If the Back Don't Fit, You Must Acquit

When the Saints drafted Reggie Bush in the 2006 Draft, everyone tagged him as the poster child for the Saints’ return to New Orleans. He was the savior of a destroyed city, the ray of sunshine materializing from behind the clouds of Katrina. In the end, though, it was the acquisition of Drew Brees that made the biggest difference. With Brees, Deuce McAllister and Joe Horn in place, the Saints’ pro-style offense was already set before Bush ever fell to them at the second pick.

Not only did Bush fail to take over the New Orleans offense, he failed to do much to impress. He went the entire first half of his rookie season without scoring a touchdown and totaling a dismal 2.55 ypc, all while being completely healthy. He was a surefire game-breaker, yet his career-long rush is just 22 yards. This isn’t because the pro-level Bush lost his talent, though. Rather, the pro-level Bush is trying to fit his spherical game inside a square box of an offense.

In no way do I mean to insinuate that the Saints offense is boring, rather linear, or vertical. Brees stretches the field lengthwise with his arm, creating pockets and mismatches. He has pinpoint accuracy at any spot on the field; and as soon as Sean Payton got him under center, his entire offense was fixated around him.



And while Brees makes studs out of Marques Colston, Devery Henderson and Terrence Copper, Bush somehow gets lost in the mix. The Saints have so many offensive weapons that Brees makes better within their vertical game, there’s no reason for them to adapt their entire offense to fit Bush’s more horizontal scope. Whereas the Saints create mismatches and run smart routes, Bush is most effective when he gets out in space and improvises with his legs.

Bush does not fit in a pro-style offense because he is not a pro-style running back. He did play in a relatively pro-style set at USC, but that offense hinged on Bush’s game-breaking ability. He was able to get by without an entire offense committed to his style because he was that much more athletic than the rest of the Pac 10.

Bush was dominant at USC where he forced all his own breaks, but just imagine how he would have played in a system more suited for his skill set, like West Virginia. If an entire offense was devoted to taking advantage of speed and agility, Bush would have had to work even less to embarrass opposing defenses. Or, as dominant as Jonathan Stewart was with Dennis Dixon at Oregon last season, imagine the possibilities if that had been Bush in the backfield instead. If he was given the opportunity to run completely wild, filling any and every slot on the field, his game would have been boundless.

This athletic abundance is reminiscent of another emerging star, Darren McFadden. At Arkansas McFadden was given total freedom on the field, and though the rest of his offense struggled to keep pace, he still excelled in every facet imaginable. Allowed an open role, a transcendent talent can transcend the game.



Bush and Brees are a conflicted backfield, and the rest of the offense dictates that Brees wins creative control. Chances are, Bush’s stats would not be so modest if his backfield partner was more attuned to his athleticism. Vince Young or even David Garrard seem the obvious candidates now, but the true blissful marriage would have been Bush and Vick. The ultimate combination of athleticism in Hotlanta would have turned defenders upside-down, but now that’s an impossibility.



In the end, it’s probably unfair to criticize Bush about his ypc: Bush is of a whole different mindset than the rest of the league. Each time he gets the ball he’s not looking for four yards, he’s looking for six points. He’ll sacrifice a certain three or four yard gain for the possibility of picking up 30 every single time. For him, that’s the biggest adjustment to the NFL. Physically he’s never had to sweat, but mentally he needs to shift his entire paradigm to a more pro model, or at least so long as he’s playing on the Saints.

All of this comes back to the common thread: Bush’s talent is diluted at running back because he is not a running back in the truest sense of the position, and that’s the sense of the position the Saints require. Bush is football’s equivalent of the combo guard. He’s a running back and a receiver, but he’s more athlete than either of those necessitates. His talent transcends his role on the field, yet he has not found an outlet through which to channel his athleticism at the professional level.

The type of commitment required to fully enable a back like Bush in the NFL is far too risky. West Virginia can get away with it because the speed of college teams is often suspect, but the NFL plays with incomparable speed and depth. For a team to commit to one player and such a narrow-minded strategy so wholeheartedly would run the risk of forfeiting four or five seasons because the effects would be that detrimental. But as long as Bush is sharing the backfield with Drew Brees, a return to his glory days as the league’s most exciting back will never come to fruition.

Out With the Busted, In With the Old

(Editor's note: Mad apologies for another Favre post. This is the last one. Probably.)

