to describe him: gentleman. Povich conducted himself with a level of class that is sometimes lacking in writer-athlete interactions these days. And did he ever have the look? When I close my eyes and think of Povich, three images appear: a fedora, a perfectly tailored suit and a typewriter. As for exits, no one did it better than Povich. He “retired” from The Washington Post in 1973, but never stopped writing. His last piece was published on June 5, 1998…the day after he died. Shirley Povich, the consummate sports writer…to the end. 

The Outlaw: Hunter S. Thompson

Hunter S. Thompson once said, “Journalism, to me, is just another drug – a free ride to scenes I’d probably miss if I stayed straight. But I’m neither a chemist nor an editor; all I do is take the pill or the assignment and see what happens.”

Truth is, Thompson didn’t take too many sports assignments. He earned his journalistic chops with novels such as “Hell’s Angels” and “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” and through his unique political works during the late 60s and early 70s. Compared to the volume and significance of the football pieces produced by the other writers on this list, Thompson doesn’t seem to belong. He’s the overweight 5’3” kid on the basketball team or the super-skinny guy trying to play on the offensive line.

Despite a deep love of professional football – one that created an odd chemistry during a car ride with Richard Nixon, a guy he otherwise considered the antichrist – Thompson only dabbled in sports writing as time permitted or as bills necessitated it. In his February 15, 1973 piece for Rolling Stone titled “Fear and Loathing from the Super Bowl”, Thompson wrote, “There was a time, about ten years ago, when I could write like Grantland Rice. Not necessarily because I believed all that sporty bulls—t, but because sports writing was the only thing I could do that anybody was willing to pay for.” Perhaps Thompson’s most acclaimed sports work, his June 1970 piece for Scanlan’s titled “The Kentucky Derby Is Decadent and Depraved” was about a horse race, not football.

So what in the world is Thompson doing in the middle of these football-writing icons?

Every list needs an outlaw whose presence proves artful expression can’t be constrained by any success formula, known or unknown. Thompson drank, did copious amounts of mind-bending substances, loved to shoot guns and rip down the highway on a motorcycle…sometimes all at the same time. He kept vampire hours, called the president and political leaders names that would now have the NSA and CIA in a stir and is credited with creating “Gonzo journalism”, a style not for the prim and proper. He didn’t write about situations from the periphery, he immersed himself into his work to the point where he became a character in the story itself.

The extent of Thompson’s debauchery was reveled in a letter he wrote to Greg Jackson of ABC News on Christmas Day, 1973. Concerning a recently nixed NFL assignment, Thompson wrote, “My only gig for the past 3 months has been a long and psychically complicated “pro football” story – which unexpectedly terminated last week when the Oakland Raiders management suddenly informed me that I was barred – because of my “personal involvement in the drug scene” – form any contact with the team in public or private.” Expelled the Raiders of the 1970s! Is there any better street cred?

Thompson would likely scoff at his inclusion among the best sports writers. I can almost hear him declaring it “an insane, drug-infused conclusion reached by a try-hard little pr-ck writer hell bent on siphoning off a piece of my well-earned infamy and as of yet unrealized fortune.” Despite his assumed posthumous protest, Thompson’s genius is unavoidable and his place among these other writers is entirely appropriate. He started his career as a sports writer in the 1950s and ended it as a Page 2 columnist for ESPN in the early 2000s. In a 1968 letter to U.S. Senator Abraham Ribicoff, Thompson offered this tender compliment (a rarity for Thompson): “…I feel a little better for knowing you’re around.” Likewise, this list is better with HST around.

The Blue Blood: Frank Deford

I blame my parents for this one – specifically, my mother. My folks ensured that I maintained a subscription to Sports Illustrated throughout the 1980s and early 1990s. Early on, it was a cheap babysitter and a better option than Atari. As a teenager, it was safer than a girlfriend or a mysteriously happened-upon case of beer. Well played, mom and dad.

The weekly issues acquainted my then young and highly absorbent brain with the fabulous works of Frank Deford, an SI writer since 1962. I learned sometime later that my mother decided it was time for my earthly existence to begin on the same calendar day as Deford’s mom did: December 16. He arrived a few years before me but we are birthday brothers nonetheless. I have one last parent-drive connection with Deford: Towson University. My folks sent me to the Baltimore school with the hope that I would emerge with a diploma and a clear path off their financial books and out from under their roof. I did and the experience revealed that Deford was a native of Baltimore and attended high school just a short drive from my alma mater. 

That’s pretty much where the similarities (and my apparent stalking of Deford) end. Deford graduated from and has taught at Princeton University. He has written over a dozen books, received the Red Smith Award (2012), is a six-time sports writer of the year, owns an Emmy Award and, not to be confined to print, has appeared on television and radio throughout his career.

If you’ve ever been a fan of any sort, ever rooted with a child’s zeal for a particular NFL team or player wearing your team’s colors, you simply must read Deford’s SI piece “The Greatest That Ever Was” on legendary Baltimore Colts QB Johnny Unitas – his boyhood hero. In this excerpt, Deford captured the feeling of his native city, one still processing the loss of starting QB George Shaw and adjusting to the idea of some obscure backup leading a team littered with talents such as Gino Marchetti, Lenny Moore, Raymond Berry and Art Donovan: “Of course, no matter who John Constantine Unitas had played football for, it would’ve been Katie-bar-the-door. But perhaps never has greatness found such a fitting address. It wasn’t only that Baltimore had such an inferiority complex, an awareness that all that the stuck-up outlanders knew of our fair city was that we had crabs and white marbled steps in profusion and a dandy red-light district, the Block.” Give it a read in its entirety, please.   

