The End of the Borg Era

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They're playing the men's semifinals at Wimbledon tomorrow, which is a good time to pause and remember when John McEnroe defeated Björn Borg in the men's singles final at Wimbledon in July 1981.

If you just shrugged your shoulders at that, you probably don't realize just how dominant Borg had been in men's tennis up to that time.

By July 1981, he had won five consecutive men's singles championships at Wimbledon.

During that stretch (1976–80), he beat Ilie Năstase (whose name may be mostly forgotten now but he was one of the sport's best in the 1970s), Jimmy Connors (twice) and Roscoe Tanner (mostly a journeyman but he was in the Top 5 when he faced Borg) in the final — and he had beaten McEnroe in an epic, five–set, three–hour–and–53–minute duel for his fifth consecutive title in 1980.

It would be hard to top that one, but the truth was that McEnroe did just about everything — except win — in 1980. A victory in the men's singles final was the only thing that would be an improvement on that memorable performance, and he came into the match determined to do what he failed to do the last time.

Perhaps that was Borg's problem. Maybe Borg had no fire in the belly. Maybe he felt he had nothing left to prove — and, to be honest, he probably didn't. In the late 1970s, there was no one in men's tennis who could compete with him. He had proven that time and time again.

Until McEnroe came along. And even McEnroe couldn't overcome Borg the first time.

But theirs was a compelling rivalry — and one that was over far too soon. It was meteoric, really. It was comparable, in its way, to the Roger Federer–Rafael Nadal duels except for a couple of things.

• The Borg–McEnroe rivalry was over almost before it began, and


• McEnroe was, as Mike McGovern writes in the Reading (Pa.) Eagle, "borderline crazy."

Borg and McEnroe were opposites, in almost every way. To be blunt about it, they were good copy for sports journalists who found themselves struggling at times to bring some excitement to the dreary days of summer.

McEnroe was always a ticking time bomb, ready to blow up at the officials or his foes ... or the fans.

Borg, on the other hand, was much more reserved. He wasn't prone to outbursts. He did have — as the world has learned in the last three decades — personal issues, but he tended to let his tennis do the talking on the court.

He had a deceptive appearance — he was bowlegged yet quick — and a devastating two–handed backhand shot that evolved from the slap shot he preferred when he played hockey as a young boy.

To put it simply, Borg was great. He won more than two–fifths of the Grand Slam tournaments in which he participated. He won nearly nine out of every 10 singles matches in those tournaments.

Surfaces never seemed to bother him. He was as comfortable — and successful — on the clay of the French Open as he was the grass of Wimbledon. That's always a tricky transition.

Historically, it has been nearly impossible to win both of those tournaments in the same year, coming back to back as they do, but Borg did it in three consecutive years — 1978, 1979 and 1980.

Winning five straight Wimbledon titles might not impress as many folks in the 21st century as it did three decades ago, but, until Federer came along, Borg was the only men's player to do it since professionals have been included.

(Federer, by the way, is one of only three men to win more Grand Slam singles titles than Borg, but he won't be adding to his total at Wiimbledon. He lost in Wednesday's quarterfinals — his first loss ever after taking a two– set lead.)

Năstase, arguably the world's best male tennis player until he lost the Wimbledon title to Borg in '76, once said, "We're playing tennis, he's playing something else."

Personally, I never knew what there was to comprehend. Borg was a baseliner, perhaps the best there ever was. I always suspected that, because he was so good, most of his contemporaries couldn't see how deceptively simple the whole thing was.

But Arthur Ashe had it right, I think.

"I think Bjorn could have won the U.S. Open," Ashe said. "I think he could have won the Grand Slam. But by the time he left, the historical challenge didn't mean anything. He was bigger than the game. He was like Elvis or Liz Taylor or somebody. He'd lost touch with the real world."

Thirty years ago, McEnroe must have figured out what Borg's game was — because McEnroe beat him at it.

There were reports that Borg's life had been threatened after he beat Connors in the semifinals. I never saw any credible evidence to support that. Perhaps only by inserting an element of personal stress and danger could some people rationalize the reality of a brash upstart like McEnroe toppling one of the greatest tennis players of all time.

