Vick and his handlers

What follows is the script to this week's Sports at Large, , which airs on WYPR (88.1 FM) in Baltimore each Monday at 5:30 p.m. and again each Tuesday during Maryland Morning at 9 a.m. The show can also be heard live through streaming audio at www.wypr.org.

Michael Vick's return to the National Football League essentially ensures that his will be the dominant storyline of the upcoming professional football season.

But for as much attention as Vick will draw, there are four men who will be under the microscope as much as Vick, for his conduct and success will be tied to them.

Two of them, Philadelphia Eagles owner Jeffrey Lurie and his coach, Andy Reid, are directly affected by what Vick does this year.

It was Reid who made the call to pursue Vick, then convinced Lurie to offer a one year contract, with an option year, to a player who has been out of football for two years.

Even with the extended period away, the decision to sign Vick makes enormous sense, from a football standpoint. He is only 29 years old, and is blessed with tremendous speed and a powerful throwing arm.

Of course, there was so much more to the choice to bring in Vick beyond his 40-yard dash time and his ability to throw a 70-yard pass.

Vick's crimes against dogs were heinous and reprehensible. At each of the Eagles' 16 games, there will be a heavy presence of protestors, not to mention fans, asking how such a depraved individual could ever be allowed back on the field.

With all due respect to them and to those who love and cherish pets, the Eagles did the right thing.

Michael Vick has met all the requirements of the criminal justice system, and has pledged to speak out against the horrors of dog fighting.

His celebrity and his story could make him an amazing living example against animal cruelty and he ought to get that chance.

That's where Roger Goodell and Tony Dungy come in.

Goodell, the NFL commissioner, signed off on Vick's return. He is entirely correct to ensure that Vick understands that playing football is a privilege not a right.

To that end, Goodell, who has placed a premium on good citizenship among the league's players, put a hold on Vick's comeback, giving him as much as six weeks of the regular season to prove that he gets it.

The commissioner smartly also enlisted the assistance of Dungy, the former Indianapolis Colts, to help Vick repair his character

There are no perfect people, and the NFL is increasingly becoming a home for miscreant behavior.

Indeed, on the day Vick signed with the Eagles, Goodell imposed a one-year suspension on Donte Stallworth, a Cleveland Browns receiver who pled guilty to a March DUI in which the car he was driving struck and killed a Miami man.

But Dungy's track record of mentoring and molding players is long and impressive. If anyone can show Michael Vick the straight and narrow, it's Tony Dungy.

To be sure, touchdowns and interceptions will tell one part of Michael Vick's redemption story.

But if you never hear the names of Andy Reid, Jeffrey Lurie, Roger Goodell and Tony Dungy again in the context of Michael Vick, you'll know the quarterback has made it all the way back.

One more thing: the league wasted no time authorizing the sale of Michael Vick jerseys in Eagle green.

Both Vick and the NFL should donate a portion of the profits of his jersey sales to a Philadelphia area animal rights concern. It may be one of the few good things Michael Vick has done in a long time.

Should Art get the call to the Hall?

Here's the script from this week's Sports at Large, which airs each Monday at 5:30 p.m. on WYPR (88.1 FM) and again the next morning during the 9 a.m. hour. If you don't live in the Baltimore area, you can hear the show live on streaming audio at www.wypr.org.

You get the feeling that Rod Woodson was the kind of kid who would go around stirring up a nest of hornets, then would stand and dare the insects to sting him.

In his Hall of Fame enshrinement speech Saturday, Woodson, who anchored the defensive backfield at safety in the Ravens Super Bowl season, told the crowd that former owner Art Modell belonged with him in Canton.

That would be Canton, as in Ohio. That would be Canton, as in an hour south of Cleveland. And that would be Cleveland, the city where Modell once owned the Browns, before he moved them to Baltimore.

So, Woodson stood in front of a crowd of Ohio football fans and told them that the guy who ripped their hearts out of their chests deserved to be honored among the greatest figures in the history of the sport.

And when the predictable boos rained down on him, Woodson stood there and told the crowd they were wrong, that despite what their feelings told them, Art Modell was a football legend, and should be eternally recognized as such.

In a world of complexities, of nuance, of shades of gray, we come to sports for the simplicity they offer. The guys in our uniforms are heroes. The guys in the other uniforms are the villains.

The trouble comes when the roles change, when the saints become sinners.

That day, for football fans in Northeast Ohio, came in November, 1995, when Art Modell decided to pick up his team and move them east.

From that point forward, Modell became the Cleveland version of Cain, a man who couldn't go home because of one misdeed.

Of course, Modell didn't kill anyone. And unlike another son of Ohio, Pete Rose, Modell didn't commit an unpardonable sin against his sport. All Art Modell did was move his team.

