Not Mean Enough

Happy belated birthday to Roger Staubach, born 70 years ago Sunday. The updated Mean Joe Greene Coke commercial in Sunday’s Super Bowl was a reminder that Staubach, the Heisman trophy winner in 1963 and the Super Bowl MVP in 1972, was the original choice for the role in that 1979 Coke commercial.

“Somebody asked me about that and said that I turned it down,” Staubach told me, “but that’s not the case. I would have loved to do it. Some creative guy must have evaluated the concept and said, ‘Hey, we need a mean guy. It would be better to have Joe Greene than Staubach because Staubach’s a nice guy.’ 

“It probably made more sense, gave a more cuddly feeling to it, to have this big old tough football player give his jersey to this little boy. It turned out, I guess, it was the right decision, but I would have loved to do it.”

The Innocents Aboard

Just before I administered a spelling test to the second grade, one enterprising little boy told me that because he had trouble remembering how to spell two of the words, he helpfully wrote both of them on the inside of his privacy folder (which stands upright on his desk to prevent peeking by other students during the test). How’s that for self help?

Later that day, one of his classmates wasted so much time during a reading comprehension exercise that I told her to put it in her backpack and finish it as homework. She tried to hand it back to me, saying, “My mom told me that I can’t be taking school work home.”

The Tedium Is the Message

With the Super Bowl just one week away, already the tedious conversations have started about what is sure to be another round of witless shilling before, during, and after the game. Spare me from those who breathlessly anticipate, and then evaluate—with a straight face, no less—the crass commercial messages.

The Super Bowl ads are why the TV remote was invented. If I'm not leaving the room while the game pauses for advertisers to use flatulent monkeys or unbelievably dim-witted males to sell more weak beer, then I'm changing the channel or just hitting the mute button. I take a small pleasure in refusing to be either a part of the live (or should that be comatose?) audience for the smarmy scripts or a participant afterward in the dull discussions of them. If only there were a way for Nielsen to measure the number of viewers indifferent to the small fortune paid for the time between live action on the field.

In the 1967 film “Bedazzled,” Peter Cook, as the devil, laments that he has not done anything really evil since he introduced advertising into the world. And the Super Bowl commercials dramatize how banal that evil is.

Boomer Esiason’s Super Bowl Memory

The highlight of Boomer Esiason’s NFL career was being named league MVP in 1988 and taking the Cincinnati Bengals to the Super Bowl that season. Things were looking up for the Bengals late in that game vs. the San Francisco 49ers. They had kicked a field goal to break a 13-13 tie with about three minutes remaining, and Esiason was mentally preparing his post-game lines.

“I was supposed to do the Disney World commercial,” he said. “The group that was shooting it surrounded me on the sidelines and kept asking me if I knew what my lines were. For that entire three-minute period, I’m sitting there going, ‘I’m going to Disney World. I’m going to Disney World.’

“When [the 49ers’] John Taylor scored the winning touchdown, I dropped my head into my hands. Before I could even lift it up and say, ‘I’m not going to Disney World,’ [the group was] running directly across the field looking for Jerry Rice. That is my lasting memory of Super Bowl XXIII.”

Esiason has made a lasting mark off the field. After 14 years in pro football, he hung up his helmet and threw his hat into the media ring as broadcaster and talk-show host. In 1993 he established the Boomer Esiason Foundation after his son, Gunnar, was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis. Esiason has helped raise millions of dollars to battle the disease.

“Gunnar is living, breathing proof that you can live with cystic fibrosis and have a very good teenage life,” Esiason has said of his son, who played football, lacrosse, and hockey in high school. “To me, that’s probably the biggest accomplishment—that we make people realize that it’s not the end of the world.”

Poise

My St. Margaret’s tyro (6^th grade) basketball team recently played in a preseason tournament at Our Lady of Victories in Harrington Park, N.J. We have participated in this tournament for the last 18 seasons, give or take a year. It's a welcome annual invitation because of the many friends we have made in a town just down the road and across the New York border, and for the warm reception we always receive from our New Jersey CYO counterparts, who always present good competition.

OLV also is one of the few gyms that offers a locker room, before and after the game and during half-time, for the teams. Typically during the regular season, my players get out of their parents’ cars—or even walk to the St. Margaret’s gym—take off their coats, and are ready to go after a quick warm-up.

About a dozen years ago in a tournament semi-final game at OLV, I gave what I thought at the time was an unmistakably clear half-time speech to my team in response to their uncharacteristically sloppy performance in the first half. In my locker-room message I implored the players not to lose their composure in the second half.

“We’ve practiced over and over what we need to do here today,” I said. “Why are we losing our poise?” I reminded them of the drills we do repeatedly to counter pressure defense. “Let’s not forget what got us here,” I said. “Maintain your poise. Remember what we have worked so hard on during practice.” I used the blackboard in the locker room to illustrate the point. Finally, to emphasize what I thought was a cogent but concise message, I told the players, “Just remember one thing in the second half: Poise.

“O.K., then. Any questions before we take the floor?”

One hand went up.

“Coach, what does 'poise' mean?”