That match wasn't as legendary as the one played the year before, but it was noteworthy for two things:

• It ended Borg's record 41–match winning streak at Wimbledon, and


• it turned out to be his last Wimbledon final.

It was nearly his last Grand Slam final, but Borg and McEnroe met in the U.S. Open a couple of months later. McEnroe won the title in four sets, and Borg decided it was time to go.

Borg said at the time that he had lost his motivation, and perhaps he had. But the tennis world had lost a great rivalry, perhaps the only one that could have matched the one between Chris Evert and Martina Navratilova (who met in 14 Grand Slam finals).

Evert and Navratilova were truly the Lakers and Celtics of women's tennis — of individual sports — and other individual sports (especially men's tennis) wanted the same thing. Mostly, it would bring attention to the sport — the way Ali and Frazier brought attention to boxing, the way Nicklaus and Palmer brought attention to golf, and the way the rivalry between Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding brought attention to skating when it boiled over into something more sinister.

The rivalry that developed between McEnroe and Connors was good — but they only met in two Grand Slam finals, exactly half as many as McEnroe and Borg.

The Pete Sampras–Andre Agassi duels of the 1990s were memorable — but the two played for only five Grand Slam titles.

Borg and McEnroe met in four Grand Slam finals between 1978 and 1981 — and three of those matches came in the last 15 months of that time span.

We will never know what might have been.

The Dunk Heard 'Round the World

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Ever since I heard the news of Lorenzo Charles' death in a one–vehicle accident Monday in North Carolina, I have been thinking of the spring night in 1983 when his upstart North Carolina State Wolfpack upset the heavily favored Houston Cougars in the national championship.

I remember the night vividly. I was working as a reporter for a newspaper in central Arkansas — my first job out of college.

One of my standing assignments was to cover city and county government meetings (I wasn't alone in that; it was a small newspaper staff so everyone — even those whose job titles might make you think they were above such routine duties, like managing editor — had to cover some city and county government meetings) ...

... and such a meeting was being held that night.

But the meeting was scheduled to begin at 6:30, as I remember, and the game wasn't supposed to begin until two hours later.

I had been following the NCAA Tournament closely that year, as I tended to do at that time in my life, and I was interested in seeing the championship game — even though I was sure I knew how it would turn out.

When the meeting wrapped up earlier than I expected, I was elated. It meant I could go home and see most, if not all, of the game.

As I was walking down the hallway of the building in the direction of the exit, I recall a brief conversation I had with a city police officer who was on hand (why he was there, I do not know, unless he was assigned to provide routine security that night).

I told him I was on my way home to watch the game. He wanted to know which team I thought would win.

"Houston," I told him. "No way N.C. State can win."

But I was wrong.

Oh, Houston did race to the lead, but the Cougars squandered it with terrible free throw shooting in the second half. The game was still anyone's to win as the final seconds ticked off.

That was when one of the most iconic moments in modern sports history occurred.

With the score tied at 52–52, one of Charles' teammates fired a shot from 30 feet (it would have been a three–point shot under modern rules, but the three–pointer was still a few years away).

The shot appeared to be coming up just short of its mark when, seemingly from nowhere, Charles came into view, grabbed the ball in the air and dunked it for the winning points.

It was one of those moments when the entire world seemed to stop for maybe a split second — and tried to absorb what had just happened. I have only experienced a couple of these moments in my life, and they are never merely upsets or the unexpected.

They are unthinkable.

It was a time when 12 teams were seeded in each region (the 12th seeds had to win the equivalents of play–in games), and N.C. State had been seeded eighth in its region. That season, the Wolfpack (who lost 10 games in all) had earned the nickname of the "Cardiac Pack" for winning seven nail–biters in their last nine games just to get into the tournament.

Houston, meanwhile, was ranked #1 in the nation, was making its second consecutive Final Four appearance and had the look of a dynasty.

