He's Back: Tom Brady Returns in Style

Before Sunday night's Tampa Bay-Dallas game, NBC played a video of Michael Jordan talking about how he took almost two years off before coming back but Tom Brady's retirement did not last even two months. Jordan described the deep attachment that he and Brady feel for their respective sports, and he urged everyone to enjoy watching Brady because such greatness is rarely seen. Few people would understand Brady's retirement and return better than Jordan. Jordan did not win his first game back, but he did lead the Chicago Bulls to three consecutive NBA titles before retiring again (and coming back one more time, with less success).

In his first game back from his retirement--and is it really a retirement if you did not miss any regular season games?--Brady led the Buccaneers to a 19-3 win over the Cowboys, lifting his personal record against Dallas to 7-0. Brady became the oldest starting quarterback in NFL history (45 years old), and a video montage shown during the game proved that his release time and throwing motion now are indistinguishable from his release time and throwing motion from early in his career and from the middle of his career. Brady's numbers were solid but not great by his lofty standards--18-27, 212 yards, one touchdown, one interception, 87.3 passer rating--but he made the throws that needed to be made, he mixed the pass with the run very well, and he limited his mistakes to one bad throw, the interception that he freely admitted was his fault.

During his postgame interview with NBC's Melissa Stark, Brady said, "I always play the game for my team, my teammates and the organization. Just being around them is something I always enjoy. It keeps me very grounded, very humble. I feel like just one of the guys. Not many places where I can go where I feel like just one of the guys, but the locker room's definitely one of those places."

Last season, Brady led the NFL with a career-high 5316 passing yards plus 43 passing TDs (the second highest total of his career, topped only by his 50 TDs in 2007 for the 16-0 New England Patriots). From the standpoints of physical skill set and motivation level, it would seem that Brady can be an elite quarterback for the foreseeable future--but football is a violent game in which a season or career can come to a crashing halt after just one play. Brady has been incredibly durable save for the 2008 season when he missed 15 games after tearing his ACL in the opener, but Sunday night provided a reminder of how tenuous NFL life can be: late in the game, Dallas quarterback Dak Prescott's right hand crashed into the hands of a pass rusher on two consecutive plays, resulting in a hand injury that apparently will require surgery and cause him to miss several weeks (the exact diagnosis will not be official until further examination is done, but Prescott and Dallas owner Jerry Jones both stated the expectation that Prescott will be out for an extended period).

Brady may ride off into the sunset as a Super Bowl champion, but he already had that opportunity after the 2020 season and instead he returned in 2021. Jordan kept coming back until his balky, swollen knees forced him to accept that the end had arrived. I once compared the end of Jordan's career to the end of Jerry Rice's career: 

There is a beauty and a sadness to the way that Jordan and Rice's careers ended. There is great beauty in loving the game so much that you continue to play even though you have nothing left to prove and you risk being mocked by cynical writers, young fans who don't remember your greatness and jealous rivals who couldn't touch you in your prime but salivate at the chance to embarrass you now. Yet, there is sadness when one watches a singular performer unable to dominate the game in his usual manner. Ray Lewis can be heard on NFL Films saying, "The same thing that will make you laugh will make you cry." Watching the end of Air Jordan's career and the conclusion of Flash 80's run, I understand that statement perfectly. I take two memories from Jordan's Wizards career: first, his soaring, two handed block of Ron Mercer, pinning the ball to the glass to preserve a win against Jordan's old team, the Chicago Bulls. That clip was later shown in a Nike commercial, with a Jordan voiceover intoning "Love is playing every game like it's your last." I'm not ashamed to say that I got goose bumps every time that spot ran; second, the image of Jordan dragging his bad leg up and down the court, trying to act like everything was fine—his heart and determination made you smile and the intimations of his (and our) mortality made you cry. For Rice, my two memories of his dénouement are the aforementioned Monday night comeback from the ACL injury and the fact that last year, on a Seattle team with wide receivers who drop so many passes they should change their names to Edward Scissorhands, Seattle did not even attempt to utilize him at the end of a 27-20 playoff loss to the St. Louis Rams.

Jerry Rice's retirement leaves me feeling the same way that I did after Michael Jordan’s last season with the Wizards: I am sad that Jerry Rice will no longer play in the NFL—and yet I am glad that he left now rather than spend a season sitting on the bench. Yes, the same thing that will make you laugh will make you cry.

Kobe Bryant once vowed to play until the wheels fell off, and he pretty much accomplished that, summoning up the requisite energy to drop 60 points in his career finale after being hobbled by multiple injuries that limited him to just 107 out of a possible 246 games in his final three seasons. 

Will Brady leave on top, or will he ride it out until the wheels fall off? Jordan is right that we should savor Brady's greatness--not only because such greatness is rare, but because it could end suddenly and unexpectedly.

Placing Tom Brady's Greatness in Historical Context

Tom Brady entered uncharted territory by capturing his seventh Super Bowl title and his fifth Super Bowl MVP after leading the Tampa Bay Buccaneers to a 31-9 victory over the reigning champion Kansas City Chiefs. Brady put up efficient, if not gaudy, numbers, completing 21 of 29 passes for 201 yards, three touchdowns, and no interceptions. He joins Peyton Manning as the only two quarterbacks to win at least one Super Bowl with two different franchises. Brady extended his lead over Charles Haley for most Super Bowls won by a player at any position (Haley won five Super Bowl rings), and he is now three ahead of Terry Bradshaw and Joe Montana among quarterbacks. Bradshaw's standard of four Super Bowl titles seemed daunting when he set it, and Montana was often described as the greatest quarterback of all-time after he matched Bradshaw's record while compiling superior individual statistics.

The Chiefs had won 25 of their previous 27 games, including a 27-24 victory against Tampa Bay this season, but they had no answers for a Buccaneers team that did not lose again after that Kansas City defeat dropped them to 7-5. The Buccaneers won their last four regular season games, they won three road playoff games before becoming the first team to play a Super Bowl in their home stadium, and they became the first team to beat three former Super Bowl MVPs (Drew Brees, Aaron Rodgers, Patrick Mahomes) during one playoff run.

Many analysts considered Brady to be the greatest quarterback of all-time prior to yesterday, and now Brady has added another amazing chapter to his already impressive career. 

The other narrative swirling around Brady involves comparing his legacy to the legacy of Coach Bill Belichick. Belichick and Brady teamed up to win six Super Bowls together--setting the record for a coach-quarterback duo--and media members have often speculated about who was most responsible for the New England Patriots' sustained success. It is not surprising that the media narrative veered in Brady's favor as Tampa Bay advanced through the 2020 playoffs while the Patriots failed to qualify for postseason play. Tampa Bay's victory closes the book on this narrative for many media members, who now gleefully proclaim that Brady had more to do with New England's success than Belichick did.

Narratives are easy to construct, and they are often based more on emotion and selective recall/understanding of history than on objective reality.

For example, a popular narrative ranks LeBron James as the greatest basketball player of all-time, but objective analysis reveals that this assertion overlooks the accomplishments of not only some of James' predecessors but even those of his contemporaries, including Kobe Bryant. After James won his fourth NBA title and fourth NBA Finals MVP last season, the narrative uplifting James became even more prominent, but based on MVPs and championships won (two of the criteria often used to support elevating James), James has not surpassed Bill Russell, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, or Michael Jordan.

There is no doubt that James belongs in the greatest basketball player of all-time conversation, just as there is no doubt that Brady belongs in the greatest quarterback of all-time conversation, but the reality is that it is difficult, if not impossible, to objectively select one individual as the greatest performer in a team sport; even in an individual sport such as tennis there is not a clear choice, though that sport also has a media-driven narrative favoring one person (Roger Federer).

