Tecmo Talent (Practice Theory #2)

We cheer a lot of things as kids. I cheered the Packers despite their general awfulness because my dad loved them. I cheered the 49ers to crush the Broncos because San Fran was to me the best team ever. I cheered John Elway to win - no concern for the contradictions inherent in cheering for both teams on the field - because he was the embodiment of all things quarterback. I cheered Tim Harris more for the six shooters than the bone crushing sacks. I cheered Christian Okoye because of the 'Nigerian Nightmare' poster in my friend’s room.

My friends' sports loves were equally allergic to reason. We were 10 and not very bright. We loved the game. We played it all the time. We couldn’t tell you why, we just got it. And the one thing we all loved equally was Bo Jackson.

I loved Bo for the long fluid runs (I couldn't tell you if I witnessed the 91 yard breakaway live on MNF because I've absorbed the highlight so many times). I loved Bo because of the ad campaign, the quiet cockiness, the fact he knew something very important. He was at once unique and capable of doing anything.

Bo arrived at the right moment, too. I’m sure the synergy of his two-sport athletic prowess and the Nike advertising boom did wonders for his bottom line. No, I’m talking about the explosion of video games. Bo was the star of the first great football video game: Tecmo Bowl. Walter Payton, Montana, Rice, Marino, et al, were great, but everyone wanted to be the Raiders. Bo was even better in Super Tecmo Bowl (yes, yes, I know it’s technically ‘Tecmo Super Bowl’... But really it’s not). Of course, Bo didn’t run for 326 yards every game he played in a Raiders jersey, but something about his unstoppable ability in the Tecmo world captured his uniqueness, a 4.1 40 snug in football cleats.

In 38 career games, Bo ran for 2,782 yards and 16 touchdowns, hardly world beating numbers (though his 5.4 career yards per carry is pretty nifty). A hip injury ended his football career four years in. A chronic condition would take that hip from him and eventually end his baseball career.

So why the love? Because his talent, and consequently his promise, was otherworldly. If chaos is the foundation for our love of the game, then talent like Bo's is the cornerstone. Chaos is anything happening. This Tecmo Talent - to paraphrase the NBA slogan - is amazing happening.

Adrian Peterson hitting the second level is pure Tecmo, as is Peyton Manning rocketing a deep post to Reggie Wayne. Where else in this modern NFL does rare talent intersect with real football?

Maurice Jones-Drew, jaguars. Pocket Hercules. The Human Bowling Ball. The Mighty Mouse MJD. Maurice Jones-Drew is a lot of things. Yet he’s defined by one characteristic: his height. That’s a shame. What the man can do on the field is amazing. He doesn’t really excell at any one thing. He returns kicks, he plunges into the line, he blocks (good lord, can he block) he’s catches the ball with his hands and makes defenders miss.

We could define him by his forty time, a very good 4.39. We could define him by his density, 210 lbs at 5’6”. We could measure his thighs then calculate the pressure of those pistons slamming into the outstretched arms of defenders. Instead, I think of Jones-Drew in the playoff game against Pittsburgh last year. His numbers for the day aren’t great, but he blocked his ass off against the consistent Steelers rush. He slammed through the line for a rushing touchdown. He took a wheel route to the house for a receiving touchdown. And he almost returned a kick off all the way, 96 yards to the one yard line, deftly slicing through the coverage. A near trifecta illustrating we shouldn’t rush to define Jones-Drew until he reaches the limits of his considerable potential.

Mario Williams, Amobi Okoye, and Frank Okam, Texans defensive line. There’s no more, is Mario or isn’t Mario. The freakishly large boy became a freakishly large man last year. Whispers of ‘bust’ already heard under the din of question marks evaporated into thin air. Mario discarded the truck driving hick persona and transformed into the ticking time bomb. And the reason why I love the Texans, they went all in on the line. Selecting tackle Amobi Okoye the next year. The wunderkind: just 21 years old in his second year, brilliant, fast, work ethic like Sisyphus.

