Jones’ passing marks time
Tuesday: Even the nickname scared me. “The Fearsome Foursome.”
The NFL’s first front four that became media stars. The Rams’ defensive line in the 1960s. The guys who really got me excited about pro football. And now only one of them is left.
The news broke late last night that former Ram defensive end Deacon Jones had died. Who, you might ask if you are under the age of, oh, say 40. The answer I’ll give is simple: Ever hear the term “sack?” Well, Deacon Jones invented it. Yep, a term that’s used almost every day in football was invented not by some league official or sportswriter or fan.
Jones came up with it to describe what he did to quarterbacks. He put them in a sack and took them to the ground. If Jones had been just an average player, that accomplishment would have been enough to get him into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. But he also may have been, as his old coach George Allen said, the “greatest defensive end of modern football.”
All I know is he looms large in my memory bank. When we used to play pickup football on the dirt field at St. Rita’s Elementary, everyone wanted to be Deacon Jones (or, if someone had called him first, maybe Merlin Olsen, the defensive tackle next to Jones on the Rams’ line).
I wore a pad on my right arm when playing Pop Warner because Deacon Jones wore a pad on his right arm. When I heard somewhere Deacon Jones used to put a piece of wood underneath it so when he clubbed someone it hurt more, I tried to stick a ruler under mine. Got caught. And got yelled at by my Pop Warner coach. But if Deacon Jones did it, why couldn’t I?
Now he’s gone, along with Olsen and Lamar Lundy. Only Rosey Grier, the guy who played defensive tackle with a ferocious intensity yet did needlepoint on an afternoon talk show, still remains. It’s a sad truth of life. All the athletic heroes of your childhood slowly – but surely – disappear. Each one’s passing brings up a memory or two, causes a twinge of nostalgia, and then they are gone, never to be replaced.
Like anyone who was around here in the 1990s, I admired Ken Griffey Jr., and the way he played center field for the M’s. But no matter how much better a player he was, there is no way Griffey could take the place of Al Kaline or Brooks Robinson or Johnny Bench in my memory banks. They were the heroes of my youth, a role Griffey fills for my son.
It’s inevitable that someday he’ll feel the same twinges I am feeling now. It’s that inevitability that weighs so heavy this morning. Another icon of my childhood, another imaginary companion during youthful games, has passed on. It’s enough to make you feel a bit old.
Thursday: Which of these things was I able to accomplish during the Mariners game yesterday: A) Mow the lawn; B) Fix a window; C) Take a bath; D) Drive to work; F) Yell at the TV to appeal second base; E) Drive home from work after having not actually, you know, worked; G) Shop; H) Make dinner; I) Cleanup after dinner; L) Eat dessert; M) All of the above.
Of course, the answer is M.
After all, it took almost six hours for the M’s to lose in 16 innings yesterday. In the process they set a record when they tied the game with five runs in the 14th inning.
There was another excellent start by Hisashi Iwakuma, a two-out, game-tying grand slam by Kyle Seager and any number of outstanding defensive plays. All for naught. Because, you know, these are the Mariners, circa 2013 (and 2012 and 2011 and, heck, you get the picture).
I always wondered what it would be like to be a, and I shudder to write this, Cubs fan, but I’m beginning to think I know.