Championships won is the simple number often cited to buttress popular narratives, but it is interesting to see which championships "count" when narratives are told. It has become common practice to suggest that Michael Jordan holds some kind of record with six NBA titles, because that is often depicted as the number that Kobe Bryant was chasing (Bryant finished his career with five titles), and it is often depicted as the number LeBron James is chasing now--but Bill Russell won 11 NBA titles in 13 seasons, in addition to leading his teams to two NCAA titles plus an Olympic gold medal. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar won six NBA titles but for some reason his titles do not "count" when basketball greatness is being discussed. 

Similarly, much was made of Roger Federer's Grand Slam singles titles, but the talk of the significance of Grand Slam titles became much quieter after Rafael Nadal tied Federer with 20. Narrative creators feel free to change the stories and change the rules as opposed to changing the narrative: once Roger Federer or Tom Brady or LeBron James becomes the favored son, it takes a lot to convince media members to anoint someone else.

There is no disputing the greatness of Federer or James or Brady. Brady has not only won more Super Bowls (seven wins in 10 appearances) than any other player, but he has more Super Bowl wins than any other franchise! He would likely make the Hall of Fame just on the basis of what he has accomplished since the age of 37, including three Super Bowl wins plus earning a regular season MVP award. In that sense, he is similar to Abdul-Jabbar, whose accomplishments past the age of 35 (four NBA titles, one NBA Finals MVP, four All-NBA First Team selections, and eight All-Star selections) exceed what many Hall of Famers accomplished during their entire careers.

However, if championships are the touchstone and measuring stick of professional football greatness in general and/or the greatness of a quarterback in particular, then it must be remembered that Otto Graham made 10 championship game appearances in 10 professional seasons, leading the Cleveland Browns to seven titles. He went four for four in his All-America Football Conference championship game appearances, and then he followed that by winning three titles in six NFL seasons, including leading the Browns to a 30-28 win over the favored L.A. Rams in the 1950 NFL championship game. Against the Rams, Graham completed 22 of 33 passes for 298 yards, four touchdowns, and one interception, while also running 12 times for 99 yards. That victory happened in the first season after the NFL and AAFC merged, and it demonstrated that the Browns' AAFC titles deserved full recognition. 

It is not at all clear why NFL titles are not given equal weight with Super Bowl titles; an NFL championship is an NFL championship, regardless of what it was called in 1950 or what it is called now. AAFC titles should "count" just as much as AFL titles and pre-Super Bowl NFL titles. 

If the argument against doing so is that the rules and style of play were vastly different during Otto Graham's time and Bill Russell's time than they are in Tom Brady's time and LeBron James' time then the correct response is not to discount or ignore Graham and Russell but rather to candidly acknowledge the difficulty of making intergenerational comparisons. Perhaps there is no such thing as "the" greatest player of all-time. Maybe Graham was the greatest of his time, and now Brady is the greatest of his time (which is not to discount the possibility that other players from either era deserve consideration). 

The greatest quarterback of all-time narrative favored John Unitas for quite some time (and there is no doubt a vocal minority of observers who would still rank Unitas as the best). Unitas set career records for passing yards (40,239) and touchdowns (290) that far exceeded the marks that he broke. He won two NFL titles in the pre-Super Bowl era, plus an NFL title in the Super Bowl era (but that season ended in a famous loss to the AFL champion New York Jets in Super Bowl III). Unitas threw a touchdown in Super Bowl V before leaving the game due to injury, and his Colts won that contest on a last second field goal after Unitas' backup Earl Morrall replaced Unitas. Unitas is considered the prototype drop back passer.

It is interesting that the player who broke Unitas' records, Fran Tarkenton, was not often mentioned as the greatest quarterback of all-time; I cannot recall ever seeing or hearing a commentator rank Tarkenton as the best. Yet, Tarkenton held the career passing yardage record (47,003) for longer than any other quarterback (19 years), and he also held the career passing touchdowns record (342) for longer than any other quarterback (20 years), but Tarkenton never won a Super Bowl.

Terry Bradshaw won four Super Bowls, but his individual numbers are not as gaudy as Unitas' or Tarkenton's, nor are they efficient when compared to the statistics compiled by the passers who came after him and who benefited from rules changes that opened up the passing game.

Dan Marino at one time held the career records for passing yardage and for touchdowns, but he only made it to one Super Bowl and he never won a championship. Early in his career he was touted as someone who could become the greatest quarterback ever, but as Marino set records while Montana won Super Bowls the notion that Marino might be the greatest faded from consideration, and Marino became the Tarkenton of his era (albeit with a much different playing style, as Tarkenton was a scrambler while Marino was a pure pocket passer).

Joe Montana matched Bradshaw by winning four Super Bowls, and by the end of his career he was often touted as the greatest quarterback of all-time, a notion that went largely unchallenged until the emergence of Brady.

At some point after Brady matched Montana and Bradshaw with four Super Bowl wins while also accumulating MVP awards and posting gaudy statistics, the narrative shifted from Montana to Brady. Brett Favre--who held the career passing touchdowns record for seven years--and Peyton Manning--who held the career passing touchdowns record for five years--received some consideration prior to Brady's ascension, but Favre only won one Super Bowl and Manning only won two Super Bowls so after Brady surpassed their individual records his superior ring count took both of them out of the conversation. 

Drew Brees and Tom Brady have been trading the career passing touchdowns record recently, but Brees won just one Super Bowl, and he did not win that Super Bowl until after Brady had already been ranked ahead of Favre and Manning, so Brees has never been part of the greatest quarterback of all-time narrative.

If you believe that quarterback is the most important position in football--if not in all team sports--and if you believe that a quarterback's greatness is best measured by championships, then your choices are Otto Graham or Tom Brady. If you place more value on individual numbers, then you have to decide if it matters more to dominate your own era by a wide margin--in which case, you would probably choose Unitas--or if it matters more to dominate in recent times, in which case you could choose any one of several quarterbacks depending on which statistics you deem to be the best measure of greatness.

The larger point is that, without clearly defining the standard of greatness, the narrative elevating Brady (or anyone else) is so devoid of context as to be rendered meaningless. Was it more difficult to play in earlier eras under different rules and conditions, or are today's athletes so superior to the athletes from decades past that the athletes from previous eras would not excel today? 

Most commentators and analysts do not embrace the challenge of researching such matters and using that research as a basis to form intelligent opinions; instead, we are fed simplistic narratives about "rings" and "Who is the GOAT?" that do a disservice to the history of the game and the accomplishments of the game's greatest players.

Regarding the Belichick and Brady narrative, it is not necessary or accurate to diminish what Belichick achieved in order to give Brady the praise that he deserves. Bill Belichick's Super Bowl XX game plan as the New York Giants' defensive coordinator was so brilliant that it is on display at the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Belichick's offensive and defensive game plans as the Patriots' head coach are indisputably great, and those schemes played a crucial role in the franchise's unparalleled success.

It is fascinating to watch how the media creates and manipulates narratives. Brady is almost universally popular, with perhaps the only exception being the fans of teams who he has beaten in Super Bowls--but Belichick is regularly mocked for his press conference demeanor. Many media members would love to bring Belichick down a notch--or six notches, by finding any excuse to discount his Super Bowl titles. Of course, the same narrative game that they are now playing with Belichick and Brady could easily be applied to Belichick and Bill Parcells--and there would be more substance to the latter, as Belichick and Parcells are both coaches and have actually gone head to head against each other in that role.

Parcells won two Super Bowl titles as a head coach, with Belichick running the defense for both squads. Parcells has never won a playoff game--let alone a Super Bowl--without having Belichick on his staff. In fact, Parcells has a losing record overall without Belichick by his side. Parcells supposedly taught Belichick how to win, which is a difficult notion to accept when you look at the won-loss records of both coaches. 

