Hayes day

Looking back at an extraordinary athlete

A few e-mails arrived, following the death of Bob Hayes, and although there were no questions as such, I would just like to share a few thoughts about this great athlete.

I covered the '64 Olympics, when he won the 100-meter gold. Tokyo security was more polite than intrusive, and they allowed me access to the little room in which the athletes went immediately after their event and before they were called out to the medal stand. And there was Bob Hayes in the first flush of victory. I can't remember ever having seen such pure joy on a human face.

He'd do a little hop-step across the room, then stop and clutch at his temples and look upward and let it all out in a big surge of emotion, "Ohhhh, ohhhh!" And he kept doing it for the five minutes or so before they called him out to get his medal. And we were all so very happy for him because this was a genuinely nice and decent young man.

Looking back on that moment, the sad thing is that one can never know what terrible things fate might have in store for even the most gifted. Hayes went on to a Hall of Fame-type career with the Cowboys, but who knows whether the drugs that were to destroy his life had already taken hold?

I saw him later on, when he he'd been in and out of prison, and he was always the same smiling, decent person. Saddened, yes, but not bitter. I always thought: Couldn't it have been handled some other way? Did they have to put him in jail? Because if ever there was a person who was incapable of a mean act, who didn't deserve the hand that fate dealt him, it was Hayes.

It would have been nice if Hayes had been elected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame before he died. But when he could have come in as a regular entry, the drug thing was still too fresh in peoples' minds, and by the time they forgot, he was in the Seniors pool, where only one person can come up at a time. So it was always Bob Hayes and someone else, and the someone else always seemed to win. I wish I had worked harder for his enshrinement. I wish a lot of things would have been different.

Quick question: Why did this week's collection of e-mails, which usually contain a hefty and varied assortment of rips about my Power Rankings, make me happy? Because all the rips were about only one team, San Diego, which was relegated to the 20th spot on the roster, despite the gaudy 2-0 record.

Now, getting all steamed up about the rankings after only two weeks is like complaining about a restaurant after the bread has been put on the table. There's just so much more to come. Nevertheless, I'll try to provide a bulk answer (a bulky answer?) to the four Chargers loyalists whom Jimmy has seen fit to honor, out of the thousands of their compadres who stormed the gates, bringing out the Web site security forces, with their bayonets and pepper spray:

The lineup -- Jeff of Aliso Viejo, Calif. (drum roll), Pete of Mesa, Ariz. (trumpet fanfare), Mike of Seattle (clash of cymbals), Stu of San Diego (foghorn). Their basic complaint is that I rated the Cowboys above the Chargers, and San Diego murdered Houston, which did likewise to Dallas. The Cowboys beat a serious team, Tennessee, an achievement that ranked higher, in my mind, than the Chargers' two victories. Yes, the Cowboys lost to Houston in the Texans' Super Bowl, but I don't give it the same weight as I do their victory over the Titans. I'm sure this explanation pleases none of you, so I'll tell you what I'll do if you just stop calling me these terrible names and upsetting my wife. If the Chargers somehow beat Arizona in the desert, which I don't think will happen, but if they somehow manage it ... and, remember, they're not going against a championship contender here ... I personally guarantee that they'll be in the top half of the standings next week. How serious a further boost they get depends on how they play, and I hadn't originally planned to include this contest on my tape menu, but it is now there. And unless the dish goes out of whack, as the upstairs one did last week (talk about rage!), I will be able to analyze the hell out of this team ... everything serious ... no gags ... in my Power Rankings section. Fellas, this is the best I can do for you. At least I take your views seriously, which is more than a lot of blokes in my profession would do.

To Bernie in Phuket, Thailand, where they're primarily Lions fans: Many thanks for your kind words about my Unitas piece.

To Guy of Beltville, Md., who wants me to construct an ideal QB, using the body parts of different players: Well, anatomically, it's an intriguing idea but I'm afraid I'm not up to it. I mean, whose stomach would I use?

A double-dipper from Gary of Chevy Chase, Md. What do I think of Dolphins' TE Randy McMichael? Well, he wowed 'em in the exhibition season, and he has been pretty functional so far. I know Norv Turner would love to turn him into another Jay Novacek, who made so many clutch catches for him in Dallas.

