Terrell Owens had a tumultuous relationship with former quarterback Donovan McNabb.
Recently, a debate has emerged regarding whether bad off-field conduct should keep a player out of the Hall of Fame. In time, however, two receivers who have engaged in questionable behavior on the field — or at a minimum on the sidelines or in the locker room — possibly could see their bids for enshrinement delayed by a couple of years, or longer.
Randy Moss and Terrell Owens rank among the league’s all-time leaders in receptions, receiving yards, and touchdowns. In the end, there’s a chance that they’ll finish second and third behind only Jerry Rice in each of those three categories.
But they have caused plenty of problems. Not off the field, where T.O. has never run afoul of the law once, actually or allegedly. Moss has had several issues during his 12-year NFL career, but he has largely kept out of trouble since playing street bowling with a traffic control officer nearly eight years ago in Minneapolis.
Still, Owens criticized nearly every quarterback who ever has thrown him a pass, he intentionally created as much disruption as possible five years ago in Philadelphia in the hopes of getting cut or traded, and he mastered the passive-aggressive art of pitting players against each other while at all times maintaining a high degree of plausible deniability.
And he loves him some him.
Randy Moss has played for the Vikings, Raiders and Patriots.
Moss, on the other hand, has a bad habit of mentally shutting down — either in a given game or, as he did in 2006 with the Raiders, for an entire season.
One Hall of Fame voter believes that, of the two, Moss has committed the bigger crime against football. "He’d roll over and die like a dog for teams when they needed him most," the voter, who requested anonymity, explained. "He quit on his team in Minnesota. He quit for two years in Oakland. And he quit last year in New England."
Owens’ antics possibly can be attributed to the fact that he hasn’t been coddled like other high-end players. The voter contrasts Owens to Rice in this regard. "Rice was protected by the 49ers," the voter said. "He didn’t spout off in the locker room because he’d be ushered out after being shut down by Deion Sanders. No one ever protected T.O. like that."
As a result, some may actually put Owens above Moss, even if (as it appears) Moss will end up with better statistics.
"For one game, who gives his all?" the voter asked. "I’d pick Owens because I know he’ll give his all. I don’t know what Randy Moss is going to do."
That said, it’ll be harder to keep either guy out for a year or two beyond his initial eligibility if they finish in the top three for catches, yards, and touchdowns. The absence of a Super Bowl win by either player — each has made it there once — could fuel the cases against them, though.
A separate problem arises when considering the reality that the procedure for enshrinement requires the voter assigned to a player’s primary team to stand up and make the case for the player. Between them, Moss and Owens have played for seven franchises, and counting. They’ve made few friends in the media. As a result, it could be difficult for either to build enough momentum if no one will be making a compelling case for their candidacy.
In the end, they’ll both eventually make it. But with Michael Irvin being passed over twice, and Cris Carter and Andre Reed still waiting, and a cluster of guys like Tim Brown, Isaac Bruce and Marvin Harrison (despite his off-the-field issues) in the mix, too, it could be hard for Moss or Owens to make it on their first try.
Or their second. Or their third.
And, if that happens, the development likely will be described as everyone’s fault but their own.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
Terrell Owens had a tumultuous relationship with former quarterback Donovan McNabb.
Recently, a debate has emerged regarding whether bad off-field conduct should keep a player out of the Hall of Fame. In time, however, two receivers who have engaged in questionable behavior on the field — or at a minimum on the sidelines or in the locker room — possibly could see their bids for enshrinement delayed by a couple of years, or longer.
Randy Moss and Terrell Owens rank among the league’s all-time leaders in receptions, receiving yards, and touchdowns. In the end, there’s a chance that they’ll finish second and third behind only Jerry Rice in each of those three categories.
But they have caused plenty of problems. Not off the field, where T.O. has never run afoul of the law once, actually or allegedly. Moss has had several issues during his 12-year NFL career, but he has largely kept out of trouble since playing street bowling with a traffic control officer nearly eight years ago in Minneapolis.
Still, Owens criticized nearly every quarterback who ever has thrown him a pass, he intentionally created as much disruption as possible five years ago in Philadelphia in the hopes of getting cut or traded, and he mastered the passive-aggressive art of pitting players against each other while at all times maintaining a high degree of plausible deniability.
And he loves him some him.
Randy Moss has played for the Vikings, Raiders and Patriots.
Moss, on the other hand, has a bad habit of mentally shutting down — either in a given game or, as he did in 2006 with the Raiders, for an entire season.
One Hall of Fame voter believes that, of the two, Moss has committed the bigger crime against football. "He’d roll over and die like a dog for teams when they needed him most," the voter, who requested anonymity, explained. "He quit on his team in Minnesota. He quit for two years in Oakland. And he quit last year in New England."
Owens’ antics possibly can be attributed to the fact that he hasn’t been coddled like other high-end players. The voter contrasts Owens to Rice in this regard. "Rice was protected by the 49ers," the voter said. "He didn’t spout off in the locker room because he’d be ushered out after being shut down by Deion Sanders. No one ever protected T.O. like that."
As a result, some may actually put Owens above Moss, even if (as it appears) Moss will end up with better statistics.
"For one game, who gives his all?" the voter asked. "I’d pick Owens because I know he’ll give his all. I don’t know what Randy Moss is going to do."
That said, it’ll be harder to keep either guy out for a year or two beyond his initial eligibility if they finish in the top three for catches, yards, and touchdowns. The absence of a Super Bowl win by either player — each has made it there once — could fuel the cases against them, though.
A separate problem arises when considering the reality that the procedure for enshrinement requires the voter assigned to a player’s primary team to stand up and make the case for the player. Between them, Moss and Owens have played for seven franchises, and counting. They’ve made few friends in the media. As a result, it could be difficult for either to build enough momentum if no one will be making a compelling case for their candidacy.
In the end, they’ll both eventually make it. But with Michael Irvin being passed over twice, and Cris Carter and Andre Reed still waiting, and a cluster of guys like Tim Brown, Isaac Bruce and Marvin Harrison (despite his off-the-field issues) in the mix, too, it could be hard for Moss or Owens to make it on their first try.
Or their second. Or their third.
And, if that happens, the development likely will be described as everyone’s fault but their own.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
The off-field problems involving multiple members of the Pittsburgh Steelers created the impression that a double standard applies in the city of Three Rivers. Lower-level players get the boot, and those deemed indispensable get a pass.
Would the Texans have handled Brian Cushing differently if he wasn’t key to their defense?
It happened most notably in 2008, when linebacker James Harrison and receiver Cedrick Wilson were accused of domestic violence in the same general time frame. Harrison remains a key fixture on the team; Wilson was dumped not long after his arrest.
The Steelers have been vague regarding whether their sliding scale has yielded to a one-strike arrangement in the wake of the unfortunate situations involving quarterback Ben Roethlisberger and former receiver Santonio Holmes. The problem with zero tolerance is that it must be enforced and, eventually, a great player will be cut.
And some other team would then pounce on him.
The Steelers aren’t the only franchise that treats different players differently. They all do it, to a certain extent. Former Cowboys coach Jimmy Johnson made no bones about it. In Boys Will Be Boys, Jeff Pearlman chronicles Johnson’s inconsistencies, explaining that some players "would be treated with greater dignity than others — and if you didn’t like it, you could find another line of work." Pearlman writes that, when first-round cornerback Kevin Smith and street free agent Michael James snuck out of camp, Smith got lectured and James got cut.