Rex Grossman gets more ridicule than any other quarterback in the NFL, and rightfully so. Aside from a handful of games in the Bears’ 2006 Super Bowl run, he’s played like hell, amassing 31 touchdowns to his 33 interceptions over five seasons in the league. In reality, though, Grossman is nothing more than a more-hyped Brett Favre.

Grossman thrived in Steve Spurrier’s Run and Gun offense at Florida, earning his bread on long-distance bombs. He was the college game’s quintessential gunslinger. But his reckless play did not match his personality, and his leveled demeanor allowed his mercurial rise to occur early. As a result, he was the victim of high expectations as a youngster.

Favre, on the other hand, had the personality to match his play. He throws a few interceptions? Just Brett being Brett. He’s addicted to painkillers? Brett being Brett. Ultimately, his loose personality let him forget about pressure and enjoy the game, and it also eliminated much of the hype around his skill.



Without reading into his success last year, the Jets think they’re getting that same Favre of yore: the gun-slinging, freewheeling cannon of a man. Last season he kept a 95.7 passer rating, while averaging just less than 260 yards a game. He piled up 28 touchdowns to just 15 picks. Most of all, he led his team to the NFC Championship game and proved to be able to hit Jennings deep with relative frequency.

That’s the most important aspect to the Jets offense. Laveranues Coles has the ability to get over the top of the defense just about whenever he wants, and is extraordinarily good at catching balls in traffic; but Chad Pennington never had the arm to be able to get it deep to him consistently. With Favre, who has epitomized “gunslinger” throughout his career, it would seem that this problem has been solved. It’s hard not to think of Coles as a better Greg Jennings, and Favre had no problem finding Jennings for 12 TD’s last year.



In his first year, McCarthy thought he was inheriting the same situation: a wide-open offense fueled by the deep threat. When allowed to run wild, the aged Favre posted TD/INT ratios of 20/29 and 18/18 in 2005 and 2006, respectively. It wasn’t until McCarthy implemented a version of Bill Walsh’s West Coast Offense in his second season that freed up the deep ball, and helped Favre regain success on the Tundra.

And that’s the conundrum: how can the Jets use Favre to maximize their talent? They can’t expect to have him for much longer than a year or two, so do they unleash the Favre and let him and Coles run defenses ragged, risking copious interceptions; or do they continue pounding the ball with a more effective deep-threat looming?

Favre has to learn an entirely new offense, and if certain aspects of the playbook slip his mind he’d resort to his instincts and improvise. That usually means going deep. If this becomes a consistent occurrence, it becomes a question of whether or not Favre can keep his arm fresh.



The Jets offense has always been sort of a conflicted personality. Pennington was built for a dink-and-dunk system; Cotchery and Coles fitted for a run-and-gun approach. Favre had the ability to fit the style of his wideouts, creating the offensive cohesion that leads to success; but whether or not he still has that ability is what I still cannot reconcile.

“Dent to Cotchery” Newest Jets TD Combination

For nearly two full decades now, Packers Nation has morphed itself into a similar version of Gotham City. However, instead of defending its citizens from mob bosses and schizophrenic, sociopath villains, the Packers Nation’s White Knight has fought formidable opposition season after season, often sacrificing top-dollar payment so the organization could acquire other valuable players. A comparison to Harvey Dent, the District Attorney of Gotham City in the 2008 blockbuster The Dark Knight only seems fitting.

On a late September afternoon in 1992, after the then starting quarterback Don “The Majik Man” Majkowski tore a ligament in his ankle, the Brett Favre Era began in Green Bay. Despite playing poorly, Favre, as he seemed to do his entire career, led a roaring comeback to defeat the Cincinnati Bengals 24-23. In 1994, Favre did something that hadn’t been done since the years Vince Lombardi roamed the sidelines of Lambeau Field: made the playoffs two consecutive seasons.

Just as Favre had returned the Packers to the playoffs and a glorified state, Harvey Dent vowed to give back Gotham to its citizens, removing the city from the grasps of criminals and the corrupted. His “I Believe in Harvey Dent” slogan, good looks, and, most importantly, the promise of being a savior to the city led to his election and allowed him to begin his pursuit of destroying all organized crime in Gotham. Eventually, Dent would set his eyes on the head of the Gotham mob, Sal Maroni—the Super Bowl of criminals.