Prolific. Decorated. Influential. Relentless. As Hunter S. Thompson might say, that’s Deford’s career “in a nut.” Somewhere in my parents’ attic is a dusty SI from the early 1980s that introduced me to greatness. Thanks mom and dad. Thanks Frank Deford.

The Pigskin Purest: Peter King

Peter King is the purest selection in that he is virtually all football, all the time. King started at Sports Illustrated in 1989 and regularly appears on television and radio. In 2013, he started his own website MMQB.com, an information superhighway spin-off of his SI column Monday Morning Quarterback.

King is not one to wow you with his mastery of the English language like Grantland Rice. His career is but a fraction of the length of Shirley Povich’s. His writing is nothing like the establishment-challenging epic’s of Hunter S. Thompson and his resume lacks the accolades of Frank Deford’s. King’s prose doesn’t immediately grab you, but he’s always there to provide sound, thoughtful points written in an understandable, entertaining manner. His knowledge of football cannot be questioned and his connections in pro football are substantial. To call him football’s E.F. Hutton – the brokerage firm with the dated “When E.F. Hutton talks…” ad campaign – is so corny that it could be mistaken for a slight. It’s not; it is a compliment of the highest order. When Peter King expresses an opinion on pro football, I listen.

Honorable Mentions

Red Smith: Smith began writing for the New York Herald Tribune in 1945 and later moved to the New York Times. This excerpt from Smith’s November 1947 piece, “The Most Important Thing”, on that season’s Yale-Harvard football game brilliantly captured the spirit of competition and the thrill of the victors: “As the last whistle blew, a great passel of Yales swarmed onto the field to hug the combatants to their bosoms and even from the press box you could see grins as broad as Kate Smith upon the soiled faces of the belligerents.”  Smith went on to win the Pulitzer Prize in 1976 and, in what is perhaps an even greater acknowledgement of his talent, had his work referenced in Ernest Hemingway’s novel Across the River and into the Trees. I’m impressed.

Paul Zimmerman: Zimmerman is best know for his work at Sports Illustrated, where he was a long-time colleague of Deford and King, and for authoring “The Thinking Man’s Guide To Pro Football” in 1971 and “The New Thinking Man’s Guide To Pro Football” in 1987, bibles of sorts for any self-respecting football enthusiast. His weekly NFL prognostications, written under his “Dr. Z” handle, were must-reads. A recent NFL Films piece on Zimmerman’s career and his recent health challenges urges us to seize every moment, for time slips quickly through our hourglasses. Consider us all under doctor’s orders…Dr. Z’s orders.   

Christine Brennan: There have been two occasions in my career where Christine Brennan and I have written pieces on the same topic at virtually the same time (albeit for very different outlets). After reading her versions, I was sent scrambling back to the keys, tail between my legs, pondering what had gone wrong. The humble pie was bitter but there is no shame in finishing behind Brennan. Her career spans three decades and includes stops at Miami Herald, The Washington Post and USA Today (her current gig). In a field dominated by male writers, Brennan has made gender – often the elephant in the sports journalism room - a moot point. Her talent carries the column.

George Plimpton: Plimpton once said, “I have never been convinced there’s anything inherently wrong in having fun.” His life is a testament to his belief in those words. Plimpton pitched against major league stars in an exhibition game in the 1950s, played golf against Arnold Palmer in the 1960s, boxed Archie Moore and Sugar Ray Robinson, competed as an “amateur” piano player at the Apollo Theater, played goalie for Boston Bruins in a preseason NHL game and attended the 1961 Detroit Lions’ preseason camp as a backup quarterback…and he wrote extensively about all his unbelievable submersions. That last stint – his brief foray into NFL football with the Lions – produced the book “Paper Lion”, perhaps his most significant sports-related work during his incredible life. 

Dick Schaap: Despite his death over 13 years ago, I still wake up on Sunday’s mornings expecting to see Dick Schaap skillfully moderating ESPN’s show “The Sports Reporters” while still finding room amidst the powerful personalities to offer his own sage wisdom. Schaap, while known more as a sports media personality and author than a football writer, co-authored “Instant Replay” with Jerry Kramer in the late sixties and wrote “Bo Knows Bo” – one of my personal favorites - in 1990 with Bo Jackson. 

Michael Wilbon: I grew up not far from Washington D.C. As a teenager in the late 1980s and early 1990s, I couldn’t wait for my dad to come home from work and flip the day’s worn, folded sports page from The Washington Post in my direction. It was a period that saw Michael Wilbon rise to prominence, first at my ‘hometown” paper and eventually on a national level. A native Chicagoan, Wilbon was the long-time unbiased and brutally honest conscience at The Washington Post for a blind homer (me). I loved his biting prose and passionate criticisms. He didn’t tell me what I, the hometown fan, wanted to hear; he preached what he thought I needed to hear. As Drew Magary expressed in a Deadspin piece, it’s not a universally acclaimed style, but I’m a long-time fan of Wilbon’s tough love.