Williams and Okoye are a terror tandem enough. But this year Houston also selected Frank Okam. Okam’s an enigma. Ridiculously athletic for a true nose tackle. Tall and huge, strong as hell. But the scouts question his motivation, in part because he plans on eventually attending to law school. Okam, however, is perfect on this line. Mario’s intense focus to live up to the billing, Amobi’s brilliance - he eventually plans on attending med school - plus, crafty veterans like ND Kalu to enforce the party line. Houston went 1-5 in the brutal AFC South last year and still finished 8-8 overall. If Okam gets up to speed this year, who do opponents block? I don’t have an answer for that question either.

Vince Young, Titans. Merril Hoge may be right: Vince Young will never be a true NFL quarterback. Forget the excuses. His decision making is haphazard for stretches. His touch passes lack, well, touch. The report on him reads play contain thereby negating his greatest threat, the breaking run. All I know is two seasons ago, as a rookie, nobody could contain him.

A running QB can't run forever. Last season, during an early MNF game against the Saints, along the sidelines young laid out on his back, his hip stretched by a trainer. Young looked off all season, Dr. Z wondered if his wheel was busted. That ability to run through a defense - upright at a deceiving pace, one that almost looks languid, forging a path through the mayhem, slipping just out of the grasp of would-be tacklers, changing gears fluidly, seamlessly - I hope hasn’t left him. The body is still young. Vince has plenty of time to change his game to suit the precision the League demands. But I don’t care so much about that. I want Vince to play the game for as long as he can flashing that ability to alter the dimensions of the field with a stutter step and plant.

The Death of Steelers football, Steelers offense. When I close my eyes and think of Pittsburgh’s offense, I see offtackle plunges and halfback options. It’s a kind of football one can become deeply attached to. There’s something high school, something Lombardi to it. I’m also not sure if it ever existed in Pittsburgh. Smashmouth football. Our high school coaches used to scream that at us, the argument for why we ran the wishbone option over and over again. Pittsburgh rides and dies by its smashmouth identity. At least, it has.

Bill Cowher was the perfect brick chewing coach to follow Chuck Noll. Whereas Noll kept one of the most talented teams focused in his own low key way, Cowher spit and cursed his team into a larger-than-themselves identity. These teams were hardly the same, but they felt the same. The guard is changing again. The defense is the same. the offense is not. The passing/rushing ratio is still comparable, but there’s more air to the attack. Roethlisberger is a legtimate big-play passer after caretaking a championship team early. And now the skill positions are stacked, Hines Ward’s guile, Santonio Holmes’s burst, Limas Sweed’s control, Willie Parker’s speed, Rashard Mendenhall’s capacity for brutality, etc. And the offense is changing around these parts, more spreads and screens, wheels and delays. I want the Steelers to work out this new newness… While convincing everyone that it’s just more of the same.

Allan Barbre, Packers. I'm trying to convince myself that this simply isn't more Packers homer-ism on my part. We'll see. The major hole in Green Bay prior to Favre's retirement wasn't running back (still a thousand blessings upon Ryan Grant’s head) but left guard. Daryn Colledge was supposed to be the one, starting at guard, groomed for the left tackle once Chad Clifton's knees finally give out. But Colledge has always taken one step forward then one step back. So the Packers who treat the draft like a trip to the candy store drafted more linemen to keep up the competition. Barbre was brought in last year from tiny Missouri Southern State. That’s right, Division II.

So why get so worked up over a small school prospect drafted in the fourth round? Two words: punt gunner. Allan Barbre was Missouri Southern’s punt gunner in college. The man is 6’4” and 300 lbs and can run a 4.8 40. He’s smart and strong. And I’m pretty sure the only thing he wants in the world is to start at left guard for the Green Bay Packers. Or at least, I might be projecting that onto him. Still, there’s some truth in there.

One a side note, today is Fuhbaw's first birthday. It still keeps me up late into the night and it's constantly in need of feeding and changing, but I do love it so. It's been a crazy year, and I hope a successful one. Anyway, in the immortal words of Dirk Diggler, 'I'm gonna keep trying, if you guys keep trying... Let's keep rockin' and rollin', man!'