After Belichick left the New York Giants, he took over a horrible Cleveland Browns team (3-13 in 1990) and led the Browns to the playoffs in 1994. That Browns team, which went 11-5, defeated Parcells' New England Patriots in the playoffs, which was the Browns' last playoff win until this season's squad beat the Pittsburgh Steelers. There is some history and context that can be referenced to defend Parcells, but a head to head comparison of coaches who competed with and against each other over an extended period of time makes more sense than trying to define the careers of a coach and a quarterback based on their one season apart after they forged a two decade partnership filled with unequaled success.

Of course, Bill Parcells is beloved as "The Big Tuna." The media is not going to construct a narrative that elevates Belichick over Parcells.

One of the many problems with comparing a football coach's impact with a quarterback's impact is that the coach directs how the entire team plays, while the quarterback's impact is strictly limited to offense, which is less than half of the game (if you factor in that many plays involve neither offense nor defense but rather special teams). 

As a brief side note, it is a true exercise in folly to compare Tom Brady to LeBron James. A star basketball player participates in most of the game (usually at least 38-40 out of 48 minutes) and he has an impact on both offense and defense as one of five teammates on the court, while a quarterback is one of 11 teammates on the field, and his impact is restricted to offense.

Brady's impact on a team is undeniable. He is a great and charismatic leader. His quarterback skill set is impeccable. 

All of that being said and acknowledged, the notion that there is some valid way to parse out Brady's impact on the Patriots from Belichick's impact on the Patriots is absurd. You may counter, "But what if Belichick never makes the playoffs again?" Belichick is 68 years old, and he already is one of the oldest coaches to win a Super Bowl. He is undoubtedly past his prime, and he is closer to the end of his coaching career than he is to the beginning. Do you judge Chuck Noll, Tom Landry, and Don Shula by what they did in the last 5-10 years of their coaching careers, or do you judge them by their overall body of work, with a focus on their primes? 

What if Belichick grooms a young quarterback and wins one more Super Bowl before retiring? That would add to Belichick's legacy, just like yesterday's Super Bowl win added to Brady's legacy, but that would not tell us whether Belichick or Brady had more to do with the Patriots' success.

The truth is that we will never know, but that honest narrative will not move the ratings needle or generate clicks for online articles, so brace yourself for all of the "Brady Owns Belichick" stories.

It is interesting to watch the Patrick Mahomes narrative evolve in the midst of these other narratives. Mahomes has already led the Chiefs to back to back Super Bowl appearances, and one Super Bowl title. It is logical to assume that he will have many more opportunities, but--as noted above--Dan Marino made one Super Bowl appearance early in his career and then never made it back, and Brett Favre made two Super Bowl appearances (with one win) in his 20 year career. It cannot be emphasized enough that the quarterback is a very important player, but he does not play on defense or special teams, and he is rendered helpless if his teammates are ineffective--just look at what happened to Mahomes in Super Bowl LV when the Buccaneers' defense overwhelmed Kansas City's offensive line. 

The truth is that the Mahomes story is incomplete. If he finishes his career with one Super Bowl win plus some gaudy individual numbers then he will not merit being ranked alongside the absolute greatest. On the other hand, yesterday's loss does not diminish what he has already accomplished, and to suggest otherwise is as incorrect as suggesting that Brady's win somehow diminishes what Belichick has already accomplished.

What can we determine using a reasonable, objective approach? 

1) There is a strong argument that Tom Brady is the greatest quarterback of his time. He may be the greatest quarterback of all-time, but to make that assessment we must first decide how to validly compare statistics and team accomplishments from the 1940s-1990s with statistics and team accomplishments from 2000-present (Brady's era).

2) There is a strong argument that Bill Belichick is the greatest NFL coach of his time. He may be the greatest NFL coach of all-time, but to make that assessment we must first decide how to validly compare statistics and team accomplishments from prior eras to the statistics and team accomplishments from Belichick's era (1980s-present).

3) Under Bill Belichick's guidance, Tom Brady developed from being a sixth round draft pick into being arguably the greatest quarterback of his time, and possibly the greatest quarterback of all-time. We do not have a large enough sample size of data to determine what development path Brady would have followed without Belichick's influence. 

4) With Tom Brady as his starting quarterback, Bill Belichick has won six Super Bowls as a head coach. During that time, Belichick played a role in both player development and game plan creation. Prior to that time, in his first stint as a head coach, Belichick built the Cleveland Browns from a last place team into a playoff team; prior to coaching the Browns, Belichick's defensive game plans played a major, if not decisive, role as the New York Giants won two Super Bowls. We have a large enough sample size of data to determine that Belichick is an outstanding, versatile coach even without Brady. We do not have a large enough sample size of data to prove how many Super Bowls that Belichick's Patriots would have won without Brady.

The bottom line is that winning a championship involves many variables that cannot be controlled by either the coach or the quarterback. If the Buccaneers had not been able to shut down Patrick Mahomes, resulting in Kansas City winning a 34-31 shootout with Brady posting exactly the same numbers that he posted yesterday would that somehow diminish Brady's greatness? Would it increase Belichick's greatness by "proving" that Brady cannot win a Super Bowl without Belichick?

Framing the conversation in those terms, it should be obvious that many of the media-driven narratives are nonsense.

MLB Strikes Out, as Usual

Buster Olney's article How shortsighted greed is tearing baseball apart provides a great summary of some of the reasons that MLB is falling apart. It is worth emphasizing that he sees a direct connection between the flawed tanking mentality that has also harmed the NBA and the current mindset that is damaging MLB:

It's the Luhnow mindset as applied to labor relations.

Under Luhnow, the Houston Astros were the sport's supreme practitioners of tanking, becoming the first team since the 1962-65 Mets to lose at least 106 games in three consecutive seasons. In Luhnow's first three seasons as Houston GM, the Astros spent a total of $137.4 million in payroll--$53 million less than the next-lowest team, the Pirates ($190.7 million). The Astros drew a 0.0 in local television ratings for consecutive seasons. They manipulated the service time of some of their best young players, as did other teams. Luhnow's team engaged in ultra, next-level sign-stealing, and traded for Roberto Osuna fresh off his 75-game suspension under the sport's domestic violence policy.

But so long as the math made sense, Luhnow pushed the envelope and the Astros won a World Series in 2017. Of course, in the big picture, Luhnow's management turned out to be a disaster for many reasons besides wins and losses. Under his watch, the Astros helped to drag the sport under a low bar of credibility as other teams tried to replicate his formula, with fans left to wonder if what they paid to see was farcical.

Throughout those years, which included Luhnow giving the OK for a club employee to monitor the opposing dugout from an adjacent camera well, you kept waiting for someone to step up and lead. You kept waiting for someone to acknowledge the astounding accumulation of damage to good-faith competition and operation, just as you keep on waiting for someone on the owners' side to end this embarrassing negotiation with the players' association, rather than engaging in this battle of reconstituted Spam offers.

The house of baseball is burning and somebody needs to put out the fire immediately, by making a deal that moves the sport forward beyond this absurd fight over increments.

The opportunity to own the sporting stage in early July is gone. The potential goodwill (and ratings) all but certain for the first big sport out of the gate may be all but squandered.

Chicago Cubs owner Tom Ricketts talking about a cash-flow problem when tens of millions of people have lost their jobs? Not good. Cardinals owner Bill DeWitt, who has seen the value of his franchise multiply by at least a factor of 10, talking about how you can't make money in baseball? Not good.

If COVID-19 had not prevented the 2020 MLB season from starting on time, the focus would have been on MLB's weak, incompetent, and impotent response to widespread cheating. Now, the focus on that fiasco may have faded a bit, but only because MLB seems determined to commit suicide.