More recently, the San Diego Chargers have provided a glaring example of applying different rules for different players with receiver Vincent Jackson and safety Kevin Ellison. Jackson, who has twice pleaded guilty to DUI charges, will be going nowhere else, sober or otherwise. Ellison, who has been arrested for possession of 100 Vicodin pills, has been told to stay away from offseason workouts, a precursor to his likely release.
Though the substance abuse policy insulates Jackson against discipline from the team, that same policy protects Ellison, too. And the Chargers don’t seem to care.
In other cities, there are no recent dichotomies like Kevin Smith and Michael James, James Harrison and Cedrick Wilson, Vincent Jackson and Kevin Ellison. But what would the Texans be doing about linebacker Brian Cushing’s suspension for violating the steroids policy if he weren’t part of the nucleus of the team’s defense? In 2008, long snapper Bryan Pittman missed the final four games after breaking the same rules. And he wasn’t re-signed. (The Texans eventually brought him back late in the 2009 season, perhaps realizing that the position isn’t as fungible as it looks.)
In Washington, receiver Santana Moss has been entangled in the Dr. Anthony Galea HGH investigation. If Moss weren’t regarded as an important member of an otherwise so-so receiving corps, the Redskins might be doing something far different than accepting his version of the events and vowing to stand by him.
And in Miami, where V.P. of football operations Bill Parcells has said he wants no "thugs and hoodlums," plenty of guys are acting like "thugs and hoodlums," including Ronnie Brown, Will Allen, Phillip Merling and Tony McDaniel. To date, the Dolphins have been consistent in their treatment of the misbehaving players — none of them has been disciplined.
In Seattle, a big-name player’s big-money salary is having the opposite effect. Linebacker Leroy Hill, who was arrested for domestic violence only days after being placed on probation for marijuana possession, has been told to stay home in lieu of showing up for offseason practices.
In Hill’s case, his contract is hurting him more than a perceived lack of skill. He’s due to receive a guaranteed base salary of $6 million in 2010, and if the league suspends him the guarantee voids if they cut him.
Every team at every level of every sport looks at these situations on a case-by-case basis. And it’s not because they want to be fair and consistent with every employee; it’s because they understand that it’s important to know when and where and how to be inconsistent.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
The off-field problems involving multiple members of the Pittsburgh Steelers created the impression that a double standard applies in the city of Three Rivers. Lower-level players get the boot, and those deemed indispensable get a pass.
Would the Texans have handled Brian Cushing differently if he wasn’t key to their defense?
It happened most notably in 2008, when linebacker James Harrison and receiver Cedrick Wilson were accused of domestic violence in the same general time frame. Harrison remains a key fixture on the team; Wilson was dumped not long after his arrest.
The Steelers have been vague regarding whether their sliding scale has yielded to a one-strike arrangement in the wake of the unfortunate situations involving quarterback Ben Roethlisberger and former receiver Santonio Holmes. The problem with zero tolerance is that it must be enforced and, eventually, a great player will be cut.
And some other team would then pounce on him.
The Steelers aren’t the only franchise that treats different players differently. They all do it, to a certain extent. Former Cowboys coach Jimmy Johnson made no bones about it. In Boys Will Be Boys, Jeff Pearlman chronicles Johnson’s inconsistencies, explaining that some players "would be treated with greater dignity than others — and if you didn’t like it, you could find another line of work." Pearlman writes that, when first-round cornerback Kevin Smith and street free agent Michael James snuck out of camp, Smith got lectured and James got cut.
More recently, the San Diego Chargers have provided a glaring example of applying different rules for different players with receiver Vincent Jackson and safety Kevin Ellison. Jackson, who has twice pleaded guilty to DUI charges, will be going nowhere else, sober or otherwise. Ellison, who has been arrested for possession of 100 Vicodin pills, has been told to stay away from offseason workouts, a precursor to his likely release.
Though the substance abuse policy insulates Jackson against discipline from the team, that same policy protects Ellison, too. And the Chargers don’t seem to care.
In other cities, there are no recent dichotomies like Kevin Smith and Michael James, James Harrison and Cedrick Wilson, Vincent Jackson and Kevin Ellison. But what would the Texans be doing about linebacker Brian Cushing’s suspension for violating the steroids policy if he weren’t part of the nucleus of the team’s defense? In 2008, long snapper Bryan Pittman missed the final four games after breaking the same rules. And he wasn’t re-signed. (The Texans eventually brought him back late in the 2009 season, perhaps realizing that the position isn’t as fungible as it looks.)
In Washington, receiver Santana Moss has been entangled in the Dr. Anthony Galea HGH investigation. If Moss weren’t regarded as an important member of an otherwise so-so receiving corps, the Redskins might be doing something far different than accepting his version of the events and vowing to stand by him.
And in Miami, where V.P. of football operations Bill Parcells has said he wants no "thugs and hoodlums," plenty of guys are acting like "thugs and hoodlums," including Ronnie Brown, Will Allen, Phillip Merling and Tony McDaniel. To date, the Dolphins have been consistent in their treatment of the misbehaving players — none of them has been disciplined.
In Seattle, a big-name player’s big-money salary is having the opposite effect. Linebacker Leroy Hill, who was arrested for domestic violence only days after being placed on probation for marijuana possession, has been told to stay home in lieu of showing up for offseason practices.
In Hill’s case, his contract is hurting him more than a perceived lack of skill. He’s due to receive a guaranteed base salary of $6 million in 2010, and if the league suspends him the guarantee voids if they cut him.
Every team at every level of every sport looks at these situations on a case-by-case basis. And it’s not because they want to be fair and consistent with every employee; it’s because they understand that it’s important to know when and where and how to be inconsistent.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
When I first heard the NFL was seriously considering staging an open-air Super Bowl in a cold-weather city, I was intrigued. This isn’t the same stuffy, stodgy NFL that ventures outside the box only with an engraved itinerary and a six-pack of Sherpas. The NFL is willing to take risks and do something different.
But there’s a fine line between being edgy and going loco. After further deliberation, the NFL’s decision to hold a Super Bowl in a cold-weather climate with a stadium that has no lid makes us wonder whether plenty of people have lost their marbles.
The Super Bowl is the single greatest day on the American sports calendar. It needs to be protected from circumstances that can make the experience something other than super.
Any of you who have ever stood for three-plus hours in single-digit temperatures for an NFL game know exactly what I’m talking about. Folks familiar with going to outdoor games in cold-weather cities understand how to properly prepare for multiple hours in the hostile elements.
But what about the sandal-wearers from California whose idea of a winter coat is a windbreaker with a hood? When it’s time for them to pay for tickets that with a face value in the vicinity of $2,000, will they realize that they’ll also need to spend roughly that much more on coats, boots, long underwear, gloves, hats, scarves, hand warmers, and foot warmers?
At a time when the NFL has displayed greater sensitivity to the in-stadium fan experience, the league seems to be pandering to the experience of the home viewer, who’d love to see images of a Super Bowl played in gently falling snow emanating from their 3D-HD television screen (made by the NFL’s official 3D-HD television sponsor).
The message to the customers who’ll be likely paying record-high prices? As the late Peter Boyle playing New York resident Frank Barone would say, "Suck it up, Nancy."
Maybe the NFL is hoping to make it "cool" to go to games in bitterly cold weather. Or maybe the NFL wants to create a spectacle like hockey’s annual Winter Classic, already an indispensable New Year’s Day tradition.
Either way, the risk of a nightmare scenario outweighs the potential reward of a day in which it’s cold but not too cold and the snow is falling but not too heavily, with the wind blowing but not gusting.