Howard Balzer: In his nearly four decades of covering pro football, Howard Balzer has written for The Sporting News, Pro Football Weekly, USA Today and The Sports Xchange. He owns an Emmy Award and has received multiple honors from the Pro Football Writers Of America. Balzer covered the NFL Draft for ESPN before Mel Kiper Jr. and his prodigious locks became synonymous with the event and decades before Todd McShay nudged his way into the Draft fraternity. Balzer, whose early work was very much ahead of its time, is still getting it done today for FOX Sports. His latest piece for FOX Sports Midwest, a status check on the perilous state of the St. Louis Rams, opens with this ominous lede: “Disaster is around the corner. The sky is falling. Panic is in the air.” Here’s a teaser: he’s not talking about the team’s quarterback depth chart. Give it a read. 

Josh Gordon: Judge Me, Judge Me Not

Appeared on Football.com, February 2015

By Ronald N. Guy Jr.

Entering a fantasy draft a couple of years ago, Josh Gordon was just a name buried deep on my list of wide receivers. While talented, the second-year Cleveland Browns receiver was facing a two-game suspension to start the season for some transgression or another and was stuck on a team with bad quarterback play and little fantasy pedigree (where for art thou William Green and Dennis Northcutt?). He wasn’t a prospect; he was a dart to throw at the draft board, an inconsequential roster-filler.   

True to fantasy cheat sheet form, Gordon remained available even as kickers and defenses started to be plucked from the draft pool. Preparing for that ever-important 12^th round selection (palms sweating, friends heckling…or not), I remembered an article I’d read on sleepers that was betting big on Gordon. Of course you read enough of these pieces by the myriad of fantasy experts and eventually everyone has a chance at fantasy stardom.

Nevertheless, 12^th round selections aren’t something to over-think, so Gordon was the selection, whoever the heck he was.

Yeah…whoever Josh Gordon was. By mid-season he was in my starting lineup and by fantasy year-end he was putting cash and a championship belt around my waist. Despite only playing 14 games in 2013, Gordon scored nine touchdowns and led the NFL with 1,646 receiving yards. He morphed from a late-round sleeper into absolute stud. It seemed a lock that Gordon wouldn’t be available in the 12^th round of fantasy drafts again for many years to come. 

But things are rarely that simple with Josh Gordon.

A year and a half later, Gordon is no longer a non-descript fantasy commodity. I know all about my former 12^th round pick now. Unfortunately, he’s more infamous for acts off the field than he is famous for performance on it. 

What have I learned about Gordon? I know that the NFL’s two-game suspension to open the 2013 was the result of a positive test for codeine, an infraction Gordon attributed to his use of cough medicine. In isolation, that seems like a minor infraction, but Gordon’s transgressions are more a series of events than singular acts of immaturity.

Puzzled as to why rogue cough syrup would result in a suspension, I learned that Gordon entered the NFL with a record. While at Baylor, he took a liking to marijuana and eventually smoked his way off the team and into the NFL’s 2012 Supplemental Draft.

After that fabulous 2013 season, I couldn’t help but notice that Gordon “celebrated” his NFL arrival with another positive marijuana test and, for ill measure, a DWI during the 2014 offseason. The unconscionable lapses in judgment cost Gordon the first ten games of last season. 

But that wasn’t enough; it seems it’s never enough with Gordon.

Despite covering my ears, I heard Gordon broke a team rule and was suspended for Cleveland’s season finale this past December. Undaunted by the team’s paltry discipline, he consumed a few adult pops and promptly flunked an alcohol test – screening administered as a result of his DWI last summer – in January.

My one-time 12^th round pick, instant fantasy stud and budding NFL star now faces a one-year suspension and a dubious NFL future.

(Sigh)

It was so much easier when I didn’t know Gordon, when I didn’t have any expectations and when he just shocked the world with his amazing ability to track a flying football into his hands and create magic after the catch. But it’s never that simple with Josh Gordon. I think I already said that. Sorry…lost in the moment.

Several former athletes and talking heads share my sadness and anger and frustration and fear…and boy did they feel compelled to express their thoughts and stories. Last summer, Hall of Fame WR Cris Carter compared Gordon’s situation to his own struggles with substance abuse and suggested that the Browns should cut Gordon (just as Buddy Ryan and the Philadelphia Eagles had cut Carter long ago). Stephen A. Smith filleted Gordon (basically left him for dead) on ESPN’s First Take last summer. And NBA Hall of Famer Charles Barkley, a man who lost a brother to substance abuse, was brutally honest when he proclaimed that death was the outcome should Josh Gordon continue on his current path.

Heavy stuff. Serious. Disturbing. Honest. Personal.

The assumption made by Carter and Barkley is that their experiences with substance abuse are synonymous with Gordon’s struggles. Similarly, Smith dismissed Gordon as just another entry on a long list of athletes who allowed drugs and alcohol to claim a promising career. Smith’s mental Rolladeck of cautionary tales has presumably grown so long that he declared himself “done” with Gordon. Stephen A. Smith incapable of further commentary? Stop the press. 

To all of this well-intended advice or visceral criticism, Gordon responded with a thoughtful, poignant letter. In it, he thanked Barkley, Carter and Smith for their concern and then detailed his profound lack of a substantive relationship with any of these instantaneous Josh Gordon experts. According to Gordon, Smith has “never had a meaningful conversation” with him, Carter’s “never met” him and Barkley has never “exchanged a single word” with him. Yet they are all, through their own experiences, qualified to comment so passionately on him?

