Bronco Fan's Year Just Keeps Getting Better

Let's just make this very clear, Bronco Fan: the 2009 season is not going to go well for you. The schedule involves the NFC East, which will roll you. The Chargers get Shawn Merriman back, which means their defense will have some bite. The Chiefs can't be that bad again, especially now that they have a coach that isn't named Herm Edwards. The Raiders... well, OK, there's still the Raiders. Your big move on defense was to bring in a high-priced safety that can't run well enough to do pass coverage anymore. Your big move on offense was to shoot yourself in the head by alienating your franchise quarterback, then to draft a running back when your system has proven that anyone with a pulse can put up numbers in that position. Your coach is responsible for the QB exile, and is way too damned young and arrogant to win at this level.

But on the plus side, you'll also be wearing this for two games next year. Yes, the consensus choice for the worst uniform in sports history, with some kind of Mutant Mustard Man with bumblebee socks. But on the plus side, the colors match what a young child will produce (I change enough diapers to know where I speak).

On some level, you have to wonder if this entire thing is meant to be a psychological stress test on new safety Brian Dawkins. I get that the man is sleeping on a bed of stupid money, and is basically a year or two from retirement, but this can't be what he signed up for, is it? A nice little 8-8 year, maybe a playoff game or two, media mouth jobs giving him the John Lynch Love-In and with Tony Gonzalez leaving KC, Antonio Gates not really being himself anymore and the Raiders being the Raiders, that's not the worst retirement in the world. But instead, he gets to wear these clown clothes. I think the man's going to hurt himself on purpose by Halloween.

But anyway, back to the matter at eye. How bad are these jerseys? The first time the team tried to use them, the players burned them. They might want to try that again this year. Just make sure McDaniels is in the gear when you fire 'em up...

Access

I was reading something about the death of the American Newspaper as it relates to sports the other day, and seeing how this is the kind of thing that we can spend too much thought on, let's have it, shall we?

Frankly, this blog exists on some level because I didn't continue sports journalism as a career 15+ years ago. The money just wasn't there, and by the money, I mean any money: starting salaries of $18K a year when you have college bills to pay would have had me sleeping in a car and not eating very often. Add minority hiring considerations (no complaints: the field should be as diverse as the participants), my own bad timing (the Bush I Recession) and my choice to spend my '20s chasing the music dream, and it's clear to me that the road not taken was correct. I get the same kick of creation from the day job (I'm in online advertising) without the same worries of Justify Your Economic Existence that journos are now overwhelmed by.

But, well, still. There's a reason why newspapers refer to the sports desk as the Toy Department, and that's because it really is possible to love your work, all the while knowing that you aren't going to, say, see the victims of violence and disaster as part of your 9 to 5.

Independent of the jealousy that some people might feel over making a living from writing about games, there is a strong and growing disconnect from the public to the people in the press box. As athletes get better and better at saying very little (seriously, the next person that overhears Tiger Woods saying something interesting might be the first), and the technology improves to the point where the television feed is showing you more than what the people at the stadium are seeing, the value of the hack working his or her sources and being in the locker room every day fades.

Plus, there's also this. As a 21st century sports fan (also known as someone with more of a mercenary interest than a pure fan one, thanks to the existence of casual gambling via fantasy leagues), I'm really only interested in the personal stuff if it gives me an edge in the real world.

Take, for instance, the case of Brian Dawkins, clearly the most beloved defensive football player in Philadelphia for his generation.

I know, thanks to locker room scribes, how much Dawk cared about being a team leader, and his relation to the fans. We know the origins of his spasmodic pre-game dance routine, and why he occasionally leaped around the field like he was trying out for the Wolverine role in a blaxploitation superhero movie. We know how he'd speak in tongues without resorting to profanity, and how this was a manifestation of his religious faith.

But I do not, at least not definitively, whether or not he was very good at his job anymore, or whether or not the Broncos made the right move in signing him at age 35.

My eyes tell me that he's not as effective as he used to be, and the Eagles problems in covering the tight end are also a very strong hint that they had to move on. And since I've never met Dawkins and don't have to worry about him or his teammates freezing me out if I trashed him, the only retribution I might face for my ungratefulness for his decade of outstanding service is from a nasty commenter.

The people who covered Dawkins on a day-in, day-out basis had a lot more on the table. And they were more or less quiet on the subject, just as they are on most matters of personnel assessment. I heard about Dhani Jones writing poetry and William James changing his name; what I didn't hear was that they were horrible at being football players, at least while they wore my team's laundry. And so on, and so on.

Why? Because, well, they are too close. If it makes me hurt to rip Dawk, and I've never set foot in the Eagles locker room or had more access to him than anyone else with a remote control, how much would it suck to have to write that sort of thing when you consider him something of a friend? Or that you might need him to comment on something else the week after you write your glue factory piece?