But maybe the NFL wants to show it can navigate a nightmare. Imagine the hand-wringing over whether the league can get a concert-quality stage in place for the halftime show, if the snow is falling at a rate of one inch every 10 minutes. If the NFL can make it look easy even when the conditions are difficult, the league will look even better.
On a brighter note, there should be no worries about any wardrobe malfunctions.
The league is selling this as a one-time-only event as protection against the worst-case scenario. If the weather gives us something more like Chargers-Bengals in 1982 than Raiders-Patriots in 2002, the NFL will simply find a way to declare victory and take refuge behind the notion that this will never be done again. If it works — then they’ll eventually spin the revolver and try it again at some point in the future.
The Super Bowl isn’t an event with which such risks should be taken. And if the folks in New York/New Jersey wanted to host one or more Super Bowls at their new stadium, they should have included a retractable roof.
Why didn’t they? Because they want the cold and the wind as part of a January home-field advantage if/when the Jets or the Giants are playing late-season or postseason games there.
That’s fine, but they shouldn’t be allowed to have it both ways.
Look, I love New York. And I love the Super Bowl. But New York and the Super Bowl don’t necessarily mix like peanut butter and chocolate. If the fans have to suffer through the misery of a cold, windy day at Meadowlands Stadium in February 2014, it’ll be more like a greasy pork sandwich served in a dirty ashtray.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
When I first heard the NFL was seriously considering staging an open-air Super Bowl in a cold-weather city, I was intrigued. This isn’t the same stuffy, stodgy NFL that ventures outside the box only with an engraved itinerary and a six-pack of Sherpas. The NFL is willing to take risks and do something different.
But there’s a fine line between being edgy and going loco. After further deliberation, the NFL’s decision to hold a Super Bowl in a cold-weather climate with a stadium that has no lid makes us wonder whether plenty of people have lost their marbles.
The Super Bowl is the single greatest day on the American sports calendar. It needs to be protected from circumstances that can make the experience something other than super.
Any of you who have ever stood for three-plus hours in single-digit temperatures for an NFL game know exactly what I’m talking about. Folks familiar with going to outdoor games in cold-weather cities understand how to properly prepare for multiple hours in the hostile elements.
But what about the sandal-wearers from California whose idea of a winter coat is a windbreaker with a hood? When it’s time for them to pay for tickets that with a face value in the vicinity of $2,000, will they realize that they’ll also need to spend roughly that much more on coats, boots, long underwear, gloves, hats, scarves, hand warmers, and foot warmers?
At a time when the NFL has displayed greater sensitivity to the in-stadium fan experience, the league seems to be pandering to the experience of the home viewer, who’d love to see images of a Super Bowl played in gently falling snow emanating from their 3D-HD television screen (made by the NFL’s official 3D-HD television sponsor).
The message to the customers who’ll be likely paying record-high prices? As the late Peter Boyle playing New York resident Frank Barone would say, "Suck it up, Nancy."
Maybe the NFL is hoping to make it "cool" to go to games in bitterly cold weather. Or maybe the NFL wants to create a spectacle like hockey’s annual Winter Classic, already an indispensable New Year’s Day tradition.
Either way, the risk of a nightmare scenario outweighs the potential reward of a day in which it’s cold but not too cold and the snow is falling but not too heavily, with the wind blowing but not gusting.
But maybe the NFL wants to show it can navigate a nightmare. Imagine the hand-wringing over whether the league can get a concert-quality stage in place for the halftime show, if the snow is falling at a rate of one inch every 10 minutes. If the NFL can make it look easy even when the conditions are difficult, the league will look even better.
On a brighter note, there should be no worries about any wardrobe malfunctions.
The league is selling this as a one-time-only event as protection against the worst-case scenario. If the weather gives us something more like Chargers-Bengals in 1982 than Raiders-Patriots in 2002, the NFL will simply find a way to declare victory and take refuge behind the notion that this will never be done again. If it works — then they’ll eventually spin the revolver and try it again at some point in the future.
The Super Bowl isn’t an event with which such risks should be taken. And if the folks in New York/New Jersey wanted to host one or more Super Bowls at their new stadium, they should have included a retractable roof.
Why didn’t they? Because they want the cold and the wind as part of a January home-field advantage if/when the Jets or the Giants are playing late-season or postseason games there.
That’s fine, but they shouldn’t be allowed to have it both ways.
Look, I love New York. And I love the Super Bowl. But New York and the Super Bowl don’t necessarily mix like peanut butter and chocolate. If the fans have to suffer through the misery of a cold, windy day at Meadowlands Stadium in February 2014, it’ll be more like a greasy pork sandwich served in a dirty ashtray.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
Santana Moss was reportedly asked about treatments Dr. Anthony Galea gave him.
The news that Dr. Anthony Galea faces charges for smuggling and distributing human growth hormone has prompted many to conclude that the case will produce negative consequences for the NFL.
Already, Redskins receiver Santana Moss has been implicated in the investigation. Galea’s assistant allegedly had HGH in her possession when she was arrested last September on the way to Washington, where Galea was planning to meet Moss and treat him for an injury. Moss reportedly was getting HGH from Galea.
And Moss probably wasn’t the only NFL player getting HGH from Galea — especially because the NFL doesn’t test for HGH.
On the surface, the situation has the potential to create a major embarrassment for the league, especially because the media and fans seem to have a heightened sensitivity to performance-enhancing drug use in football after the Brian Cushing suspension — and the clumsy PR effort aimed at exonerating him. But this could actually end up being good for pro football.
The NFL wants players to be tested for HGH. The NFLPA has resisted. And the Galea case shows the honor system isn’t working.
The problem can be attributed to the nature of collective bargaining, in which neither side thinks about the greater interests of all parties. Instead, if one side "wants" something, the other side will make that concession only if it "gets" something in return.
So while the health and well-being of the goose that lays the golden eggs may require ensuring that the egg-producing operation isn’t being enhanced by banned substances, the process will prompt the union to create leverage by digging in against HGH testing until it can get something of value at the bargaining table.
The opposition to blood testing for HGH remains unclear. Every Sunday, football players strap on the armor and head into battle, where blood is often shed. Why, then, do they hide under the bed when faced with the prospect of having their fingers pricked?
It all comes back to leverage. And since the current bargaining process contains a complex stew of issues and conflicts, the union understandably will resist the NFL’s requests whenever possible.
But the players’ position gets weaker as evidence of abuses mounts. As a result, the Galea case could place more pressure on the NFLPA to finally agree to HGH testing.
The pressure may come in various forms — from the media, from fans and potentially from Congress. Regardless of their motivations — and of responsibilities that may be more pressing — federal lawmakers routinely show an interest in cleaning up messes that the folks responsible for public activities such as pro sports refuse to clean up on their own.
So far, the NFL has successfully avoided federal oversight of its drug-testing program, and the Galea case might not be enough to finally prompt Congress to stick its nose deep into the situation. But Congress could do enough to make the NFLPA realize that leverage needs to take a back seat to doing the right thing. Without HGH testing, there is no real deterrence to its use. So players will continue to use HGH, resolving the moral dilemma by reasoning that everyone else is using it, and by realizing that they’re unlikely to find another job that pays as well as the NFL.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
Santana Moss was reportedly asked about treatments Dr. Anthony Galea gave him.
The news that Dr. Anthony Galea faces charges for smuggling and distributing human growth hormone has prompted many to conclude that the case will produce negative consequences for the NFL.
Already, Redskins receiver Santana Moss has been implicated in the investigation. Galea’s assistant allegedly had HGH in her possession when she was arrested last September on the way to Washington, where Galea was planning to meet Moss and treat him for an injury. Moss reportedly was getting HGH from Galea.
