From the Empirical Archives: Crowned by Dan O'Brien

Crowned
LeBron "King" James

Dan O'Brien

Originally published in the September 2012 issue of Empirical

"LeBrown James with Halo"
PHOTO: Craig Hatfield

I have always loved basketball.

When I was much younger I would sit by the TV with a pen and pad and write down the order of the NBA draft as it was announced. I remember quite clearly talking about the free throw percentage of particular players during the playoffs as an indicator of their eventual success. As I grew up, the game changed. Michael Jordan and Larry Bird were replaced with players who no longer seemed bigger than the game, but demanded to be. My brother and I pretending to be Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen as we played on cracked asphalt, shooting a basketball through chain nets, was a thing of the past.

A Tale of Two Brothers: The Harbowl

Examining Jim and John Harbaugh

Dan O'Brien

Photo Credit: theshadowleague.com

Let's face it: the NFL has lost a bit of its luster. Perhaps it is the ridiculous contracts or just the slowing down of the game to make it safer, but there is something about it that lacks the energy it had more than a decade ago. When the only thing we can point to for drama in the game is a late field goal for a win, I think it is time to reevaluate what it is about the game that makes it so enticing. Frothing-at-the-mouth fans tune into the NFL to watch a game that challenges the perseverance and the strength of the human condition, both physically and mentally. I am not going to turn this into a tirade about why distilling the game to a final kick in the final seconds has damaged the league (I will leave that to Skip Bayless), but instead talk about what drew fans to football in the first place: smash-mouth football. 

The Harbowl, as it is affectionately being called, is a return to a much older time in football, better times in the opinion of many fans and analysts .Strong defenses unwilling to give up an inch and a run game that keeps linebackers and defensive backs honest. The Baltimore Ravens have been this kind of team with Ray Lewis as an emotional and physically impressive centerpiece since he walked on the field. Over the past two seasons, the 49ers have emerged from the ashes to become a defensive stalwart and a truly impressive offensive presence. This Brother's Bowl has rejuvenated a love of football for many fans, creating a dramatic stage that has been painfully absent over the past couple of seasons. My inclination is that the threat of a Brother Bowl might lurk long after the final moments tick off the clock in New Orleans this Sunday. 

John Harbaugh

Photo Credit: fox59.com

Following nearly a decade in Philadelphia as a Special Teams coordinator and then working with the secondary and safeties in his final year (2007), John's coaching career really started at Western Michigan University in 1984 as the running backs and outside linebacker's coach in 1984. From 1988 until 2006, John was the man behind the Special Teams, an interesting career path of a coach in the Super Bowl. There has been a lot of talk recently of NFL head coaches who spent time as Special Teams coordinators and the value that front offices might place on that in the head coaching selection process. Looking at John's record, there might be something to that. 

As coach of the Baltimore Ravens, his all-time record of 80-54 (a .675 winning percentage) is quite impressive. The worst record he has carried as head coach was 9-7 in 2009, which was the last time they did not win their division. Going into the Super Bowl, he is 8-4 in playoff games, though he has yet to hoist the coveted Lombardi trophy. 

Jim Harbaugh

Photo Credit: usatoday.com

The turnaround in San Francisco was intense and dramatic and is due to the personality of its coaching staff heralded most prominently by Jim Harbaugh. He has been referred to as a player's coach and I imagine this comes from his time spent on the field doing precisely what he expects of his player's every time they step on the field. There is a mantra that I live by and it has served me pretty well: do not demand something of someone else that you are unwilling to do. Jim Harbaugh has stood in the pocket and taken a hit from Ray Lewis and can demand that toughness of his own players. 

Drafted by the Chicago Bears in 1987 (26th overall), Jim would spend the next 13 years as a quarterback in the NFL. He would not remain with Chicago, spending time in Indianapolis, Baltimore, and San Diego before retiring in 2000. He only posted two winning seasons as a pro quarterback and that was with the Chicago Bears in 1990 and 1991. His journey as a coach began at Western Kentucky in 1994 and then was highlighted by his time at Stanford. It is the radical change in philosophy that we saw transitioning from Mike Singletary to Harbaugh that speaks to his tenacity on and off the field. In only two years as head coach of the San Francisco 49ers, Jim was one game away from a Super Bowl and now coaching in one. He has helped create a football culture in San Francisco that is reminiscent of the Bill Walsh days. San Franciscans have a team to cheer for once again, and they have Jim Harbaugh to thank for it. 

