9301040203
DETROIT FREE PRESS
930127
Wednesday, January 27, 1993
METRO FINAL
1D
Photo Color SUSAN WALSH Associated Press
:
(SUSAN WALSH/Associated Press)
Cowboys receiver Michael Irvin, right, poses with Dodgers
outfielder Eric Davis during Super Bowl media day.
MITCH ALBOM
BUFFALO DALLAS: SUPER BOWL XXVII ; SEE ALSO METRO EDITION, Page 1D
Copyright (c) 1993, Detroit Free Press
IRVIN CATCHES ON QUICK WITH SUPER MEDIA BLITZ
LOS ANGELES -- The gates opened and the beasts came running. Cameras
bounced on shoulders, boom microphones swung like lances, reporters dashed
with notepads flying. It was Opening Day of Media Assault at the Super Bowl,
a scene that every year, I am convinced, should be filmed not by ESPN, but by
Cecil B. DeMille. And yet smack in the middle was a man who did not flinch.
A man who sat with his legs crossed, picking lint off his uniform. It takes a
certain kind of man to feel so at home among 1,000 raging journalists, 500 TV
cameras, 20 tour buses and MTV's (Downtown) Julie Brown in a see-through
blouse.
Michael Irvin is the man.
Of course, that's what he says: Michael Irvin is the man. The Man. As in
Mr. Big Play, Mr. Clutch. As in that picture he keeps in his Dallas Cowboys
locker, where he is gliding to yet another touchdown, above the inscription
"On my way to the bank, hoss. . . . C'Ya."
Humility has never worn his number.
And yet, the reason Irvin, the Cowboys' star receiver, feels relaxed with
so many reporters sweating dangerously close to his Rolex, is simple: He is
one of 17 children.
Crowds? What crowds?
"Let me tell you about growing up in a three-bedroom house with all those
kids," Irvin says. "All us boys slept in one bedroom, all the girls slept
in the other. I was the youngest at the time. Now, this was Florida, and it
was really hot. And we only had one fan, see? You had to call the fan to get
it. Early. Like, at 6 a.m., someone went, 'We got the fan tonight.' And most
of the time it was the girls.
"So we boys are in our room, and we're burning up, we can't sleep, and the
girls are knocked out because they got the fan. And since I'm the youngest, my
brothers are like, 'Mike. Go get the fan.'
"And I'm like, I'm not getting the fan.
"They're like, 'Go get the fan!'
"So I have to sneak into my sisters' room and get the fan while they're
sleeping, and I always got caught and I always got beat up."
"Wait," a reporter says. "Your sisters beat you up, or your brothers?"
"My sisters! My brothers were like, 'Aw, man, Mike, you let them beat you
up? You gotta be tougher than that. Go get the fan again.' "
Roll call is problematic
Well. I often wondered what the proper training would be for Super Bowl
week. Now I know. Try being 17th in line for dinner.
Better yet. Try taking roll.
"How many brother and sisters?" Irvin is asked.
"Nine sisters, six brothers. Including me."
"So there were . . . 15?"
"No, 17. Nine plus six, plus one. That's 17."
"That's 16."
"It is? No. Wait. Nine sisters, um, whatever. I can't add."
"Can you name them?"
"Oh, please."
The truth is -- we think -- Irvin has 10 sisters and six brothers. But who
needs arithmetic when you have attitude? And those who remember Irvin from
his Miami days -- some said he was the biggest mouth in Florida this side of
an alligator -- know attitude is not a problem. Neither are big games. Irvin
never met a big game he didn't like. Like the winning touchdown in the Orange
Bowl for the national championship. Or the 12 catches he recently made in
playoff wins over the Eagles and 49ers.
Hey. With 16 brothers and sisters, a guy has to find some way to stand
out.
"How many siblings are coming to the game?"
"I don't know," he says. "I gave my wife the tickets, the checkbook, and I
said, 'You take care of it.' "
A blessing
Irvin's mother, Pearl, who clearly deserves a Congressional medal of
honor, was the wife of a minister. She claims she knew Michael, her 15th
child, was special because in church one day, when she was pregnant, she
heard a whoosh sound and felt a pressing on her belly. This, she felt, was a
sure sign Michael was blessed. That, or destined to be a blowhard.
Most would say a little of both. Irvin was famous in college for wearing
inch-thick gold chains and medallions the size of Brazil. He would run into
the stands after a touchdown. He talked trash until gum wrappers were
embarrassed.
He once boasted of his naughty Hurricane teammates, "No. 1 with the UPI,
No. 1 with the FBI."
But Irvin always delivered. He holds the record for catches at that
pass-happy school, and he led the NFL in receiving yardage in 1991. He is a
big-play maker on a team of big-play makers. And he says -- and others confirm
this -- that his act has mellowed. His jewelry has diminished. He bought his
mother a new house and his siblings almost everything they asked for. At 26,
he is just hitting his stride, and this week he is back to his roots: in the
middle of a crowd.
"I've done a lot of things in my life," Irvin says, "but if God called me up
today and said 'We're gonna start this over again, what race do you want to
run, I'd say the same race. The same race all over."
Maybe two fans this time.
FOOTBALL; SUPER BOWL; PREVIEW