Journos are an ornery lot; if you tell them that they are compromised or complicit, they read that as corrupt and go into full shock and awe response mode (assuming they decide to give the criticism any thought at all). They are also frequently uncovering things that are of real value, if only for the fact that 90% of life is showing up, and they show up.

But to answer the questions that people like me (and if you are reading this, that also includes you) want answered, you may be better off with an obsessive geek that isn't so knee-deep in the underbrush that he can't see the forest for the trees.

And, well, as much fun as it was to learn about Dawk's quirks... well, I care more about his performance. And always will.

So how much value does that access have, anyway? (Oh, and if you want to extend this to our regrettable political coverage, please go review the entire sordid Judith Miller incarceration. This kind of thing isn't limited just to sports...)

Countdown to Clowntime

This note from the Philly Daily News (yes, it is still in operation, you miserable people -- would it kill you to buy a copy?)... ex-Eagle, current Bronco and perpetually conflicted safety Brian Dawkins wants to make his most famous fan happy by giving him his comped tickets when the Broncos play the Eagles next year in Philadelphia.

Now, several questions arise from this.

1) Will the axed fan wear one of those super-stupid split jerseys, to show that he just loves everyone?

2) Given that Dawkins' team will be starting, in all likelihood, Kyle Orton on the road with no running back and a defense whose best player might be a broken-down but very wealthy safety, will said fan change the jersey in mid-game?

3) Can Dawkins give so many interviews the week of the game that Philly Fan winds up booing him not out of disloyalty, but simple fatigue?

4) What mostly innocent utterance from Donovan McNabb will be twisted out of proportion to cause a media circus and sports radio ratings boon?, and

5) When will we know the date of the game, so we can determine whether or not the Broncos will have fired Coach / Soooper Gene Yuss Josh "Cutler Killer" McDaniels?

And don't let the door hit you...

Posted by Tracer Bullet

Let me be the first to say it: Brian Dawkins can go to hell.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love me some Brian Dawkins. I’ve got his jersey hanging in my closet and I’ll soon have a second (gotta take advantage of those sales). He is probably the second greatest Eagle of all time behind only Concrete Charlie. When he’s elected to the Hall of Fame, and he damned well had better get elected, I’ll go to Canton and cheer like a fool.

But he can still go to hell.

I don’t begrudge the man for taking more money to go to Denver. Pro football is a mercenary business and if I was a 35-year-old safety with declining skills and somebody offered me that kind of coin, I’d sign so fast the pen would burst into flames.

But I don’t want to see him on the teevee with a snot bubble in his nose, blubbering about how hard it is to leave Philadelphia and how much he loves the fans and blah, blah, blah. Spare me.

He took the money to play for a rookie head coach on one of the worst defenses in the NFL. That was his choice. The Eagles offered him a contract. He didn’t take it. He took the Broncos and the cash. That’s all good; get paid, homie.

But he can’t pretend that he’s the injured party. He can’t drunk dial us at 3 a.m. whining about how much he misses us and he made a mistake and he’ll never love anyone like us and on and on. Dry your tears with that big-ass signing bonus, big boy, and lose my phone number. You walked out and I've moved on.

I can’t miss you until you leave, Dawk. So pack your shit and go.

Safety Dance

For most of the last three decades, Eagle Fan has had a love affair with safeties. The Dick Vermeil Era had Randy Logan, who played in 159 consecutive games, went to a couple of Pro Bowls, and more or less managed the unique Philadelphia feat of never really getting blamed for much, since that could always be put on the corner. He also had tolerable hands for a d-back (23 career picks), was a sure tackler, and could still hurt a guy or two. And with Herm Edwards, who managed to rarely get beat because he was willing to let a guy catch 15 balls for 150 yards on short outs in front of him every game on the roster, we always had a better place to point fingers.

The Ryan Era cemented the idea that safety was going to be our favorite defensive position, as Wes Hopkins and Andre Waters were basically a heel tag-team come to life.

A brief word on the original Executioner, Wes Hopkins. If you didn't see him as a young player, before his serious injury issues, you missed a lot. Pre-Dawk, he was simply the best I ever saw in the laundry at that position. Imagine the guy you knew who killed people; now, imagine him as the fastest player on the field. Wes's wheels were so good, they used him to return punts, thought about him at corner, and tried to figure out ways to get the ball in his hands. The only problem was that he just seemed more interested in punishing the coverage team then making big yards. For those transition years before Buddy, he was the only reason to watch the team. If you only knew him for the Ryan years, you only knew about 70% of what he was: think pre-death Sean Taylor with a functioning brain. (Oh, and especially large kudos to Wes for managing to seat his wife next to his mistress so that they, too, could throw down during the game, which made the beat writers at the Daily News sick with happiness, back in the day. Moving on.)

