Post by showcase on Jan 21, 2005 15:02:26 GMT -5
First, we have proof that there is good in some of the star players in the NFL...
From the Indianapolis Star.[/i]
...however, he's a nice little insight piece that kind of makes you wonder why we sometimes come to like these players...
From the Cincinatti Enquirer.[/i]
Kind of makes you wish it was Indy taking on the Steelers this weekend.
It was first-and-goal at the San Diego 3-yard line. Manning called the play, a shovel pass to James out of the shotgun formation with James and fullback James Mungro aligned in a split-back set. The Colts had run the play only four times in practice.
No matter. Edgerrin James called an audible.
" 'Nah, James, go and make some history,' " James told Mungro as they approached the line of scrimmage. " 'This one is yours.' "
James and Mungro swapped places. James lined up on the left, Mungro on the right. Manning's pass went to Mungro, who took it to the end zone for Manning's record-tying 48th touchdown. No. 49 came later in the Colts' 34-31 overtime victory, on a pass to Brandon Stokley.
No matter. Edgerrin James called an audible.
" 'Nah, James, go and make some history,' " James told Mungro as they approached the line of scrimmage. " 'This one is yours.' "
James and Mungro swapped places. James lined up on the left, Mungro on the right. Manning's pass went to Mungro, who took it to the end zone for Manning's record-tying 48th touchdown. No. 49 came later in the Colts' 34-31 overtime victory, on a pass to Brandon Stokley.
From the Indianapolis Star.[/i]
...however, he's a nice little insight piece that kind of makes you wonder why we sometimes come to like these players...
The revisionist paint job on Corey Dillon is getting a little thick. If the New England Patriots return to the Super Bowl in 16 days, Dillon will be part halfback, part Dalai Lama. The notion that CD cured all of his personality ills by leaving the Cincinnati hellhole for the paradise of a Boston exurb is getting maximum run. It's a good story.
All this time, we here in Loserville thought CD was a pouty locker-room wrecker just because, well, just because that's who he was. Some babies are born with hair. Corey Dillon was born with anger.
As a Bengal, Dillon rode permanent shotgun on the last train to Jerkville. It was, we thought, a personality trait.
Boy, were we dumb.
Actually, Corey was just a frustrated young man who needed only the sunshine of winning to bloom and re-emerge as the Prince of New England. Corey Dillon, prince. Who knew?
Dillon's not the player who threw his shoulder pads into the stands after the last game of Cincinnati's 2003 season, who declared "it's all about me," who said he'd rather flip burgers than play for the Bengals.
(That last sentiment came in the midst of a contract negotiation, by the way, not because of Chronic Losing Fatigue. Just to be, you know, accurate.)
Dillon's not that guy. He's Mr. Touchdown. He's Mr. Team.
He's not the guy who a few years ago winged his Ohio driver's license at a clerk at a drive-through convenience store because the kid had the nerve to ask him for identification. "Don't you know who I am?" Dillon asked.
The clerk didn't. Evidently, none of us did.
All this time, we here in Loserville thought CD was a pouty locker-room wrecker just because, well, just because that's who he was. Some babies are born with hair. Corey Dillon was born with anger.
As a Bengal, Dillon rode permanent shotgun on the last train to Jerkville. It was, we thought, a personality trait.
Boy, were we dumb.
Actually, Corey was just a frustrated young man who needed only the sunshine of winning to bloom and re-emerge as the Prince of New England. Corey Dillon, prince. Who knew?
Dillon's not the player who threw his shoulder pads into the stands after the last game of Cincinnati's 2003 season, who declared "it's all about me," who said he'd rather flip burgers than play for the Bengals.
(That last sentiment came in the midst of a contract negotiation, by the way, not because of Chronic Losing Fatigue. Just to be, you know, accurate.)
Dillon's not that guy. He's Mr. Touchdown. He's Mr. Team.
He's not the guy who a few years ago winged his Ohio driver's license at a clerk at a drive-through convenience store because the kid had the nerve to ask him for identification. "Don't you know who I am?" Dillon asked.
The clerk didn't. Evidently, none of us did.
From the Cincinatti Enquirer.[/i]
Kind of makes you wish it was Indy taking on the Steelers this weekend.