recent cut
Does it get more pathetic than Terrell Owens? Does it get sadder or more wretched?
Hard
to see how it can. There are gloomy downfalls, and there are depressing
ends, and then there is this: an absolute belly-flop into irrelevance.
How could an athlete once so compelling end up a burden that no one
wants around — not even the Allen Wranglers?
The
team from Texas cut him Tuesday night, deciding not even the Indoor
Football League had a place for him, according to ESPNDallas.com. It
took away his ownership stake and told him to go away, citing something
about poor effort on and off the field. Irreconcilable differences, and
where have we heard that one before? (San Francisco, Philadelphia, Dallas, et. al.)
From six-time Pro Bowler to IFL exile. They don't dive off the cliff like that in Acapulco. T.O. now stands for Total Oblivion.
Owens
is 38 years old, and when it comes to his football career, he might as
well be 100. The touchdown celebrations are aging replays for the film
vault. The magic is old history. The T.O. show is dark, closed forever.
Every bridge is burning.
Left behind is a
profound sense of squandered greatness. To have his many gifts — not
just talent, but the unteachable knack to be both athlete and
entertainer — and to have it end up here is a sport horror story.
Production
on the field was never his problem. Getting noticed was never his
problem. Making noise was never his problem. Understanding there were
people out there besides himself, there was the problem. Owens' grasp of
a team game often seemed to get no deeper than the lights on a marquee.
He
has his extraordinary numbers and past glitter. That better be enough
because that's all he's going to get. He will never quite be what he
could have been, and there are few more unfortunate words that can be
said about someone who yearned so desperately to be the star.
Gymnastic
catches and dramatic touchdowns and end-zone pyrotechnics make
wonderful theater, but they do not last forever. Not when obscured by
serial and unnecessary controversy.
Also, the
world tends to remember what an athlete does last. This May has the feel
of a goodbye for Owens, and look at the wreckage.
There was the sordid appearance on the Dr. Phil
show, when the many mothers of the many children he has fathered lined
up to talk of his distance and indifference. He chose to be the featured
attraction of a talk-show circus, on a subject — the abandonment of
children — that has sown misery throughout this society.
In
the end, Owens appeared to try to smooth things over with a few words
and promises, as if it were as simple as a sideline route on third down.
It was, by any measure, awful.
His career path seemingly could not get much worse. But maybe it just did.
In
a statement to ESPNDallas.com, the Wranglers' owner mentioned Owens'
refusal to play in two important upcoming road games, and also his
no-show for a team appearance at a children's hospital.
Among Jon Frankel's words were that Owens "could no longer be tolerated by the Wrangler organization."
From impossible to defend in the NFL to impossible to keep in the IFL. A long, painful descent.
His
recent past includes the brief layovers in Buffalo and Cincinnati,
hoping to rekindle the aura. Then the knee injury. Then the workouts to
woo back the NFL scouts, except nobody came.
Now this. His picture should go in the cliché handbook, next to how the mighty have fallen.
Owens
seldom acted as if he was worried about setting an example for anyone.
But he did — as a warning that no player is so good, a legacy can't be
tarnished by his own hand. The parable of T.O.
No comments:
Post a Comment