The 1982–83 Cougars went undefeated in the Southwest Conference, losing only three games all season — and, in fact, they returned to the national championship game the following year (but lost to Georgetown).

Six members of the team eventually were drafted into the NBA.

A stunned N.C. State coach Jim Valvano dashed madly around the court, looking for someone to hug, some way to express his delight at winning the upset of a lifetime.

It was for such a moment that the song "The Impossible Dream" was written.

Some of N.C. State's players might have ended up in the NBA, anyway, even if the Wolfpack had not won that game. But the fact is that three players were drafted into the NBA later that year, including the fellow whose lob Charles plucked out of the air and dunked for the winning points — and it is possible that some or all might not have been chosen had it not been for their victory over Houston.

Later, Charles and another teammate were drafted into the NBA as well, bringing to 11 the number of future NBA draftees who were on the court that night.

Charles' NBA career was brief, however, and the Brooklyn native had short stints with some European teams, but his basketball career had been over for more than 20 years. He was operating a bus for the rental company for which he apparently worked when it crashed in Raleigh, N.C.

Sadly, it seems, great things did not happen for Charles after that evening of almost unimaginable glory.

But if you have ever watched an NCAA Tournament game, you are almost sure to have seen in the archival footage Charles' sublime, almost tentative, dunk that clinched a championship ...

... and seized a slice of immortality.

The Conference of Champions

About 20 years ago, I recall visiting my friends in my home state of Arkansas.

One evening while I was there, we all went out to visit a friend who lived in the country. We roasted hot dogs and drank beer. Some of my friends played their guitars. The rest of us talked.

At the time, the big topic of conversation was whether the University of Arkansas' athletic program should leave the Southwest Conference and join the Southeastern Conference.

For the previous two years, I had been living in Texas, the home state of all the other members of the SWC — but, before that, I had lived practically my entire life in Arkansas. I had grown up with the Southwest Conference, and I couldn't imagine the Razorbacks competing in any other conference

So, initially, I was against the idea. But my friends were all in favor of it, and I reluctantly embraced it. The move meant giving up some of my favorite annual sporting events — the football games against Texas and Texas A&M (and, because my parents were graduates of SMU and my grandparents had lived in Dallas all my life, I always enjoyed the Arkansas–SMU games, too — but SMU had fallen on hard times by then so that was a rivalry that was easy for me to give up) — but my friends assured me the move would mean more nationally televised games in every sport, hence more money for the athletic department.

In the end, it didn't really matter how I felt about it. Arkansas left the Southwest Conference after being a member for close to 80 years — and, a few years later, the remaining members of the SWC went their separate ways. Perhaps the SWC was already crumbling when Arkansas made its move.

As a graduate of Arkansas and a lifelong supporter of the Razorbacks, I have to say the move has paid off. Since moving to the SEC, Arkansas has played in two national championship games in basketball (and won one of them) and it has played in a couple of college World Series, too.

And the Razorbacks have enjoyed the reflected glory from other SEC teams who have won it all in their sports.

In basketball, SEC teams have won the national title five times since Arkansas left the SWC, starting with Arkansas' national championship in 1994 — and seven other SEC teams have advanced to the Final Four in that time.

SEC football teams have won five consecutive national titles, and three of the last four Heisman Trophy winners have come from the SEC.

And this week, either Florida or South Carolina will make it three straight national championships for the SEC in baseball.

The college world series, of course, is a double–elimination tournament. The finals, therefore, are best–of–three, with Game 1 to be played tonight, weather permitting (no rain in the forecast right now). Game 2 will be played tomorrow night and, if a third game is needed, it will be played Wednesday.

It should be exciting. Kirk Kenney reminds everyone in Sports Illustrated that South Carolina is the defending champion, and Florida is looking for its first national title — so South Carolina, by virtue of its experience, rates a slight edge.

But it is more than that, Kenney writes. Carolina went 2–1 in a series at Florida in March, and the Gamecocks have won their last 14 consecutive tournament games — "and there's no sign of the streak coming to an end."

Sounds like a daunting task, doesn't it?

