9301040206
DETROIT FREE PRESS
930127
Wednesday, January 27, 1993
METRO EDITION
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 CHASER 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 note pads flying. It was Opening Day of Media Assault here at the Super
Bowl, a scene which every year, I am convinced, should be filmed not by ESPN,
but by Cecil B. DeMille.
And yet, here, 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 busses, 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 feels normal in this blitzkrieg, with the sweat
of reporters dripping 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.'
"And 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.' "
There you have it. 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. For the impossible experience in meeting all these Super
people, try memorizing a family that dwarfs the Waltons.
"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? Of course, those who remember Irvin
from his Miami days -- some said 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 six catches he recently
made in the playoff win over Philadelphia, and the six more he caught in the
NFC championship in San Francisco.
Hey. With 17 brothers and sisters, a guy has to find some way to stand
out.
"How many siblings 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.' "
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.
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
and slap hands with customers. He talked trash until gum wrappers were
embarrassed.
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, his trash talk
more selective. He bought his mother a new house and his brothers and sisters
just about everything they asked for. At 26, he is just hitting his stride,
and he is right where he seems destined to be, 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 with air-conditioning this time.
FOOTBALL; SUPER BOWL; PREVIEW