One Giants leap

Judgment calls doom Big Blue, but don't blame Fassel

They are getting out the shovels for Giants coach Jim Fassel. Journalistic hysteria following his team's overtime loss to Tennessee is running rampant. I've been reading the same two angles all week -- the coach's job security, and why did he go for two? The former seems to be an aftermath of the latter, the implication being that management ought to think seriously about bringing back anyone who commits such a major error.

I don't want to sound prissy, and I don't want to be a house man for the coaching establishment, but for pity's sake, leave the guy's job alone during the meat part of the season. Especially when his team is in some kind of contention. OK, if we're talking about a hopeless situation, a Cincinnati type of thing, with a game or two left, or when the season is over, then it's reasonable to speculate. But running around now, working the owners for quotes they'll never give you, just seems unfair to me.

And what did Fassel do to merit this wrath? Leading by 12 points, just into the fourth quarter, he went for the deuce and didn't get it. It seemed logical to me at the time, not to kick the extra point. What good is a 13-point lead when two TDs will wipe it out? CBS's Randy Cross, who isn't afraid to second-guess coaches, had only this comment: "The Giants are going to go for two, leading 26-14, to try to push it up to a two-touchdown lead." Nothing more.

But according to the papers in the area, this is what Fassel should have known: Later in the period the Giants were going to kick a field goal, Tennessee was going to score two TDs, a seven and an eight. Result -- tie ballgame. How could he have failed to realize this would happen? I mean, doesn't he commune with the spirits?

And that was the major angle of this game. The real angle, aside from the magnificence of the Titans' Steve McNair down the stretch -- I mean the real New York angle -- was the terrible, lay-back, prevent defense the Giants went into, allowing the Titans to walk down the field in overtime. Simply awful. But defensive coach Johnnie Lynn is a popular guy, a much more difficult target than Fassel.

Then there was the wind, a typical Jersey Meadows December gale. The Giants won the toss and took the wind at their backs. Seventeen of the 24 points scored in the first half were with the wind. Tennessee took a four-point lead into the third quarter, but here's where I thought Titans' coach Jeff Fisher made a big mistake. He chose to kick off, into the wind, so he would have it with him in the final period.

I once saw Dennis Green blow a game in the Meadowlands with just such a decision. Bill Parcells, who coached more games in that stadium than anyone, always used to say, and it certainly made sense, that when you have a lead at halftime on a brutally windy day, and you have the choice after the intermission, make the other guys go into those gusts. Put them further in the hole. Make it so tough for them in the final quarter that they'll be in desperation mode. Then, if they manage to pull it off anyway, God bless 'em.

And there's always a chance that the wind will die down later in the game, which it often does in Giants Stadium. That was exactly what happened last Sunday, and it allowed the Giants to drive the length of the field in quarter No. 4 and kick their field goal.

This is kind of a sidebar angle, but it's still the kind of thinking you ought to have if you're really on top of things. Here's what one of those tabloid geniuses wrote in his Monday column, apropos the wind: Fassel "decided to take the wind in the first quarter, giving the Titans the edge in the fourth quarter." Uh-huh. This neglects, of course, the fact that it was Fisher's call in the second half, no matter what Fassel had done, but when journalistic hysteria takes over, rational thoughts flee like frightened forest things.

Fassel runs the offense. He calls the plays, and how about the fact that the Giants scored on their first four possessions of the second half, five straight counting their final drive in half No. 1? How about the fact that Fassel is the guy who rescued Kerry Collins from the junk pile and turned him into a living and breathing quarterback? He coaches a team that's shorthanded in personnel. And he watched it go down to an inspired quarterback, working against a defense that played give-up. I say give the guy a break.

My favorite game of the weekend, if Thanksgiving counts, was Washington-Dallas. The way it started, it looked as if the Cowboys were going to get blown out. Their tattered, makeshift offensive line was getting buried by the Redskins' rush. Their quarterback, Chad Hutchinson, was dusted four times in the first half and their defense was struggling. But then a remarkable thing happened. Some kind of inner fire was kindled in Emmitt Smith, and he started running in a sort of rage, and it affected the whole team.