MLB has been a disaster for over 25 years; the best thing that the sport did in that time period, paradoxically, is to have a strike that ended Michael Jordan's baseball career; this hastened his NBA comeback, during which he won three more NBA titles, culminating in the "Last Dance" season. The strike was terrible for baseball, but I would gladly give up the World Series in exchange for watching Michael Jordan play in the NBA again.

Bud Selig was a horrible Commissioner who presided over the destruction of MLB's once-cherished record book; it is a travesty and an embarrassment that he is in the Baseball Hall of Fame at all, let alone that he was welcomed while Pete Rose remains banned. Rob Manfred, Selig's successor, may turn out to be even more horrible than Selig was--as bad as Selig was, MLB did not die on his watch; if Manfred and crew do not get their act together, MLB may lose the entire 2020 season, and suffer permanent damage.

Refuting False Narratives About the Legacies of Tom Brady and Bill Belichick

Tom Brady has publicly announced that he plans to leave the New England Patriots via free agency, though he has yet to announce where he is going. Not surprisingly, Brady's statement has unleashed a wave of commentary about his legacy, and Bill Belichick's legacy, as well as a reexamination of previous all-time greats who could have played their entire careers for one team but elected to see if the grass was greener elsewhere--with Joe Montana, Michael Jordan, and Peyton Manning being perhaps the three most prominent examples.

Both Belichick and Brady have more than secured their individual legacies. Belichick was a key contributor to two Super Bowl champions as an assistant coach before winning six Super Bowls as New England's head coach. Any short list of the greatest football coaches of all-time must include his name, and nothing that happens in the rest of his career will change or diminish that. Belichick is the second oldest head coach in the NFL now, and he is tied with several others as the eighth oldest head coach in NFL history. A career is judged by the overall body of work, with an emphasis on what happened in the prime years; Belichick's career is not going to be defined by what happens in his final seasons. Of course, if he wins Super Bowls as an elder statesman coach that could potentially add to his already established legacy, but no sensible person is going to hold it against Belichick if he does not win another Super Bowl. Don Shula, Chuck Noll, and Tom Landry are three of the greatest coaches of all-time, and their careers ended long after their final Super Bowl victory with no damage done to their legacies.

Brady is a six-time Super Bowl champion quarterback who is nearing the end of his career. If he wins another Super Bowl, he can add to his legacy, but few quarterbacks have even played as long as Brady, let alone won championships at his age; if Brady does not win another Super Bowl, it does not hurt his legacy any more than Joe Montana's time as a Kansas City Chief did.

Speaking of which, without looking it up do you even remember how long Montana played in Kansas City, what statistics he posted, and how the team performed? Unless you are an NFL addict with a great memory or you are lying, the honest answer is "No."

Before revisiting the end of Montana's career, it is worth briefly mentioning Joe Namath, whose name is sometimes brought up in this context. While it may have been painful at the time for NFL fans to watch him finish his career as an L.A. Ram, Namath secured his legacy by leading the New York Jets to victory in Super Bowl III. Nothing that happened after that caused long-term damage to Namath's legacy. He will always be remembered as a triumphant Jet, and no one spends much time thinking about his brief time as a stumbling Ram.

Back to Montana, who spent two years as a Chief, making the Pro Bowl in 1993 (his first season with the team) and compiling a 17-8 regular season record (he missed seven games due to injury) in 1993-94. Montana led the Chiefs to the 1993 AFC Championship Game, but the Chiefs lost 30-13, and Montana was knocked out of the game with a concussion in the third quarter. Montana quarterbacked the Chiefs to a 9-7 record and a loss in the Wild Card round in 1994 before he retired at 38. Those two seasons are a solid postscript to a Hall of Fame career, but they had no impact on the legacy that Montana had already forged by winning four Super Bowls as a San Francisco 49er.

Consider an example from a different sport. Michael Jordan had already retired and come back once as a Chicago Bull before he came out of retirement in 2001 to play for the Washington Wizards. Jordan never averaged less than 28 ppg in a full season with the Bulls, and he never averaged more than 23 ppg in his two seasons with the Wizards. Jordan led the Bulls to six titles in six NBA Finals appearances, and he was not able to take the Wizards to the playoffs even once. No, Jordan the Wizard did not accomplish as much as Jordan the Bull, but Jordan the Wizard added some clips to his career highlight reel, and did not harm Jordan's legacy at all.

Brady and Manning spent much of their careers battling for individual honors and Super Bowl titles. Manning won one Super Bowl in 13 seasons as a Colt before finishing his career as a Denver Bronco. Manning earned three Pro Bowl selections as a Bronco while also making the All-Pro First Team twice, and winning another Super Bowl title. Interestingly, his two playoff runs that ended in Super Bowl wins are two of his four worst postseasons statistically (based on the NFL's passer rating system). Winning a second Super Bowl--albeit while no longer a star player (he had nine passing touchdowns and 17 interceptions in his final regular season before the Broncos won the Super Bowl)--perhaps added a bit to Manning's legacy, but certainly no one dwells on how limited a player Manning was by that time, nor would any rational commentator have held it against Manning if his Bronco years had not been capped off with a championship.

Supposedly, next season is going to represent some kind of referendum in a made up Belichick versus Brady competition: Can Brady win without Belichick? Can Belichick win without Brady? Will neither one win?

This is nonsense. If there were to be a genuine, meaningful Belichick versus Brady competition then we would need to pit them against each other when both were in their primes, and we would need to supply them with comparable supporting casts. Give prime Brady a different coach and a solid supporting cast, and how much would he win? How much Brady wins as a past his prime quarterback can only tell us so much.

The other side of the question is how much would prime Belichick win with a different quarterback and a solid supporting cast? 

Actually, we did get a glimpse of that during the 2008 season that Brady missed with an ACL injury, and we saw the Patriots go 11-5 with Matt Cassel as the starting quarterback. Cassel left the Patriots after that season, and went 26-40 as a starter during the rest of his career. During his first head coaching job, Belichick inherited a 3-13 Cleveland team and in four years he turned them into an 11-5 squad that won a playoff game (which is the last playoff game that the Browns have won). So, we do have some evidence about what Belichick can do as a coach without Brady.

All that we know for sure is that the Belichick-Brady tandem is the greatest coach-quarterback duo in NFL history (throw in the AAFC years, and you could make an argument for Paul Brown-Otto Graham, who won seven championships and made 10 championship game appearances in 10 seasons together). Whether or not either of them win any more Super Bowls in the final years of their respective careers does not change the significance of what they accomplished together, nor "prove" that one was more integral to their shared success than the other.

Comparing the Greatest Sports Dynasties

The December 9, 2013 issue of Autoweek contains an article by Al Pearce titled "No End in Sight" (an abridged version can be found here); Jimmie Johnson had just claimed his sixth NASCAR Sprint Cup Series title in his 12th full season on the circuit, placing him one behind record holders Richard Petty and Dale Earnhardt. Petty considers Johnson a lock to win at least eight crowns and would not be surprised if Johnson pushes the standard to 10. Although Johnson receives most of the glory, racing is a team sport and the success of Rick Hendrick Motorsports with Johnson behind the wheel and Chad Knaus serving as crew chief raises an intriguing question: where does this accomplishment rank in the pantheon of great sports dynasties?

Hendrick has actually won 11 Sprint Cup Series titles overall--with Jeff Gordon serving as the driver for four of them and Terry Labonte capturing the other one--and a sidebar to Pearce's article (not included in the online version) notes that Hendrick is tied with the NHL's Detroit Red Wings and MLB's St. Louis Cardinals for the seventh most championships won by a professional sports organization. The leaders are the New York Yankees (27 World Series championships), the Montreal Canadiens (24 Stanley Cups), the Boston Celtics (17 NBA titles), the Los Angeles Lakers (16 NBA titles), the Toronto Maple Leafs (13 Stanley Cups) and the Green Bay Packers (13 NFL titles).