Actually, Art Modell's record in the NFL is a remarkable one.

It was Modell nearly 50 years ago who approached his friend Wellington Mara, the owner of the New York Giants, and sold him on the idea of sharing television revenue among the league owners.

Without that, there would be no way that cities like Green Bay or New Orleans or Baltimore would be able to compete with New York and Chicago or New England for players. The rich in football would get richer the same way they do in baseball.

And without Modell, the longtime chairman of the NFL's television committee, there might not have been Monday Night Football, as he convinced ABC and advertisers to take a chance on a new concept.

But here's where that shading comes in. The Browns were highly successful when Modell moved them.

And for long suffering Baltimore fans who see Modell as a savior, remember he voted against granted Charm City an expansion team, then struck a quiet agreement on a private plane with former Governor Glendening for the same stadium deal he voted against.

On balance, Rod Woodson is right; Art Modell should be enshrined in Canton.

Putting him there, however, would stir up a mighty big hornet's nest, and the voters may wait until the ire of the hornets of Cleveland has died down, and Art Modell has left this mortal coil before they do what's right.

 

Erin’s plight

Here's the script for this week's "Sports at Large," which airs each Monday at 5:30 p.m. and again on Tuesday mornings during "Maryland Morning" at 9 a.m. on WYPR, 88.1 FM in Baltimore. You can hear the station through streaming audio at www.wypr.org.

There are many unknowns left in the matter in which a reporter for ESPN named Erin Andrews was apparently filmed surreptitiously while she was in a hotel room, up to and including who did it.

What we do know is the perpetrator is subhuman and deserves to be punished to the limit that the law will allow for robbing Andrews of her privacy and taking away her sense of security.

But we would do a terrible disservice to Erin Andrews and every woman who makes a living in sports, in front or behind a camera, if we were to casually move on to the next topic when the person or persons who filmed Andrews is caught and put on trial.

For those who don't know her, Andrews is a 31-year-old woman who serves as a sideline reporter during ESPN and ABC telecasts.

Her contributions to a telecast typically consist of asking inane questions to a coach trying to rush off the field or the court at halftime of a game or tossing in trivial tidbits about one of the participants during a lull in the telecast.

That, in and of itself, doesn't make Andrews unusual among sideline reporters. Generally speaking, it's a superfluous position, no matter who does it, male or female.

The camera loves Erin Andrews, and many people, OK, men, love her for reasons that have little to do with her knowledge of a cover-two defense.

Chat rooms and blogs and Twitter postings serve as testament that sports fans, the overwhelming majority of them male, find Andrews irresistible.

And it's not just fans. There's a YouTube clip of the Tennessee men's basketball coach enthusiastically grabbing Andrews during an interview. And then there's former Orioles pitcher Rick Sutcliffe who practically leered at Andrews on air during an ESPN baseball telecast last year.

The only surprise for me in this story is that it didn't happen sooner. What I'm about to say will not come as news, but the American culture objectifies women.

Sports magnifies that objectification. Think not? Then ask yourself why former tennis player Anna Kournikova, who never came close to winning a major tournament, yet dominated endorsements and magazine covers.

ESPN has barred New York Post reporters from appearing on the channel because the newspaper ran still images from the video of Andrews that appeared online.

It's laudable that ESPN executives want to protect Andrews. Too bad they didn't take that approach a few years ago, when some of them bounced 50-something Lesley Visser from the Monday Night Football sidelines for a younger woman.

And what were they thinking this year, when they allowed an ESPN The Magazine writer to describe the size of basketball player Candace Parker's breasts in a story?

It's too late to give Erin Andrews her sense of security back. But that doesn't mean that we can't try to create a better climate for all the Erin Andrews to come.

A pointless gesture

I am a man and I am a big fan of women's basketball.

There, I said it and I'm not going to waste space explaining my interest to knuckle-dragging troglodytes who think that barefoot and pregnant is as much as women should aspire to.

That said, I don't understand why the WNBA continues to try to throw itself at the feet of people who couldn't care less about its product.

I'm speaking specifically about the "dunk" that Chicago center Sylvia Fowles threw down at the end of the league's All-Star Game Saturday. The word dunk appears in quotes for two reasons. One, the other nine players on the floor cleared out to allow the 6-foot-6 Fowles to flush it through. Second, Fowles missed the first attempt with a running start, before hitting the second.

Simply put, the dunk is not a part of the women's game, and hasn't been since West Virginia's Georgeann Wells because the first collegian to do it more than 25 years ago. The primary reason is there aren't many women who can do it, but I'd like to believe that even if, say, one woman per roster in the pro or major college game could, they would use it sparingly because there are other more fundamental ways to score. Don't get me wrong; I appreciate a nasty tomahawk as much as the next person. But, if I go to an NBA or men's college game and I don't see a dunk, I don't feel cheated.