And Moss probably wasn’t the only NFL player getting HGH from Galea — especially because the NFL doesn’t test for HGH.
On the surface, the situation has the potential to create a major embarrassment for the league, especially because the media and fans seem to have a heightened sensitivity to performance-enhancing drug use in football after the Brian Cushing suspension — and the clumsy PR effort aimed at exonerating him. But this could actually end up being good for pro football.
The NFL wants players to be tested for HGH. The NFLPA has resisted. And the Galea case shows the honor system isn’t working.
The problem can be attributed to the nature of collective bargaining, in which neither side thinks about the greater interests of all parties. Instead, if one side "wants" something, the other side will make that concession only if it "gets" something in return.
So while the health and well-being of the goose that lays the golden eggs may require ensuring that the egg-producing operation isn’t being enhanced by banned substances, the process will prompt the union to create leverage by digging in against HGH testing until it can get something of value at the bargaining table.
The opposition to blood testing for HGH remains unclear. Every Sunday, football players strap on the armor and head into battle, where blood is often shed. Why, then, do they hide under the bed when faced with the prospect of having their fingers pricked?
It all comes back to leverage. And since the current bargaining process contains a complex stew of issues and conflicts, the union understandably will resist the NFL’s requests whenever possible.
But the players’ position gets weaker as evidence of abuses mounts. As a result, the Galea case could place more pressure on the NFLPA to finally agree to HGH testing.
The pressure may come in various forms — from the media, from fans and potentially from Congress. Regardless of their motivations — and of responsibilities that may be more pressing — federal lawmakers routinely show an interest in cleaning up messes that the folks responsible for public activities such as pro sports refuse to clean up on their own.
So far, the NFL has successfully avoided federal oversight of its drug-testing program, and the Galea case might not be enough to finally prompt Congress to stick its nose deep into the situation. But Congress could do enough to make the NFLPA realize that leverage needs to take a back seat to doing the right thing. Without HGH testing, there is no real deterrence to its use. So players will continue to use HGH, resolving the moral dilemma by reasoning that everyone else is using it, and by realizing that they’re unlikely to find another job that pays as well as the NFL.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
As offseason practices — which are more important than most realize — continue throughout the NFL, plenty of players aren’t participating.
Sure, the sessions are voluntary. But no one really views them that way. If a player isn’t volunteering to participate, it’s usually because of something related to dissatisfaction with his current contractual status.
Titans RB Chris Johnson has yet to attend an offseason practice.
There are three general types of holdouts: the good, the bad and the ugly. Let’s explore some of the players who fall into one of these categories this year:
The Good
A player who is not under contract has every right to stay away from voluntary workouts. He also has the right to stay away from mandatory drills, including but not limited to training camp and the preseason.
For any player, the ultimate leverage comes from withholding services. And a player who is not signed does nothing wrong when he stays away.
The fact that some unsigned players choose to sign a waiver that would pay them their full salary for 2010 creates the sense that all players not under contract should choose to do the same. But players angling for a long-term contract have only limited protection when they practice without a contract. They’ll get only the money they would have earned had they signed whatever offer was tendered to them. The possibility of scoring a big-money, multiyear deal hangs in the balance — and a serious injury suffered while practicing without a contract could keep them from ever getting the huge contract they all covet.
So while Broncos linebacker Elvis Dumervil and others are practicing in the hopes of securing such a huge contract, players like Vikings defensive end Ray Edwards do nothing wrong by staying away.
There’s another type of holdout that can be defended: Players who have been saddled with a rookie deal based on draft position but who have made disproportionately significant contributions on the field. For example, Titans running back Chris Johnson and Eagles receiver DeSean Jackson have become superstars, yet they’ll make low base salaries for the balance of their rookie deals.
Though their teams can give them new deals at any time, they’re under no obligation to do so. So while the players could possibly continue to provide skills and abilities far in excess of their pay grades, the teams will realize a disproportionate benefit, and the players will bear the risk of injury until they get new deals.
In the past, the league’s performance-based pay system helped fill the void. The less a player made in relation to his total snaps, the more he’d receive from the league-wide fund created to address the inequity. In 2010, however, the performance-based pay system has gone the way of the salary cap. Which has gone the way of the dodo bird.
Which means players like Johnson and Jackson have a better chance of owning a dodo bird than of breaking the bank in the near future.
The Bad
Last year, Jets running backs Leon Washington and Thomas Jones were unhappy with their contracts. Washington had a slotted rookie deal, and his worst fears ultimately were realized when he suffered a badly broken leg before he got a long-term contract. Jones, however, already was under a veteran deal, and had pocketed plenty of money during the first two seasons of the contract he had signed after joining the Jets. So he had no legitimate right to complain.
This year, Texans wide receiver Andre Johnson is playing the role of Thomas Jones. Johnson, arguably one of the top two receivers in the league, is due to receive a $5.8 million base salary this year. But his cap number is $8.14 million because of bonuses he has already received; that isn’t grossly out of proportion to the $10 million annual average for Cardinals receiver Larry Fitzgerald.
When Johnson signed a long-term deal in 2007, the contract was near the top of the market. Fitzgerald scored his four-year, $40 million deal a year later — a risk that’s present whenever any player agrees to a multi-year contract.
So even though Johnson may not like his contract right now, he needs to realize he is in a far different position than the rookies who have yet to cash in. Johnson has already cashed in, and he apparently wants to cash in even more now.
The Ugly
This year also features head-scratching holdouts involving veterans who were drafted by the Titans.
Tight end Bo Scaife, Tennessee’s franchise player in 2009, signed a restricted free-agent tender that, under current rules, guarantees him $4.9 million in 2010. Scaife is, in fact, under contract, but he’s staying away from voluntary workouts.
Again, he has the right to do that. But there’s no reason for it. Plus, Scaife will earn nearly $5 million this year after catching 45 passes for 440 yards and one touchdown last year.
We should all be so underpaid.
Then there’s Redskins defensive tackle Albert Haynesworth, who left the Titans in 2009 to sign a four-year, $48 million contract with Washington. He’s staying away because he doesn’t want to play nose tackle in the team’s new 3-4 defense. It’s likely he thinks he can force a trade. The Redskins would be wise to get rid of him. Then again, they would have been wise to never get him in the first place.
Regardless of whether he’s ultimately successful, Haynesworth is confirming the suspicions of those who feared he would change once he got paid. Now he wants to do things his own way.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
As offseason practices — which are more important than most realize — continue throughout the NFL, plenty of players aren’t participating.
Sure, the sessions are voluntary. But no one really views them that way. If a player isn’t volunteering to participate, it’s usually because of something related to dissatisfaction with his current contractual status.
Titans RB Chris Johnson has yet to attend an offseason practice.
There are three general types of holdouts: the good, the bad and the ugly. Let’s explore some of the players who fall into one of these categories this year:
The Good
A player who is not under contract has every right to stay away from voluntary workouts. He also has the right to stay away from mandatory drills, including but not limited to training camp and the preseason.
For any player, the ultimate leverage comes from withholding services. And a player who is not signed does nothing wrong when he stays away.
The fact that some unsigned players choose to sign a waiver that would pay them their full salary for 2010 creates the sense that all players not under contract should choose to do the same. But players angling for a long-term contract have only limited protection when they practice without a contract. They’ll get only the money they would have earned had they signed whatever offer was tendered to them. The possibility of scoring a big-money, multiyear deal hangs in the balance — and a serious injury suffered while practicing without a contract could keep them from ever getting the huge contract they all covet.
