Irvin Melodrama Lacks Originality In World Of Sleaze

Michael Irvin is guilty. The offense is shocking, given the perpetrator. Even he should be embarrassed.

Irvin has committed tedium.

He stands accused of possessing cocaine and marijuana. He was indicted April Fools’ Day. He is, of course, innocent until proven guilty. He is also, by mere association with drug charges, a cliche.

Darryl Strawberry did the substance-abuse routine, did it bigger and badder than almost anyone, did it in New York. Steve Howe set the standard for cycling through multiple phases of self-destruction and redemption. All who follow will be, well, followers.

You’d think that would bother Irvin, an avid seeker of style points. For his court appearances, he arrived resplendent in a mink coat, making a statement.

“I’d rather be locked up as Michael Irvin than free, pretending to be somebody I’m not,” the Dallas receiver told ESPN, defending his showmanship in the halls of justice.

But what does it mean to be Michael Irvin when your name is stuck in a police blotter where so many others have gone before? As a receiver, Irvin belongs to an exclusive club. He and Jerry Rice can haze the rest, assured that no pledge can match them move for move, game for game, title for title.

Irvin’s extracurricular activities threaten his stature, not so much because he has enmeshed himself in scandal, but because he has done it without a hint of originality.

I gotta be me, he says, while doing a wan imitation of Strawberry and Howe, of Lawrence Taylor, of Jerry Garcia, and of his own less-accomplished teammates, Leon Lett and Clayton Holmes.

The crowd expands almost daily. On Monday, police revealed that Butch Hobson, a former Boston Red Sox manager and third baseman, had been arrested and charged with cocaine possession.

Hobson once committed 43 errors in a season, led the majors. He is fairly nondescript. Then again, you don’t have to be anything special to join this crowd.

Irvin’s arrest was distinguished by an added element of tawdriness. At the time, he was in a motel with two women whom authorities have described as “self-employed models.” Neither of them was Irvin’s wife.

Again, though, Irvin gives us stale material.

When Margo Adams announced years ago that Wade Boggs had chartered her as a road-trip mistress, that was lurid. Since then, the threshold for prurient tales has risen, what with Gennifer Flowers at the microphone, Prince Charles on the telephone …

At this point, Irvin’s indiscretion doesn’t put him in the same league with Hugh Grant. His mouth is more outrageous.

The arrest story took on some of Irvin’s flair this week, when a television station broadcast a tape of the Cowboy allegedly making a fresh drug buy. The tape then caught this conversation, reportedly between him and a young fan.

The boy: “I want to be like you.”

Irvin: “So, see, you know I’m a good man, huh?”

He was, according to a source who provided the tape, holding a bag of cocaine while chatting with the kid. If this is all true, Irvin has turned a Norman Rockwell moment on its head. He has achieved a precedent.

Behind the tape lurks intrigue. Why would a member of his inner circle record such an event? Are the tape and its provider legitimate? In the end, though, this bit of cinematography is barely enough to fend off yawns. For most of us, Irvin’s arrest turns interesting only in a football context.

Will he be suspended by the NFL? Possibly, for a few games. Then Deion Sanders can become a go-to receiver, for a while.

Will it distract the Cowboys? Only temporarily. For the most part, they will be as bored as anyone, more jaded than most.

Imagine how that would hurt Irvin - to be supplanted and ignored, even for a few games.

Disapproval, he could tolerate or relish. But he’s running a bigger risk now. Maybe nobody will care.