But one thing I have learned from watching the SEC for the last couple of decades is that the teams that compete in it never give up until the game is over.

That's how the SEC has won all those championships.

On Top of the World?

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A couple of months ago, I watched Rory McIlroy melt down in the final round of the Masters.

He's a young guy, still learning, and he apparently learned a lot from that experience.

I say that because yesterday he entered the final round of the U.S. Open with an eight–stroke lead — and he left with the title in his pocket.

And, suddenly, there seems to be a move on to retire Tiger Woods — who was noticeably absent when the tournament began on Thursday.

The torch is being passed, writes David Whitley for The Sporting News, suggesting that McIlroy is the "anti–Tiger."

That really seems a bit too messianic to me.

"Tiger Woods was easy to admire but hard to embrace," writes Whitley, already applying the past tense to the 35–year–old Woods. "With Rory McIlroy, what's not to love?"

Now, I don't mind if McIlroy emerges as Woods' major challenger. Fans of certain athletes or teams may disagree, but I believe any sport, any team, any athlete benefits from competition. There may be dynasties from time to time, but they are enhanced by the presence of at least one plausible rival.

Winning the U.S. Open — even though the field did not include the once and (for at least the immediate and foreseeable) future king — makes McIlroy credible. But it is his only major tournament victory to this point. How many other guys have won at least one major in the years since Woods burst upon the scene?

It's a little premature to be proclaiming McIlroy golf's next superstar.

Perhaps, when he has faced Woods a few times, he will deserve to be seen that way.

But, right now, he may yet prove to be like so many athletes who caught lightning in a bottle.

The Day Len Bias Died

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Twenty–five years ago, I was working on the sports desk of the Arkansas Gazette.

It was a morning paper so the folks who worked on the copy desks worked nights. Everyone worked weekends, but one's nights off generally were determined by seniority. As one of the most junior staff members (at that time), my days off were Mondays and Tuesdays — not exactly prime time.

That's important to note, though, because it was on Tuesday, June 17, 1986, that the annual NBA draft was held. My memory is that it was held in conjunction with the NBA Finals that year, but I could be wrong about that.

I do know that it was televised, and I remember watching it briefly with some friends — long enough, anyway, to see that Maryland's Len Bias had been selected by the Boston Celtics.

Larry Bird brought championship basketball back to Boston, but he was about to turn 30, and he had struggled with back issues. The comments I remember hearing and the articles I remember reading in mid–June 1986 suggested that Bias was going to be groomed to step in and take over the role of star player when Bird retired.

He couldn't miss, the experts said. With Len Bias, the Celtic dynasty would be in good hands.

The day after Bias was drafted, I returned to work to pull my graveyard shift on Wednesday night. I had to be back earlier the following day — I worked the sports wire on Thursdays in those days, which meant it was my job to constantly scan the wire for sports news.

I always enjoyed working the wire. When I arrived in the office to work it (a shift that typically began about two hours earlier than my usual shifts — and ended two hours earlier as well), I did a preliminary scan of the wire's contents so I could tell the editor who was in charge that evening what we could expect.

Then I would pick wire stories on sports events from all over the world and ship them over to the editor, who would decide where to put each article, assign a headline size to each and turn the stories over to the folks who were handling the copy editing that evening.

It was a procedure that had taken shape over a long period of time. The Gazette was the oldest continuously published newspaper west of the Mississippi. The system that was in place when I came on board was the product of years of evolution.

Usually, working the wire came down to the accounts of games in whichever sport happened to be in season, but there were times when unexpected stories demanded our attention. If a story was big enough, I might combine the best elements from all the wire services the Gazette received — and the Gazette subscribed to about half a dozen news services.

Nothing noteworthy happened that Wednesday night, but when I got up the next morning and switched on my TV, there was a sports story that I knew immediately would dominate my activities that night — and for many days to come.

Sometime during the night (as the wire editor that day, I learned a few hours later that it had actually been sometime around daybreak), Len Bias, the NBA's #2 draft pick less than two days earlier, had died of a cocaine overdose.