So while Broncos linebacker Elvis Dumervil and others are practicing in the hopes of securing such a huge contract, players like Vikings defensive end Ray Edwards do nothing wrong by staying away.
There’s another type of holdout that can be defended: Players who have been saddled with a rookie deal based on draft position but who have made disproportionately significant contributions on the field. For example, Titans running back Chris Johnson and Eagles receiver DeSean Jackson have become superstars, yet they’ll make low base salaries for the balance of their rookie deals.
Though their teams can give them new deals at any time, they’re under no obligation to do so. So while the players could possibly continue to provide skills and abilities far in excess of their pay grades, the teams will realize a disproportionate benefit, and the players will bear the risk of injury until they get new deals.
In the past, the league’s performance-based pay system helped fill the void. The less a player made in relation to his total snaps, the more he’d receive from the league-wide fund created to address the inequity. In 2010, however, the performance-based pay system has gone the way of the salary cap. Which has gone the way of the dodo bird.
Which means players like Johnson and Jackson have a better chance of owning a dodo bird than of breaking the bank in the near future.
The Bad
Last year, Jets running backs Leon Washington and Thomas Jones were unhappy with their contracts. Washington had a slotted rookie deal, and his worst fears ultimately were realized when he suffered a badly broken leg before he got a long-term contract. Jones, however, already was under a veteran deal, and had pocketed plenty of money during the first two seasons of the contract he had signed after joining the Jets. So he had no legitimate right to complain.
This year, Texans wide receiver Andre Johnson is playing the role of Thomas Jones. Johnson, arguably one of the top two receivers in the league, is due to receive a $5.8 million base salary this year. But his cap number is $8.14 million because of bonuses he has already received; that isn’t grossly out of proportion to the $10 million annual average for Cardinals receiver Larry Fitzgerald.
When Johnson signed a long-term deal in 2007, the contract was near the top of the market. Fitzgerald scored his four-year, $40 million deal a year later — a risk that’s present whenever any player agrees to a multi-year contract.
So even though Johnson may not like his contract right now, he needs to realize he is in a far different position than the rookies who have yet to cash in. Johnson has already cashed in, and he apparently wants to cash in even more now.
The Ugly
This year also features head-scratching holdouts involving veterans who were drafted by the Titans.
Tight end Bo Scaife, Tennessee’s franchise player in 2009, signed a restricted free-agent tender that, under current rules, guarantees him $4.9 million in 2010. Scaife is, in fact, under contract, but he’s staying away from voluntary workouts.
Again, he has the right to do that. But there’s no reason for it. Plus, Scaife will earn nearly $5 million this year after catching 45 passes for 440 yards and one touchdown last year.
We should all be so underpaid.
Then there’s Redskins defensive tackle Albert Haynesworth, who left the Titans in 2009 to sign a four-year, $48 million contract with Washington. He’s staying away because he doesn’t want to play nose tackle in the team’s new 3-4 defense. It’s likely he thinks he can force a trade. The Redskins would be wise to get rid of him. Then again, they would have been wise to never get him in the first place.
Regardless of whether he’s ultimately successful, Haynesworth is confirming the suspicions of those who feared he would change once he got paid. Now he wants to do things his own way.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
The cryptic Associated Press article regarding the withdrawal of the lawsuit filed by former Saints director of security Geoffrey Santini implies that the team has finagled an early victory. And it did. With the Saints persuading Santini’s lawyer, Donald Hyatt, to refer the claim to arbitration, the case will be heard in a forum that is typically more favorable to business interests, since an arbitrator (i.e., a lawyer qualified to resolve these types of disputes) is far less likely to make decisions based on emotion than a jury made up of folks from a broad range of backgrounds and experiences — few of whom have ever been lawyers.
But the Saints’ lawyers dropped the ball on this one. If only two weeks ago they had said to Hyatt whatever they said more recently to get Hyatt to agree to pursue arbitration, none of the sensitive information that has come to light would have ever been released.
Thus, no one outside the organization (and law enforcement) ever would have known about GM Mickey Loomis’ alleged cover-up of Vicodin abuse and/or theft, the outing of Sean Payton and Joe Vitt as the guys who allegedly abused (Payton) and stole (Vitt) Vicodin, the partial transcripts of conversations between Santini and team employees indicating that a real issue had arisen regarding the distribution and theft of Vicodin, and the alleged existence of a videotape showing Vitt removing Vicodin impermissibly from the team’s drug locker.
The paperwork filed by Hyatt concedes that Santini signed an agreement in 2001 requiring the submission of claims against the Saints to arbitration. On May 10, 2010, the Saints demanded for the first time that matter be referred to arbitration.
Eight days before the lawsuit was filed, Hyatt met with the Saints’ lawyers. However, no effort to invoke the arbitration obligation came until 10 days after the suit was filed — and nine days after the bulk of the damage was done.
The Saints knew that a lawsuit was coming. A source with knowledge of the situation previously told me that the organization was aware that the suit would be filed on Friday, April 30. All the lawyers had to do was advise Hyatt of their intention to invoke the Saints’ arbitration rights before the lawsuit was filed and, for the same reasons Hyatt has abandoned the lawsuit now, he presumably would have abandoned his plans to file it in the first place.
Moving forward, the parties will be bound by an obligation to keep the arbitration process confidential. (It’s an obligation that Saints owner Tom Benson arguably breached earlier this week, by publicly commenting on the case.) And so the matter disappears from view after Santini’s side of the story has been told in exhaustive detail — but before the Saints did anything to get their side of the story into the public consciousness.
So perhaps we should wish the person(s) who failed to invoke the arbitration provision before the suit was filed plenty of luck in their coming job search. Though Loomis, Payton and/or Vitt may never be suspended or fired due to their role in this fiasco, the lawyer(s) who could have protected the franchise from a major public embarrassment may not be employed for much longer by the defending Super Bowl champions.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
The cryptic Associated Press article regarding the withdrawal of the lawsuit filed by former Saints director of security Geoffrey Santini implies that the team has finagled an early victory. And it did. With the Saints persuading Santini’s lawyer, Donald Hyatt, to refer the claim to arbitration, the case will be heard in a forum that is typically more favorable to business interests, since an arbitrator (i.e., a lawyer qualified to resolve these types of disputes) is far less likely to make decisions based on emotion than a jury made up of folks from a broad range of backgrounds and experiences — few of whom have ever been lawyers.
But the Saints’ lawyers dropped the ball on this one. If only two weeks ago they had said to Hyatt whatever they said more recently to get Hyatt to agree to pursue arbitration, none of the sensitive information that has come to light would have ever been released.
Thus, no one outside the organization (and law enforcement) ever would have known about GM Mickey Loomis’ alleged cover-up of Vicodin abuse and/or theft, the outing of Sean Payton and Joe Vitt as the guys who allegedly abused (Payton) and stole (Vitt) Vicodin, the partial transcripts of conversations between Santini and team employees indicating that a real issue had arisen regarding the distribution and theft of Vicodin, and the alleged existence of a videotape showing Vitt removing Vicodin impermissibly from the team’s drug locker.
The paperwork filed by Hyatt concedes that Santini signed an agreement in 2001 requiring the submission of claims against the Saints to arbitration. On May 10, 2010, the Saints demanded for the first time that matter be referred to arbitration.
Eight days before the lawsuit was filed, Hyatt met with the Saints’ lawyers. However, no effort to invoke the arbitration obligation came until 10 days after the suit was filed — and nine days after the bulk of the damage was done.
