Vintage Steel

The Pittsburgh Steelers offensive line worked the trenches like ash-faced miners in week 14. They barged and bumped, parried and pushed, drilled and drove, until the Browns defenders resembled spinning tops, unable to hold position.

With Big Ben Roethlisberger on a lame ankle, courageously lumbering toward his tailbacks and painfully heaving balls downfield, it was the offensive line that punched holes and carved out gaps for the attack. Sometimes they pulled, creating spaces for Rashard Mendenhall to catapult into. Other times they shifted down, pounding rushers into the soil to allow Ben enough time to throw.

It was a mighty performance from this routinely maligned group, who are sometimes small, but bulky, and more importantly, rougher than street hoods. Nobody wanted a piece of them on Thursday, not even the growling Brown dawgs, who scrapped all night to keep it close. Fill-in center Doug Legursky was tremendous on run plays, using his power and nimble feet to unravel defenders.

Ben's performance, of course, is hard to overlook. But the resilience of a depleted line and the hunger of the backs was really the story of this one. Mendenhall ran with authority, totalling 76 yards on 18 carries. Redman added 35 yards on just six carries. While the averages were very good, it was more the force of their charges - the sheer will of carrying into the fray of orange helmets. And with barely a second to change direction, they made cuts that hobbled the Browns for good.

In applying the hammer, the Steelers harked back to the Seventies version of the club that simply beat down opponents on both sides of the ball. The Black and Yellow bruised the Browns into submission, and while it was a weaker opponent than many, you can't help but feel this Pittsburgh outfit could dislodge the insides of most foes - be it the Ravens, Giants or Packers. What a contest that would be: Rodgers and his unblemished jersey, with his band of sure-handed receivers, rematching the ferocious Steelers defense and its relentless offense.

It's not easy to beat a team like Pittsburgh, make no mistake. No matter how many points you accrue, they will wear you down by controlling possession at key moments. And with the weather cooling, the Steeler resolve will only deepen. Throw in its backfield horses - of which Green Bay has none - and you wonder if they might just be able to topple the champs, given the opportunity.

Article first published as The Gritty Steelers Should be Feared on Technorati.

What's wrong with Rivers and the Chargers? Nothing

While every broadcaster under the sun gushes over Aaron Rodgers and how he might be the greatest quarterback the universe has ever seen - despite the fact that players like Joe Montana, John Elway and Johnny Unitas dominated the game in the same way and during an era when the QB was less protected - Phillip Rivers and his Chargers deserve some credit.

Rivers has been under the microscope for weeks now, mostly because his San Diego Chargers are on a four-game skid, and Rivers is turning the ball over more than usual. But football people on TV also have a tendency to be melodramatic when it comes to mid-season player assessment, and as we all know, if there's one position that receives unwarranted scrutiny, its the man playing behind center. 

Rivers is the latest scapegoat story in the NFL, especially for a football team that has raised a few doubts about its consistency and ability to perform under pressure. You see, if the Chargers fall short of matching it with the likes of the Green Bay Packers - who won the last Super Bowl by the way - then Rivers is clearly slipping. At least that's the conventional thinking on such matters. The stats that seem to sway most critics in these instances are the dubious "passer rating", and of course, the touchdowns to interceptions ratio. For those keeping score, Rivers posted four TDs against the Pack, along with three interceptions. His passer rating was 85.9. Against the Raiders it dropped to 72.5 - but he was sacked and hurried more than I can recall.

Despite the numbers, Rivers has played well. He took command in a tough contest against Green Bay and marched his group up and down the field with aplomb. Yes, San Diego was defeated, but they went down swinging. Some of Rivers throws in that game, in fact, were superbly swung deep balls - well designed and perfectly placed. Just ask Vincent Jackson. For the statistically-minded, Rivers was 26 of 46 and amassed 385 yards in the air, while Rodgers notched 247. He generated 28 first downs to Green Bay's 21. And his team lost by just one touchdown. Is there really cause for concern here?

If you want to pick at the Raiders game, don't. He played pretty well in that one too, despite a few miscues and an oddly confused home crowd. And his ability to bring the Chargers back into games is uncanny.