He was only 22 years old.

I can't tell you the tsunami–like ripple effect this had — not only in sports and on college campuses but throughout American society as well.

When Bias was taken in the draft by the Celtics, he was widely expected to be at least one of the greatest players ever to play the game — if not the greatest. He would rewrite the record books, some people said.

And he might have. We will never know.

It does seem likely that, if he hadn't died, Bias' career would be over by this point. We would know if he set all those records that he was expected to set and if he won all those titles he was expected to win.

We didn't know much on this day 25 years ago, but we did know that Len Bias would never accomplish all those things.

Sports fans grieved as much for the potential that would never be realized as they did for the life that was cut tragically short. The circumstances were different but the sensation was much the same a few years later when Hank Gathers collapsed and died during a Loyola Marymount game in 1990.

Len Bias was like a shooting star in June 1986. He burst onto the scene and left almost as quickly as he had come, leaving the aging Celtics in a funk they wouldn't shake off for many years.

His legacy lives on, though, says Jeff Barker in the Baltimore Sun, and his life story continues to influence the sport in ways that no one could have anticipated in 1986.

His death continues to influence people beyond the universe of basketball, writes David Steele in The Sporting News.

"His almost unfathomable death lingers as a cocaine deterrent," observes Barker. "He also maintains the power to rivet players and fans despite being from a wholly different basketball generation."

That's great, but even Barker gives in to the eternal, unanswerable question: What would Bias have accomplished?

Barker closed his piece with speculation from one of Bias' teammates — that, had Len Bias lived, people would be mentioning his name today in the same breath with his greatest contemporaries, like Michael Jordan, and the stars of today.

Sadly, no one will never know.

Dallas Is Title Town Again

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The NBA season is over — and, for a football fan like me, that is good news. It means we are that much closer to autumn.

I don't know if the NFL will resolve its issues and proceed as planned with the 2011 season. I am primarily a college football fan, anyway, so I know that my Saturdays, at least, will be unaffected.

As long as I can remember, football has been king in Texas. I didn't grow up here, but my parents did, and my father has always been a football fan. As nearly as I can tell, football hasn't been replaced at the top of the list of the public's affections — but you could probably get some arguments on that around here today.

Last night, the Dallas Mavericks won their first–ever NBA title.

There are all sorts of ironies in that, I guess.

When I was growing up, there was only one professional sports team in Dallas — the Dallas Cowboys. And they were known, for many years, for not being able to "win the big one." They finally did win it all, of course, but not until after other teams arrived and began carving out their niches in the local sports market.

The Mavericks came into existence in 1980. Of the major sports franchises in the Dallas–Fort Worth Metroplex, its tenure here has been the shortest — except for the Dallas Stars, a hockey team that moved here from Minnesota.

And yet, until last night, that hockey team had brought the only championship to Dallas in the last 15 years.

The Cowboys have enjoyed a lot of success when they have played in Super Bowls — but they haven't played in one since 1996.

It has been pretty dry around here ever since — except for the Stars' Stanley Cup a dozen years ago.

There were a couple of false alarms. The Mavericks lost the NBA title to Miami five years ago, and last fall the Texas Rangers went to their first–ever World Series — but lost to San Francisco.

But Dallas sports fans have been patient — even when the Super Bowl came to town and the Cowboys didn't come close to playing in it — and their patience has been rewarded with an NBA title.

Now, to a football fan, that's almost like a consolation prize — but there are many basketball fans in this area and they gathered all over the city — but especially, I suppose, the American Airline Center, where the Mavericks play their home games — to watch the game and then celebrate the outcome.

Team owner Mark Cuban says he will pay for the traditional championship celebration parade. The details for that haven't been announced yet, but I imagine I will watch the parade from the same spot I watched the NBA Finals.

And count the days that are left until football season.

Not Such a Rarity After All

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Yesterday, I predicted that the Belmont Stakes would produce something almost as rare as a Triple Crown winner — even though the possibility of a Triple Crown winner ended in Baltimore three weeks earlier.

