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<UID>
9002010748
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<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
900824
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Friday, August 24, 1990
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
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<PAGE>
1D
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<ILLUSTRATION>
Photo
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<CAPTION>


:
Joe Watson
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<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
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<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1990, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
LIONS' PICK IN 1950 DODGED DRAFT HYSTERIA
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Down in Houston, not far from where Andre Ware sits this morning -- no
doubt waiting for a phone call from his agent to find out if he's become a
millionaire yet -- there lives another Detroit  first-round draft choice. He's
a little older than Andre. OK, a lot older.

  His name is Joe Watson. Forty years ago, he, too, was in Andre's position.
With a few noticeable differences.

  To  begin with, the Lions never told him he was their No. 1 pick.
  "Back then, there was no draft on TV or anything like that," recalls
Watson, a retired oil company manager. "The day it happened, I was  down at
Rice, where I played college football. I think I was hanging around the
football office. My coach told me I had a phone call. It was the Lions' coach,
Bo McMillin.
  "He told me Detroit had  chosen me in the draft. That's all. Not No. 1.
Nothing like that. Back then, you didn't even care what round you were taken.
It didn't make much difference. Coach McMillin said he'd come down to Houston
to talk to me. And a few months later, he did. 
  "I met him at the Shamrock Hotel. In his room. Just me and him. He said,
'Joe, we'll pay you $7,500 to play this year.' I said, 'Gee, I've got a good
job with Gulf Oil. I don't want to play for less than $8,500.' 
  "He said, 'Joe, That's an awful lot of money.' I said, 'I understand. I'd
rather not play then.'
  "He said, 'Let me talk to my  bosses and see what I can do.' "
  Hmmm. You may have noticed the lack of agents in this story. That's
because there were no agents back then. No agents. No press secretaries. No
personal managers.  No front- office bumbleheads.
  Sounds like heaven, huh?
Less money, more work
  Which is not to say there weren't salary disputes. There are always salary
disputes. I believe salary disputes date back to the Egyptian pyramids, where
one of the workers complained that a handful of water and some dusty bread was
not enough for laboring all day in the hot sun. The task master thought about
this  for a minute, then dropped a boulder on his head. 
  Today, things are more complicated.
  Today, Andre Ware sits in Texas, demanding $1.5 million a year, even as
the Lions play their next-to-last  exhibition game without him. And today,
quarterback Don Majkowski, with only one standout NFL season, sits at home
demanding $2 million a year -- even as his fellow Packers prepare for the
season without  him. 
  And back in 1950, Coach Bo McMillin eventually called young Joe Watson on
the phone and said, "OK, I talked to my bosses and I got you $8,500. Now get
up here and start practicing." And Watson,  an All-America center, came up the
next day. And he started every game that season. He snapped the ball to the
famous Bobby Layne. He blocked for the famous Leon Hart and Cloyce Box.
  And when he  wasn't playing center, Watson was out there on defense,
playing linebacker. "There was never a game that I played less than 50 of the
60 minutes," he recalls. "You went both ways. That was just expected.  They
don't do that today."
  Of course not. If they did that today, they'd want twice the money.
 Two weeks too late
  I ask Watson whether there were any holdouts back then. He laughs and
says,  "Hold out for what?" I ask Watson whether anyone renegotiated in the
middle of a contract. He laughs again. "Almost nobody had a contract for
longer than a year to begin with."
  I ask how he would  have reacted had the Lions offered him a million a
year, as they have offered Ware. "Well," he says, "I wouldn't let an agent
stand in my way. I'd push the agent aside and say, 'Let me sign that contract.
 I'll deal with you later.' "
  Things didn't quite work out that way for Joe Watson. After the 1950
season, the Lions changed coaches. Watson and the new coach, Buddy Parker,
haggled over a $1,000  increase which McMillin had promised. Parker said he'd
talk to his bosses.
  "I told him fine," Watson recalls, "but I asked him to be sure to let me
know at least two weeks before training camp, so I could square things away
with Gulf Oil.
  "Well, the day training camp opened, he called and said, 'I got you
$9,500. Now come on up.' I told him, 'Sorry, Buddy. But I can't do that to my
employers. I told them they'd get two weeks' notice and it wouldn't be
responsible of me to leave now.' "
  He stayed in Texas.
  He kept his promise. 
  He never played football again.
  You talk  to guys like Joe Watson, a happy man with healthy knees who just
turned 65, and you hear words such as "responsibility" and "maturity" and "who
needed an agent?" And you start to realize a few things.  Mostly, you realize
sports were probably a lot more fun back in 1950.
  "If you ever run in to Andre Ware, will you tell him your story?" I ask
Watson before hanging up.
  "Andre wouldn't believe  me," he says, and he's probably right.
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