The Problem With the Cowboys

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It is safe to say the town has been buzzing since it was announced that Dallas Cowboys quarterback Tony Romo has signed a contract extension worthy of a Super Bowl champion — even though he has never played in one.

"Romo may not exactly belong in the same neighborhood as Tom Brady," writes Mac Engel in the Fort Worth Star–Telegram, "but now he can afford at least a plot around the corner."

In fact, as Jarrett Bell of USA Today observed, the nearly 33–year–old signal caller has won only one playoff game in his career. It also happens to be the Cowboys' only playoff victory in the last 15 years.

(The Cowboys haven't been to a Super Bowl in nearly 20 years.)

Furthermore, it is safe to say that some folks are questioning Cowboys owner Jerry Jones' sanity.

I'm one of 'em. Have been for awhile.

It's a big club.

There were those who felt that way back when Jones bought the team and unceremoniously fired iconic coach Tom Landry. Still more came on board when Jones and Landry's successor, Jimmy Johnson, parted ways after Johnson won back–to–back Super Bowls.

Perhaps they were the visionaries.

I'll grant you, I had my doubts about Jones early on when he talked about being involved in everything at Valley Ranch ("socks 'n' jocks"). That was a little too hands–on for me — but, boy, did it tell us a few things about Jones' mindset.

At first, I was willing to overlook it as the understandable exuberance of a middle–aged man indulging in a boyhood fantasy — running a pro football team.

But I figured — perhaps naively — that he would leave all that behind after winning a couple of Super Bowls — and would leave the football team to the coach and his staff.

He hasn't.

Jones may fancy himself a shrewd judge of football players, but, in my book, he doesn't have much of a record — especially when it comes to picking quarterbacks. His tenure has been like watching a toddler grabbing for everything that shines brightly and catches his eye.

But, as Shakespeare wrote, "All that glitters is not gold."

The three Super Bowls the Cowboys won in the 1990s were won by a quarterback to whom the Cowboys were already committed before Jones acquired the team (Troy Aikman).

A glance at the names that have filled the QB slot since Aikman retired reveals a lineup of wannabes and has–beens. Mostly flash, little substance.

That is such a shame because the Dallas franchise was once synonymous with quarterback excellence.

It isn't that I think that Romo is a bad quarterback. He isn't. But he is inconsistent.

And that makes him mediocre.

I don't blame him for taking the contract. I doubt that anyone else would have offered him nearly as much. His window is rapidly closing.

But I do blame Jones for making the offer.

Someone else should be making the football decisions at Valley Ranch.

Jaw Breaker

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For nearly 40 years, ABC's Wide World of Sports was a fixture on Saturday afternoons.

Its mission was really twofold. Ostensibly, I believe it began its existence as a catch–all for offbeat sports that were rarely, if ever, shown on the Big Three networks, but it also showed popular sports, primarily individual competitions, like boxing or figure skating or gymnastics.

As such, it filled a niche in those days before cable.

Everyone knew the intro in which the narrator spoke of "the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat."

As a boy, I often watched Wide World of Sports. The sports it showed really were off the wall most of the time, but, once in awhile, there was some good mainstream sports event on the program.

Such was the case 40 years ago today.

I don't remember much about that day except that my parents went somewhere that afternoon — they probably went to Little Rock to see a movie and have dinner — and a young couple had been hired to look after my brother and me.

As a college professor, my father often recruited his students to look after us when he took my mother out. My memory was that one, if not both, of the young people who came over that day had been in at least one of his classes.

Anyway, as I recall, the four of us started playing a board game of some kind after my parents left. Then, an hour or so later, the young man suggested that we watch Wide World of Sports. Muhammad Ali, who was only two years removed from his first fight with Joe Frazier, was to fight Ken Norton that afternoon.

That was fine with me.

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I don't recall if I had ever seen Ali fight live before, but I had seen him on TV. Interviews. Fight highlights. That sort of thing. I liked him. He always seemed to be symbolic of the era in which he competed.

On this occasion, I got to see him fight — impressively, too, even though he didn't win.

It was a competitive fight, one that Ali lost in a split decision. It went the scheduled 12 rounds, and, after the fight had been awarded to Norton, it was revealed that Ali's jaw had been broken at some point. Norton has always contended that it happened near the end of the fight, probably in the 11th round. Angelo Dundee, Ali's trainer, insisted it was earlier.