Autoweek notes that Hendrick has captured 11 championships in 30 seasons, a .367 winning percentage that is the best in American sports history, ahead of the Celtics (17/67, a .254 winning percentage), the Canadiens (24/95, a .253 winning percentage) and the Yankees (27/113, a .239 winning percentage). Hendrick has been incredibly dominant in the past two decades, winning 11 of 19 championships (.579).

Autoweek lists some of the "Best of the Best" sports dynasties without ranking them:
 
Boston Celtics of the late 1950s/early 1960s (nine NBA championships in a 10 year span), Michael Schumacher (five straight Formula I titles and a record seven titles overall), Los Angeles Lakers (five NBA championships in the 1980s), Chicago Bulls (six NBA championships in eight years during the 1990s), Pittsburgh Steelers (four Super Bowl wins in a six season span during the 1970s), John Force (16 NHRA Top Fuel championships in 24 years as a driver, 18 NHRA championships as a team owner), New York Yankees of the late 1940s/early 1950s (six World Series wins in seven years), Montreal Canadiens (five straight Stanley Cup wins in the 1950s), UCLA (10 NCAA basketball championships in a 12 year span in the 1960s/1970s), Jack Nicklaus (18 pro golf major wins), Tiger Woods (14 pro golf major wins), Dario Franchitti (four IndyCar titles in five seasons), Sebastien Vettel (four straight Formula I titles, 2010-13), Sebastien Loeb (nine consecutive World Rally Championships, 2004-12), A.J. Foyt (seven IndyCar titles, the most all-time), Richard Petty/Dale Earnhardt (seven NASCAR titles each).

Considering the source, it is not surprising that eight of the 17 dynasties involve some form of auto racing but overall that list is a good one. If individual athletes like Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods are going to be mentioned, though, then Bjorn Borg deserves consideration; when Borg retired he held the records for most Wimbledon wins (five), most consecutive Wimbledon wins (five), most French Open wins (six) and most consecutive years with at least one Grand Slam win (eight). Borg still holds the record for best Grand Slam winning percentage (.407, 11 wins in 27 appearances). Even though some of Borg's records have been surpassed by various players, no player in tennis history has been dominant enough to hold all of those records at the same time the way that Borg did.

Objectively ranking the aforementioned dynasties is an impossible task; it is difficult enough to rank the greatest players of all-time in one sport, let alone compare athletes and teams from various generations and vastly different sports. I agree with Pearce, though, that the best of the best have a special quality about them:

Elite competitors, like newly minted six-time NASCAR Sprint Cup Series champion Jimmie Johnson, have it. They always have, and they always will. No worthy champion achieves anything without it.

Michael Jordan had it during those magical years with the Chicago Bulls. Tiger Woods had it before foolishly throwing it away. The Boston Celtics and Arnold Palmer and "Mr. October" Reggie Jackson had it. "I am the greatest" Muhammad Ali had it. So did Wayne "The Great One" Gretzky. And, don't laugh, but Terry Bradshaw had it, too.

It's an indefinable gene that carries the day and elevates an athlete. It separates truly great ones from those who think they're great or merely think about being great.

"It" is a powerful combination of talent, work ethic, confidence and will power. Someone once said of Jack Nicklaus that he knew he was the best, his opponents knew that he was the best and he knew that they knew. Ranking the great sports dynasties is impossible but it is clear that they all had that type of dominance, an expectation of victory that inspired them and that inspired fear/resignation in even the staunchest opponents.

Enjoying the Process

"Focus, while I display flows ferocious."--Busta Rhymes, "Everything Remains Raw"

Consistently converting winning positions is one of the greatest challenges that a chess player faces. Perhaps the biggest difference between Masters and non-Masters is that Masters are much more proficient at winning the games that they "should" win. I have worked very hard to improve at this phase of the game and I have made enough progress to maintain an Expert rating but not quite enough progress to earn the Master title. Throughout my chess career I have sought the advice of Masters on this subject, trying to gain insight about how their minds function when victory is in sight but not yet secured.

When I was a Class A player trying to reach Expert level in the early 1990s, Senior Master Boris Men explained to me that when you have the advantage the most important thing is to "play against your opponent's play." I had never heard this expression before, though I later realized that it is a standard Master level technique. The idea is that by squelching any possible counterplay you will force your opponent to either trade pieces or else place his pieces passively; this is much more prudent than chasing after stray pawns or prematurely launching an attack that could weaken your position. SM Men's advice has helped me a lot, though following through on his prescription is easier said than done.

More recently, Hans Multhopp, a USCF Master who is also a FIDE Master, told me to enjoy the winning process. At first I thought that he meant savor the prospect of victory--by cultivating the Relentless mindset of champions like Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods and Kobe Bryant, players who are not satisfied until they dominate and destroy their opponents--but Multhopp clarified that a chess player should enjoy looking for the best moves and solving problems over the board. Chess should be fun! When you are winning a chess game it is easy to become bored, stressed out and/or distracted but ideally one should remain focused and joyful.

This is one of the many ways that chess is a metaphor for life. In The Spiritual Practices of the Ninja: Mastering the Four Gates to Freedom, Ross Heaven writes, "Life is meant to be played with, not stressed over." Having a winning position can be more nerve-wracking than having a losing position, because the losing player may have already resigned himself to his fate while the winning player, paradoxically, has everything to lose if he makes one false move. Chess can be a masochistic endeavor: we suffer when we are losing because we hate to lose but we also suffer when we are winning because we are afraid that we might lose! I overheard an International Master exclaim, "I hate this game!"--and this was after he had just won from a losing position. Something is very wrong if someone who has reached the 99th percentile in his chosen endeavor feels miserable after winning a game instead of being happy not just for the victory but also for becoming so proficient and accomplished in such a challenging sport/art. Caissa is a mistress who both tempts and torments her lovers.

I am more convinced than ever that Multhopp is right: enjoying the process is the key not just to attaining chess mastery but also the key to getting the most out of chess--and life. Making Master is a worthy goal but achieving mastery of one's emotions--"If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster/And treat those two impostors just the same," as Kipling put it--is the ultimate goal. Win or lose, in chess or in life, I am fighting to not say/feel, "I hate this game!"

Perfection Versus Perspective

"What makes a man wanna rule the world? (A double a double arrogance)."--Prince, "Arrogance"

A complex combination of conflicting character traits comprise the strange witches' brew that fuels a champion; a champion must "chase perfection" in order to "catch excellence" (as Vince Lombardi once put it) but a champion must also have the resiliency to accept failure. How can one simultaneously have perfection as a goal and yet deal with the reality that nothing in this world--particularly one's ability to perform under pressure--is perfect? Seth Wickersham's recent article about Bill Walsh analyzes the potent mixture of perfectionism, arrogance and insecurity that drove Walsh to greatness (including three Super Bowl championships in 10 seasons as San Francisco's head coach)--and then drove him to leave the game at the height of his career.

Wickersham writes of Walsh, "He always coached through existential torture, with alternating bouts of believing that he was brilliant and that he was incapable of fulfilling his own idea of greatness." Despite his tremendous success, Walsh felt torment both during and after his coaching career. Wickersham explains, "What haunted Walsh went deeper than pink slips and long nights. It was his drive to be great at something he couldn't control. His colleagues recall him as the most intelligent coach they'd ever seen, which Walsh not so discreetly agreed with. But he could be sensitive to the point of devastation, crushed by failures large and small."