That slob line began punching holes in the Redskins' defense. The Cowboys defenders rose up, and all of a sudden the secondary was clamping tight on the receivers and allowing nothing. DT La'Roi Glover turned into a monster and was making plays all over the field. And Dallas, greatly outmanned in personnel, won, going away, by seven points against the sagging Redskins. It was almost like a morality play. On one sideline, there was Steve Spurrier, the $5 million coach, and across the way stood Dave Campo, whose paycheck is about one-fifth of that of his rival.

Emmitt rushed for 144 yards, his highest total in two years. Maybe he's on the way out, and he certainly isn't what he once was -- except for that one afternoon when he lit up a whole team. It sure was great to watch.

I'm very curious to see what kind of a fine the NFL will levy on Steve Herndon, the Broncos guard who came down deliberately on the back of the legs of Jamal Williams, the Chargers' defensive tackle, in the open field. The result -- broken ankle, torn ligaments, out for the year. Helmet-to-helmet shots on receivers have drawn the big numbers from the league, but all those guys have come back. Here's one who didn't, but he doesn't play a glamour position.

A few years ago I wrote that I would impose Biblical justice on guys who deliver cheap shots such as this one. An eye for an eye. If he sends a player out of the game, throw the cheap-shotter out. If the injured guy is out for the year, then the person who put him out is also through. If it ends a career, well then, gosh, we're awfully sorry, but you'll simply have to find another line of work.

I ran into a guy from the league office shortly after I wrote the piece.

"You were kidding, right?" he said. "You weren't really serious?" I told him I was indeed. He shook his head and walked away. All sorts of loonies writing columns these days.

Have you seen all those promos for the upcoming made-for-TV film about Bear Bryant's first year at Texas A&M, titled The Junction Boys? Only a crackpot would rip a show before he's actually seen it, right? That's me, folks. For one thing, they weren't The Junction Boys, they were The Junction Babies, so right away I know that the research was shoddy.

It's a great story, about the punishment camp the Bear ran in Junction, Texas. Ex-Cardinals coach Gene Stallings was one of his babies, and he told me stories about those days. "He took a bunch of l'il ol' fat-faced boys and turned them into men," Stallings said.

Then there's the matter of Tom Berenger and that pseudo-southern accent that's supposed to define the Bear. Puh-leeze. Strictly cornpone and molasses. Why do actors find it so hard to capture a southern twang? The only guy I ever heard who really did it was an Irishman, Liam Neeson, who played a Kentucky hillbilly in the movie, Next of Kin, and did it brilliantly.

So will I watch The Junction Boys? Oh yeah, I guess I will, and maybe I'll even like it, but I've already cautioned The Redhead about watching it with me because I'll ruin it for her with all the picky, technical things I'll find wrong. "Plus all the non-stop talking you do during movies," she adds. Right. Plus all the non-stop talking.

On the subject of accents, my two favorite referees to listen to are Walt Coleman and Bernie Kukar. With Coleman it's pure Arkansas. "Ball," becomes a two-syllable word. Kukar brings the frozen, hard tones of Minnesota. "Personal foll," for foul. "First don," for down. And my least favorite is Jeff Triplette, with that whiny, nasal Virginia twang. Come to think of it, he's my least favorite official in general, but I've already written that about a million times.

The kicking carousal. Jose Cortez washes out in San Francisco and signs with Washington, as James Tuthill becomes canned goods. Weeb Ewbank used to call it taking on someone else's problems, but with kickers it makes some kind of goofy sense. Sometimes a change of venue seems to make a difference. Kris Brown, for instance, was a basket case in Pittsburgh, but I haven't heard many complaints about him in Houston. He even beat the Giants with a 50-yarder the other day.

Tom Tupa, the punter, isn't exactly lighting it up in Tampa Bay, but at least he isn't the disaster he was with the Jets last year. "Got a case of the yips," Jets special teams coach Mike Westhoff told me. It happens. Sometimes a change in scenery will get them unyipped.

Sports Illustrated senior writer Paul Zimmerman covers the NFL beat for the magazine and is a regular contributor to CNNSI.com. To send a question to Dr. Z's Mailbag, click here.

 

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