Ali and Norton fought two more times. Ali won both — even though some observers will tell you they thought Norton actually won their last fight in 1976 — when Ali was heavyweight champion for the second time. If Norton had won on that day, he would have been heavyweight champ.

As it was, Norton did join that elite club of men who have been heavyweight champion. The title was awarded to him retroactively a couple of years later — after Ali had lost his title to Leon Spinks in early 1978. The crown did not remain on his head for long. In his first title defense, Norton was defeated in a very tight decision against Larry Holmes.

On this day 40 years ago, Norton was only the second professional fighter to defeat Ali (Joe Frazier was the other).

Talk about an exclusive club.

Hail to the Victors

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It was with mixed emotions last night that I watched Michigan defeat Kansas to earn a trip to the South Regional final against Florida, winner over bracket–buster Florida Gulf Coast, on Sunday.

Ironically, I suppose, I was thinking earlier this week about Michigan's last trip to the Elite Eight. Michigan faced my alma mater, the University of Arkansas, in one of the regional finals in 1994. The Razorbacks won the game and went on to face first Arizona and then Duke en route to the national championship.

The Wolverines haven't been this close to the Final Four since.

But I started thinking about that Arkansas–Michigan game this week because its 19th anniversary was Monday — and it happened that an old friend of mine in Arkansas, Steve, died of cancer that morning.

Had he known about that, I suspect it would have appealed to Steve. He was a diehard Razorback fan, and the victory over the Wolverines on March 25, 1994, surely ranks as one of the great moments in Arkansas basketball history.

That game was played during the "Fab Five" era. Until now, that was the most recent highlight for Michigan basketball, and it is a virtual certainty that none of the players on Michigan's current roster was old enough to remember it.

Tomorrow, the Wolverines will have an opportunity to go farther than any Michigan team has in 20 years. In 1993, Michigan went all the way to the national championship game but lost to North Carolina when Chris Webber tried to call a timeout in the final seconds. Unfortunately, the Wolverines no longer had one, which resulted in a technical being assessed against Webber.

Ultimately, the Wolverines lost the game — and then had to vacate their entire season when it was revealed that Webber had received payments from a booster.

No doubt the Wolverines would rather re–live the 1989 NCAA Tournament, when assistant Steve Fisher took over as head coach when Bill Frieder was fired after announcing just prior to the tournament that he had agreed to coach Arizona State the following season.

In spite of the instability, the Wolverines went on to win it all in a thrilling overtime triumph over Seton Hall.

That game was played in Seattle. This year's Final Four will be played across the continent — in Atlanta.

Nevertheless, will history repeat itself?

And, if so, how? By winning it all, a la 1989? Or blowing the opportunity, as was the case in 1993?

Or will the Wolverines come up short in the regional final, as they did 19 years ago?

All or part of the answer should be revealed tomorrow.

The Age of the Bruins

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I hear the word dynasty tossed around rather casually these days.

It seems to be applied to any team that might win a second straight championship in any sport. But two in a row simply doesn't mean that much to folks of my generation. That isn't what we think of when we think of the word dynasty.

When I was growing up, everyone knew the real definition of the word. It was visible whenever the UCLA basketball team took the court — especially in the early '70s.

In fact, in the early 1970s, the UCLA basketball team put together what is likely to be the longest Division I winning streak ever — 88 wins in a row from 1971 to 1974.

Forty years ago tonight, the Bruins were in pursuit of their second straight perfect season. Not just a national title. It had become routine for UCLA to win national titles. The Bruins weren't always undefeated, but they usually won the national championship.

Maybe that was what it took to light a fire under basketball players from whom championships were expected. A perfect record was on the line this time.

On this night in St. Louis in 1973, they were looking for their seventh consecutive national title. Think about that for a minute. Can you imagine any college program in any sport maintaining that kind of dominance for seven consecutive years?

It's really more remarkable than that. In 12 seasons — from 1963–1964 to 1974–1975 — coach John Wooden led UCLA to 10 national titles.

Now, I don't want to say anything that detracts in any way from what Wooden achieved.

But the truth is that Bill Walton was the real story of the Bruins' victory over Memphis State 40 years ago tonight. He scored 44 points, making 21 of 22 field goal attempts.

It was an amazing performance to watch. Walton was unstoppable, and so was UCLA. It was the era of the Bruins' dominance — long before Duke became a fixture in the Final Four. It was inconceivable in those days that UCLA would not win the national title.

And, in 1973, it was inconceivable that UCLA would lose — ever.

