I'm not sure when the heavy metal head-bangers completely took over the NFL and made it all about brutality instead of ferocity. But that's sure what it looks like, doesn't it? Collisions have replaced tackling. Trash talking (occasionally by a head coach) has replaced pep talking.
And about once or twice a week, a player leaves a game in an ambulance. Then we watch the video replays of the hit that put him there and pretend that we regret it.
For years, boxing fans would tell me that their sport was no more violent than football, so I should stop decrying the violence of the fight game. My counter-argument was this: Football is fundamentally different from boxing because in football, the goal isn't to hurt the other guy and make his body unable to function. It is to move the ball downfield and score points.
But after 12 weeks of this NFL season, I am afraid I have no counter-argument. None. If anything, professional football in the Tagliabue era has become more violent than boxing.
Why do I say this? At least in boxing, when a man knocks out another man, the first man goes to a neutral corner and stands there respectfully. In the NFL today, when a man knocks out another man, the first man does a little taunting dance, then is interviewed by ESPN, then gets a big off-season raise.
Look, football is a nasty game. Always has been. Always will be. But the goal is supposed to be finding open spaces to move the ball -- and using your body to move an opponent's body to create those open spaces. Or, if you are on defense, not allowing your opponent's body to move yours, so that you plug up those open spaces and stop the ball carrier.
In the old days, which is to say 10 or 15 years ago, that meant crisp blocking and tackling. Those of us dinosaurs who played high school football in the dark ages can still recite our coach's mantras of ``wrap him up, wrap him up'' and ``without his legs, he can't go anywhere.''
It was simple physics at work. By burying a shoulder in the other guy's gut, then putting your arms around his upper legs so that your hands met each other on the other side of his thighs, then lifting and pushing him downward, you were preventing him from gaining yardage and making a first down.
Well, forget about that now. Today, the main defensive ``technique'' has been summed up succinctly by former Chicago Bears defensive end Doug Atkins, a Hall of Famer who played in the 1950s and 1960s. He was recently interviewed by the Chicago Sun-Times and said succinctly: ``No one on defense tackles anybody anymore. They just run into people.''
He's right. The idea now is, if you hit the other guy hard enough, he will fall down and end the play, or maybe even lose the ball. You saw it in Sunday's games. You saw it in Monday night's game between the 49ers and Eagles.
Trouble is, maybe one out of three or four times, the other guy absorbs the hit and keeps going, which must make the old football coaches in the viewing audience go nuts. This slam-dance philosophy was popularized by former 49er Ronnie Lott, who loved to make the big hit and draw a ``woo'' from the crowd.
But here's the thing: If you watched Lott's game carefully, he only went for the ``woo'' when he could tell it would work. Otherwise, he was still a wrap-up guy. I don't ever remember Lott slamming into someone and then letting him run away with the ball. I also don't recall Lott ever celebrating a big hit with a look-at-me gesture.
The NFL front office, to its credit, is attempting to be more diligent about these hits, raising both the number and amount of fines -- usually for dangerous hits perpetrated by safeties against wide receivers. But with a lot of the other stuff, the league still looks the other way.
That's what occurred Sunday in Tampa, Fla. After an interception by the Buccaneers, defensive lineman Warren Sapp went searching for Packers offensive lineman Chad Clifton, then decked Clifton with a blindside ``block'' far away from the ballcarrier. The hit was legal and no penalty was called, but Clifton went down in a heap, temporarily lost feeling in his extremities and was carried off the field. Sapp did some celebratory gesticulating.
After the game, Packers Coach Mike Sherman confronted Sapp about the play and the celebration, whereupon Sapp fired back some verbiage that basically challenged Sherman to put on a uniform and get it on.
Monday, the league reviewed the situation and announced that neither Sapp nor Sherman would be fined. But in watching the video clips of the whole deal over and over Sunday night -- the clear attempt to damage Clifton and knock him out, followed by the screaming and finger pointing -- I was struck by an inescapable thought:
The only thing missing from the picture was Don King.
By Mark Purdy
Mercury News