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By Christopher Witflee
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Howard Cosell wasn't trying to be ironic when he condemned the "jockocracy" that crept into network broadcasts of sporting events. He just turned out to be ironic because Boomer Esiason couldn't make it with Monday Night Football.
Trained as an attorney, Cosell nonetheless took journalism almost as seriously as his own celebrity. As long as news gathering professionals made the commitment to learn journalism and practice it with competence that comes through experience, Cosell expressed outrage that former athletes started ahead of them at the top of the profession.
The debate really boils down to taste, because sports broadcasts aren't, strictly speaking, journalistic venues. Former athletes bring to the booth deep first-hand knowledge of the games. Good reporters bring every bit as much knowledge, though it's of the third-person strain. As the game is broadcast, though, viewers really want to understand important strategic points that are more readily identified by former players and coaches, who have the right kind of knowledge for that task.
Esiason should have been a natural. From the earliest days of his playing career, when he skulled with the linemen and led the Bengals' players in the 1987 strike, he set himself apart as a football player's football player. The credibility he earned with his teammates went a long way toward taking the Bengals to Super Bowl XXIII. And as a media presence, down to the end of his playing career, Esiason came off strong and smooth doing interviews.
Even as critics panned Esiason's performance on Monday Night Football, those in the know loved his radio program with Cris Collinsworth. But those in the know could only scratch their heads every Monday night, questioning the whereabouts of the Boomer they'd come to know over the last 15 years.
Three weeks ago, ABC fired Esiason from Monday Night Football. ABC Sports President Howard Katz, echoing all too many viewers, complained of a "sameness" to the broadcast. The sameness was inevitable once ABC let go of Dan Dierdorf a year earlier, condemning MNF to a two-man booth.
Some critics found Dierdorf overbearing and didn't like the way he overplayed the ex-jock card, but the absence of his big personality killed the broadcast. Dierdorf didn't make the broadcast perfect, but at least he gave it an edge. Without him, ABC was left with Esiason, who seldom said anything interesting, and veteran play-by-play man Al Michaels, a dutiful broadcast reporter -- straight, knowledgeable, consistent and not even a little bit entertaining.
On his firing, Esiason hammered Michaels in terms that were revelatory, if graceless. Esiason said Michaels stifled him. He said Michaels wanted to be the show. In light of Michaels' stellar career controlling traffic in three-man booths, Esiason's remarks were incredible, even if one had to wonder why ABC thought showcasing Michaels in the promos would deliver an audience. But Esiason's remarks were incredible on a more crucial front.
Back in the early days of Monday Night Football, it was the tension between Cosell and Don Meredith that generated a broad prime time audience. Cosell and Meredith drove each other crazy on the air. The tension gripped audiences.
As demonstrated by last season's tentative broadcasts and confirmed by Esiason's account, tension also ruled his relationship with Michaels. But Esiason responded in a manner completely uncharacteristic of the mischief-maker who's generated 15 years of headlines. He deferred, allowing himself to be stifled simply because, by his account, Michaels and his allies wanted him stifled.
Now, when have we ever known Boomer Esiason to defer to anyone? Instead of laying low to placate Michaels, which proved futile, the Esiason we've known would have pushed the tension to the broadcast. Just by being himself, by playing the head game with Michaels, by making him squirm just because he didn't want to squirm, Esiason would have brought life to Monday nights.
Esiason defined his playing career largely by defiance. That's the personality worthy of Monday Night Football. His deference toward Michaels, a 24-year MNF veteran, was respectable. But it killed him. And, because it killed him, he ended up trashing Michaels, anyway.
If the substance of Esiason's later remarks about Michaels is wrong, the timing is even more wrong. If Esiason had been more subtle and more early with those sentiments, he'd be a star.
More obviously, though, Esiason's deference didn't end with Michaels. His tepid criticisms of players and coaches were viscerally boring. The contents were often meaty enough to upset the subjects of his remarks, but that doesn't take much. Meanwhile, those criticisms were so lacking in bite that audiences were unmoved.
Perhaps Esiason, not wishing to jeopardize his esteem among players, went for understatement and tact. That desire is understandable, for he took the job right off his playing career and is transitioning through a natural conflict between those who participate in sports by playing and those who participate by observing.
On the players' side, participation is driven not just by the unity of mind and body accessible through athletic competition, nor in combination with the shoulder-to-shoulder bonds that come from working together with others toward a common goal. Athletic competition, especially at the highest levels, also is driven largely by the thrill of displaying one's abilities and drawing praise for achievement therefrom. It stands to reason, then, that one who likes his talents to be admired doesn't enjoy being criticized.
But criticism is essential to the involvement of fans, journalists and the officials who put together the teams. Criticism greases the wheel. Spectator sports are of no use to spectators who aren't allowed to express pleasure and displeasure or critically assess, however feebly, the causes of victory and defeat. It's disingenuous and mildly manipulative to suppose competent adults who care if a team wins or loses have no business caring how that team wins or loses.
Some people in sports believe fans should just enjoy the performances, kind of the way dogs enjoy their food. But if you think dogs don't pay a steep price for their lack of critical sensibility, try eating a can of dog food. Criticism is one of the finer attributes of human experience. It refines and expands tastes, creates demand for better objects and practices and establishes the conditions for satisfying those demands. Criticism motivates and makes possible the greatest human achievements.
Indeed, were it not for the criticisms they endure, athletic professionals would go broke. Athletic professionals who decry today's "negativity" don't complain about the multi-million dollar salaries that come with it and they certainly wouldn't return to the good old days if it meant they had to sell insurance in the offseason.
On the whole, adults who are unwilling or unable to approach spectator sports critically are no friends of the enterprise. Those who are unwilling probably aren't interested to begin with, and those who are unable probably can't muster the economic power to buy tickets or patronize the sponsors.
In two seasons on Monday Night Football, Esiason never developed the critical voice that stimulates audiences and lends ever more credibility to praise. And all of America saw it not happen.
If Esiason had started as a Sunday afternoon commentator, he could have moved from the athlete's mentality to the critic's mentality in lower profile. He could have been moved to a position of higher visibility after proving that he could give the audience what it wants. He could have learned his new craft more naturally and with less disappointment. As it turned out, he broke in the hard way, in front of everyone, satisfying no one.
The moral of the story: The jockocracy killed the jock. Starting with the most visible position in sports broadcasting, Esiason started with a lot to lose, played to not lose and lost. He made the mistake of doing as he was told, presumably to maintain his position and prestige, from which he was thereby removed.
Typical of Esiason's approach was the moment on many broadcasts when Monster.com, the Internet job search, was announced as a Monday Night Football sponsor. To the Monster.com slogan, "There's a better job out there," Esiason would respond, "No, there's not."
One sensed that Esiason wanted the job too much. Many people have taken that approach to a job, only to learn it cashes out no respect. He tried too hard not to upset anyone -- precisely the wrong approach generally and, especially, the wrong approach for him. Again, it was so unlike Boomer Esiason.
Today, many critics believe Esiason's lackluster performance, combined with his parting shots at Michaels, will cripple his broadcasting career. Insightful television executives will see it differently. Fox or CBS should hire Esiason on one condition -- that he be himself.
The viewers would like it, no matter whoever else doesn't. And it would be good to have him back.
SPORTS is sports, in this space every week. Contact Bill at CityBeat, 23 E. Seventh St., #617, Cincinnati, OH 45202, or e-mail him at letters@citybeat.com