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Of course, the Bruins did lose eventually — nothing lasts forever — but not on this night in 1973.

UCLA has enjoyed a few other championship seasons since the one 40 years ago, but it seems safe to say that this night in 1973 was the program's peak — not unlike when Joe Montana and the San Francisco 49ers dismantled John Elway and the Denver Broncos in Super Bowl XXIV.

There really were no more worlds to conquer.

Neither team will be commemorating the 40th anniversary of that game with a return trip to the championship. Both were invited to the tournament, but neither survived opening weekend. UCLA was humbled by Minnesota on Friday night, and Memphis (the State part was dropped many years ago) was eliminated by Michigan State on Saturday.

But even if one (or both) could have played in this year's final, it's hard to see how what happened on this night in 1973 could possibly be topped.

Len Bias' Legacy

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I've been reading an interesting — and troubling — article by Tommy Craggs at Deadspin.com.

It's about Len Bias, a truly gifted basketball player who was picked second overall in the 1986 NBA draft by the Boston Celtics.

If the name doesn't sound familiar to readers who have not reached their 30th birthday, there is a good reason for that. Bias never played in the NBA. He died of a cocaine overdose two days after being drafted.

He'd been celebrating his good fortune, as just about any athlete in almost any collegiate sport would. When one is a top pick in the professional draft, it is generally taken for granted that he has it made.

It doesn't always work out that way. There have been many examples of top draft picks who — for whatever reason — simply couldn't make the transition from college to pro.

Bias might not have panned out. But I had several friends at the time who were diehard basketball fans, and they all believed he would be a huge star in the NBA. I have never really been an NBA fan, but, at that time, I was more of a college basketball fan than I am now. I had seen Bias play on TV, and I, too, believed he would be a big success at the professional level.

Bias was a contemporary of Michael Jordan — a couple of years younger, I guess, and probably not quite as good, but that wasn't really clear in 1986. Jordan hadn't yet established himself as perhaps the greatest NBA player ever, and he was never the most valuable player in the Atlantic Coast Conference's postseason tournament.

Bias was the MVP of the 1984 ACC Tournament, leading Maryland to a 12–point victory over Duke in the tournament final and a #3 seed in the NCAA Tournament.

Both men were ACC Player of the Year — Bias twice and Jordan once.

In 1986, I think it is safe to say that Bias' credentials were more solid than Jordan's. Before he died, he probably was more highly regarded than Jordan, who had been playing in the NBA for a couple of years but had not won his first NBA title.

One can only imagine what the NBA would have been like in the late '80s and early '90s if Bias had not died. At the time of the '86 draft, Boston's undisputed star was Larry Bird, who was named MVP of the NBA finals less than two weeks earlier. But he was about to enter the downside of his career, and he retired half a dozen years later.

At that time, Bias would have been in his prime, ready to take the leadership mantel from Bird. He might even have taken it a year or two earlier, allowing Bird to ease into retirement.

Perhaps he would have led the Celtics to even greater heights. Perhaps the Jordan–led Chicago Bulls would have had a rivalry with Bias and the Celtics that would have exceeded the intensity of the rivalry between the Celtics and the Los Angeles Lakers in the '80s.

Perhaps he would have had the can't–miss Hall of Fame career everyone said he would have.

If so, people would remember him for that — and not for the way he died.

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But, apparently, that is what many people do remember about Len Bias.

That may be an even greater tragedy.

Recently, a request for state money to be used to erect a statue of Bias in his hometown of Hyattsville, Md., was withdrawn because of concerns that it would send the wrong message to young people.

Rather than honor the memory of Bias and his many achievements — and encourage young people to hone their skills and follow their own dreams — Maryland will do as so many have done before — focus on a fatal flaw.

I know that Bias showed extremely poor judgment the night he died. But he was 22 years old. When I was 22, I didn't always show good judgment, either. And I frequently paid a price for my mistakes. But I never paid with my life.

Maybe it was a matter of luck that I outlived those reckless years and he did not. Maybe it always is a matter of luck. The luck of the draw.

That's an ironic thought. On the night that Boston drafted Bias, most people probably would have said that he was the one who had lived a charmed life. I certainly would have said that his life was charmed compared to mine.

And yet I have lived nearly 27 years longer than he did.

Maybe I was lucky that my mistakes weren't final. Maybe Bias was unlucky that one of his mistakes was.

But the fact that he forfeited his life does not mean he should forfeit his legacy.