Having exposed his would-be mentors and media-parents for their ignorance, Gordon then expanded on his life – one that began in poverty in a very rough section of Houston, Texas – and owned his mistakes. He also attributed his latest personal failures to poor choices or a misunderstanding of the rules, not drug addiction. It was a fascinating response. The letter is available in its entirety on Medium.com. Read it.

Gordon was compelling, as were Smith, Carter and Barkley. Who is right? In a perfect world, all of them are. I hope - like Barkley, Smith and Carter do - that Gordon realizes the precarious nature of his personal and professional situation and makes constructive changes in his life. I also hope that Gordon is being genuine when he contends that the problems that led to his regretful behavior aren’t as deep as Smith, Carter and Barkley think they are. And I hope that Gordon has truly made progress, as his letter alleges.

Do I believe Gordon? It’s not that I do or do not – I can’t. After all of his failings, there’s absolutely no reason to believe he will get clean and stay clean. At this moment, I wouldn’t bet a dime on him playing another down in the NFL. However, regarding the reaction to his many faults, he does have a point. Gordon’s biggest rub with his court of high-profile critics is that they branded him as another drug-addicted, reckless athlete headed toward an almost certain death. Maybe is his; hopefully he isn’t. Regardless, Smith, Carter and Barkley were quick to use superficial information and apply what they assumed to be synonymous personal experiences (and there are no perfectly synonymous human experiences) to arrive at a verdict on an individual they barely know.  

But that’s what we do now. We judge (and some get paid for it…handsomely). We rush to judgment with inadequate information and after insufficient reflection. There is good and there is bad. Group A will be booed; group B will be cheered. A—holes over here; good guys over there. Athletes worth my time, take a seat; athletes not worth a passing thought, get out of here. Role models, take a seat in the front; derelicts, move to the back, preferably out of sight. The declared heroes get their pictures hung on the wall; the convicted villains are pointed at, cursed and ridiculed.

It is not that simple. Every locker room is a bisection of society. They are populated with good guys doing good things, bad guys doing bad things, good guys doing bad things and bad guys creating illusions with shallow acts of good - and everything in between. Where does Josh Gordon fall on the continuum? I have no idea. Gordon’s three famous critics don’t either – and that’s the point. What we do know is he is a 23-year-old man whose life is at a crossroads. His story is off to a rough start, but he still controls the ending. Of course there’s one conclusion the critics and the critiqued can agree on: Josh Gordon finding his way back on to the field and being selected in fantasy drafts well in advance of the 12^th round for years to come. 

Over to you, Josh. Make it happen.

Robert Griffin III and The Curse Of Sammy Baugh

Appeared on Football.com

By Ronald N. Guy Jr.

For a fourth consecutive season, the exploits of one Robert Griffin III will dominate the professional football conversation in the nation’s capital. Sigh. Roll your eyes. Act disgusted. Fatigued. Disinterested. Then do what football addicts do: indulge.

As a rookie in 2012, Griffin was historically good and shamefully broken. After returning (too soon) from reconstructive knee surgery in 2013, he displayed psychological and physical wounds, obviously questioning his instincts and dragging his bionic knee around the field. Brace free and with a brand new head coach - hired in part to rejuvenate the one-time franchise savior - Griffin was supposed to return to form last year. Or at least be adequate? Instead, Griffin regressed so significantly that the today’s prevailing opinion is that 2012, Griffin’s distant year of greatness, was the anomaly and that the last two seasons of sub-mediocre play is more indicative of RGIII’s NFL capabilities. How quickly promise is consumed by doubt and hope turns to despair. Like sands though the hourglass, these are the days of D.C.’s football lives. 

The reasons for Griffin’s professional crash are complex. Did he pitch too many subs and sports drinks? Was his “all-in for week one” slogan ego-fueled folly? Was #themovement disguised as The Great Regression? Did a graybeard coach (Mike Shanahan) who should have known better, misuse and abuse Griffin, forever breaking the young quarterback’s trust in his caretakers? Is he the hard working, honest and decent young man he appears to be? Or is he narcissistic, utterly delusional and more interested in self-publishing workout videos than he is in studying tape of NFL defenses?  

Hell if I know – about any of it. And that’s the Griffin conundrum. It is also the essence of Griffin-fascination. Despite obsessive dissecting that’s rendered him the oldest 25-year-old in sports, his future remains blurry. But eventually Griffin’s story will be written before our eyes.

Or will it?

What if I told you Griffin isn’t a reality show? What if I told you his fate was sealed some 70 years ago? What if I told you he was cursed?

Skeptical? Don’t believe in black magic, billy goats or The Curse of The Bambino? Consider the overwhelmingly checkered, 80-plus-year-history between the Boston/Washington franchise and the quarterbacks it has drafted in the first round.  

Ready? Nervous? Scared?

Jason Campbell, the 25^th pick in the 2005 NFL Draft, lasted a handful of non-descript seasons. Ditto for Patrick Ramsey, the 32^nd pick in the 2002 NFL Draft.  Non-descript would be a kind description of Heath Shuler, the third pick in the 1993 Draft. Norm Snead, the second overall pick in the 1961 draft, lost…a lot…in D.C. before being dealt to Philadelphia.  Don’t forget Don Allard, Richie Lucas, Ralph Guglielmi and Jim Hardy. Who? Exactly. In fact, there’s only been one impactful quarterback drafted by Washington in the first round in franchise history – and he was the first. His name was Sammy Baugh.

Spooky, eh?