In 1996, after a 13-3 season and defending their home field in the playoffs as they had always done, the Packers returned to the Super Bowl, behind the play of their then two-time MVP, Brett Favre. In one of the most hallowed seasons in Packers’ history, Favre broke a franchise record by throwing 39 touchdown passes. Accompany this dominant statistical performance with this anecdote. Prior to the start of the 1996 season, Favre found himself in the hospital and then in rehab due to his addiction to and dependence on vicodin. While any similar situation may ruin other player’s careers, or at least taint the reputation of the player amongst the fans, the contrary was true for Favre. Because of his charismatic demeanor, competitive drive, and childlike approach to football, Favre not only maintained his role as fan favorite, but gained even more fan support as the Packers won more and more games.



Dent avoided condemnation from the citizens of Gotham for offenses that warranted
their disapproval. In a very drastic and irrational fashion, Dent opts to arraign hundreds of linked mob members at the same time. In most cases, the average citizen would find the situation absurd and believe the authority in charge is making a mockery of the justice system. However, the citizens embraced the bold move by Dent and saw it as an opportunity for the streets to be free of crime for a short period of time. Also, after Dent falsely identified himself as Batman, he still managed to receive support from clapping bystanders, despite his failure to come forward sooner before innocent people died.

Why do Favre and Dent slide by without some sort of expected punishment? They are publicly seen as the saving force behind their respective organizations.

However, the most important connection to be made between the two White Knights is portrayed as the underlying theme throughout the entire plot of The Dark Knight.

“You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.”

Harvey Dent’s transformation into a villain was blatant and easy to see from the cushiony chairs of the cinema near you. His girlfriend was killed when he was unintentionally chosen to live. Half of his face was burnt from an explosion and he chose to not accept skin grafts or pain medication. He was introduced to the idea of unleashing his anger by the Joker, which he did, leaving his victims subject to chance. It is simple and obvious. His inhumane activities are brought on by rage and revenge. He chose to put himself and his problems above those of the city of Gotham. He outlived his hero-like persona.



Brett Favre’s fall was just as obvious. On March 4th, it looked like he was going to avoid the giant plunge from hero to villain when he announced his retirement. However, his provoking itch, that annoying, stupid itch, to play enticed him to request reinstatement, despite the fact the Packers had moved on and appointed Aaron Rodgers the new leader of the Pack. Brett pleaded he just wanted to play. Unfortunately, Favre’s supposed desire to “just want to play” must have been on an extended coffee break while Brett failed to arrive at practice the first day he was eligible. Demanding his release, which was thankfully not granted, was the ultimate symbol of Brett’s plummet to “villainhood.” For years, the Packers Nation believed that Brett sacrificed himself and his own statistical glory and fame so the team would be successful. By releasing Favre, the Packers would have gotten nothing other than more cap room, which would have been completely unnecessary as they already were $30 million below the cap. Brett didn’t and doesn’t care about the Packers. It has been about his personal desire to play. Packers’ fans have been duped by their own White Knight.



Favre’s career in Green Bay was phenomenal, but his inability to walk away from the game and stay away provided an inside look to Brett Favre, the villain.

Wildcat Ver. 4.0

In the NFL, the worst thing a GM can do is to lose sight of the “big picture”. More than any other popular US sport, football is the definitive team effort. Assembling an offense is in many ways more about achieving a certain balance than it is about acquiring the brightest talent. This is all pretty fundamental: even the best running back can’t gain yards with a terrible line; even the best quarterback can’t complete passes to shoddy receivers; even the best line can’t push a garbage running back through a hole.

The Cowboys exhibit this balance with Tony Romo’s excitable arm paired with TO, whose speed and downfield abilities are stabilized by Jason Witten. Marion Barber’s powerful, downhill running with a penchant for finding the endzone was last year paired with the more graceful yard-eater Julius Jones, and now is complimented by Mr. 7.6 ypc Felix Jones.

On the other side, the Vikings have an outstanding line paired with one of the league’s best backs. Their defense is also tops, but their lack of an effective passing game will most likely destroy their playoff chances. The success of one part of an offense depends on the success of another. The success of the team depends on the fluid functioning of all its parts, offense and defense alike.



