10 March 2001
Troy Aikman
Troy Aikman was waived by the Dallas Cowboys earlier this week. I've put off writing about it because I wanted time to do it right. To a longtime Cowboy fan who grew up in Oklahoma, it's more significant than just a legendary team cutting a legendary player. To be sappy, it's a little sad. I was finally prompted to write something when I discovered an article in the Dallas Morning News today that describes how "matter of fact" everyone involved (Troy, Jerry Jones, Leigh Steinberg, league officials) in the decision was about it. Now, anyone who knows me understands well that I tend not to overreact to much of anything. But a hastily called press conference to announce "we're moving in a different direction" followed by Troy on the phone talking about the amicable parting? That seems like an underreaction.
In a way, though, it was vintage Troy Aikman. Many of Troy's critics -- who were surprisingly silent when he was winning super bowls before the offensive line became so truly offensive it turned his brain into puree -- were quick to criticize his permanent icy stare in recent years. Why couldn't Troy run around like Brett Favre, or yell and scream at his teammates to fire them up?! Why just that intense stare when the team started its decline, when receivers couldn't run the right routes to the ball that was inevitably thrown right where it was supposed to be, when the offensive line couldn't prevent another concussion, when Barry Switzer couldn't seem to figure out how to plug in his headset, let alone coach a super bowl contender? Aikman left Dallas as he started -- with that icy stare that epitomized his competitive nature more than any yelling or screaming he might have ever done.
NFL and Cowboys fans are worse for his leaving to join (he hopes) another team. The man is a shadow of what he once was, and there is a real risk one vicious hit could make him the first NFL player killed on the football field. Nobody wants to see that. I certainly don't. I want to remember Aikman completing those precision passes at crunch time and winning Super Bowls. I want to remember the small-town Henryetta OK kid as one of the most accurate passers in NFL history. I want to remember that icy stare after a touchdown completion, not the groggy confusion of another concussion. Michael Jordan, perhaps the most competitive athlete who's ever lived, knew when to hang it up. Michael knew that the sight of Michael stumbling instead of soaring was not something anybody -- least of all himself -- wanted to see. The clips I've seen of Willy Mays -- probably the greatest baseball player ever to play -- falling down in the outfield because he hung around too long are just too sad. Nobody wants that of the great ones.
So here's a thank you to Troy for all the years of excellence. I wish reclaiming the glory and greatness could happen just by donning another uniform. But it won't. It can't. And it will be sad to watch.
[Posted @ 10:05 AM CST]