Andre Waters (and no, no one in the area ever called him Dirty, such is the magic of the laundry) was death to knees and ankles and eventually himself, as he managed to be a feared hitter despite being more or less of a smurf. In games like the fabled "House of Pain" MNF match against the run and shoot and get concussed Oilers, they were a video game come to life.

And then, just when I was becoming convinced that we'd never see the likes of those two again, the team came up with Brian Dawkins... a man who combined exceptional coverage ability with mind-boggling hits. He was also, really, the first defensive leader that I've ever seen that was the true leader of the unit, which, given the way that the league has changed, is probably something to expect in the future.

Now, there are significantly bigger Brian Dawkins fans out there, even among the people who write on this blog. I'm too old to just adore a guy anymore, no matter how cartoonishly focused and freakishly effective he might be. To me, Dawk is simply the mirror opposite of Donovan McNabb, in that he's the best to ever play the game at his position and in this laundry, but still human, and prone to criticism/mistakes.

And unlike QB, safety is a position where age comes up fast. In recent years, Dawk seemed to pick his spots more, to lead with the helmet as he tried to will his team to victory by any means possible, and to engage in bizarre Wolverine moments on plays where it didn't seem to matter. This was on the field; off of it, he spoke in tongues, performed spasmodic dance routines, screamed at teammates and generally behaved as if his life depended on winning the game. Is there any wonder we all loved him? He was, mentally, what every fan wants every player to be.

The famous flying leap he threw at Plexico Burress, shown above, was at the end of third-down completion for a first, didn't actually make much contact with Plax, and at the time, just seemed silly. Now, of course, it might be the defining image of his tenure.

The rest of the Eagle writing blogosphere is deeply bent over the idea that Dawk isn't going to retire in harness, but to me, it's almost better. I don't want my memories of the man to be clouded with his last days, where he's getting smoked in coverage, receiving media mouth jobs on plays where he gets to the pile late, and getting lauded for his pre-game hype session like that's an in-game contribution. Leave that, please, to Ray Lewis. Our guy has more class than that.

Rather, instead, see him for what he is today: an aging player in a position where age is exposed with cruelty. The Eagles are better off giving time to the Quentins (Demps and Mikell) at this point, and the big money to someone else, given the large number of holes that are on the roster. If you believe in the young linebackers, you're better off locking those guys, rather then paying off the final days of the Dawk Appreciation Tour.

And I write all that with the full knowledge that lightning is going to strike me dead any minute now, because Dawk might be the most beloved defensive player since Jerome Brown. (We like our heroes to be infallible in this town, and you don't get any more mistake-free then dead.)

Meanwhile, Dawk's new team is in severe upheaval, given that Jay Cutler is throwing a snitfit over being shopped in Cassel-Gate, and Brandon Marshall is getting arrested (again). Dawk's going to wind up playing his final days for a mediocre team in a terrible division, for a coach that's younger than he is, and probably watching Eagles games on satellite with a bored Correll Buckhalter. I suspect he's already regretting the decision. Being the new John Lynch is just kinda sad.

Finally, I'd like to say something about the original point of the piece: Eagle Fan has come to expect some things from their safeties. First, that they will last longer than the usual in-and-out member of the secondary. Second, that they will hit like a man fighting for his life. Third, that they will play with emotion. And fourth, that if they fail in coverage, it's probably the corner, linebacker, or line's fault for not knowing the assignment and/or not getting to the QB in time.

It will be highly interesting to see if the same rules apply to the next wave.

End of the line

As NFL Free Agency moves into the hyper-mode stage that makes some kinds of fans damn near nauseous with uncertainty (you know who you are, Tracer Bullet), there's been high amounts of turnover in the Eagles defensive secondary. Clearly, it's the end of an era, and it's something that requires comment. I speak, of course, about Sean Considine's decision to sign with Jacksonville.

Who of us could ever forget when Considine first made his presence felt in the lineup? With his combination of not quite enough size and not quite enough speed, he was, well, white. Frequent contributions on special teams, and the fact that he didn't play corner while getting roasted against the Patriots in the Super Bowl, made us all realize that he wasn't, in fact, Matt Ware. That was important.

In 2005, he was drafted in the fourth round, out of Iowa. In 2007, he was a starter as the Eagles decided that Michael Lewis was a better author than football player. After suffering an injury, he got Wally Pipped by Quentin Mikell, much to the relief of Eagle Fans who liked him well enough on special teams, but weren't too thrilled to see opposing team's seam routes and tight ends rack up the yards.

And now, he goes to just another AFC team, which is nice, in that we'll probably never have to see him in the wrong laundry, getting his revenge. But personally, I'm going to be ordering his 37 number in teal (it's slimming!) and wearing it to the Linc next year, just to show the current regime how bent I am that they wouldn't sign the same old talent when they are so far under the cap. You'll also be hearing me on sports talk tadio, sounding as if I've lost a family member. It's only right.

(And seriously... Godspeed, Dawk. See you in Canton.)