The bottom line is that Rivers is a warrior. He plays hard and his team responds to his energy and leadership. He clearly loves to compete, and obviously win. Hey, sometimes the games don't go your way, and that's all there is to San Diego's current funk. They're still in the AFC West and suitably placed to seize control of it. And while we can talk about "pick-sixes" and turnovers and broken plays, the Chargers have the talent and the fortitude to bounce back. Their defense is strong and the offense can tally points faster than a Charger Girl high kick. Again, for the statistically-minded, that's fast.

And while Mike Tolbert isn't fast, he's like a Mack truck with Ferrari power steering. If the Chargers keep feeding him and Ryan Matthews the ball, it'll only open up their potent passing game and generate more success. 

Cool Hand Cam

When broadcasters say, 'he's a football player', the fan presumes they mean the guy who plays football holistically, not simply to fulfil the specific duties of his position. It's a strange comment to make because certainly most NFL players consider themselves "football players", not merely spare parts of a team.

Having watched Cam Newton slide onto the NFL stage with all the gusto of Snagglepuss, however, the notion of a football player suddenly feels more definitive. The definition is Cam Newton. Newton has had so many detractors since announcing his eligibility for the NFL that you wondered if all the over analysis and tea cup storming would result in yet another JaMarcus Russell. Newton, who is sized similarly to Russell, is not only more athletic, but more confident, debonair and enthralling. This player, to put it mildly, is a football star in the making - if he isn't one already.

What makes Newton so attractive is his presence: he is commanding on the field. In his first two outings - against Arizona and Green Bay - Newton has not only piled up yards (854 in all), but his completion percentage is at 63% (52 completed of 83 attempts). He owns the passing game, not simply by virtue of his accuracy (and he has been mostly accurate despite what the experts have said) but his decision making has been impressive. When the pass hasn't been on, he's recognised running opportunities. When the corners play up and tight, he hasn't hung the ball out, but instead, has delicately lobbed it to the sideline where only the receiver could pluck it from its trajectory. His longer throws, too, have been dazzling to the eye, torpedoing over the wreckage of linemen and defensive backs below, and then finally, softly, descending into the outstretched arms of delighted Panthers, like the all but forgotten Steve Smith. The second quarter lob to Smith versus the Cardinals was particularly elegant, prefaced by a subtle ball fake to the left, then a sailing, spiralling ball arced across the horizon, eventually swooping toward its six-point finale. If it was the Olympics it would have earned a perfect score.

What else does Newton do? Well, he scrambles, he dives fearlessly for first downs, he works the play action with the pizazz of a Spanish bullfighter. He's agile in the pocket, aware and energetic, eyes down field, dodging tacklers and fending of charging bulls. But also keeps a cool head, and hand. It's this poise, to wait, adjust and see the game unfold in front of him that is fuelling his success. Heck, he can even make the lunge over helmets and pads to score goal line touchdowns, which is not easy with his 250-pound frame.

Newton is an enticing prospect. He has size, dexterity, versatility and a decent arm. At day's end though, it's his leadership that will take his career and this Panthers team far. He oozes style and bravado: from the way he lines up behind center, to the way he celebrates a score. The man wants to be out there, and clearly hungers for victory. Sure, a few passes have gone astray. A couple of runs have come up short. Let's keep things in perspective though: Newton hasn't even played a handful of games.The sky is, at least in this case, truly the limit.

And this is not just what Carolina fans need, it's what the NFL needs: a Namath-cool superstar, thrilling the arena like a football player, not simply a signal-caller.

A go, no-go for Houston

Houston's pro football endeavors - both those in powder and steel blue - have seen success, but are mostly forgotten among relentless images of America's Team, the Dallas Cowboys. The Cowboys are glitz and glamour, typified by their starred helmets and tradition for the grandiose. This, of course, continues today in their state-of-the-art football theater. It sure is tough to stand out in the world of Texas football.

Houston football, however, was once about a dynamic quarterback named Moon and a horse-powered runner called Campbell. The club was flashy and exciting, and played in a then, space-aged Astrodome, on a martian-like surface. For more than 35 years the Oilers greased the wheel of football fortune, spending the majority of their time in the win column. Go on and count them: the Oilers were a force, in the early Sixties, in the late Seventies, in the late Eighties and early Nineties. Houston football - even without Super Bowl jewelry - has been, at times, astronomically good.

But of course, so much has changed lately. The sun has long set on the career of Warren Moon, Steve McNair is sadly gone, and Earl Campbell is a businessman in Austin, Texas. The Oilers played their last down in 1997, albeit in Tennessee, before transitioning to their Titanic identity of today. Sometimes change isn't for the best.