Opinion Time

Who do I think is the better coach? 

This is a tough call. What I would look to in determining this is an upward trajectory in terms of team play. John  made a risky move in bringing on Jim Caldwell to call the offense and it helped propel the Ravens into the Super Bowl. Jim created a stir in San Francisco by benching Alex Smith and starting Colin Kaepernick in his place: this turned out pretty well. If I had to choose one, then I would go with Jim because of the sudden transformation of the 49ers without changing any other piece other than him taking the helm. Jim Harbaugh essentially used the pieces that had been left behind from a sub .500 team the year before and made them a team to be feared in a division that was roundly dismissed until the 49ers started crushing teams and the Seahawks became the upstarts of the league. 

The larger point that looms is that one Harbaugh brother is going to win a Super Bowl and one of them is going to have to watch his brother lift the Lombardi trophy above his head. The novelty of a Harbaugh winning a Super Bowl regardless of who wins is a special moment in NFL history. A conference for Jim and John's parents best illustrates what it means to experience crushing defeat and overwhelming joy in the same breath. 

More about the author: A psychologist, author, philosopher, freelance editor, and skeptic, Dan O’Brien has published several novels and currently has many in print, including: The End of the World Playlist, Bitten, The Journey, The Ocean and the Hourglass, The Portent, The Path of the Fallen, Book of Seth, and Cerulean Dreams.

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From the Empirical Archives: Pulling on Superman's Cape by Dan O'Brien

Pulling on Superman's Cape: A Brief Perspective of Sports Heroes in a Modern World

Dan O'Brien

The NBA's "Superman," Dwight Howard
PHOTO: I'll Never Grow Up

Originally Published in the July 2012 issue of Empirical

Once upon a time, sports were a metaphor for the strength of the human spirit; the tenuous connection between human and myth brought to life when the cameras rolled–in the modern age. The hero’s journey begins in obscurity, and it is the rise to fame–to prestige–that comes to define how we see them; it is in actions tempered by adversity and the opposing forces in their lives, on and off the court. 

We have lived long enough to see the death of the sports hero.

No longer is the player who puts on the bold colors of a hometown team a hero, but rather a clever con to the average sports fan. Cynicism aside, where do we go from here? Strikes have become less about the love of the game and more about shouting matches between players and owners for the shares in a billion-dollar enterprise. When we talk about the pillars of the game in this era, we talk about individual players, not the teams they played for. Every player who can manage to carry a team a few games is ready to look for greener pastures, to play a market flooded with politics and consumerism. The real question becomes: what does it take to be a sports hero? When I think back to the posters I had on my wall, I am reminded of the players who transcended the game.

Let’s keep this to one sport, as I could very easily become highly tangential and follow a course through every major professional sport–with varying degrees of deviation from the mysticism of a sports hero. Basketball has always had an appeal to the average sports consumer who, if they wished, could set up a court in their backyard or beneath the rolling door of their garage.

Legends have played the game. Some–like Jerry West and Michael Jordan–have been immortalized on the memorabilia passed down through the canon of sports discourse. What a player does on and off the court determines the level to which we should respect and talk about them. In the modern era, the notion of the greatest to play the game has become a purely statistical question, and not a qualitative assessment of what a player has given to the game.

When we discuss where a player as physically gifted as Lebron James is in the halls of the mighty basketball gods, we are not all asking the same questions. Statistically, his average points, rebounds, and assists over the course of his career are astounding–easily placing him among the greatest if we go by the numbers. His PER (Player Efficiency Rating) this past season alone borders on the incredible. Taking another superstar of this generation into consideration, Kobe Bryant, we see a similar pattern of incredible numbers and statistical outliers. There is something to be said about the skills of each player, their strengths and weaknesses. But when considering both of these men, we wonder about some of the qualitative aspects of the game in lieu of the numbers they put up. What is truly the difference between these two men in terms of their place among the greats?

Leadership: to me the glaring difference between the two men is leading teams through a season, navigating the ups-and-downs, and being the type of player that is needed. This is not to say that James has not done this, but he certainly cannot claim the same level of authority and je nais se qua on the field that Bryant has exuded his entire career–most notably the two titles runs during the post-Shaq years.

