Here's the kicker

Vanderjagt has no business criticizing others

Dear Mike Vanderjagt,

I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here. Maybe this was all part of your grand design. Maybe you thought the best way to light a fire under your laid-back quarterback and coach was to basically call them cold, unemotional losers in public. Not the way I'd go, but hey, that's just me. Or maybe, since you ripped them on a Toronto cable sports show, you somehow thought your comments wouldn't trickle across the border.

Sorry, Mike, customs officials can't confiscate stupidity, which, I'm afraid, is what you exhibited when you questioned the passion and leadership abilities of Peyton Manning and Tony Dungy. It was dumb not because of what you said -- you could walk down any street in Indy and find someone who agrees with you -- but because of who you are.

Mike, buddy, you're a kicker. Kickers are meant to be seen and not heard. Kickers jog onto the field a few times a game, perform their little function, and jog off. On kickoffs, most of them are so busy trying to avoid being hit by real football players that they look like they're lost in a bad neighborhood. Kickers have no standing, no rank, no pull, no nothing. That might seem unfair to you, but that's the way it is. When asked about your comments, Manning called you an "idiot kicker", and it's hard to disagree with his assessment.

Manning stands in the pocket and takes helmets in the rib cage from 300-pound human projectiles, Mike. You swing your leg. Dungy spends dozens of hours each week poring over game film and devising offensive and defensive schemes, taking responsibility for the performance of every player on the Colts' roster, Mike. You swing your leg. The guys who are fighter pilots shouldn't be criticized by the guys who fuel up the plane.

Kickers are essentially independent contractors, anyway, Mike. They have their small, although important, area of specialization that involves very few members of the rest of the team. Kickers don't even have to know the name of the quarterback, much less be able to assess his performance and personality.

"Some guys have it, and some guys don't," you said of Manning. "Coach Dungy, he's just a mild-mannered guy. He doesn't get too excited; he doesn't get too down and I don't think that works, either. I think you need a motivator. I think you need a guy that is going to get in somebody's face when they're not performing well enough. Peyton and Tony are basically the same guy. They work hard; they mark their X's and O's and go out and execute. If it doesn't happen, there's nothing we can do about it."

You say that during the week leading up to the Colts' 41-0 playoff loss to the New York Jets, Manning didn't give you a very inspirational response when you tried to help him get fired up for the game. That wasn't because Manning was flat, Mike. It's because he wasn't listening to you. Nobody listens to kickers, except maybe their holders. Manning didn't give you much of an answer because he was too busy wondering why you even get to wear shoulder pads.

If critical words had to be spoken, they should have been spoken by someone like running back Edgerrin James or defensive end Chad Bratzke, men who are in the trenches. A player like Manning, who puts his body on the line every week, shouldn't be critiqued by guys who hardly ever take a hit, usually aren't very athletic and only know how to do one thing well.

Unless, of course, they're sportswriters.

Sports Illustrated senior writer Phil Taylor writes about a Hot Button issue every Monday on CNNSI.com.

 

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