WP:There Are Still Things Money Can't Buy

[TK]

My bad, I missed Bubba's posting of this. Mods please delete this post.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A426-2003Nov4.html

washingtonpost.com

There Are Still Things Money Can't Buy

By Thomas Boswell

Wednesday, November 5, 2003; Page D01

When a franchise has lost its way, one manifestation of its general confusion is that, within a few years, its former players seem to become stars everywhere else.

On Sunday, when Patrick Ramsey left the game briefly with an injury, the Redskins were left with a backup quarterback who had never thrown a pass in the NFL. If Ramsey really does get injured, as opposed to his regular weekly muggings and maulings, the Redskins could become a joke.

Yet look at all the ex-Redskins quarterbacks who litter the NFL at this very moment. Brad Johnson, Redskins quarterback in 2000, won the Super Bowl last year with Tampa Bay. Trent Green, Redskins quarterback in 1998, may win the Super Bowl this season with the undefeated Chiefs.

On Sunday, Tony Banks, Redskins quarterback of 2001, won a game as an emergency starter. His Texans beat Carolina despite 153 yards rushing by ex-Redskin Stephen Davis, who is on pace for slightly less than 2,000 yards. Last month, Gus Frerotte, Redskins quarterback of 1997, filled in admirably for the Vikings.

The list of useful ex-Redskins with names like Barber, Kalu, Thrash, Gardener, Mitchell and Wilkinson goes on. But the point is simple. When the master plan is flawed or, more likely, the plan is changed often amid a hailstorm of firings and departures, you're ultimately left with a mess.

Since Jack Kent Cooke died, owners who were too weak or too strong, too disengaged or too involved, have run the Redskins. Since Daniel Snyder arrived, it's been hard to know who's running the ship. Marty Schottenheimer thought he was -- for a year. The Redskins are now controlled by a braintrust with at least four heads: Snyder, Vinny Cerrato, Steve Spurrier and whoever the last guy was who said something that sounded smart to Snyder.

We've seen this comedy before. The Baltimore Orioles, after Davey Johnson and Pat Gillick were exiled, seemed to stock the whole league with stalwarts. Just as Orioles owner Peter Angelos had a period when he was under the spell of Syd Thrift, Snyder took advice from Pepper Rodgers, whose last coaching seasons were with the Memphis Hound Dogs of the Mid-American Football Association.

The justification for these miscast management marriages is that the owner loves the team, wants to spend his money, but is desperate to "learn the sport" so that he knows where his cash is going and, maybe, land some of the credit.

The result, unfortunately, is usually comic disarray. For example, Snyder recently had a six-hour meeting with Spurrier to discuss the team's problems. In 12 years at Florida, Spurrier probably never had six hours of meetings total with all his superiors combined. Much less to explain himself or his sport.

Around the same time, the Redskins released backup quarterback Rob Johnson, assuming Danny Wuerffel would have nothing better to do on Sundays than return to the Redskins. Instead, Wuerffel was so mad at the way Snyder and Cerrato had released him over Spurrier's objection that he spit on the job.

Also during the bye week, before their latest disorganized loss, the team brought in consultants -- in other words, old coaches from better days -- to look over the shoulders of the current crew. That's guaranteed to produce a winning spirit!

Finally, Snyder called Jimmy Johnson, former coach of the hated Cowboys, for a chat. Johnson said the call was to discuss making the transition from college coach to the NFL; no one's done it better than Johnson. Sources close to Snyder said the call was to complain about Johnson's comments on the Fox pregame show. In any case, even Johnson said he found the call "odd."

The ringleader of this circus is Snyder, 38, who wants to own the Redskins for many years. He wants to learn. He'll pick any brain. That's admirable. But he's learning on our time. Even more scary, there's plenty of precedent that, despite his brains, energy and good intentions, he'll never be a "football man."

To see the problem more clearly, use that old principle from high school algebra: invert. Imagine a great football executive who wakes up one day and inherits a controlling interest in Intel. So, he quits football and makes himself CEO of Intel. Why? "Because I've always loved computers. And I'm a quick learner." What would you do with your Intel shares?

The problem in sports isn't the intellectual difficulty of the concepts involved. In fact, their outward simplicity is the trap that sucks so many bright successful people like Snyder into a vortex of flawed choices. Being involved in the key decisions in a sport franchise is just as specific a gift as having the kind of mind that can grasp technology. It may not require a fraction of the education or even, perhaps, IQ. But the rarity is comparable.

For example, at the World Series, I asked Jack McKeon how long it took him to evaluate the Marlins personnel when he took over in May. "A week," he said. No, I said, I mean how long did it take you until you knew everything important about every player -- from hitting tendencies and flawed techniques to their personalities and how they interacted in the clubhouse.

"What did I just say?" said McKeon. "A week."

McKeon explained that knowing a sport well enough to build or lead a champion is something that you know down to your bones. He talked about how he'd caught batting practice for the minor league Newark Bears when he was barely in high school. Who was pitching to him at age 15? Don Newcombe, who, a few years later, won 27 games for the Dodgers. Who was the Bears right fielder standing a yard in front of him swinging the bat? Yogi Berra.

That's why McKeon can analyze or inspire the Marlins. And that's why Snyder, no matter how many hours he grills Spurrier or Johnson, can probably only do one thing when he gets involved in vital decision-making. And what is that one thing? Get In The Way.

It's not fair. It may even be sad. But almost every time that's just how it is.

An owner can have a proper role in a sport, even if he has never played it, grown up in it or proved himself by moving through an organization from the bottom up. For example, Marlins owner Jeffrey Loria, who made his money as an "international art dealer specializing in major paintings and sculptures by 20th Century Masters," may have a decent handle on it. Before Game 5 of the World Series, Loria lured McKeon outside Pro Player Stadium. "That's a beautiful car," said McKeon, looking at red luxury convertible parked out front. "It's yours," Loria said, and handed the keys to the dumbfounded McKeon.

After the Series, Loria ran around the bases, slid into home plate and said, "I felt like a little kid." That's sports ownership in a nutshell. If you want more, you do so at great risk -- to your team.

© 2003 The Washington Post Company