A sports hero is more than a mechanized entity capable of putting up astronomical numbers. On any given night, a player can channel one of the greats and perform at a level that appears otherworldly. But putting any one of those nights in perspective is important in understanding how one becomes a sports legend, and to a greater extent, a sports hero. Being able to do it one night, or one year, is not the same as playing the game with heart. There was a shift somewhere–if you were to ask my father’s generation, it was televising games that replaced heroes of the game, those men and women of the sport who put everything on the line, with iconic statues like the Colossus of Rhodes. A hero of the game rises up when others might stay down, stands and battles when others might linger behind.

As we watched the madness of the Dwight Howard saga, which has in many ways sullied the otherwise superhero-like veneer of arguably the best center in the league, we are struck by a simple question: what does the game mean to this generation’s players? Calling for a coach’s dismissal and then holding a team hostage as he negotiates with larger markets certainly makes Lebron James’ ill-fated Decision seem less of an anomaly among modern superstars.

There is something to be said of the child who has posters of sports icons on their walls, and what those giants of the game mean to them. Is it the case that they want to exude the same strength of character, the pioneering spirit that makes them transcend the game and inspire us to be better people? Or is that we want the same money, access, and prestige awarded with being immortalized so brazenly on the white plaster of a Midwestern bedroom? How do we reconcile heroism and the iconoclastic nature of the modern sports figure? Are we to blame the game, and not the player, as we so glibly comment in self-defense?

Unfortunately, we now only hear the negative aspects of a player’s life: dogfighting, murder, attempted rape, gun possession. The 2011-2012 regular season will be remembered for two things: the truncated, lockout induced season and the vicious elbow Metta World Peace, the player formerly known as Ron Artest, visited upon an unsuspecting James Harden, making us forget all of the positive things he had done to distance himself from his previous image. We wonder, as intellectually honest people, if the seven-game suspension will be enough to deter this kind of behavior, but a question of whether or not the impetus for such a short suspension is an appeal to higher ratings for another possible altercation on the court is certainly forefront in my mind.

When we compare Michael Jordan-theplayer to Michael Jordan-the-owner, we are struck by the reality of possibly the greatest player to ever don a basketball jersey being associated with the worst record in the league. In the legacy of the greatest basketball player ever, there is now an asterisk beside his name: the worst regular season record of any team as owner of the Charlotte Bobcats, and being the type of owner to hide behind yes-men and being responsible for the destruction of a culture that values being a team. Juxtapose this with the heir apparent for Jordan’s crown–Kobe Bryant–sitting out the last game of regular season, and allowing Kevin Durant to assume the scoring title for the season. If the selfishness of this season was not egregious enough, we have Amar’e Stoudemire punching a pane of glass after a loss in Miami. Are either of these the actions of the competitive titans we ascribe them to be in the annals of NBA history, or is a sad statement on the power of sports culture at large? Are we to blame for a culture of sports that supports a cookie-cutter factory for producing spotlight stars that fill stats sheets and highlight reels? Can we really blame that on players who simply want to make the best possible living with the skill set they are most adept with? Do guys like Jeremy Lin–steeped in hard luck stories and meteoric rises–present the greatest opportunity to revive heroism in sports? 

I think the answer is much simpler than that. We often look externally for answers to the problems of our lives, and this problem of heroism in the modern sports figure is no different. The athlete does not have an obligation to be a hero, but rather chooses to be perceived one way or another based on the manner with which fans reinforce their behavior. We want to see more offense and less defense; we want more dunks than lay-ups. Is it any real surprise that vaulting over a Kia represents a shining moment in sports history when its value is traded so highly among fans? If we want to see a game where teams don’t throw in the towel at the end of the season to get a higher draft pick, then we need to demand it. If you don’t like players who use their status to influence the trajectory of the game, then don’t support those athletes–invest your money in someone else. Heroes carry with them the dreams and hopes of those who aspire to be great. They are often lost in the wilderness and through the context of their lives find what it takes to be great, to be a hero. We have to want to be better, and we have to demand more of the sports we love and the men and women who play the game. We must help them in their journey. We must start looking for heroes once more.

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From the Empirical Archives: The Carousel by Dan O'Brien and Olav Bryant Smith

The Carousel: The NFL's Dark Carnival

Dan O'Brien and Olav Bryant Smith

PHOTO: John Martinez Pavliga

Original Published in the June 2012 Issue of Empirical

Joe Montana, Brett Favre, and now Peyton Manning.