The Saints knew that a lawsuit was coming. A source with knowledge of the situation previously told me that the organization was aware that the suit would be filed on Friday, April 30. All the lawyers had to do was advise Hyatt of their intention to invoke the Saints’ arbitration rights before the lawsuit was filed and, for the same reasons Hyatt has abandoned the lawsuit now, he presumably would have abandoned his plans to file it in the first place.
Moving forward, the parties will be bound by an obligation to keep the arbitration process confidential. (It’s an obligation that Saints owner Tom Benson arguably breached earlier this week, by publicly commenting on the case.) And so the matter disappears from view after Santini’s side of the story has been told in exhaustive detail — but before the Saints did anything to get their side of the story into the public consciousness.
So perhaps we should wish the person(s) who failed to invoke the arbitration provision before the suit was filed plenty of luck in their coming job search. Though Loomis, Payton and/or Vitt may never be suspended or fired due to their role in this fiasco, the lawyer(s) who could have protected the franchise from a major public embarrassment may not be employed for much longer by the defending Super Bowl champions.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
The NFL prides itself on continuously looking for ways to improve. The still-unfolding controversy regarding Houston Texans linebacker Brian Cushing and his positive test for violating the league’s policy regarding anabolic steroids and related substances shows that, when it comes to performance-enhancing substances, the league has plenty of room to enhance its own performance.
The ultimate goal — both for the league and the NFL players’ union — should be to keep Congress from insinuating itself into the process, a prospect that likely would result in stiffer penalties, more stringent requirements, and (most importantly) the loss of control over a key aspect of the business of pro football.
And Congress will only mind its own business (or, more accurately, business more important to the fate of the republic than whether athletes are juicing) if the general public has confidence in the manner in which sports leagues like the NFL are minding their own shop.
Given the lessons learned from the Cushing case, here are five things the NFL and the NFLPA can do in conjunction with the ongoing collective bargaining agreement negotiations to protect the program from the eventual involvement of Congress.
1. Use different levels of punishment for different types of substances
Currently, the policy enumerates as prohibited substances 58 types of anabolic steroids, five types of hormones, 14 types of anti-estrogenic agents, 26 masking agents and 11 stimulants. Given the stigma that attaches to the use of steroids, why not incorporate a stiffer penalty for such infractions?
Given that players who test positive for one of the many banned substances routinely attempt to claim that they didn’t take a steroid, the penalty for taking a steroid should be greater. The use of a heightened sanction beyond the standard four-game suspension for a first offense would make it clear to the media and the fans whether a player’s claim that he didn’t take a steroid holds water.
It also would mesh with the expectations of the general public. Some banned substances are worse than others, and the rules should reflect that reality.
2. Test for HGH
No one will take the steroids policy seriously until the NFL and the union establish a procedure to test players for Human Growth Hormone, or HGH. Without a test, the policy has no teeth. Without teeth, there’s no deterrent. Without a deterrent, a high percentage of players will use HGH.
Or, as the case may be, they will continue to use HGH.
Last year, Tampa Bay Buccaneers fullback Earnest Graham suggested that 30 percent of all NFL players use HGH. Some think Graham’s estimate is too low. Possibly by as much as 70 percent.
3. Remove the lag between positive test and suspension
The testing program necessarily incorporates various delays. From the collection of the urine sample to the testing of the sample to the verification of the positive result to the notification of the player to the exercise of appeal rights to the scheduling of the appeal hearing to the possible rescheduling of the appeal hearing because of the specific calendars of the persons who need to attend to the submission of post-hearing written briefs to the deliberation over the information to the preparation of a letter upholding the appeal, several months quickly can pass.
That’s exactly what happened in Cushing’s case. The problem is that he was permitted to continue to play while his appeal unfolded, and then the decision came well after the season during which the violation occurred.
Though it’s impossible to immediately suspend players who test positive during the regular season, the NFL and the players’ union must come together and trim the fat out of the process. Given the stakes, a month would be ideal; two months should be the absolute maximum.
4. Use independent arbitration
When it comes to suspensions imposed by the NFL, the league office maintains the ability to act as judge, jury, executioner, appeals court and reprieve-giving governor. The commissioner has the ultimate power to impose the penalty, and the commissioner has the ultimate power to consider the appeal.
The union wants to use independent arbitration to resolve the appeals. The NFL understandably wants to retain full control over the steroids program, including the resolution of the question of whether a suspension will be upheld. At a minimum, the NFL wants a concession from the union in exchange for giving up the ability to control the process.
That said, the entire program would be regarded as more legitimate and credible if any suspension ultimately comes from a neutral party — especially since players routinely claim that the league’s ultimate action represents a hypertechnical adherence to a convoluted protocol. If the suspension arose from someone with no actual or apparent agenda, it would be regarded as more powerful.
5. Abandon confidentiality once a suspension is upheld
Above all else, the league and the union must come up with a way to counter the self-serving assertions and leaks from players whose positive tests result in suspensions. Currently, the entire program is cloaked in confidentiality, preventing the league or the player’s team from commenting on the circumstances surrounding the positive test.
To be viewed as adequate, the process must be transparent. Once a suspension has been completed, the league should be able to provide to the media all relevant facts and circumstances surrounding the positive test, including the substance detected, the concentration measured, the reason for the presence of the substance on the banned list, and any other information necessary to a fair understanding of the basis for the significant decision to prevent a player from working for 25 percent of his annual work calendar.
These measures wouldn’t make the program perfect, but it would make it better. More importantly, it would help keep Congress from opting to add its own improvements.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
The NFL prides itself on continuously looking for ways to improve. The still-unfolding controversy regarding Houston Texans linebacker Brian Cushing and his positive test for violating the league’s policy regarding anabolic steroids and related substances shows that, when it comes to performance-enhancing substances, the league has plenty of room to enhance its own performance.
The ultimate goal — both for the league and the NFL players’ union — should be to keep Congress from insinuating itself into the process, a prospect that likely would result in stiffer penalties, more stringent requirements, and (most importantly) the loss of control over a key aspect of the business of pro football.
And Congress will only mind its own business (or, more accurately, business more important to the fate of the republic than whether athletes are juicing) if the general public has confidence in the manner in which sports leagues like the NFL are minding their own shop.
Given the lessons learned from the Cushing case, here are five things the NFL and the NFLPA can do in conjunction with the ongoing collective bargaining agreement negotiations to protect the program from the eventual involvement of Congress.
1. Use different levels of punishment for different types of substances
Currently, the policy enumerates as prohibited substances 58 types of anabolic steroids, five types of hormones, 14 types of anti-estrogenic agents, 26 masking agents and 11 stimulants. Given the stigma that attaches to the use of steroids, why not incorporate a stiffer penalty for such infractions?
Given that players who test positive for one of the many banned substances routinely attempt to claim that they didn’t take a steroid, the penalty for taking a steroid should be greater. The use of a heightened sanction beyond the standard four-game suspension for a first offense would make it clear to the media and the fans whether a player’s claim that he didn’t take a steroid holds water.
It also would mesh with the expectations of the general public. Some banned substances are worse than others, and the rules should reflect that reality.
2. Test for HGH
No one will take the steroids policy seriously until the NFL and the union establish a procedure to test players for Human Growth Hormone, or HGH. Without a test, the policy has no teeth. Without teeth, there’s no deterrent. Without a deterrent, a high percentage of players will use HGH.
Or, as the case may be, they will continue to use HGH.
Last year, Tampa Bay Buccaneers fullback Earnest Graham suggested that 30 percent of all NFL players use HGH. Some think Graham’s estimate is too low. Possibly by as much as 70 percent.