Wickersham says that the so-called 49ers Way "was really the Walsh Way, a system flowing from one man's ingenuity and insecurity. By the late '80s, as Walsh's definition of success became so narrow as to be unattainable, the Walsh Way started to cripple the coach. He would sit dazed in his hot tub even after wins, despondent that he had miscalculated a play or two. 'I was a tortured person,' Walsh later told biographer [David] Harris. 'I felt the failure so personally...eventually I couldn't get out from under it all. You can't live that way long. You can only attack that part of your nervous system so many times."

Almost immediately after he retired following San Francisco's January 1989 Super Bowl victory, Walsh decided that he had left the game too soon--a feeling that only intensified when his successor George Seifert led the 49ers to a dominant season capped off by a Super Bowl triumph in January 1990. Wickersham declares, "Walsh hated that Seifert won a championship that year with his team, his West Coast offense, his philosophy; he so hated the ring that the team awarded him that he gave it away." Walsh's son Craig confirms Wickersham's account: "He didn't want them to win. He couldn't hand over the team he had created to someone else, because he wasn't capable of it."

Walsh wanted to define his legacy on his terms and explain to the world the exact reasons for his success, so he decided to assemble a comprehensive blueprint for putting together a championship organization from top to bottom. The result, after years of painstaking work--and the help of several collaborators, including his one-time assistant coach (and future Super Bowl champion coach in his own right) Brian Billick--was Finding the Winning Edge, a massive book that has become a bible for both aspiring and established football coaches. Wickersham writes, "For those who coached under Walsh, Finding the Winning Edge was a study of the genius beyond his playbook. For those who coached against him, it was a window into the mind of their nemesis. For [Bill] Belichick, it was validation. It was published during the crossroads of his career, while he was working as a Jets assistant. The book reinforced Belichick's own belief in detailed planning, which is why he calls it and Jack Welch and the GE Way the two most influential books of his career."

Walsh's book explores in detail a subject that has long fascinated me: The Difference Between Winners and Champions. Here is my explanation of that difference:

All pro athletes are winners. They are better at what they do best than 99% of people are at doing anything and they've been winning games or matches for most of their lives. Only a select few athletes are champions, though. They are the ones who make you watch, who are compelling figures to even casual fans--guys like Michael Jordan and Tiger Woods...

Champions project a message to their opponents that induces fear and resignation. Opponents of former world chess champion Bobby Fischer used to call it "Fischer Fear." They used to say that they could feel his manic energy, his fierce will to win, across the chessboard. Michael Jordan's opponents used to feel a similar thing, as did Kasparov's and as do Woods' and Federer's.

The flip side of this kind of ferocious, single-minded drive and determination is that, as Kobe Bryant candidly admitted recently, "Winning takes precedence over all. There's no gray area. No almosts. It's a very unbalanced way to live and I know that. It's not healthy. And I can't justify it, but someone has to win and why not me and the Lakers organization." My personality is naturally wired in that fashion and while this can lead to great success there is the constant danger that without the right perspective it can also turn life into a joyless all or nothing proposition.

How can one chase perfection without losing a balanced perspective? Is it even possible to do so? More than a decade ago, ESPN's "SportsCentury" series profiled dozens of the 20th century's greatest athletes; this may be a slight exaggeration but my recollection is that Jack Nicklaus was about the only champion who appeared to be well-balanced: most champions seem to be tormented like Walsh and/or unable to completely integrate their perfectionism into their post-competition lives, often resulting in some combination of drug addiction, infidelity and/or reckless business moves leading to financial ruin. Perfectionism may be an asset during a 60 minute NFL game or a 48 minute NBA game but, as Walsh ruefully noted, "You can only attack that part of your nervous system so many times." Jerry West, the all-time great player who later drafted Kobe Bryant, is a classic example of someone who achieved greatness because of his perfectionism and yet still feels tormented.

Striving for greatness is important and meaningful but there can be a high price to pay for such striving and few people who attain greatness avoid paying for it in some fashion; that does not mean that anyone should settle for mediocrity but rather that those who strive for greatness must have tremendous self-awareness and must concentrate on maintaining proper balance mentally, emotionally, spiritually and physically. 

College Basketball's Ten Greatest Dunkers

I just watched a program called "College Basketball's Ten Greatest Dunkers"; it actually originally aired during last year's March Madness but I think that the list is interesting and still timely, so I have reproduced it below, along with a few comments:

1) Darrell Griffith (Louisville): Known as "Dr. Dunkenstein" (like Darryl Dawkins' "Chocolate Thunder" and "Lovetron" references, this nickname has its origins with the Parliament Funkadelic band--in this instance, George Clinton's "Dr. Funkenstein" alias), Griffith had incredible hops that enabled him to do just about any kind of dunk imaginable even though he could not palm the basketball. He was listed as 6-4, but a December 1980 Sports Illustrated article insists that he was actually 6-3.

Griffith averaged 16.2 ppg during an 11 year NBA career spent entirely with the Utah Jazz, transforming himself from a high flyer to a mad bomber who twice led the league in three pointers made (1984, 1985) and once led the league in three point field goal percentage (1984). Griffith earned the 1980 Wooden Award while leading Louisville to the national title and he won the 1981 Rookie of the Year award after averaging 20.6 ppg.

2) Clyde Drexler (Houston): Clyde "the Glide" Drexler was a charter member of "Phi Slama Jama," Houston's high flying fraternity that nearly led the Cougars to a national title. In his prime, he truly did seem to be gliding through the air but even though he made his flights of fancy look easy, the exciting end results were actually the products of a lot of hard work. I have previously written, "Success at any form of competition is based on several factors: mastery of fundamental techniques, supreme focus on the task at hand and maintaining a state of calm in the heat of battle." Specifically, research has shown that 10,000 hours of "effortful study" is required to attain mastery in most fields. Drexler says, "Every dunk is like a custom made suit. It truly is tailored. It can't be duplicated. It wasn't thought out ahead of time. It was just tailored to that moment. Only after playing six, seven hours a day can you begin to even think like that. People think that it's genetic: 'You're a natural.' Sure--after seven hours a day for about 10 years in a row."

Drexler went on to win an NBA championship in 1995 as a Houston Rocket while playing alongside former Cougar teammate Hakeem Olajuwon. Drexler is a member of the NBA's 50 Greatest Players List and a Hall of Famer.

3) Vince Carter (North Carolina): "Half Man, Half Amazing" astounded crowds in the NCAA, the NBA and even the Olympics--who can ever forget when he literally jumped over the head of the 7-2 Frederic Weis?



Carter, the 1999 Rookie of the Year and an eight-time All-Star, put on arguably the best dunking exhibition ever while winning the 2000 NBA Slam Dunk Contest.

4) Dominique Wilkins (Georgia): "The Human Highlight Film" specialized in two footed takeoffs that resulted in powerful finishes, plus tip dunks of errant shots. Vince Carter admiringly says that Wilkins did dunks that no one else could do.

Wilkins won the NBA Slam Dunk Contest in 1985 and 1990 but many fans still think that he was robbed in 1988 in Chicago when home favorite Michael Jordan edged him out with a perfect score on his final dunk. A nine-time All-Star, Wilkins became a Hall of Famer in 2006.

5) Steve Francis (Maryland): Generously listed at 6-3, "Stevie Franchise" was an explosive dunker who could throw it down over players who were much bigger than he was. The 2000 co-Rookie of the Year made the All-Star team three times but never really seemed to fulfill his potential in the NBA.

6) Shaquille O'Neal (LSU): The "Diesel" candidly admits that every time he dunked the ball in college he was trying to tear the rim down. Understandably, no one wanted to get in his way when he had a head of steam. Young Shaq was quick, graceful and mobile while also having tremendous power. If only he had become as interested in blocking shots as he was in dunking...