What of Washington’s best signal callers? Mark Rypien was a sixth round pick. Doug Williams and Billy Kilmer were first round picks but by Tampa Bay and San Francisco, respectively. Sonny Jurgensen and Joe Theismann, both fourth round selections, were acquired via trade. Eddie LeBaron was plucked in the tenth round in 1950.

It keeps going.

Jay Schroeder? Third round pick. Brad Johnson? A ninth round pick acquired via trade. Trent Green? Eighth round pick. Gus Frerotte? Seventh round. Mark Brunell? Fifth round pick by Green Bay. 

John Friesz? Jeff George? Donovan McNabb? Rex Grossman/Jon Beck? Shane Matthews/Danny Wuerffel? Just stop.

The Curse of Baugh. That’s it. It’s gotta be the curse, Money. Griffin never had a shot. And he has to spend at least one more year in Washington waiting for the antidote: a princess, Glinda The Good Witch or true love’s kiss. Poor kid.

And what of Washington, the curse’s unknowing host? Given this evidence, shouldn’t Kirk Cousins, fourth round pick that he was, be the starter? Is he the answer? Probably not. Is he better than RGIII? Maybe. But at the very least he’s immune to Baugh’s spell.

Washington’s 2015-16 Season: A Cornerstone Or An Anomaly

Appeared on Football.com

By Ronald N. Guy Jr.

Well that was fun: nine wins (roughly three clear of Vegas’s preseason over/under line), an unexpected division title, a home playoff game (just the third in FedEx Field’s abysmal 19-year history), clarity at the quarterback position, stability at head coach and in the front office and an obvious off-ramp to exit the harrowing Robert Griffin III business. By any measure, Washington’s 2015-16 season was a resounding success.

Still, there were warts. Washington didn’t beat a team that finished with a winning record all year and didn’t record a road win until December 13. Further, in the team’s only games against elite quarterbacks – Cam Newton, Tom Brady and Aaron Rodgers – Washington finished 0-3 and was outscored 106-44, including a season-ending 35-18 drubbing courtesy the Green Bay Packers in the Wild Card round of the playoffs.

But in a town sadly accustomed to frivolous free agent purchases, embarrassing acts by the owner and unimaginable losing on the field, these are not significant problems. It is only the quiet contemplation of long-suffering Cleveland Browns fans that cuts through the self-loathing of Washington’s faithful supporters. So no, a winning season and a home playoff game is nothing to feel bad about. Truth is, Washington was playing with house money after winning its eighth game of the season and securing a division crown with a victory over Philadelphia in week 16.

While Washingtontonians continue to gorge on the fatted calf and consume uninhibiting portions of the finest wine in wild, reckless celebration of football competence, there is this lingering question: 

Now what?

Prior to 2015, Washington’s only four playoff appearances under Dan Snyder’s ownership occurred in 10, 10, 9 and 10-win seasons in 1999, 2005, 2007 and 2012, respectively. What happened in the subsequent seasons tells a gloomy tale. In 2000, Washington won eight games. In 2006? Five. 2008? 

Eight. 2013? Three.

Notice the trend? It’s called undeniable regression…like bet your kids’ 529 accounts and your home on it regression.

The challenge for 2016 is clear: Break the cycle and prove that 2015’s success was a cornerstone to a meaningful run of quality seasons and not just another one-year anomaly managed by a self-destructive franchise’s oblivious capitalization on a league system that makes mediocrity the norm.

The pessimist’s argument starts and ends with the common denominator: Snyder. He’ll screw this up. It’s what he does. His impulsiveness will lead to inaccurate conclusions and impatient action. Good football people will be fired; head-scratching acquisitions will be executed. He’ll be polishing up those inherited Lombardi Trophies for another introductory press conference with another head coach before another president takes the oath of office. Just wait for it. Snyder the owner will condemn Snyder the fan.

Or not?

There are two reasons for optimism, two reasons why 2016 might not be like 2000, 2006, 2008 and 2013: General Manager Scot McCloughan and Kirk Cousins.

Snyder’s Washington teams have never had an empowered General Manger of McCloughan’s pedigree with cognizance over the roster.  One could argue that Joe Gibbs met those standards in the mid-2000s, but Gibbs’s Act 2 personnel decisions seemed more collaborative than dictatorial and, if we are being honest, GM Gibbs was far inferior to Coach Gibbs. In McCloughan’s first year, he exponentially increased the importance of the draft, made it clear he wanted to create a culture of toughness and rewarded hard work and production, not unsupported reputation and hype…you know, the substantive stuff that successful NFL organizations do.

Kirk Cousins is the second to testify on behalf of the optimists.  None of those previous Washington playoff teams were commanded by a 27-year-old quarterback with an un-set NFL ceiling. Brad Johnson was closest, but he was 31 in 1999 and more of a known, dependable, unspectacular commodity. The 2005 and 2007 squads were quarterbacked by a 35-year-old Mark Brunell and a 36-year-old Todd Collins. Snooze. As for 2012…well…there will be books and short films about it. Griffin had the franchise and city in his hands until his insulted knee collapsed under the weight of his pride and the unconscionable mishandling by his coach, Mike Shanahan, and renowned orthopedic surgeon, Dr. James Andrews.