Or at least that’s the way football’s been. The obvious exception is the 2006 Chicago Bears. A defense so powerful that it made up for its laughable passing game. Back then Thomas Jones and Cedric Benson was a pretty formidable running tandem, but Rex Grossman was at his very best an “eccentric” passer.

So in some respects this answers the question: it is possible to synthesize a team’s balance by overachieving in one or more spectrums. However, at least to the extent that history dictates, this balance is tenuous at best, and banking on your heavy side over-performing is beyond risky.

But in many ways that is what the Raiders have done. When they drafted Darren McFadden instead of someone they actually needed, many thought they assured themselves another top pick in the ’09 Draft. They don’t have much of a defense, and their passing game really relied on Jamarcus Russell and Javon Walker both clicking at training camp; but boy can they run. All reports from Raiders camp are that McFadden has only exceeded expectations, and the guys behind him are nothing to scoff at, either.



In Justin Fargas, McFadden, and Michael Bush, the Raiders have three legitimate rushing threats. Whether or not Bush gets as many carries as he deserves, each of these backs has the potential to go for 150+ yards each game.

Obviously, this won’t be enough. It’s hard enough to win games on nothing but offense (see: Bengals), and relying solely on a run game is the same approach that landed the Raiders towards the bottom of the league last season, albeit with a slightly less talented backfield.

Even if somehow Jamarcus realizes the potential the Raiders expect of him this year, the Raiders are still looking at a modest gain. They’re still a receiver or two shy of a truly dangerous aerial attack, making the net gain of their O over the offseason the replacement value of McFadden over Dominick Rhodes.

It has been proven that transcending the give-and-take relationship is possible, but only in extreme circumstances and with trivial gains. The pieces of a football team aren’t usually as interchangeable as in other sports, the obvious exception being McFadden at Arkansas. Position molds aren’t as malleable in football, and the NFL’s position rules make it even harder to rearrange parts without sacrificing the efficiency of the function.



I like to think of the 2001 Patriots as the manifestation of this balance in football. They were a bunch of no-names, underdogs to the star-studded Rams team in Super Bowl XXXVI. At that time the team electing to be introduced as a team instead of individually was still a rather radical image that captured the essence of a strong unit overpowering a strong group of talent. However, their level of success the following years makes that group seem more the product of outstanding talent development and coaching than the embodiment of cohesion.

Still, the Raiders provide an interesting case study as to how possible overcompensation is on a football team. Basketball players are often talked about having the ability to make those around them better, but what kind of affect can a player have from a more restrained role?

Heat Miser Is The Grinch’s Nephew, Just Harsher

(Editor's Note: This is pretty long and ranty. The rest of these probably won't be so ranty.)

The difference between Hegel’s World Historic Individuals and Hobbes’ vainglorious citizens is notoriety. There is a direct relationship between how well-known a person is and how large of an impact his or her actions have on others. In Crime and Punishment it was the difference between a utilitarian milestone and homicide, but Raskolnikov’s hindsight was not so skewed. Identifying World Historic Individuals in advance is a senseless venture: they’re defined by the impact their actions have on the majority, not the other way around.

Once an Individual is designated, though, his or her actions can be scrutinized justifiably. After all, the outcome of his or her actions affects a multitude of lives in one way or another, so it is only right that they're held accountable to a higher degree than the average person. The decisions of an Individual serve as a narrative of life for the rest of us.



Once Avon Barksdale and Stringer Bell’s personalities failed to operate in unison, they both went down, opening the door for a third party. This new wave of drug trafficking was described by Slim Charles as, “The game’s the same, it just got harsher.”

Bodie was the last living descendent of the Barksdale ethos. He wasn’t money-oriented like Stringer Bell, nor was he ego-oriented like Marlo. He was winning-oriented. He loved money and hated nothing more than being one-upped by some bitch-ass corner, but none of that came above loyalty or the unspoken code of the street. Regardless of the situation, nothing was bigger than the game, not even his friendship with Wallace. His gang’s actions held importance far beyond his own reach, and he was held responsible to that fact.



Bodie’s death officially marked the end of the “old” game, and demonstrated the full takeover of the new age of crime, focused on money over loyalty, ends over means, not being held accountable to the masses.