O'Neal was a controversial selection to the 50 Greatest Players List (he had only been in the NBA for a short time when the list was made) but he certainly went on to prove that he belonged in that elite company.

7) Michael Jordan (North Carolina): Even though this is a list purely about college dunking skills, not pro dunking skills or overall greatness, seventh seems a bit low for "Air Jordan." Everyone knows his resume, so there is not much to say about the man who will be formally inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame this fall.

8) Darvin Ham (Texas Tech): Sort of a poor man's Dominique Wilkins, Ham delivered powerful dunks off of two footed takeoffs. He will always be remembered for breaking a backboard during Texas Tech's upset of North Carolina in the 1996 NCAA Tournament. He averaged 2.7 ppg in an eight year NBA career.

9) Harold Miner (USC): "Baby Jordan" could not live up to that unfair nickname but he was an excellent college player and a very creative dunker even though he, like Griffith and Francis, was not as tall as his listed height (6-5 in Miner's case). Miner's NBA career lasted only four seasons but he won two NBA Slam Dunk Contests.

10) Jerome Lane (Pittsburgh): Bill Raftery's "Send it in, Jerome" call helped to immortalize Lane's 1988 backboard breaking dunk versus Providence. Newly hired Arizona basketball coach Sean Miller provided the assist to Lane and jokingly says that he remembers the play as "the pass."

Brett Favre's Selfishness

Brett Favre is not Michael Jordan, the Green Bay Packers are not the Chicago Bulls circa 1995 and the NFL is not the NBA. In other words, a Favre comeback is unlikely to lead to even one championship for Green Bay, let alone three. Favre acknowledged this reality when he announced his retirement four months ago, saying that anything less than winning a Super Bowl would be a failure for him at this point and that the odds were against the Packers doing better in 2008 than they did in their dream 2007 season during which everything came together perfectly. So why is Favre reprising his role as Achilles in the tent pondering whether or not to return to battle?

Despite the constant attempts by his fawning fans in the media to airbrush his image, Favre has demonstrated his selfishness on several occasions. For instance, in 2004 when wide receiver Javon Walker made the Pro Bowl and wanted to restructure his contract with the Packers, Favre--who of course already had his big money deal in place--publicly took management's side, breaking the "code" that players do not interfere with other players' contract negotiations. Walker ultimately reported to camp without getting a new deal and promptly suffered a season-ending knee injury. Favre is also notorious for not providing much guidance for his backup Aaron Rodgers; at one point, Favre bluntly said that the Packers were paying him to play, not to be a coach. Red Auerbach's Boston Celtics had a completely different approach when they won 11 championships in 13 seasons: sixth man Frank Ramsey schooled John Havlicek in the ways of the NBA and veterans like Bob Cousy and Bill Sharman similarly helped K.C. Jones and Sam Jones.

For the past several years, Favre has effectively held the Packers' future hostage with his annual vacillations about retiring--and it's not like Favre has been leading the Packers to championships during this time: they went 4-12 in 2005 and 8-8 in 2006 before their 13-3 storybook campaign last year. Favre has a 3-5 playoff record since 2002, with 14 touchdowns and 16 interceptions in those games; the three times that he had a passer rating over 100 the Packers won but he also had three games with a passer rating lower than 56 and the Packers lost by at least 14 points on each of those occasions.

The Packers do not want Favre to come back but if anyone in the organization says that then they will be painted as the bad guys. Meanwhile, Favre holds the franchise, the players and the loyal Packer fans in limbo while he decides what he thinks is in his best interest. No one can question Favre's skills, toughness or competitive zeal--but any other player who repeatedly displayed such selfishness would be loudly condemned.

Woody Paige Interview, Part I

While going through my archives, I found an unpublished gem: in October 2004, I interviewed Woody Paige for an article about Larry Miller, holder of the ABA' s single-game scoring record (that article was eventually published in the July 29, 2005 issue of Sports Collectors Digest; you can read a reprint of it here). Paige has spent a lot of time--and made a lot of money--convincing people that he is some kind of buffoon but his real personality is nothing at all like the character he plays on ESPN. I've never met Paige in person and I had never been in contact with him prior to this interview but he spent the better part of an hour talking to me about a wide range of subjects in addition to sharing his memories of Miller's record-setting game, which Paige covered as a young beat writer:

Paige: "I covered the ABA from like '69, then I moved to Denver in '74 and I covered it until its demise. So I covered it for like seven or eight years."

Friedman: "So if you were covering it for Denver obviously then you were at the ABA Finals against the Nets and Julius Erving?"

Paige: "Oh, yeah. My greatest memory of that is that the Nuggets were up by 22. I walked by the Nets bench to go the bathroom and I heard Kevin Loughery say to the players, 'Just go out and beat them up. We're out of this game, go and hurt them.' I mean, not hurt them in the sense of hurting them physically, but in the sense that they're a soft team and the only way to get back in the game is to just bang on them. They came back and John Williamson was a mean guy and Taylor must have been on that club--"

Friedman: "Yeah, Brian Taylor."

Paige: "And Kenon. Kenon could be a banger. Billy Paultz was a banger. They went out and they did it and (Denver Coach) Larry Brown was defenseless to stop it. I mean, he couldn't stop it. Maybe Larry learned something (from that experience) by the time he got to Detroit. They (New York) came back and won the game and I always remember just the oddity of walking by the bench and hearing his strategy. It's kind of funny because I had to be within three or four feet (to hear it) because it's not something that I would be able to hear in a lot of large buildings, but the crowd was out of it because the Nets were down 22. If they go on to win the game then the Nuggets would (probably) have won the last ABA Championship. They got beat on a freaky play in the first game. Bobby Jones was a great defender and went up to defend Julius on the baseline and Bobby's shoe exploded."

Friedman: "I know--I read about that. I heard about that."

Paige: "And Bobby's not a guy who would make up a story or make up an excuse. He said he went up and the moment he went up his shoe blew apart and it distracted him for just enough time that Julius was able to get off the shot and make the basket. So, I mean Denver could have won the last ABA Championship...The Celtics would play Denver (in exhibition games) and you'd talk to those guys and they'd say, 'Yeah, these guys can play.' Because they (the Celtics) never saw the ABA. CBS put on eight games a year or something like that. They (the ABA) played in a lot of small towns."

Friedman: "Do you remember the first game that you saw Julius in person and what you thought at the time?"

Paige: "Yeah, it was in Virginia. It was a game toward the end of the year. I don't know why I know that it was the end of the year, but I wrote pieces for Basketball Digest later and that's why I distinctly remember that Bob Bass had a great quote that I used. He said that whenever Julius went up for a shot, for one his dunks, a tomahawk or something, everybody's ears in the building popped. It sucked the air out of the building--a different way of applying it. I guess Al Bianchi was the coach in Virginia."

Friedman: "Sure."

Paige: "I got to know Al Bianchi pretty well and he said that you're going to see a kid tonight that you're not going to believe. Yeah, yeah, ok, sure. If he's so good how come I've never heard of him? I never heard of him coming out of UMass. You heard of most of the good players but I guess he left after his junior year or whatever. He couldn't shoot, he didn't have any outside shot at all, but I've never seen anything like him. He had the Afro. I remember thinking that this guy's going to play his career in a vacuum. The NBA really never saw him early, because he had to be so much more creative going to the basket and doing things because he couldn't shoot a lick from the outside. He was a terrible outside shooter. If you remember--and you're old enough to remember--Magic Johnson couldn't shoot."

Friedman: "Of course."

