Honor

This one may offend some of you as callous, but it's honestly callous, for whatever that's worth.

Last Sunday in Washington, the Redskins inducted Sean Taylor into their Ring of Honor, then went out and got themselves stomped by the disturbingly efficient Giants. Don't worry, there will be (more) jokes about the won-loss record of Sean Taylor's Ghost in other posts.

Now, I get that the Taylor Tragedy was a John Lennon Killed moment for 'Skins Fan, and that he was many people's favorite player, given that he was large, fast, and hit people hard.

But there's a lot of difference between a fan favorite who died and a truly great player. Taylor made too many coverage and judgment mistakes to be the latter. When they field the all-time 'Skins team in Gridiron Heaven, he's probably on special teams until he can be coached up.

Tangent time that isn't really... when I was but a very wee Shooter, I watched hockey, in that it was a sport that had a professional Philadelphia team, and hence had to be watched and rooted for with abandon. (Yes, even indoor soccer. Moving on.)

One bright spring day, I found my folks sitting outside watching the Flyers on a black and white television off an extension cord in the backyard, as the weather was beautiful. The game started, but there was a long somber moment of silence and a banner being raised to the rafters. A Flyer I didn't really know very well, in that my childhood hockey fandom consisted of guys who scored, fought, and goaltender Bernie Parent, was being given the Ultimate Honor of having his jersey retired.

His name was Barry Ashbee.

When I asked my mom what was going on, she told me he had been a good player, but he was dead now, and didn't say how, in that talking about death with your very little kid tends to be a rathole of conversation that leads to nowhere pleasant. So no one was ever going to wear the number four again.

Wikipedia tells me that Ashbee was a second-team NHL All-Star on defense, and a member of the first Flyers' Stanley Cup team. After a gruesome eye injury in a playoff game (he took a slapshot straight on), and was forced to retire. I'm guessing that it was one of those things that more modern medicine might have helped with, but I'm sure it was horrible.

He was given an assistant coach's job, which he held until he received a terminal diagnosis of leukemia in 1977; he died in a month. The Flyers retired his jersey and have given an award to the team's best defenseman in his name, every year, ever since.

Now, Ashbee seems to have been a pretty good player; definitely not a goon by the penalty numbers, and a +52 in the first Stanley Cup year. He also seems to have been a genuinely good guy, having toiled for eight years in the minors until expansion opened up a slot for him in Philadelphia. He was tough and popular, in an era where the fans bonded more with hockey players from the lack of helmets and visors -- and yes, maybe the injury was one of the reasons why helmets became the rule fairly soon afterward. One suspects that Philly Fan loved him most for striking a ref on purpose, and getting suspended for it. Maybe older folks remember him for more than that, but I kind of doubt it; he didn't have the offensive or penalty numbers to be terribly memorable.

However, it's probably pretty safe to say that a guy who only played four years for the franchise, and probably didn't miss too many of the best days of his career. The eye injury happened when he was 34. Until it happened, I'm sure he wasn't really on anyone's short path to having his jersey retired.

Tragedy made Ashbee honored, and on some level, he knew it. He initially turned down the coach's job because he thought the Flyers were doing it out of pity.

Now, what teams do with their Rings of Honor and retired jerseys is their business, and if it helps their fans get on with the grieving process, there's something to be said for that.

But one assumes that these franchises are going to go on for a very long time -- honestly, it's hard to imagine a world in which someone isn't making money off pro football, and the Washington franchise doesn't exist.

It's also hard to imagine that tragic events aren't going to happen to players on the team. It is, after all, what happens, and what has always happened. You are going to see triple-digit jersey numbers eventually, or posthumous exhumations of guys like Taylor and Ashbee in 50 years.

Finally, this. Does Flyer Fan look up into the rafters and remember Barry Ashbee for anything more than being the name of the award that they give to the top defenseman every year, and that he has a memorial fund to fight leukemia?

And in 20 to 30 years, will Redskins Fan see Taylor's name and think of anything more than a botched home invasion?