Second question, and now the storm warnings are posted. What do I have against New Jersey? Well, I was overstating it, of course, the other day when I said everyone here was hostile. My son, Mike, who lives in Randolph, isn't hostile, and neither are my neighbors, the Rookers, and I've always been treated nicely by Peter King's family. The rest of them? Phffffft! Every morning I have a short drive to pick up the newswpapers and the bagels. There's one place where I have to enter a line of traffic. Fifty yards ahead is a light. Even if it's red, and there's absolutely nowhere a car can go, except to join the line of fellow vehicles stopped at the light, they will invariably, without fail, bunch up to keep me from joining the procession. God forbid I should make a move to penetrate this lineup of idiocy. Horns, beeps, screams, fists in the air by some yahoo or yahooess leaning halfway out the window. That's the Jersey mentality. Wait, don't walk away, there's more. There's the New Jersey business community, particularly the service community -- lies, broken promises that "we'll be there to fix it," unreturned phone calls, nasty, snarling replies when you finally reach them, "Well, if ya don't like it, why don'tcha go somewhere else?" I'm getting all worked up here. See what you've done to me?

The Flaming Redhead is from Phoenix. She's a kind, gentle person. She still marvels at the mentality here. "You know," she often says, "if they pulled that in Arizona they'd be out of business." She longs for her beloved Safeway supermarket, where the service people don't clutter the aisles and defy you to squeeze by them, where, if you ask for the location of something, they'll stop what they're doing and escort you over, not just jerk a thumb in some vague direction and keep on doing what they've been doing.

Just the tip of the iceberg. There's a real nasty outlook on life here, much worse than where I grew up, which is New York City. And the sad thing is that I'm always defending the physical characteristics of New Jersey, trying to explain to out-of-towners that it isn't all Newark and Jersey City and Bayonne. There are some beautiful woodland areas, with lakes and mountains and even trees with actual leaves on them. I can't go on. Too mad. DAMN IT, LINDA, TURN DOWN THAT FREAKIN TV!

Now, what the hell do you want, Cooper? Oh, it's a football question -- from Cooper of Chicago. Make it football questions, three of them, and I'll address the entire trio since I was so nasty to you. No. 1, my evaluation of Bears free safety Mike Brown, lucky or really good? Answer: He's an opportunist, like Sammy Knight of the Saints. Always looking for ways to pick your pocket. The best at that was the old Seahawks strong safety, Ken Easley. No. 2, if Shane Matthews turns into another Kurt Warner, would I say it's Matthews' ability or Spurrier's play-calling? Answer: Matthews' ability. No. 3, If Kordell Stewart continues to struggle, is there a chance Billy Cowher would give Antwaan Randle El a shot at the position? Answer: No. He'd have to have had a full offseason and training camp at QB.

Josh of Pittsburgh wonders how I could call the Niners' Jamie Winborn's performance against the Giants my No. 1 of the season when the Steelers' Joey Porter lit it up against the Raiders with three sacks and two picks? It's close. Porter's one-man show would be my No. 2, but I gave the nod to Winborn because of the textbook way he played the position, flying to the ball on running plays, clamping down on the receivers in the short zones.

On to the question of the black hightops. Bob of McCook, Neb., feels that I was too tough on Peyton Manning for asking the league for permission, etc., and not tough enough on the league for having the silly rule in the first place. "When a rule is unjust, it is the duty of the just man to disobey it." Which famous statesman uttered those words? Well, me. I just made it up. Pretty good, huh? Anyway, it's what I believe. I still think that the idea of the shoes being a distraction is silly. Players need occasional distractions, which is something coaches have a hard time grasping. Sorry that I came off too wishy-washy in giving the league its say in the matter. I always like to get both sides. I thought I made my views clear when I mentioned how they don't mind the old product endorsement thing but bristle at any show of individuality. Here's another thing that bothers me, and I have yet to get an answer from Paul Tagliabue on the subject: With all the flag-waving the NFL does, how can it justify the fact that its commercial arm, NFL Properties, sells goods made in Sri Lanka or China or the Philippines but hardly anything made in the U.S.?

On the plus side, Donny of San Antonio (thanks for balancing them up, Jimmy) agrees with my position on Peyton, and then he continues to mirror my views when he goes off on those silly sideline interviews. Right. They're nonsense. Foolish window dressing. Drivel!