3. Remove the lag between positive test and suspension
The testing program necessarily incorporates various delays. From the collection of the urine sample to the testing of the sample to the verification of the positive result to the notification of the player to the exercise of appeal rights to the scheduling of the appeal hearing to the possible rescheduling of the appeal hearing because of the specific calendars of the persons who need to attend to the submission of post-hearing written briefs to the deliberation over the information to the preparation of a letter upholding the appeal, several months quickly can pass.
That’s exactly what happened in Cushing’s case. The problem is that he was permitted to continue to play while his appeal unfolded, and then the decision came well after the season during which the violation occurred.
Though it’s impossible to immediately suspend players who test positive during the regular season, the NFL and the players’ union must come together and trim the fat out of the process. Given the stakes, a month would be ideal; two months should be the absolute maximum.
4. Use independent arbitration
When it comes to suspensions imposed by the NFL, the league office maintains the ability to act as judge, jury, executioner, appeals court and reprieve-giving governor. The commissioner has the ultimate power to impose the penalty, and the commissioner has the ultimate power to consider the appeal.
The union wants to use independent arbitration to resolve the appeals. The NFL understandably wants to retain full control over the steroids program, including the resolution of the question of whether a suspension will be upheld. At a minimum, the NFL wants a concession from the union in exchange for giving up the ability to control the process.
That said, the entire program would be regarded as more legitimate and credible if any suspension ultimately comes from a neutral party — especially since players routinely claim that the league’s ultimate action represents a hypertechnical adherence to a convoluted protocol. If the suspension arose from someone with no actual or apparent agenda, it would be regarded as more powerful.
5. Abandon confidentiality once a suspension is upheld
Above all else, the league and the union must come up with a way to counter the self-serving assertions and leaks from players whose positive tests result in suspensions. Currently, the entire program is cloaked in confidentiality, preventing the league or the player’s team from commenting on the circumstances surrounding the positive test.
To be viewed as adequate, the process must be transparent. Once a suspension has been completed, the league should be able to provide to the media all relevant facts and circumstances surrounding the positive test, including the substance detected, the concentration measured, the reason for the presence of the substance on the banned list, and any other information necessary to a fair understanding of the basis for the significant decision to prevent a player from working for 25 percent of his annual work calendar.
These measures wouldn’t make the program perfect, but it would make it better. More importantly, it would help keep Congress from opting to add its own improvements.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
Lawrence Taylor’s recklessness finally has caught up with him.
Lawrence Taylor could end up spending as many as four years in prison.
Throughout and after his football career, Taylor periodically found trouble. He never quite faced any real consequences, possibly due to the things he could do — and did — on a football field.
Now, more than 17 years after he left a football field for the last time, Taylor finds himself facing real prison time for an alleged crime as to which there are precious few defenses. Every state has selected an age below which no person — male or female — legally may consent to sexual relations with someone over a certain age. If sex happens, even if there is consent or (as in the case of Mary Kay LeTourneau) love or (as in this case) cash payment, a violation of the law has occurred.
And it doesn’t matter if the defendant didn’t know the person’s true age.
Is it fair? Fairness doesn’t matter. If the person looks a lot older than he or she is, the other, older person could soon be in prison.
Considering Taylor’s history, it’s surprising that he hasn’t previously found himself in this situation. He has utilized anecdotes of his escapades with prostitutes to sell his autobiography, including tales of ordering ladies of the evening for an opponent, in the hopes of wearing the guy out the night before a key game — something Taylor learned after an opponent put him in a similar predicament, which Taylor welcomed. He also spoke with bizarre pride regarding the fact that he once showed up for a team meeting wearing handcuffs that had been applied to him by not one but two women who were trying out new gadgets.
Surely, Taylor realizes that the time for laughing and boasting and bragging has ended. He could spend up to four years in prison. And even though his lawyer believes that Taylor will eventually plead guilty to a misdemeanor, the downside to fame and celebrity is that when they screw something up in spectacular fashion, that fame and celebrity often triggers an aggressive prosecution. The ensuing media coverage will send a powerful message to anyone who may be inclined to dial up a prostitute that he (or, technically, she) should worry about the very real possibility that the person who shows up at the door will be too young to lawfully consent.
Thus, Taylor now needs to worry about a prosecutor seeking to throw the book at him, in the same way that another former Giant, Plaxico Burress, ended up going away for two years on a charge that routinely results in probation or, at most, minimal jail time.
In announcing last month that Steelers quarterback Ben Roethlisberger wouldn’t be charged with rape, prosecutor Fred Bright seemed almost disappointed by the fact that he wouldn’t get a chance to scare straight any man who may be inclined to ply a woman with drinks and then try to take advantage of her. In this case, the prosecutor has been handed a gift-wrapped conviction, an opportunity to deter similar conduct from coast to coast, and a chance to have his or her name uttered by every news outlet in the country on multiple occasions.
There’s also a curious connection between Roethlisberger’s case and the entanglement in which L.T. now finds himself. Many reacted to news of Big Ben’s alleged habit of trolling VIP rooms for sexual partners by wondering why he and other rich and famous types don’t simply use prostitutes instead. As the saying goes, celebrities don’t pay women for sex; they pay them to leave.
Taylor’s case shows that even that approach can lead to prison, too, if unbeknownst to the customer the woman is still a girl. Though some may think the chances of this happening are remote, it happened to Taylor. And it’s just one of the bad things that can happen when someone’s hobbies include patronizing the world’s oldest profession.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
Lawrence Taylor’s recklessness finally has caught up with him.
Lawrence Taylor could end up spending as many as four years in prison.
Throughout and after his football career, Taylor periodically found trouble. He never quite faced any real consequences, possibly due to the things he could do — and did — on a football field.
Now, more than 17 years after he left a football field for the last time, Taylor finds himself facing real prison time for an alleged crime as to which there are precious few defenses. Every state has selected an age below which no person — male or female — legally may consent to sexual relations with someone over a certain age. If sex happens, even if there is consent or (as in the case of Mary Kay LeTourneau) love or (as in this case) cash payment, a violation of the law has occurred.
And it doesn’t matter if the defendant didn’t know the person’s true age.
Is it fair? Fairness doesn’t matter. If the person looks a lot older than he or she is, the other, older person could soon be in prison.
Considering Taylor’s history, it’s surprising that he hasn’t previously found himself in this situation. He has utilized anecdotes of his escapades with prostitutes to sell his autobiography, including tales of ordering ladies of the evening for an opponent, in the hopes of wearing the guy out the night before a key game — something Taylor learned after an opponent put him in a similar predicament, which Taylor welcomed. He also spoke with bizarre pride regarding the fact that he once showed up for a team meeting wearing handcuffs that had been applied to him by not one but two women who were trying out new gadgets.
Surely, Taylor realizes that the time for laughing and boasting and bragging has ended. He could spend up to four years in prison. And even though his lawyer believes that Taylor will eventually plead guilty to a misdemeanor, the downside to fame and celebrity is that when they screw something up in spectacular fashion, that fame and celebrity often triggers an aggressive prosecution. The ensuing media coverage will send a powerful message to anyone who may be inclined to dial up a prostitute that he (or, technically, she) should worry about the very real possibility that the person who shows up at the door will be too young to lawfully consent.
Thus, Taylor now needs to worry about a prosecutor seeking to throw the book at him, in the same way that another former Giant, Plaxico Burress, ended up going away for two years on a charge that routinely results in probation or, at most, minimal jail time.
