9902010049
DETROIT FREE PRESS
990201
Monday, February 01, 1999
METRO FINAL CHASER
8D
Photo
Eugene Robinson
MITCH ALBOM
RAN IN STATE EDITION ON PAGE 1D
Copyright (c) 1999, Detroit Free Press
IT'S NOT ABOUT SEX; IT'S ABOUT LACK OF CHARACTER
MIAMI-- I was awakened Super Bowl morning by a phone call from a radio program that
wanted to know if I was shocked.
No. The only thing that shocks me is that a radio program, a TV network, a
newspaper reporter or anyone in this tangential business of covering sports
thinks they really know what "kind of guy" a player is.
We don't know anything. Professional athletes hide their bad sides from the
outside world with the winking allegiance of teammates, agents, coaches and
sycophants. It's not just the media. Earlier on Saturday -- the same day that
Robinson, the Atlanta free safety, was accused of soliciting a hooker -- he
was given the Bart Starr Award for "high moral character" by Athletes in
Action. I guess they thought they knew what "kind of guy" he was, too.
High moral character? Based on what? Some visible charity work? Making a few
commercials? I can find you 100 counselors, teachers and ministers who do more
in a week than Robinson does all year -- and they are never celebrated, or
given a plaque.
"High moral character" may be easily etched on the bottom of an award, but
that doesn't make it so. And portraying yourself as a player who wouldn't do
something deceitful and stupid the night before a big game apparently does not
make it so, either.
Robinson wanted attention
Of course, being arrested didn't keep Robinson from playing in Sunday's Super
Bowl. The police released him to the Falcons' general manager. And hours
later, he was running through the tunnel at Pro Player Stadium.
What hypocrisy. Here is Eugene Robinson talking earlier in the week, when
thousands of reporters were writing down the glib speeches he delivered:
"I set an example. I have experience. I'm telling all the guys on our team,
don't come to practice tired because you will hear about it! Nighttime is for
sleeping!"
This from the same guy who allegedly asked an undercover cop for oral sex less
than 24 hours before kickoff.
But then, the speeches, the glibness, the outrageous statements, these were
all part of Robinson's "act" this week. Many players now come to the Super
Bowl with an "act." They see this game as a chance to market themselves for
bigger and better things.
So Ray Buchanan, the Atlanta defensive back, came in "guaranteeing" a win and
wearing a dog collar. Shannon Sharpe, the strangely unfunny and unoriginal
tight end for Denver, who is celebrated for being funny and original, spent
all week running his motor mouth, only to spend most of the actual Super Bowl
on the bench with an injury.
And Robinson, the Pro Bowl safety. He had a huge crowd around him all week. He
told everyone how his excellent reputation and his experience in three
straight Super Bowls would be instructional for younger players. He told
everyone how Atlanta was a great, undiscovered team that nobody respected.
"We're like Superman. Most of the time we're Clark Kent. But then somebody
calls 'Superman! Superman!' And there we come!"
Reporters laughed. They scribbled it down. They fed the gobbling media machine
that makes images in this country.
And none of those images are remotely close to the truth.
If Robinson were so much about teaching the younger players, what was he doing
in downtown Miami, after dark, the night before the Super Bowl? If he's such a
"focused" athlete, why is he allegedly asking an undercover cop for oral sex?
And if he's such a family man, a leader, an award winner of "high moral
character," then what about the fact that his wife and family were in town?
Why wasn't he with them instead of on the street?
Maybe he figured since no reporters were around, it didn't count.
Respect? Guess again
Now a few things need to be understood here. Robinson would not be the first
player to carry on badly the night before the Super Bowl. He wouldn't even be
the first one to do it the night before a Miami-based Super Bowl. Ten years
ago, in this same town, Stanley Wilson, a Cincinnati fullback, disappeared the
night before the game in a drug-induced stupor. He never played again.
And there are questions to be asked of the Falcons, as well. Such as why did
Dan Reeves, the coach, not bench Robinson for the game? While a man is
innocent until proven guilty, there's no denying this disrupted the team, no
matter what they might say. As it turned out, Robinson played like a man
distracted. He had an awful Super Bowl, and got burned on the biggest play of
the game, an 80-yard bomb from John Elway to Rod Smith that left Robinson
flat-footed, running three yards behind.
Another question for Reeves: Why not have some sort of team activity (or at
least a team meeting) planned for Saturday night as a hedge against the
temptations of a party town like Miami? Perhaps that's treating men like
children. But they already have a curfew. And if you've watched any of the
silly prancing and dancing going on with the players this week, you're tempted
to say, "If they're gonna act like children ..."
Still, none of this is the true lesson of Robinson's sad little incident, just
as the lessons of Lawrence Taylor, Mike Tyson, O. J. Simpson and countless
other star athletes-turned-police-blotter-entries aren't found in their
courtroom judgments. Whether Robinson is found guilty of the soliciting charge
(at game time, he was calling it a "misunderstanding" -- although how many
guys who are picked up for soliciting an undercover cop don't call it a
misunderstanding?) -- what's really important isn't if he learns his lesson
but if we learn ours.
And here is that lesson: We don't know these guys. We never have, we never
will. Writing features about them in newspapers, profiling them on ESPN,
grabbing a sound bite for the radio or giving them an award for high moral
character is still nothing more than stealing a piece of their costume.
They are in the entertainment business, and a basic law of the entertainment
business is that there are two worlds, the onstage and the offstage.
Robinson may have simply gotten caught mixing one with the other.
Less than 24 hours later, the stadium filled. The music and fireworks went on.
And Robinson, the man of "high moral character" who was out on bail, played
the football game, as if hypocrisy were simply part of the sport, a yellow
flag, a five-yard penalty.
Earlier in the week, Robinson insisted his Falcons get proper respect. He
said, "This team ain't no joke."
No. Only you, Eugene.
THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION MAY DIFFER SLIGHTLY FROM THE PRINTED ARTICLE.
EUGENE ROBINSON;FOOTBALL;COLUMN