To the larger point, Fowles' dunk just feels like one more attempt to make those aforementioned troglodytes pay attention. And they won't. As a matter of fact, I can practically guarantee that the ones who host sports radio talk shows and the ones who listen will bust a gut laughing at Fowles and the rest of the league as early as drive time tomorrow if they aren't doing it already. And if the people who run the league could simply live with the fact that there is a part of the American sports fan populace who will never accept the legitimacy of women athletes and nurture those who do, things would be fine.

Instead, the WNBA, in large measure, continues to ignore the professional women, the African-Americans, the families with young children, the older fans and yes, the lesbians, who embrace it, in search of the Holy Grail, the young men who drool over Erin Andrews, who tune into SportsCenter for bombs, home runs and dunks, and think boxing is too subtle.

At some point, hopefully before it folds, the WNBA's leaders are going to have come to grips with the notion that their product is better than a lot of the people they're selling their souls to bring in.

DT+DUI = WNBA Trouble

What follows is the script that aired on "Sports at Large," on WYPR, 88.1 FM in Baltimore. The program airs each Monday at 5:30 p.m. during "All Things Considered," and again during "Maryland Morning" Tuesday at 9 a.m. You can listen to the program through streaming audio at www.wypr.org.

Over the past 30 years or so, since the advent of Title 9, women athletes have become more than just competitors to their young fans, boys and girls. They've become flat out heroes, to be idolized and emulated.

So, what happens when one of these idols stumbles and falls? To what degree does her image take a beating in the public square, and just as importantly, should she be permitted the same latitude as a male counterpart.

Three weeks ago, Diana Taurasi, a guard with the Phoenix Mercury of the WNBA, scored 22 points in a 93-81 home win over the Seattle Storm. After the game, Taurasi and friends went out to celebrate.

Phoenix police said Taurasi's vehicle was driving 20 miles an hour over the 35-mile-per-hour limit, and that an officer saw the car drift out of a traffic lane.

When Taurasi was stopped at 2:30 a.m., she was driven to a mobile DUI van, where she gave a blood sample. Her blood-alcohol level was a point-17, more than twice the Arizona limit of point-08.

She has pleaded not guilty to the DUI and speeding charges, and Taurasi faces a minimum of 30 days in jail and a maximum of six months if she's convicted. She is to face a hearing on Wednesday.

Even to those who are indifferent or hostile to women's basketball, the name Diana Taurasi is a known commodity.

She led the University of Connecticut to three NCAA championships, and has been a key cog on two Olympic gold medal winning squads.

Men who hate women's basketball have been known to confer on Taurasi the status that she plays like a guy, based on her athleticism and brashness.

And by the way, men, that's no compliment.

Diana Taurasi was a driving force of the Mercury's league championship squad two years ago and currently leads the WNBA in scoring.

She's so good that a former competitor once named one of her adopted twins in her honor. The child is a boy and she named it Taurasi.

At any rate, the WNBA's All-Star Game takes place this Saturday in Connecticut, and Taurasi would normally be expected to be a part of the festivities back in the place where she became a star.

But should she be? Can a league that so depends on the goodwill of its fan base have one of its leading stars on display under these circumstances?

Save for a one-game suspension for mouthing off to officials, Diana Taurasi has never been in trouble before. Under normal circumstances, that might get earn her a pass.

But Diana Taurasi could have killed one of the little girls who idolize her with her thoughtlessness, and she deserves some punishment.

The Mercury, with the WNBA's blessing, gave Taurasi a two game suspension. That's a decent first step, but Diana Taurasi should take the next one by sitting herself down and taking herself out of Saturday's contest.

After all, All-Stars and heroes, males and females, don't just exist on the playing field. Their best and most lasting work comes when the jersey is taken off. It's a lesson Diana Taurasi won't soon forget.

ADDENDUM: Since this script was written and recorded, Diana Taurasi was selected to the Western Conference All-Star squad yesterday.

Freakin’ sweet

They tell you always to be careful when you're drinking so that your beverage doesn't end up choking you. That is useful and wise advice…provided, of course, you aren't startled by news you never expected to hear in mid-swallow.

That's precisely what happened in the midst of Thursday's announcement of the prime-time Emmy Award nominees. In went the coffee just at the moment that the Outstanding Comedy Series nominees, and in particular, Family Guy, were being revealed. Out went the coffee in a spit take worthy of Danny Thomas, father of Marlo and star of the sitcom, Make Room For Daddy.

