9401040118
DETROIT FREE PRESS
940126
Wednesday, January 26, 1994
METRO FINAL
1C
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1994, Detroit Free Press
ONE SUPER SEASON FOR REJECTS MURRAY, KOSAR
ATLANTA -- When Eddie Murray went on his honeymoon last year, he packed
footballs.
And when the happy couple arrived in Hawaii, they got in a car, and went
looking for an open field.
"You can kick between those two palm trees," said Cindy, Murray's wife,
pointing out a target.
Murray nodded, set up about 40 to 50 yards back, and began to boot them.
One after another. Footballs through palm trees. Day after day, this was his
honeymoon. Footballs through palm trees.
At one point, some kids came by, and Murray said he'd give them each five
bucks if they'd retrieve the balls and bring them back. They agreed -- until
the balls landed in some colorful bushes.
"No, no, those are poison," they said, shaking their heads and backing
away.
And Murray laughed, because, in his own way, he knew how they felt. He'd
been a little poisoned. Nobody wanted to touch him, either.
When you're cut from a football team, the whispers start. It doesn't
matter who you are or what you've done. So when Murray was let go by Detroit,
after 12 years, the whispers were that he was too old, he was finished. Why
else would the Lions cut him?
He sat unemployed for the first half of the 1992 season. Depressed, he
kept working out, sometimes wondering why he bothered. He fell into a familiar
pattern for aging ballplayers: watch the games on Sundays, see if anyone
screws up or gets injured, then wait by the phone Monday, hoping that guy's
team will call.
"Every time the phone would ring," Murray says now, "I would get a little
jolt."
He went to seven tryouts. Some went well. Some not so well. All ended in
"no thanks." He signed for one week with Kansas City, kicked a 52-yard field
goal, and was released the following week when the regular kicker came back.
Murray hooked on with Tampa Bay and finished the season, but by the following
fall, he was unemployed again. Thirty-seven years old and back by the phone.
On the second Monday of the season, it rang.
It was the Dallas Cowboys. . . .
Still good enough for Cowboys
Bernie Kosar was a folk hero in Cleveland. A local kid who saw his dream
come true when he was drafted by the Browns. Cleveland? He wants to go to
Cleveland? He quickly became a star, and was arguably the most popular athlete
that city had in the '80s. At least while the Browns were making regular
playoff appearances. He did charity work. He spoke intelligently. He had
friends. He had money.
But a new coach and a disagreement over how the offense should work and
suddenly, the local hero was no longer wanted by management. In the middle of
this season, he was cut. Not traded. Not shopped. Just cut. Bernie Kosar?
"He's finished," they whispered.
Here is how big that story was in Cleveland. The owner of the Browns,
Art Modell, was advised by his PR staff not to read the local newspapers the
day after Kosar was cut. Modell took the advice, but nonetheless called the
office and asked how the papers had played the event.
"As if the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor," he was told.
None of which did Kosar any good. He was unemployed. They said his "skills
had diminished." His contract was not guaranteed, and suddenly, neither was
his future.
"That was the first time in my life that anyone told me I wasn't good
enough in sports," he said. "Going back to junior high school even, it was the
first time."
He was stung. His pride was bleeding.
The phone rang.
It was the Dallas Cowboys. . . .
Whispers become cheers
The story line on this Super Bowl is deja vu, already been here, repeat
and repeat. Same teams as last year. Same coaches. Same big stars.
But Murray and Kosar represent a small minority of players who floated
down to Atlanta on a thankful cloud. When the season began for each of them,
the idea of making a Super Bowl was laughable. Now, here they are, in the
Georgia Dome, talking to reporters from around the world.
"I'll be starry-eyed all week," Murray says.
Of course, the greatest irony is that either one of these two might win
the game for the Cowboys. Kosar came in for an injured Troy Aikman in Sunday's
NFC championship and threw a touchdown pass that iced the victory. Should the
slightly woozy Aikman get knocked out again, Kosar would suddenly be Super
Moses, asked to lead the Cowboys to the promised land.
And Murray? Well. You know how kickers are.
"Would you want this game to come down to a last-second kick for a win?"
he is asked.
"Absolutely," he says.
What could be better? Most of the time, football is about people far
stronger than us, more powerful, seemingly invincible.
Here, then, is a Super Bowl with a subplot for the Everyman. All of us
have been cut at some point, all of us have been told we're not good enough.
Keep your eye on the sidelines Sunday, for couple of guys with diminished
skills. They might just teach what by now should be obvious: Sometimes, it's
not the skills that count the most, it's the heart.