In announcing last month that Steelers quarterback Ben Roethlisberger wouldn’t be charged with rape, prosecutor Fred Bright seemed almost disappointed by the fact that he wouldn’t get a chance to scare straight any man who may be inclined to ply a woman with drinks and then try to take advantage of her. In this case, the prosecutor has been handed a gift-wrapped conviction, an opportunity to deter similar conduct from coast to coast, and a chance to have his or her name uttered by every news outlet in the country on multiple occasions.
There’s also a curious connection between Roethlisberger’s case and the entanglement in which L.T. now finds himself. Many reacted to news of Big Ben’s alleged habit of trolling VIP rooms for sexual partners by wondering why he and other rich and famous types don’t simply use prostitutes instead. As the saying goes, celebrities don’t pay women for sex; they pay them to leave.
Taylor’s case shows that even that approach can lead to prison, too, if unbeknownst to the customer the woman is still a girl. Though some may think the chances of this happening are remote, it happened to Taylor. And it’s just one of the bad things that can happen when someone’s hobbies include patronizing the world’s oldest profession.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
In the modern world, fans generally have no objection to patdowns and other security measures aimed at ensuring that no one entering a given venue is packing heat, or worse. (And to anyone who objects, we invite you to sit right next to the guy who’s keeping himself warm with a vest made of dynamite sticks.) But the notion that anyone is capable of being a terrorist or a violent criminal (my 6-year-old nephew was patted down at Sunday’s Canadiens-Penguins game) needs to yield to common sense when the contact being made involves not open palms but electric shocks.
Security draws a bead on this frolicking fan.
Monday night’s events in Philadelphia represent, unfortunately, an excellent example of common sense yielding to a badge. The logic had the kind of bright-line appeal that would make Dwight Schrute nod approvingly: 1. Suspect entered the field in violation of the law; 2. Suspect was therefore violating the law; 3. Suspect failed to heed a command from a uniformed officer to halt; 4. Officer halted suspect with Taser.
Many have glossed over the thorny question of whether a blast of electrified justice was truly necessary; they’ve launched a parade of potential horribles that simply doesn’t reflect the realities of the situation. Folks who "get it" can see when a kid running on the field intends to harm someone, and when the kid merely is acting like a goof for the sake of acting like a goof. (Or, like George Costanza faux streaking in a flesh-colored bodysuit, trying simply to get fired from his job.)
Video of the incident leaves no doubt. Apart from the blades of grass on which he was running, the only thing to which the boy posed a threat was the ego of the slow, out-of-shape police officer whose primary "protect and serve" activities apparently have been confined to the pastry case. (Hey, at least I tried to come up with a different spin on the "cops eat donuts" thing.)
Again, watch the video. The police officer has the Taser gun out at least 10 seconds before he gets off a shot. And the guy’s internal monologue likely was going a little something like this: "I finally get to use my Taser. I finally get to use my Taser. I finally get to use my Taser. And people are actually watching me do it."
After the kid had his face resting on some of the blades of grass on which he’d been running, the cop adopts a Dirty Harry demeanor, hovering over his fallen prey and shifting his weight from side to side. "Yeah, I Tased you, bro. I Tased you good. And people were actually watching me do it."
The damage control quickly began on Tuesday, lest the boy file a lawsuit for brutality and/or violation of his civil rights. A police spokesman claimed that "the officer had acted within the department’s guidelines, which allow officers to use Tasers to arrest fleeing suspects."
This rationale assumes that the kid was actually fleeing. But he was in a baseball stadium. He was on the field of play. Despite the Keystone Cops similarities between Monday’s incident and the 2002 Falcons-Vikings game during which Mike Vick riddled the Minnesota defense for a game-winning touchdown in overtime, the kid wasn’t going to get away. The only thing he was "fleeing" was his inevitable capture in the open spaces of the vast expanse of outfield.
Let’s not forget one very important fact here: Tasers aren’t exactly safe. Death, though remotely possible, is still possible. The police and the Phillies should consider themselves fortunate that no serious injury was inflicted, and they should immediately review the wisdom (or lack thereof) of using Tasers on paying customers who possibly have spent too much additional money buying beer.
Hopefully, every team will engage in a similar review. And, hopefully, they all will decide that Tasers should be used not on rowdy fans, but on actual criminals. If cops assigned to a given game can’t tell the difference, they shouldn’t be there.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
In the modern world, fans generally have no objection to patdowns and other security measures aimed at ensuring that no one entering a given venue is packing heat, or worse. (And to anyone who objects, we invite you to sit right next to the guy who’s keeping himself warm with a vest made of dynamite sticks.) But the notion that anyone is capable of being a terrorist or a violent criminal (my 6-year-old nephew was patted down at Sunday’s Canadiens-Penguins game) needs to yield to common sense when the contact being made involves not open palms but electric shocks.
Security draws a bead on this frolicking fan.
Monday night’s events in Philadelphia represent, unfortunately, an excellent example of common sense yielding to a badge. The logic had the kind of bright-line appeal that would make Dwight Schrute nod approvingly: 1. Suspect entered the field in violation of the law; 2. Suspect was therefore violating the law; 3. Suspect failed to heed a command from a uniformed officer to halt; 4. Officer halted suspect with Taser.
Many have glossed over the thorny question of whether a blast of electrified justice was truly necessary; they’ve launched a parade of potential horribles that simply doesn’t reflect the realities of the situation. Folks who "get it" can see when a kid running on the field intends to harm someone, and when the kid merely is acting like a goof for the sake of acting like a goof. (Or, like George Costanza faux streaking in a flesh-colored bodysuit, trying simply to get fired from his job.)
Video of the incident leaves no doubt. Apart from the blades of grass on which he was running, the only thing to which the boy posed a threat was the ego of the slow, out-of-shape police officer whose primary "protect and serve" activities apparently have been confined to the pastry case. (Hey, at least I tried to come up with a different spin on the "cops eat donuts" thing.)
Again, watch the video. The police officer has the Taser gun out at least 10 seconds before he gets off a shot. And the guy’s internal monologue likely was going a little something like this: "I finally get to use my Taser. I finally get to use my Taser. I finally get to use my Taser. And people are actually watching me do it."
After the kid had his face resting on some of the blades of grass on which he’d been running, the cop adopts a Dirty Harry demeanor, hovering over his fallen prey and shifting his weight from side to side. "Yeah, I Tased you, bro. I Tased you good. And people were actually watching me do it."
The damage control quickly began on Tuesday, lest the boy file a lawsuit for brutality and/or violation of his civil rights. A police spokesman claimed that "the officer had acted within the department’s guidelines, which allow officers to use Tasers to arrest fleeing suspects."
This rationale assumes that the kid was actually fleeing. But he was in a baseball stadium. He was on the field of play. Despite the Keystone Cops similarities between Monday’s incident and the 2002 Falcons-Vikings game during which Mike Vick riddled the Minnesota defense for a game-winning touchdown in overtime, the kid wasn’t going to get away. The only thing he was "fleeing" was his inevitable capture in the open spaces of the vast expanse of outfield.
Let’s not forget one very important fact here: Tasers aren’t exactly safe. Death, though remotely possible, is still possible. The police and the Phillies should consider themselves fortunate that no serious injury was inflicted, and they should immediately review the wisdom (or lack thereof) of using Tasers on paying customers who possibly have spent too much additional money buying beer.
Hopefully, every team will engage in a similar review. And, hopefully, they all will decide that Tasers should be used not on rowdy fans, but on actual criminals. If cops assigned to a given game can’t tell the difference, they shouldn’t be there.
Mike Florio writes and edits ProFootballTalk.com and is a regular contributor to Sporting News. Check out PFT for up-to-the minute NFL news.