I said Kentucky Derby winner Animal Kingdom would become the 12th horse since 1919 to win the first and third jewels of the Triple Crown. That didn't happen, though. Instead, Ruler On Ice won the race — and, for the third straight year (and fifth of the last six), three different horses won the three jewels of the Triple Crown.

Having three different winners has been the most common outcome of the Triple Crown races. Nothing very special about it — except, perhaps, how it came to be.

There was a bit of a collision at the start of the race, and Animal Kingdom almost lost his jockey. He made a valiant attempt to come from behind the way he did in the Kentucky Derby (and almost did in the Preakness), but even the more expansive Belmont Park wasn't long enough for him to make up the lost ground.

Mark Breech of Sports Illustrated was reminded of War Emblem, winner of the first two jewels of the Triple Crown in 2002.

War Emblem stumbled out of the gate in the Belmont, and his bid for a Triple Crown was over.

Preakness winner Shackleford fared quite a bit better, contending until the home stretch, but it was widely believed before the race that he couldn't handle the Belmont's distance — and, as it turned out, he couldn't.

Fans of horse racing may be sad to see this Triple Crown series come to an end while the historic drought (33 years and counting) goes on.

But, as Breech observed, "For all the complaints, this was actually a fun Triple Crown campaign." And I agree.

I sometimes wonder if I will ever see another Triple Crown winner in my lifetime. It would be great to see it happen one more time.

But, if it does, I wonder if it could match the drama — or the accessibility — of this year's Triple Crown races. There has been much talk of the mediocrity of this year's crop of 3–year–olds, but perhaps competitiveness was mistaken for mediocrity.

Breech may have summed it up best:

"Thoroughbred racing may be the Sport of Kings, but in 2011 at least, just this once, it was a game for everybody. Bravo."

Testing the Champions

One of the most enduring memories from my adolescence is of watching Secretariat wipe out the field in the Belmont Stakes and claim the Triple Crown.

On that afternoon in June 1973, Secretariat recorded an incredible 31–length victory.

I don't expect to see anything like that this afternoon.

I know we won't witness the end of the Triple Crown drought.

But I do believe we will see something that is just as rare. I believe we will see a horse win the first and third jewels of the Triple Crown.

Eleven horses have won the Triple Crown since 1919. The same number have pulled off that 1–3 split — and only two have done so since Affirmed won the Triple Crown in 1978.

(By comparison, since 1919, 21 horses won the first two jewels of the Triple Crown but failed to complete the sweep, and 13 horses lost the Kentucky Derby but went on to win the last two jewels of the Triple Crown.)

Animal Kingdom won the Kentucky Derby last month, and Shackleford won the Preakness — but Shackleford was fading at the end and barely kept Animal Kingdom from pulling off an amazing come–from–behind win.

Nearly three weeks ago, Mark Breech of Sports Illustrated observed that it was "almost inconceivable" that Shackleford could win the grueling Belmont Stakes — known as the Test of Champions — after fading noticeably in the shorter Kentucky Derby and Preakness Stakes.

"Animal Kingdom has been the fastest horse at the end of both of the first two races in this series," Breech wrote. "Having more room to run can only be to his benefit."

I agreed with that when I read it the first time. I still agree with it today, about three hours before race time.

Breech's colleague at Sports Illustrated, Gene Menez, is on the Animal Kingdom bandwagon, too, but he insists that the hype about today's race being Round 3 between Animal Kingdom and Shackleford sells the rest of the field short.

It is "more than just a two–horse race," he writes.

And he mentions several horses that could pull off upset wins. It wouldn't be a new experience for a longshot to win the Belmont. Three have done so in the last decade.

But Menez is sticking with Animal Kingdom. "Everything points to another big race from the Derby winner," he writes.

Brad Telias of The Sporting News rightly calls the Belmont "a race like no other."

And, when all is said and done, Telias picks Nehro in "a mild upset." That isn't a bad choice; Nehro, as he points out, was an "impressive runner–up" to Animal Kingdom in the Kentucky Derby and should be well rested after skipping the Preakness three weeks ago.