(My wife just cautioned me that I'm getting too worked up, and I'd better calm down because at my age ... well, you know. OK, honey, from now on they'll be calling me Calm Paul).

Why did this thought just come to mind? It's one of those cherished vignettes that stays with you forever. From a letter from my buddy, Al Ginepra, who, while on his way to a rugby tournament, stayed in one of those sleazy little $20-a-night motels, and taped to the mirror in the communal bathroom was a sign cautioning guests that anyone who "Acts Up!" will be "Put Out!" I told him that it was the quotation marks and exclamation points that really made it. He agreed.

Josh of Ann Arbor, Mich., wonders why Tim Couch has a lock on the Browns' QB job when Kelly Holcomb has been playing so well. Because the biggest myth in football, or any sport for that matter, is that everyone gets equal treatment. Few coaches have the guts to bench a high-priced No. 1 draft. Bill Belichick did, though, and all he did was win a Super Bowl. Thanks for your compliment, by the way.

From Trevor of San Francisco: The Colts hire Tony Dungy to fix the defense, the Bucs hire Jon Gruden to fix the offense, and neither is fixed. What gives? To that you could add, Brian Billick, the quarterback guru, who was supposed to be the answer to the Ravens' QB problems, and just look what's happened. You can't do it without the personnel.

Why isn't Marshall Faulk carrying the ball more? asks Tim of Rochester, N.Y. I don't think Martz's ego is at fault. I just think his main focus right now is to get his passing game shaped up for the long haul. He no longer has the dynamic third wideout, Az Hakim. Ricky Proehl is the No. 3 man, and he's not feared downfield. And Proehl's former No. 4 spot -- possession receiver -- now goes to Yo Murphy, who has a great first name and not much else. Sorry, but I don't question Martz's judgment very often. To me he's the No. 1 offensive mind in the game, whether you like him personally or not.

Scott of Centerport (Centerport where? Long Island? Say so, man, and stop toying with your faithful narrator) ... anyway, Scott wonders why Drew Bledsoe is considered a leader all of a sudden, when that was the knock on him in the past. Because he has found out what it's like to eat potato soup seven days a week. He has seen things, "from the underside, where the lath and plaster is not smoothed off." (Kipling: The Man Who Would be King). In other words, he has taken stock and realized that he has to be a guy who does more than throw pretty passes. It's to his credit.

Phil of Toronto begins his e-mail: "You are one grumpy old SOB." So I immediately run into the other room to show the Flaming Redhead. "Tell him to come to New Jersey and I'll buy him a beer," she says, her hilarity matching my own. So, if I'm so grumpy, Phil proceeds, after setting me up nicely, why wasn't I tougher on the league in that shoe thing? I've already answered this one. I agree with you, Phil. Leave me alone, already. I tried to be fair. Next query involved woulda-coulda-shoulda in the Bills' going for two vs. going for one in that wild one against the Vikings. I think they did the right thing in going for the deuce when they did. Taking it past that and assuming Brien made the PAT he missed merely muddies the water.

Bob of Pittsburgh wonders how the Steelers are going to stop that gnat attack of never-ending short passes they've been subjected to. You have to to treat it as people treated the old run-and-shoot. Bring lots of heat on the QB with an exotic blitz package, make him look to his short, hot reads, rough him up so much that by the fourth quarter he'll be in shock. It's what blitzed the run-and-shoot into oblivion and it'll do likewise to this Finkelstein Monster that the Patriots and Raiders created.

Jim of San Diego hates the 49ers' dink passing game. So do I. All it tells me is that Terrell Owens is having real problems downfield, and he's the only real longball threat they have. But you're right, they have to put some air in it or they're going to suffocate.

Final question from our old buddy, Brian of Gaithersburg. Thanks my wife for sticking up for him when I sneeringly said that if my Mailbag was the highlight of his Friday workday, he'd better find another job. Then he explained what his workday was like, and now I'm thoroughly ashamed. Works in a brickyard. Spends the whole day shlepping around 100-pound loads. And when his back is killing him and his legs are giving out, a foreman comes around telling him he'll be fired if he takes a break. Brian, I'm sending around a buddy of mine, Vito Wit' da Heavy Shoes, to take care of that guy for you. OK, OK, just kidding. About everything. No brickyard. No bad back. Just a bit of 1 a.m. silliness.

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