But now there’s Cousins - the once curious and criticized fourth round pick and endlessly polite Griffin backup - leading the franchise between the lines. The jury is still out, mind you, but he blew away expectations in 2015 and deserves a shot to lead this team long-term. At worst he looks like a competent NFL quarterback; at best, he’s probably above average. Regardless, that assessment makes him a rare NFL commodity and something Washington hasn’t had, except for the pre-injury Griffin, since perhaps Trent Green in the late 1990s.

What 2016 ultimately holds for Washington cannot be seen. Yoda senses no disturbance in the force. Professor Marvel’s crystal ball is dark. The channeled spirit of Nostradamus is stumped. NFL football, riveting but brutally unfair game that it is, offers no guarantees. Washington could do everything right this offseason and still be undone by injuries or the whims of a bouncing football. But at least Washington has McCloughan running football operations and a capable, 20-something quarterback with some growing still to do. Those two gentlemen invite legitimate hope that 2016 will deliver something that hasn’t happened in the nation’s capital since 1997: a second consecutive winning season.   

“Dad, Can I Play Football?”

Appeared on Football.com

By Ronald N. Guy Jr.

One of the most important rules of parenthood is this: avoid expectations regarding your child’s interests or personality. The world changes for every generation, personal experiences are unique and the variables-made-possible by human genetics are about as hard to get your mind around as a spacecraft landing on a comet. A parent might want a mini-me or a mirror image of their beloved spouse, but a child is an individual, separate and completely distinct from the two humans who created them, despite the shared DNA. So don’t long for the child you wanted, always be thankful for the one - or ones - that you have.

Still, parents like to see, and often do, traces of their personality (the good, the bad and the ugly) in their offspring. For moms and dads with an athletic background, I think the desire for a child to share an interest in sports is particularly intense; and if you happen to be a father with a son, junior’s sudden inclination to play hoops in the backyard, to learn how to throw a baseball or to run through soccer dribbling drills are acutely prideful moments. And when a son asks a father to play organized sports for a local rec league or school, it’s enough to give even the most emotionally hardened father a creeper in the throat and eyes swelled with tears.

Questions like, “Can I play baseball?”, or statements such as, “I really want to play basketball this year” barely leave a son’s mouth before a proud papa responds with an excited “sure.” But in recent years, another once innocuous, pride-swelling sports question has become far more confounding. Quick, unqualified and affirmative responses have been replaced by confusion, unease and worry. Now, fathers are often left tongue-tied and conflicted when a son asks this age-old question: “Dad, can I play football?” 

The Dad Within the Pros & Politicians

The difficulty of that question isn’t confined to average sized, semi-athletic men with similarly built sons. As the evidence of football’s physical and mental consequences has mounted, many of those that played the game at the highest level have expressed concern about their kids following in daddy’s footsteps. Former Pittsburgh Steelers QB Terry Bradshaw said on “The Tonight Show with Jay Leno” in 2012 that he wouldn’t let his son play. Troy Aikman, former Dallas Cowboys quarterback, told Bryant Gumble during an interview on HBO’s “Real Sports” in 2011 that, if he had a son, he wouldn’t let him play. And on the “Dan Patrick Show”, future Hall of Fame QB Kurt Warner shared that his sons intend to chase the NFL dream and that the thought of his boys playing football scares him.

These are powerful statements from elite football players - one’s you would assume would be among the game’s most ardent supporters. Apparently the dad hat trumps the football player hat – as it should.

But there’s more. Crossing over to the hardwood, LeBron James, father of two boys, recently announced that the recreational itinerary in the James household would not include football games. Earlier this year, the current occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave, President Barack Obama, expressed the same opinion.    

A president, a basketball star and a handful of Hall of Fame football players…aligned against generation-next playing the great American game of football. That is an impressive list of witnesses for the prosecution.

A Danger Impossible To Ignore

Those famous opinions matter of course (how can you dismiss several NFL greats, the best basketball player on the planet and the leader of the free world), but the answer to the question, “would you let your son play football?”, is a little different for the “average dad” (a tight fraternity I’ll refer to as “we” or “us”). Whether it was backyard skirmishes, epic battles at recess or legendary games at birthday parties, most of us have played the game to some extent. Those with decent ability strapped on a helmet for the local high school on Friday nights. A scant few made their way on to a college roster. We may have played against a few guys who suited up for a major college. And our tiny hometowns might even have a player or two that actually made it all the way to the NFL (for me, that guy is John Dorsey, former Green Bay Packers linebacker and current General Manager of the Kansas City Chiefs).

But, unlike those aforementioned NFL quarterbacks, the overwhelming majority of us didn’t play organized football long enough to legally drink a beer after games. We didn’t play into our thirties and didn’t log over a decade on a field with biggest, strongest, fastest and meanest athletes on earth. We also didn’t acquire enough wealth from the game to set up our children financially. Football was just a flash in time, a brief period in our lives. There were no major injuries and it is hard to discern whether our aches and pains are from football or just advancing age. And there’s a strong possibility that if we let our boys play the game, their experience will be similarly brief and without an identifiable consequence.

So what’s all the concern about? Why do we struggle with signing off on our boys playing football? Or am I getting ahead of myself? Was I wrong to assume that the average dad – guys like me…and probably you – wrestle with the thought of our sons playing football?