While Bodie was still alive, hope still lingered for a revival of the old ways. Michael was the ultimate illustration of this hope. An incredibly skilled dealer and hit-man, he shared Bodie’s convictions against senseless killings and for playing the game the right way. Imagine a Michael and Bodie coalition, a retroactive renaissance teaching kids the “right” way to deal drugs and handle their business, if ever there was one. Drugs are never leaving Baltimore, but at least they could have remained with some sense of boundaries to the deeds.

Without that leader, though, Michael was left to follow in Omar’s footsteps, perpetuating the violence and fear that already riddled the streets of a broken city. All hope was lost, and everybody (especially Dukie) is worse for it.

Likewise, the Rays represent the last hope for America. Whether or not the Rays stay intact will be a narrative for the future of America’s priorities. If the Rays can manage to win continuously without recycling their players like the Marlins or shuffling prospects like the A’s, they will pave a path of righteousness on which a younger generation can follow.



Baseball is a great display of how money and happiness exist on separate planes. The Mariners have a payroll in the top ten in the league, yet they were essentially out of the playoff race before the all-star break. And there’s no real lesson to learn because we can’t expect to see Adrian Beltre or JJ Putz take a pay-cut next year to play for a contending team. And if baseball players won’t take a pay-cut for the sake of winning, how can we expect anyone else to?

There are two main arguments against steroids in baseball. The obvious is that it’s cheating and tarnishing the legacy of a sport built on tradition, but another problem is that it is a bad influence on kids. If professional athletes take steroids, we should expect kids to follow suit. The dangers of steroids are real, but in calling hearings on this matter, Congress has turned its cheek to another pressing concern.

We hold athletes to such a standard that it is hard to think of them as much less than World Historic Individuals. They are the beacon of human accomplishment because they are everything we want to be. They have changed the way we view ourselves and reprioritized our lives, though what makes them different from Nelson Mandela and MLK Jr. is that they’ve done so without any sort of campaigning, persuasion or radical ideals. Though, by demanding such ridiculous salaries and surrounding our lives on all media outlets, they have at least asked for as much attention.

Aligning Barry Bonds with Nelson Mandela sounds like slander, but the truth is each of us spends more time thinking about sports on any given day than we do about politics. Sports have essentially no impact on our daily lives, though we find it necessary to devote at least some portion of each day to it. What we’re really doing is focusing on the smaller picture of sports, which in many ways mimics the big picture of world politics. Sports is the microcosm from which we develop our perceptions of the world at large. Jackie Robinson’s pioneering spirit and smooth athleticism was MLK’s groundbreaking strides and fluid speeches. Evan Longoria’s attractiveness, humility and flawless defense is Barack Obama’s attractiveness, down-to-earth mannerisms and foreign policy.



The sports market is, resembling that of America’s, purely Capitalistic. Capitalism is great because it provides the opportunity for anyone to succeed, that is, become wealthy. A company’s job is to provide a product or service to the populace. How well a company is compensated depends on how useful this product or service is to its consumers. The surplus of worthless trinkets and equal-quality goods being sold at varying prices demonstrates the superiority complex of entrepreneurial minds. Capitalism creates an atmosphere of greed that transcends this producer/consumer relationship, though, to the point where a company’s main goal is no longer to serve, rather to reap.

And therein lies the problem: avarice has become a social epidemic. If you hold that an athlete using steroids substantially influences a child’s decision to do the same, then you must simultaneously hold that an athlete leaving a successful organization for a phatter check will assure youngsters to adhere to the same ideology. There are congressional hearings on steroids. There are movies explaining the devastating impact of roids in professional sports on high school kids. There are rallies demanding stricter testing. But where are the activists when it comes to this issue? Where is the rampant opposition holding picket signs and chanting obscenities at Roger Clemens? The truth is, there is no overbearing opposition because the players’ lifestyle choices have sucked in more than just the kids. That’s not to say that everyone has been lured in, rather that this problem has a broader grasp than steroids. Whereas all parents can see the ill effects of chemical enhancements, many are blinded by the bling.

In this way, the Rays are Bodie. If the Rays can lock up their top talents with their modest offerings, there’s still hope for an olde tyme revival in which capitalism is not synonymous with greed. However, if they go the way of the Marlins and are gunned down on the street corner by new spenders from Detroit, New York or Chicago, we’re all screwed. But if this Wire metaphor is to hold, at least we know that the Rays won’t go down without a fight. They’ll stay put, guns ablazin’, just all alone and ridiculously outnumbered.