Now Playing Shortstop: Eddie Gibbons

I note this week things aren't always the way you'd like them to be but sometimes it doesn't matter.

On August 3rd, Darrell Green and Art Monk will be inducted into the football Hall of Fame. Darrell says, "I must be the most appreciative inductee in the history of the hall. When I received the NFL's Man of the Year in 1996, I started crying. I don't feel like I deserve it."

As for Art, I had the great pleasure of spending a day fishing with him on his boat. I used to attend the annual Ronald McDonald House charity auction. When Art came up for bid it coincided with the request of the Redskinettes to sit at our table to which I responded with a definitive yes. After a bidding war erupted, the ladies would cheer my bids - needless to say, I spent more than I intended but it was worth every penny. Art displayed the same class on the boat that day in front of one person as he did in front of 70,000 rabid 'Skins fans on Sundays at RFK.

Almost two hundred years earlier, the Royal Academicians paid five shillings to watch an English boxer pose in front of the Elgin marbles, transported from Greece, to Picadilly. According to Celina Fox, "the juxtaposition suggests a desire, at least among the English elite, to measure both its sporting heroes and its artists against the standards set by the ancients."

When I contrast the modesty of Green and Monk against perceptions of Roger Clemen's bully behavior or of Brett Farve's self-centeredness, the question arises of how standards merit admiration

There is an element, whenever standards are raised, of the impossibility of objectivity. The wife and I watched Branaugh's movie of Henry the V the other night, a version I'd taped from a televised Masterpiece Theatre. In his introduction, Alistair Cooke mentioned when the play opened in London, in 1938, it was booed off the stage since its nationalistic militaristic flavor was not welcome in an age of appeasement. When the Oliver film was released in 1944, after the British were well on the way to victory over the Nazis, English audiences couldn't get enough. Shakespeare, himself, had to walk a fine line in 1609 when writing a play about an unpopular war in Ireland to which his Queen was committed.

It was always Art Monk's practice, no matter how hard he was hit after a reception to simply stand up and trot back to the huddle. He said that action conveyed all which needed to be said.

It was the practice of my all-time hero Mickey Mantle, to run the bases head down after a home run, so as not to show up the pitcher. I bought the whole Yankees pr image: the shy grinning country boy from Oklahoma who courageously worked his way past injuries to be one of the best. None of the on-field behavior was reflected off the field - it was only the Mick, knowing he was dying, admitting the distinction, which confirmed the greater qualities of which I never suspected any were lacking - or wanted to know.

It's not Darrell, Art, Clemens, Farve or the Mick, in themselves, objectivly, which instills admiration, it's what we desire to see in them and ourselves that colors the view.

On business this past week in Greensboro, NC, I attended a Grasshoppers game in one of the finest minor league parks around. It was Christmas in July night and they did it up with all the trimimngs, Santa, snow, carols and elves. Even when it's not a special night, there's Babe the dog who brings balls to the umpire in buckets, retrieves bats after hits, and runs the bases after a win, touching every one with her nose.

Its not all as innocent as it sounds. The players run through a McDonalds M to enter the field, and even Babe wears a billboard ad. Just like in the case of Mickey, though, it doesn't matter because I don't want it to matter and mar what I envision minor league baseball to be all about.

I note Greg Norman was in contention for the British Open title last week. When I think of Greg, the first thing that comes to mind is "choke." Why? Because even though I desire to think of sports in the noblest terms, it's not possible from within our culture to eliminate the Lombardi dictum that winning isn't the only thing.

It wasn't when I was playing co-ed softball. During practice, we outfielders brought lawn chairs and a case of beer. It was only when our team grew less fun and more competitive, and I heard the local pro quarterback had imported ringers from Miami, who he also employed as waiters in his restaurants, that I lost interest.

Edward Gibbons prefaced his Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by writing, "to resist is fatal, and it was impossible to fly." Even though it appears nobility in sports is corrupted to the point of fatality, I don't fly though I could, because I haven't given up on what I desire sports to represent.

When Clemens is enshrined in Cooperstown, it'll be on the basis of records alone. I'm sure he thinks he deserves it. Darrell Green and Art Monk will be honored on August 3 not only for records but for their decency.