To answer that last question, I went right to the source: a handful of fellow fathers who have young sons. The dads in my data set all played some football in their day - from neighborhood throw-downs on the weekends to high school ball - and love it deeply to this day. I sat down with each of them for a lengthy chat over tea. We nestled into comfortable couches and flipped on “The View” in the background for inspiration. None of that happened, of course. I just went all caveman and bluntly asked my fellow dads these three direct questions: 1) would you let your son play football?; 2) if so, would you cut him off at some point as the violence increases?; and, 3) would a sustained concussion change your mind?

The answers included one emphatic approval and an equally passionate disapproval of football for junior. In the middle there were a lot of caveats, what ifs, maybes and general consternation. There was concern about shutting a door on a life opportunity, quelling a passion and creating an excessively risk-adverse tempo to life. There was also universal concern for the health of their boys (more on both of those perspectives later). It was a loud acknowledgement of what we now know about the game of football, the power of that knowledge and the precious gift – a man’s son – that a father would knowingly subject to football’s very scary and very real dangers…dangers that are impossible to ignore.

Risk v. Reward

I owe it to the reader and to my fellow dads who were kind enough to share their thoughts for this piece, to offer my opinion. Would I let my son play football?

No. The occasional pick-up game or flag football? Yes. Organized tackle football? No.

Damn it hurts to say that. Sports have been impossibly good to me. I have made countless friends and compiled life-long memories through athletics. The games I played gave me confidence, a competitive drive and an understanding of teamwork. They taught me the importance of commitment, sportsmanship and physical fitness. Frankly, I will never repay my debt to the games I have and always will love. That doesn’t make me special; it makes me like everyone else who has played sports for any length of time at any level – and it is why I would struggle to tell my son he that can’t play football.

My bet is he can get all of what I mentioned above from other sports - none of it is unique to football. But as one dad told me, high school football is special, something you have to experience to understand. That resonated with me. I get it. Life is full of risks. Going to sleep tonight is a risk. Getting in a car or plane tomorrow is risk. Having sex with the attractive young lady down the hall in apartment 2b is a risk. Heck, parenthood - the thing that helped create this dilemma in the first place - is one of the greatest risks two people will ever take. You never want to live shy or be afraid to take a chance, roll the dice or go for something you believe in or have passion for. Thinking long-term is important and considering your physical health is commendable, but tomorrow is not a given and youth is fleeting.

That said, my answer would still be no; but I understand and respect those who would say yes to football.

The Certainty: Uncertainty

It doesn’t take a parent long to come to grips with this ever-frustrating fact: childrearing often lacks a definitive answer. Should I take that new job across the country? What health care plan is best for my family? Who’s the best pediatrician in town? What’s the best school district? Are these behaviors a cause for concern? How do I police Internet usage effectively? Is my child progressing sufficiently? The worries and imperfect solutions are endless.

Go ahead and add, “Should I let my son play football?” to this lengthy list…as if parents needed more uncertainty. My Q&A with fellow fathers revealed this undeniable undertone: regardless of whether a dad permitted his son to play football or not, residual guilt and second-guessing would persist. For those that would prevent their boys from playing, questions would remain as to what experiences, relationships, lessons, memories and opportunities that an emphatic “no” would never allow to happen. One dad who played football in high school even said that had his parents not allowed him to play, he would still harbor some resentment. Conversely, the risk of a son getting hurt, being concussed and experiencing physical and/or mental symptoms from those injuries, would leave an approving dad racked with guilt…for life.

So what is the answer? Well, like just about every major decision faced by parents, it depends. It depends on your belief system, your child and your assessment of the obvious risk and equally identifiable rewards. For me, the answer is “no football.” For you, the best answer might be yes. We are both right; and, to some extent, we are both wrong. That’s why parents get the big bucks, I suppose. When those big bucks come my way, I’ll buy the first round and we’ll talk about the decision we made…and all desperately hope it was the right one for our child.

Author’s Note: Special thanks to my fellow fathers for your opinions on this important topic.

Seeking Silence

As published in The County Times (countytimes.somd.com)

By Ronald N. Guy Jr.

This year our nation, while it was busy fracturing itself along alarming political lines and redefining what is acceptable behavior for a president, celebrated a special centennial: the 100^th anniversary of the National Park Service. 

In 2009, national parks deservedly got the Ken Burns treatment with the PBS documentary, “The National Parks: America’s Best Idea”.  It is worth a view or, if you caught it the first time through, a re-visit, particularly considering the national parks are one of the scant few politically transcendent issues left and we could use a little togetherness. 

John Muir, Sierra Club founder, early advocate of the outdoor world and major contributor to the national parks and NPS, was a prominent personality in Burns’ documentary.  He was, in many respects, the perfect person at the perfect time (the industrial revolution) to remind us of whence we came – nature - and force an otherwise frivolous and insatiable species to preserve some of nature’s greatest jewels for future generations.

Muir had a psychological need for long escapes into the wilderness and the peace, solitude and beauty of an undisturbed landscape.  Nature sustained him in an increasingly developed world; it offered a retreat from the many trifling aspects of daily life to a place where a clear mind and complete focus was possible. 

This quote from Muir’s book “The Mountains of California” captures the healing powers of nature and the author’s addiction to the wild: “Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn.” 

Muir would likely be miserable if he lived in today’s hyper-connected, overanalyzed and overstimulated world.  Escaping takes more than a hike into the woods now, it requires a conscious disconnection from the ever-present and ever-accessible grid. 