Don't get me wrong. For years now, I've been telling people that Family Guy, the animated adventures of the Griffin family of Quahog, R.I., is the funniest, take no prisoners show on television. So, how the hell was I to believe that Emmy Award nominators, of all people, would actually listen? These are people, after all, who gave a nomination and then an Emmy to the late John Ritter for his seminal work as Jack Tripper on Three's Company.

But there was Family Guy, the first animated show to land a Best Comedy Series nomination in 48 years. Amazing stuff, this. Perhaps this portends a new, hipper day in the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences.

Of course, this was the first step in the proverbial journey of a thousand miles, meaning the Academy ain't quite so hip yet. The nomination panel missed some good stuff along the way.

To wit:

*The wonderful Pushing Daisies deserved more than a Supporting Actress in a Comedy nomination for Kristen Chenowith as it pushes up daisies after it was cancelled by ABC.

*The Big Bang Theory should have joined Family Guy and How I Met Your Mother among the Comedy Series nominees. At least Jim Parsons, as the delightfully socially inhibited Sheldon, snared a Best Actor nomination.

*How in the name of all that is holy could Friday Night Lights be left out of the Outstanding Drama Series category? Again? And Connie Britton, who portrays Tami Taylor, turned in the most amazing single scene of work last season by an actress during an episode when she spoke frankly and honestly with her daughter about sex. And Kyle Chandler, as her husband, Coach Eric Taylor, was similarly brilliant in a scene where he spoke evenly, but firmly to the object of his daughter's lust, his starting quarterback. Yet, both were shut out of the acting categories.

*HBO's No.1 Ladies Detective Agency was apparently the only show on the pay channel not to get a major nomination, though CCH Pounder did snare a Guest Actress nod, and the show got a couple of minor nominations. The show, which stars singer Jill Scott, could use the attention a nomination and a win could provide.

*Tony Shaloub? William Shatner? Kyra Sedgwick? Charlie Sheen? Tina Fey? 30 Rock? Again? Really?

A big thumbs up for HBO's Generation Kill, which snagged 11 nominations. I know a very special person who slept a lot better Thursday night after that news came down. Way to go, K!

The air around McNair

What follows is the script for this week's "Sports At Large,'' which airs each Monday at 5:30 p.m. and during "Maryland Morning" each Tuesday at 9 a.m. on WYPR 88.1 FM in Baltimore.

It's well more than a week since Steve McNair, a married man with four sons, and his girlfriend were found dead in a Nashville condominium, and frankly, I still don't have any concrete thought on what to make of it all.

I first heard about a strong-armed quarterback named Steve McNair in the early 1990's. Back then, he was "Air McNair,' leading Alcorn State out of the obscurity most historically black colleges and universities labor under.

In the process, he set passing records for Division 1-Double A for a season and a career that still stand.

Despite the grumblings of so-called experts who claimed that the football he played at Alcorn wasn't the same as the football played at major schools, McNair finished third in the 1994 Heisman Trophy voting.

Taken third overall in the 1995 NFL draft, McNair learned on the Houston Oilers bench for two years, but when the franchise relocated to Nashville in 1997, he became the starter.

From then on, McNair became a symbol of efficiency, toughness and cool. Time after time, he would take massive hits, only to get up from virtually all of them, dust himself off and make his way to the huddle for the next play.

Trailing the St. Louis Rams late in the fourth quarter of Super Bowl 34, McNair led the Tennessee Titans in a furious late game drive that ended one yard short of the goal line, seven points short of a tie.

McNair went on to share the league's Most Valuable Player trophy in 2003. When he came to Baltimore in 2006, McNair's best days were behind him, but he immediately gave the franchise credibility at quarterback, something the Ravens had never had to that point.

McNair retired after the 2007 season, and left football as one of only three quarterbacks to throw for 30,000 yards, while running for more than 3,500 yards in a career. The other two, Fran Tarkenton and Steve Young are enshrined in the Pro Football Hall of Fame, and so should McNair someday.

In addition to all of his playing field exploits, McNair was a force in his community, whether it was Nashville or his native Mississippi, where he personally loaded and paid for trucks filled with relief supplies after Hurricane Katrina.

In a two-dimensional sense, Steve McNair was the kind of man whose jersey you'd be proud to wear or whose poster you'd want to your kid to have hanging on the wall.

It's that third dimension, the one with human frailties, the one that emerged with his death that gives me pause about how to review the Steve McNair movie that just ended.

While Steve McNair was competing in that Super Bowl in 2000, Baltimore linebacker Ray Lewis was being charged with double homicide in connection with an incident outside an Atlanta nightclub.

Lewis' coach, Brian Billick famously told the media the next year that they weren't qualified to pass judgment on Ray Lewis.

Right at this moment, I feel similarly about my qualifications to stand in judgment of Steve McNair or anyone else for that matter.

How are your qualifications?