8802070899
DETROIT FREE PRESS
880831
Wednesday, August 31, 1988
METRO FINAL CHASER
1D
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1988, Detroit Free Press
THE NFL AX DEALS DEATH TO DREAMS
Joe Bushofsky does not look like a killer. His face is wide and soft with
the smile of a favorite uncle. But when you enter his office, especially
during the last few weeks of NFL training camp, chances are something's going
to die. And most likely it's your dreams.
In other eras he might be called "the Turk" or "the Ax" or "The Grim
Reaper." Joe Bushofsky is the man who tells the football players they have
been cut. In the past few weeks he has been busy, lifting the scythe and
bringing the news with one murderous swing of reality. "It is the worst part
of the job," admits the Lions director of player personnel. Like most
executioners, he sighs and says someone has to do it.
"When they sit down in that chair, I say right away 'You're going to be
released today. We have players on our team who are better than you and we
feel like you will not make the team.' "
"That seems so quick," says a reporter.
"Well, you'd like to spend a lot of time with each one, but sometimes you
have one at your desk, one across the office and three more waiting outside,
all here for the same thing. . . . You explain it's a numbers thing or maybe a
money thing. You say there may be other teams interested . . .
"Ninety percent of them understand. They say thank you for the
opportunity. Five percent are sad, they choke up and don't say much.
"And five percent feel they might not have been given a legitimate
chance. Or they can't believe it. One player I remember, he thought for sure
he had made the team. When I told him he was cut, he got very upset. He began
to cry. Then he pulled out a Bible and began to read from it."
"What did you do?"
He shrugs. "You listen. What else can you do?"
Sooner or later, everyone gets cut
It is an empty moment to which anyone can relate. At work? On a date? On
a job interview? It is endemic to life in America that somewhere you will be
told you are not good enough -- by a boss, a lover, a high school coach -- you
are not good enough and someone else is better. We are all, at least once in
our lives, given our unconditional release.
In football it happens all the time. The players come through the office,
they are given the speech, they sign a release form and are asked to drop off
their playbooks before they leave. If they forget or refuse, they do not
receive their final paychecks. Simple as that. The playbooks are part of the
arsenal, loaned, like a rifle given to a soldier; during "waiver days" you can
find a small pile of playbooks in the corner of Bushofsky's office. They are
careers turned in. A secretary gathers them and puts them on the shelf.
Such is the reality of pro sports, the bad news part. You die a little
when you are cut from a team; sometimes more than once. Carl Bland, a wide
receiver for the Lions, was cut in 1985, then brought back, then cut again,
then brought back. Same team. Same year. When a reporter comes to his locker
to talk about the subject, Bland responds with a grin: "Why?" he asks. "Did I
get cut again."
No, he is told. But can you describe it?
"Well, the first time it happens is the worst. It's a deep hurt. Coach
Rogers told me my first time. It was like . . . 'Why? Why me? Why?"
Did you argue?
"No. I just dropped my head."
And then?
"And then you leave. You don't want to hang around and say goodby, even
though you're gonna miss everybody."
Plane tickets are usually waiting. But there are stories of players who
refused to leave. Stories of players who got violent. Stories of players who
volunteered to do anything -- return punts, carry equipment, sweep up -- for
one more chance.
Released. Waived. Axed. Fired.
The words themselves cut the flesh.
'It's the business'
The NFL season begins Sunday. The rosters have been whittled from
70-plus down to 47 players. The killing season inside Bushofsky's office
has, for the most part, come to an end. "It's a relief," he admits, "although
players will still come and go throughout the year. Sometimes that's the
worst. A guy thinks he's made the team, the final cut day passes, and then you
bring in someone new and you have to let the old guy go."
Harsh? Cruel? No. Just reality. This is not a business of seniority.
There is a feeling in football that if you collect enough chestnuts of glory
you will be untouchable, they will have to keep you, but that rarely proves
true. On Monday, a lineman named Doug Betters was cut by the Miami Dolphins;
he was once a star of their celebrated "Killer B's" defense. Clint Didier
poured champagne is last year's Super Bowl; on Monday the Washington Redskins
let his ax fall. Jim Plunkett. Stacy Robinson. Reggie Phillips. All one-time
world champions. All cut this month.
"It's the business," says Bushofsky.
"It's the business," says Bland.
The business. Indeed. Such a distant sport to most of us, football,
something we could never imagine ourselves doing at the NFL level. And yet
this part is very imaginable and very real. You can almost see that player in
the office chair, tears in his eyes, reading the Bible, hoping to find some
phrase that will unlock the door that has just been closed.
"Like I said, it's a deep hurt," says Bland, "but you have to deal with
it." He looks at his locker, the pads, the helmet, the playbook. The tools of
the trade are his for today.
"Hey, if I do get cut, don't come back and tell me, OK?" he says, and the
reporter nods and walks away.