You can see the inner John Muir within NFL coaches and players who struggle with the insatiable external demands of their profession.  Television gigs.  Radio bits.  Social media access.  Post-game interviews.  Bloggers.  Beat writers.  National press personalities.  Fans armed with smart phones at every pub and convenience store.  The strain is enormous and it manifests itself in the game to game, week to week, season to season inconsistencies that are the nearly universal norm across the NFL landscape.

There’s one exception: the New England Patriots.  Since 2001 (15 seasons), the Patriots have 13 playoff appearances and division titles, won four Super Bowls and have notched at least 10 wins 14 times.  In those 15 season, the entire roster, with the exception of QB Tom Brady, has been flipped, two scandals have been navigated (Deflategate and Spygate), critical injuries and suspensions have been brushed aside and assistant coaches and front office gurus have come and gone.

And…they…keep…winning.  

No NFL team has been more consistent, more resilient and displayed a greater ability to block out the constant distractions, focus on the immediate task and execute.

“We’re on to Cincinnati”: Patriots head coach Bill Belichick repeated those words as the media pestered him with questions after a 41-14 meltdown against the Kansas City Chiefs in 2014.  It seemed cliché – a defeated coach effectively saying he had already dismissed the loss and moved on to the next opponent.  For most coaches and teams, it would have been cliché.  The line between past, present and future isn’t that abrupt.  Not today.  Not with all the reminders and unwelcomed distractions.

But for the Patriots, it is – they went on to win the Super Bowl that year.  Why?  No other team can throw an iron curtain around their operation like the Patriots.  Problems are handled internally and external access is tightly controlled.  In short, any unnecessary noise is cancelled; what’s left is a team laser-focused on performance. 

It’s doubtful that Belichick pulls this off by taking his team for long walks in the woods.  Regardless of the means, Patriot coaches and players, like Muir, have created an insulated environment conducive to success.  That is no small accomplishment these days, as many of us can attest – me included.

A Gen-Xer’s Perspective

As published in The County Times (countytimes.somd.com)

By Ronald N. Guy Jr.

Once you’ve been around long enough to develop a generational identity, it’s common (because humans are curious) to ponder living life in a different era.  I’ve done it, not because of a desire to escape reality via Doc Brown’s DeLorean, but because it’s fascinating to imagine navigating a past or some futuristic, Jetson’s existence (if my mind can sufficiently expand to consider the possibilities). 

With four generations of my family still on earth (two off my stern, me and one off my bow), I’m at the perfect moment for this exercise: I’ve acquired a decent database of personal experiences, am aware of recent history and am cognizant of the speed with which the world is changing.  I missed The Roaring 20’s, The Great Depression, Pearl Harbor and the national euphoria that followed the defeat of the Axis Powers in World War II – experiences my grandparents, members of The Greatest Generation, lived.  My parents, Baby Boomers born in the late-1940s, dealt with the fear of nuclear war, Vietnam, Watergate and the assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Robert F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr.  But boy did they get to enjoy the best music – Elvis Presley, James Brown, Bob Dylan, Chuck Berry, The Beatles and The Rolling Stones.   

Born in 1972, I’m a member of Generation X, a comparatively small mass of humanity experts will tell you is cynical and disaffected.  We have been consistently lied to by politicians, lack a great military accomplishment and will witness the erosion of American global dominance (militarily and economically).  We won’t do as well as our parents – Boomers – but will be left to bear their financial burden while simultaneously coping with the perceived entitlement of Millennials.  It’s enough to feel like “generation screwed”.  But I don’t.  Generation X, while arguably not overtly special in any discernable way, is incredibly unique.  Change my date of birth?  Never.  Here’s why.

X is a generation of overlappers.  We remember televisions with antennas and channel dials but were quick to embrace the digital era and high-definition (HD) technology.  Our first calls were on landline telephones attached to cords; now we are masters of smart phones.  We’ve seen a bad guy defeated – U.S.S.R. – and become an antagonist again – Russia.  We grew up driving stick shifts and are on the cusp of self-driving cars.  Segregation was a defeated evil, not a reality.  The first high school paper we wrote was generated on a typewriter; our last college paper was drafted in Microsoft Word and emailed to our professors at the completion of an on-line class. 

But every generation has its before and afters, its technological and social overlaps.  What makes Generation X unique is that it straddles the Information Age and its revolution in human communication.  Gen-Xers came of age before the internet and have, unlike most members of preceding generations, embraced its possibilities as adults.  We’re fluent in text-speak, social media savants, proficient multi-taskers and capable consumers of today’s limitless data.  But we can still hold face-to-face conversations with other humans, survive in a world without instant access to everything and enjoy disconnecting from the grid. 

Which leads to the obvious and long-simmering question: What does this dribble have to do with sports?  Well, a lot…I think.  Gen-Xers…we grew up without ESPN, let alone ESPN2, ESPNews, ESPNU or ESPN Deportes.  We mined our stats from newspapers and encyclopedias and learned about players by reading press guides and the backs of baseball cards.  Following sports took time and dedication; it takes but a few clicks now.  The mystery is mostly gone (not so good) but the growth of sports into a pop culture phenomena is undeniably super-cool.    

Millennials and certainly Generation Z sports fans probably feel sorry for my one-time plight.  But they should be jealous.  I’m about to toggle between The World Series and Sunday Night Football – both in primetime and in HD, of course.  For them, this is just how it’s always been; I’m old enough to know it hasn’t and to appreciate the journey to this amazing moment.    

The point?  These are extraordinary times - and not just for sports fans.  Don’t be convinced otherwise.