Paige: "Well, Julius was that bad. (ed. note: To be fair to Erving, it should be noted that in his third season he shot .395 from three point range and he was a .778 free throw shooter during five ABA seasons, including .801 in his final campaign in that league). Nobody would guard him outside, obviously, because he couldn't shoot, so he had to do even more amazing things going to the basket than he did later when he could shoot from the outside. Yeah, I remember him distinctly. Two times in my life that I walked away (amazed). I went to see John Elway when he was a senior in college--because of the NFL strike--and I came back and told Dan Reeves, 'I've seen the future and it's John Elway.' He went, 'Yeah, he's a good quarterback.' Good quarterback? He's an incredible quarterback. That doesn't make me someone who discovered electricity."

Friedman: "Sure. I understand."

Paige: "When I saw him play at Stanford he would throw a ball through a cornerback's hands. You've seen the thing where a guy drops a dollar and you try to slap your hands together to catch it before it hits the floor. Well, the cornerback couldn't react quickly enough. I mean the ball was right between his hands but he couldn't react quickly enough to stop it from going past him, like guys could do in the pros. We started talking about him. It didn't seem like there was any way Denver could get him, but you know that story. The only two times I ever felt that way were seeing John Elway in college and seeing Julius Erving for the first time. We all knew about David Thompson from playing UCLA. I knew Michael Jordan could play--I saw him in the national championship game. I never knew what he was going to be, but I knew that he could play and that he was going to be a great player. I never thought that he would be the greatest. But Julius Erving was a totally unknown player and to see him and go, 'My God, I have seen the Messiah of basketball!'"

Friedman: "What do you think would happen if somehow through a time machine you would have the young free flowing Julius from the ABA and Michael Jordan from whatever we might think is his best year, what do you think that would be like?"

Paige: "Oh, I think that there is a natural progression. I didn't get to see him, but people would say about Elgin Baylor that nobody will ever be as creative or as demonstrative or as good in that position. Then Julius Erving came along and just blew him away and you go, boy, Baylor couldn't hold his jock. Then Michael came along and he did stuff that Julius couldn't do. I mean, he took it a step further. But I think Kobe--forgetting everything else--in certain ways can do some things that even Michael couldn't do. I'd say that there is a natural order, as has been pointed out by Darwin."

Paige laughs, then continues, "There is a natural order. There was never anybody like Julius Erving, not (even) Elgin Baylor. Well, Michael Jordan was like Julius--shorter, better shooter. He had--­probably because he had the North Carolina background--a much more functional game. I mean, he had a more solid game. Julius' game was based on the playground. Michael played in a very formalized system under Dean Smith. That is probably what made him able to take it (further)--because he could do things that Julius couldn't do in a formalized setting and win championships and he had Scottie Pippen, who had his back. I would have loved to see them (go head to head with both in their primes), but we got to see Larry Bird and Magic and I don't know how much more I could have taken. What was funny to me is that Julius Erving leaves Bianchi and those people in Virginia and you say, 'How in the world could you do that?' and Al Bianchi says, 'Wait until you see this next kid.' Yeah, sure, ok. Then you see George Gervin and you go, 'Where do they get these guys?' I mean, people that just show up out of nowhere and can play their asses off. Gervin had been in junior colleges and he was sort of like Jim Thorpe--you didn't know if he was playing for pro teams when he was 14 years old or what."

Friedman: "You're right. These guys come out of nowhere and then these guys could really play."

Paige: "Who in the world could imagine that one stupid club that lasted three years or whatever could come up with Julius Erving and George Gervin? I mean, where in the hell did that come from? The Boston Celtics did not come up with Larry Bird and then another Larry Bird. You don't come up with Magic Johnson and then another Magic Johnson. You (much later) come up with Kobe Bryant."

Friedman: "That franchise, in its earlier incarnation under a different name, didn't they have Rick Barry? He didn't want to go (to Virginia) when they changed the name--"

Paige: "They didn't discover him."

Friedman: "Oh, right, I see what you're saying--they didn't discover him (like they discovered Erving and Gervin)."

Paige: "Yeah, I mean Julius Erving and George Gervin came out of nowhere and suddenly are playing for the Washington Caps/Virginia Squires."

Friedman: "No, I see what you are saying--players that they discovered, not just who showed up on the team."

Paige: "Yeah. Did they totally discover them? Maybe not, but everybody says that Benjamin Franklin discovered electricity and also discovered small town newspapers and the post office. Well, you know, other people equally 'discovered' some of those things, but Benjamin Franklin is remembered for it. I don't know that the Virginia Squires get the credit that they deserve for discovering a couple guys that nobody had ever heard of."

Friedman: "They just didn't have the financing to keep them, right?"

Paige: "Yeah. I don't remember the owner's name, but he said that we did as much as we could and then we sent them along. They hung on as long as they could. Julius got to play in New York and got to play in Philadelphia, so we all got to see him, but by the time he got to Philadelphia he was not--he was a much more fundamentally sound player and smarter player and a classy player, but he was not the young man who just played such a natural game that--well, most people never saw what Julius Erving was really about. Would you like to see a young Julius against a young Michael Jordan? Yeah, but I would like to see Barry Bonds and Babe Ruth play in the same game, but you can't do that."

Friedman: "With Julius and Jordan I am interested in your perspective because you have seen them both in person. I always thought, observing more from a distance, it seemed to me that Julius had more of a tendency to defer to teammates. When he came to a team he wouldn't say 'It's my team.' He would always say that it was McGinnis' team and Collins' team--that we are sharing that role. It seemed to me that Jordan had a personality that whatever team he was on was his team and he made it clear to everybody on the other team and on his team that it was his team and that he was taking the last shot and averaging 30 points and everyone falls in line behind him. Do you think that there is any credence to that, that maybe Julius' personality was a little different than Jordan's in some way?"

Paige: "He (Erving) was for most of his career a much lower key person, yes. I think there is a great deal of truth to that. I'll tell you, on the other side, he was a lot better leaper than Jordan. People think of Michael as a great leaper, but he couldn't touch Julius' leaping. If you were to go see Julius today, Julius has the biggest hands I've ever seen. I mean, that's why (he was so exceptional)--when you add leaping ability to the incredible hands. You know, who cares, but the untold story about Artis Gilmore is that he couldn't palm a basketball. He was a guy who was 7'2" and had to put stickum on his hands and players hated playing against him because the ball was always sticky because Artis Gilmore couldn't palm a basketball. He had the smallest hands in the world. Julius had the largest hands. I mean he wore the size 14 or 18 glove that you would see on a defensive lineman now. That really never got noticed. He had just incredible hands, so he could do a lot more with the basketball than Michael ever could and he had better leaping ability. He was not the shooter that he (Jordan) was and he was not the leader. Fundamentally he was not the guy, because as I said, Michael Jordan played for Dean Smith, who had the great ability to take incredible players and turn them into really average players. Dean and I are friends, but I mean everybody who went there you think, 'This guy isn't going to be much of a pro' and then (after they do well in the pros) you go, 'Why didn't he play great there?'"

Friedman: "It's the system, right?"

Paige: "Yeah. I think there is a great truth to that. He was much more of a leader than Julius was but that happened late. When he was in Philadelphia he took control of the team over McGinnis and when they played the Lakers and Pat Riley's club he was really a great leader at that point."

Friedman: "I don't know in would even call it being more or less of a leader--I think it (Julius Erving's style) is a different kind of leadership. I think Jordan was an assertive leader. Julius was more of a leader who led by example, it seemed to me. He would work hard, he'd show up, he'd practice, he'd play hard, but he wasn't the kind of person to get into someone's face--"

Paige: "A lot less vocal."

In Part II, Paige explains how he developed the persona that he uses on "Around the Horn" and which prominent NFL coach first asked the famous question, "Why I always have to straighten you guys out?"