For the majority of their careers, these three quarterbacks were synonymous with the cities they carried on their backs every Sunday–through sunny skies and inclement weather. The other thing these hall-of-famers–and all future hall-of-famers–have in common is finishing out bright, record-breaking careers anywhere other than where they had hung their helmets for a decade or more. Some of us who are old enough to remember Joe Montana donning a Kansas City Chiefs’ jersey wonder what the football gods were thinking. The same feeling came when Brett Favre departed from Green Bay–making way for a talented young quarterback–and jumped from the Jets to the Vikings as though he was climbing aboard porcelain horses, faded and greasy, at some mind-bending circus.

A fan imitates the praying posture that Tebow took whenever he reached the endzone. Now, Tebow has been traded to the Jets to compete with Mark Sanchez for playing time.
PHOTO: Alan Light

The house of mirrors that was the quarterback sweepstakes of 2012 was more than a key party gone awry. Teams took gambles, some with untested young quarterbacks–Matt Flynn based on one outstanding game–and others with the future of a coach-quarterback relationship that seemed cemented in stone (Alex Smith and Jim Harbaugh). The landscape of the NFL is a microcosm blown into a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions and personalities that have grown identities all their own.

PHOTO: Matt Martin/Wikimedia Commons

Many of the colors of the current kaleidoscope began to reveal themselves with the decision by the Indianapolis Colts not to re-sign future hall-of-fame quarterback Peyton Manning. Faced with paying Manning (who has undergone four neck surgeries) a $28 million dollar bonus after a season where the team had gone 2-14 in his absence, the Colts opted to seize the opportunity created by the horrible record to draft their possible future franchise quarterback instead. With this decision, a number of quarterbacks who previously thought they were comfortable in their own situations were in the hot seat. The NFL quarterback carousel was turning.

PHOTO: Sharon Chapman

It must be understood that Manning is not just another quarterback. Quarterbacks are often measured in rings acquired, trophies hoisted above their heads, but in the case of Peyton Manning, we need to think critically about being a leader–a coach–on the field. What separates Manning from other quarterbacks–especially for readers who might not be familiar with him–is that athleticism and accuracy are not what make him a great quarterback, but instead his Zen-like philosophy on the field. His intelligence and adaptability is unique among active players at that position. The classic image of Manning is of his coming to the line, assessing the defense arrayed against him, spotting a weakness, and directing his offense on how to attack that vulnerability. He has been more often successful in this than not.

Manning's agent quickly set up visits with other interested teams, and the NFL world watched to see where Manning would go. When it was learned that the San Francisco 49er coaches went in secret to become players in the Manning contest, their presumed quarterback Alex Smith (who had just led his team to the NFC Championship for the first time in many years) was so frustrated by being in the shadow of a potential trade that he visited the Dolphins in pursuit of a new deal for himself. No quarterback, striving as they are to be the undisputed leaders of their respective teams, wants to feel expendable. With Manning on the move, and the carousel turning, the real truth of expendability for a number of these quarterbacks was revealed.

Now Peyton Manning, he of consistency and decade-long loyalty to the Indianapolis Colts, will be donning a Broncos' jersey heading into a season where Tim Tebow had been heralded as the face of the Denver franchise. When we consider how Peyton Manning felt, being shuffled about after a tumultuous season during which he had yet another neck surgery, how does knowing that the NFL is a game predicted on business impact quarterback loyalty to a team?

In light of the media frenzy that was Tebow-mania, this was a startling move. Elevated to starting quarterback mid-season, and leading a then 1-4 team through a first-round playoff win, Tebow earned a certain amount of qualified respect amongst players and coaches. Many fans, and especially Denver Bronco fans, were looking forward to seeing if the Tebow magic would continue next season. With the availability of the phenomenal Manning, however, the would-be hero (Tebow) was swept aside.

PHOTO: Chris Staley

Interestingly enough, it was the New York Jets and the vociferous Rex Ryan who bit and grabbed a player that, in many ways, is a good fit. The Jets have a strong defense–much like the Broncos who used a strong defensive presence to offset offensive failures through three quarters of football–and an offense that likes being physical, perhaps more physical than incumbent quarterback Mark Sanchez is comfortable with. "I'm excited to e here. I'm excited to be a Jet," as espoused by a smiling Tebow amidst a press conference for an alleged back-up quarterback, speaks volumes about what the move to New York means for a team that has struggled to live up to the boisterous expectations of Rex Ryan. How excited is the Jets starting quarterback Mark Sanchez, we wonder, after watching what happened to Kyle Orton (who lost his starting job to Tebow) in Denver? We find ourselves imagining Sanchez sitting in an expensive hotel suite and, upon hearing the news, tossing a double-pump caramel macchiato across his room while sending chairs and tables (overflowing with free merchandise) hurtling to the ground.

