Greetings from the Gulf
Coast
This is the first in a series of postcards Sports
Illustrated's Peter King will e-mail from his annual NFL
training-camp
tour.
Posted: Tue July 21,
1998
July 20: Tampa,
Fla.
TEAM: Tampa Bay
Buccaneers.
SITE: The University of Tampa, a broiling, palm-tree-lined
campus an eight-minute walk from downtown. The Bucs train
at well-worn Pepin-Rood Stadium, where a crowd of about 500
watched Monday's afternoon session, halted a half-hour
early by a vicious thunderstorm. The players didn't
mourn.
FOOD: Because my lunchtime interviews ran late, I had the raisin
bran for lunch (mixing the skim and 2% milk to create 1%)
with a blonde brownie for dessert. Quite delectable. I do
remember from last year the popcorn shrimp here is not to
be
missed.
Dear NFL
Junkie:
Having a lovely time as I embark on my 15th season covering
training camp in the NFL. Wish you were
here.
You'd love Pro Bowl defensive tackle
Warren
Sapp. Riding back to the dining hall from a late-afternoon film
session with rising-star cornerback
Donnie
Abraham in a campus courtesy van, I opened my door and encountered
Sapp—all 310 pounds and cornrows of him.
"Peter King!" he yelled in mock (I think) anger.
"Outta this van! What are you doing riding shotgun!
That's a privilege!" Before I could shoot back
something weak at Sapp, he added: "One other thing:
You weren't here two years ago, were
you?"
With Sapp's raucous laugh filling the humid air, the door
closed. Sapp rode
shotgun.
He's right. I wasn't here two years
ago.
But not many other media folk were here then either. Two
years ago, coach
Tony
Dungy was in his rookie season. The Bucs weren't the cute and
likeable underdogs they've become, with an NFL-high eight
Pro Bowlers on their roster. At lunch, linebacker
Hardy
Nickerson told me: "You really get the feeling around here that
this is our year. We've raised expectations. I think we're
all thinking
big."
I leave here for a night flight to New England agreeing
with Nickerson. I'll be shocked if this team isn't playing
in
January.—P.K.
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