"Animal Kingdom will relish the distance and he's coming in the race without showing any signs of fatigue or wear and tear," writes Telias. "His downfall may come from his come–from–behind style in a race that promises a slow pace."

I'm sticking with Animal Kingdom.

The Case for Anderson's Induction

Kerry Byrne makes the case in Sports Illustrated that, when his career numbers are stacked up against the quarterbacks who are already in the NFL's Hall of Fame, retired Cincinnati Bengals signal caller Ken Anderson belongs in Canton, Ohio.

It's a compelling argument, and it will undoubtedly be persuasive for folks who remember the playing days of the legends who are enshrined in the Hall. That's probably a good thing for Anderson since he has been passed over so many times that he is now, 25 years after his retirement, eligible to be considered for enshrinement by the senior committee — which might be a little more sympathetic to his cause.

Byrne's case is so good that it looks like a no–brainer for the senior committee. I mean, I'm sure the committee often must consider players who are truly borderline, but that isn't the problem with Anderson. His numbers are worthy of the Hall.

The only knock on him would be the fact that he never won a Super Bowl.

(He did play in one — but he had the misfortune of facing Joe Montana.)

However, to make it more meaningful to younger fans, I thought it might be interesting to compare Anderson's achievements to a few modern quarterbacks — guys who are still playing or who haven't been retired long enough to be eligible, but they all seem likely to make serious bids for Hall of Fame induction. In particular, I'm thinking of Brett Favre, Peyton Manning, Tom Brady, Drew Brees, Kurt Warner, Michael Vick and Donovan McNabb.

Let's take a look at Byrne's statistical case.

• Anderson twice led the NFL in passing yards.
  
  Brees has done that, too — in 2008 and 2010. So did Favre (1995 and 1998). Ditto Brady (2005 and 2007) and Manning (2000 and 2003).
  
  It isn't as rare an achievement as Byrne's column would suggest. But that doesn't lessen it.


• Anderson twice led the NFL in passing yards per attempt.
  
  Byrne likes this category because "it measures how well somebody passed, not just how often somebody passed."
  
  San Diego's Philip Rivers has led the NFL in this category for the last three years. He's never even been in a Super Bowl. The window is closing on his career and, if he doesn't win a Super Bowl soon, he may wind up on the outside of the Hall of Fame looking in — like Anderson. And his fate may wind up in the hands of the senior committee a quarter of a century from now.
  
  Warner led the league in that category three straight years as well. No one else on my list of recent QBs has led the NFL in it twice, and only a couple (Brady and Manning) have topped the league once.


• The deadly accurate Anderson led the NFL in completion percentage three times.
  
  That's nothing to sneeze at, but Warner matched the achievement, and he did it in three straight years (1999, 2000, 2001). Anderson did it in two consecutive years (1982 and 1983), but the first of those seasons was shortened by a strike. He also led the league in 1974 — in the midst of what Byrne acknowledges was the NFL's "dead ball era."
  
  The ball has been livelier in recent years, but no quarterback on my list (other than Warner, of course) has led the league in it more than once.
  
  (Actually, I wonder if Byrne gives that particular statistic more credibility than he should. After all, Chad Pennington has led the NFL in that category twice since 2002. Pennington is also the NFL's career leader in completion percentage among quarterbacks who have attempted at least 1,500 passes — but Pennington, whose future in the NFL is currently in doubt, has never played in a Super Bowl.)
  
  Brees has led the league in that category the last two years, and Brady, Favre and Manning all did it once.


• The coldly efficient Anderson led the NFL in passer rating an incredible four times.
  
  That really is incredible.
  
  Manning came close, leading the league three straight years (2004, 2005, 2006). Anderson did it back to back twice (1974–75 and 1981–82). Brady led the league twice (2007 and 2010). So did Warner (1999 and 2001). Brees did it once (2009).
  
  Steve Young was the absolute best in that category, though. He topped the NFL six years out of seven (1991–94 and 1996–97). I doubt that anyone will match that accomplishment.