What about the press conference for Manning? We seem to recall some photos and stills with Manning holding up a jersey, but no quotes that are traded as comically as Tebow's "I'm excited to be here." In comparison, Manning's arrival in Denver was a quiet affair. But while most quarterbacks are defined by the system of offense they play in or the coaching staff that supports their every move, this is not the case for Manning, who shines regardless of coaching. And this should be most apparent in his first season with the Broncos if he is, in fact, healthy.

So was courting Manning worth the trouble? Denver certainly thinks so as they inked a ninety-six million dollar contract with the star, post neck surgeries. What about the Cardinals? Does Kevin Kolb feel the same sense of commitment and loyalty to a team that would slough him off like so much dead skin if Manning had cleared his throat in their direction? Certainly it would have improved a team with a deep threat like Larry Fitzgerald, but is the anxiety going into the season worth the risk? Does Alex Smith's scare and flirtation with the Dolphins present the possibility of on-field issues for the 49ers next season? Did watching Manning throw passes on the field of the team Matt Hasselbeck is supposed to be a leader of damage Hasselbeck's relationship with his team and coaches next season? Only time will tell.

In the end, though, we are interested in the question of whether or not Manning's flight from Indianapolis was predicated on his being a victim, pushed out as expendable by a greedy franchise, or if it was his desire to be the unquestioned captain of the ship combined with his demand for a risky $28 million dollar bonus that started this dark carnival and carousel turning? Where does the darkness lie? Or is there a bit of darkness to be shared by all sides–the yin and yang of football?

PHOTO: Noel Feans

There is a temptation to see the Colts as the bad guys and Manning as the good guy, but can we really make such a claim? Andrew Luck, who may be, technically and mechanically, a similar quarterback to Manning (without the valuable edge of maturity and experience)–might become the new face of a franchise that was tied so strongly to Manning’s emotional and psychological identity. If the case should be made that football is a metaphor for life and the journey of the self, can we not then imagine a strange but more ideal version of reality where an icon of the game, like Manning, would stick around and mentor a burgeoning quarterback like Luck? Should we not believe that love of the game transcends a bonus that was promised? 

Manning arrived in Denver as a well-paid mercenary. It is true that he is currently the expected savior–a knight in shining armor. But his introduction in Denver did not give us the sense that Manning was thrilled to be there. On the flipside, we have Tim Tebow, a young man who exudes love of the game in lieu of paychecks, smiling about being included on a team that would have him, even as a back-up, not charging for tickets to ride. 

We, in part, want to view this from a distance, to say that these players are paid (or overpaid) vast sums of money to participate in a sport they love and that they have played since being a small child running around with a bucket on their heads. But, as fans, many of us get caught up in the heroic fantasy of their roles in the NFL, and we want to see this heroism bound together with loyalty to a cause, a city, and a people. 

In the end, however, despite how many cameras we shove in their faces, or billboards we erect with their images, these heroes of the gridiron are just people who are, in most ways, like the rest of us. 

The worship of idols by adoring fans, and the belief they are on safe footing, creates egos built on statistics and money instead of dynasties and loyalty to those fans. Manning’s release from the Colts seems to reveal a lack of commitment and loyalty on both sides. Fame and ridiculously high pay scales turn men who love the game into men who talk about themselves in the third-person. On the other hand, Manning was clearly crushed when his demands were not met by the team he had personified for so long. 

Psychological vulnerability is muted, but not discarded, when one reaches the upper echelons of superstardom. While stars titillate and capture the emotions of a captive audience, they appear to be invulnerable and immortal gods experiencing the height of success and happiness. But when the NFL carousel begins to turn, we glimpse the momentary revelation of the humanity of carnival clowns–replete with painted smiling faces and traces of usually well-hidden tears.—Written by Empirical editors Dan O’Brien and Olav Bryant Smith.

PHOTO: Paula Beehner

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