"Anderson was one of the most efficient passers in the history of football," Byrne writes, "especially given the context of his time."

I can't argue with that. Some of the more modern quarterbacks matched Anderson in some of the categories. But no one surpassed him in all of them.

And, even if somebody had surpassed him in all of them, that would be one quarterback — out of how many hundred who have played the game?

There is, however, that little matter of Super Bowl appearances and wins. Practically no quarterback who played all or most of his career since the introduction of the Super Bowl and failed to at least appear in one has been inducted into the Hall of Fame.

Anderson, as I say, did appear in a Super Bowl. But he didn't win it.

Of those seven recent/current quarterbacks I mentioned earlier, six have played in at least one Super Bowl and five have won at least one.

Is it absolutely necessary for a quarterback to have played in a Super Bowl — and, preferably, to have won one — to have a prayer of being inducted into the Hall of Fame?

Well, no. Dan Fouts never played in a Super Bowl, but he is in the Hall, anyway.

There is hope for Anderson. He beat Fouts in an AFC Championship game.

A Must-Win for Mavs?

I was having an e–mail conversation with a friend of mine shortly before the Dallas–Miami game on Sunday.

I asked my friend if he thought Dallas would win the game. He wasn't sure, but he did say he believed the winner of the game would go on to win the series — and, hence, the NBA title.

I agreed with him — but, I will admit, it was a pretty safe bet. The teams split the first two games, which meant the series had become a best–of–five. The winner would only need to win two of the remaining four games while the loser would need to win three.

While I don't know the exact numbers, I think the finalists have split the first two games about 40% of the time since the NBA introduced its current schedule in the finals — the first two games played at one site, followed by three games at the other site, followed by the last two games at the original site — about 25 years ago.

By the time the game tipped off on Sunday night, I had heard from numerous sports writers — in both interviews and columns — that the winner of the third game had always gone on to win the whole thing.

That must mean that history is on the side of the Miami Heat, who held on for a two–point win.

Sean Deveney of The Sporting News sums it up for many when he says Miami is "clearly ... the much better team."

I would admit that Miami has been the better team in the first three games. But much better? Clearly better? I don't think so.

As I have conceded on many occasions, I am hardly an expert on the NBA. I am, at best, a casual observer. I haven't followed the NBA closely since I was a kid. I usually don't get interested in the NBA until it reaches this point in the playoffs.

Nevertheless, there are some things that I know — and that I will continue to believe until I am proven wrong.

One is that, although home court/field is an advantage in the early going, by the time you reach this stage of the playoffs, home means little, if anything, beyond being able to sleep in one's own bed.

For a true champion in any sport, a game is played within the confines of the playing surface, and whatever is happening outside those boundaries is separate from what is taking place within them.

Oh, sure, I suppose some of the younger, inexperienced players may be affected by opposing fans' efforts to distract them, but not championship–caliber veterans.

I think my point has been proven in the first three games of this series. The home team won the first game; the visiting team has won the last two.

And the last two games were decided by two points each. One was a great comeback (although, when compared to the epic comeback against Oklahoma City in the previous round, Dallas' come–from–behind victory in Game 2 wasn't as impressive — at least not numerically).

That doesn't necessarily suggest that anyone has dominated things yet.

Actually, it reminds me more of this year's Triple Crown in horse racing. The winner of the Kentucky Derby had to come from way behind to win that race, then almost did the same thing but came up just short in the Preakness a couple of weeks ago. Now, the horses will run in Saturday's Belmont Stakes, which is the longest of the three races.

The winner of the Derby has proven to be the fastest horse at the end of the first two races. His speed and endurance could well pay off in Saturday's Belmont when his rivals start to fade.

After three games of the NBA Finals, you knew that someone was going to have two wins — at least. Regardless of what led up to them, the final margins suggest that the teams were competitive at the end — and that suggests that the rest of the games in this series, however many that turns out to be, will be entertaining.

That makes me believe that tonight's game is not a must–win for the Mavericks — although a loss will certainly make things much more difficult for them.

It is an important game, though. If I were you, I'd watch.