For fans back in Texas not enamored with the rodeo ride that is Jerry Jones's Cowboys, the Texans were thankfully born - a club loaded with talent and expectation but perennially short on success. Unlike the old Oilers, it certainly feels like the Texans are always mired in the mediocrity of 8 - 8 seasons. Last season was even worse at 6-10. The oil well, if you will, is bone dry. But true to form, the Texans are hyped as a winner again in 2011, hoping to finally conquer the AFC south, with the Indianapolis Colts suddenly lame.

These Texans are not afraid to run, harking back to the glorious trade plied by Earl Campbell. They have a new stable, led by offensive thoroughbreds Andre Johnson and Arian Foster, but also a worthy yearling  in Ben Tate, who last week ripped apart the hapless Colts for 116 yards and a touchdown in Week 1. Then there's Matt Schaub who throws the ball more than most, and for large chunks. All combined, the modern Houston attack is high octane.

But to succeed, the steel blue version of this city's football outfit will need to do more than churn up yards and post copious amounts of points. The Colts are Manning-less, so last week's scoring parade could dangerously inflate Houston's ego going forward. The highly touted Schaub is indeed prolific, but he's also lumbering and not always accurate. When facing opponents with dedicated pass rushers like the energetic Dolphins, menacing Raiders and furious Ravens, he'll need to release the ball faster and certainly with more precision for this team to overcome its averages.

The Quarterback hero

Being a pro football quarterback is like being a Hollywood movie star: you're always in the limelight, you're only as good as your last performance, and the analysis of your career is unfairly based upon perception more than fact.

The first two trends are common in many industries, especially since intranet news morphed into a 24-hour machine of scrutiny. So they might never change. But the third point is more applicable to NFL quarterbacks than even politicians, which is disconcerting given that so much evidence is available these days to refute any false perceptions.

But alas, it was the perception of Cam Newton as a natural leader that had him selected No.1 overall in the 2011 draft, regardless of the fact he is short on passing accuracy, has limited ability in reading coverages, or possess inconsistent mechanics. It was similarly perception that saw Brady Quinn's muscles and matinee idol looks touted as the type of qualities that could rescue a floundering Cleveland ball club in 2007. Brady's now in Denver, as you know. And a very misguided perception, too, has allowed Tavaris Jackson to make a living as a starting quarterback, despite the fact he has completed just 58 per cent of his career passes and thrown almost as many interceptions as he has touchdowns.

Are there really so few talented quarterbacks that we need to create hype around players that wouldn't get a run on Goldie Hawn's Wildcats? Or are we simply being spun too many stories by a rampant online rumor mill that's clouding our judgement?

Lately, it feels like there are less elite quarterbacks in pro football and a laundry list of "projects". This is either a strange point in time along the quarterback time continuum, or there's been a deliberate veering away from experience behind centrer.

In the Eighties, we were certainly spoiled by Elway, Marino and Montana, but it also felt like their contemporaries were equally competitive. As such, even the NFL’s worst quarterbacks, the Average Joes, were once stars. On any given Sunday, on any given team, you’d see a guy barking plays whom you trusted, looked up to, and rooted for the previous week – no matter his numbers. The quarterback was the leader, more than the athlete.

At least that's how I remember it.

Unfortunately, somewhere between Steve Young displacing No. 16 and Madden '03, the QB role morphed. Suddenly, perception took on greater importance and hype could seal you a record contract. Good for some, not so much for the rest of us.

Look, I realize many of yesteryear’s QBs lacked a rifle arm, had questionable footwork, and struggled to fill out their jerseys. They often threw more picks than touchdowns and tossed as many wounded ducks as frozen ropes. Their quarterback ratings weren't even worth rating. Guys like Dave Krieg, Bobby Hebert, Neil Lomax, Steve Grogan, Jim Everett and Ken O’Brien probably didn’t make as many plays as I remember. But still, these men had the requisite John Wayne gait, Mellencamp mop, and enough confidence to overcome a leaky offensive line. Average Joe owned the huddle with as much gumption as Joe Cool. And that's all we cared about - quarterback ratings be damned.

At least that’s how I remember it.

Today’s NFL prefers potential over personality, cannons over catapults, and statistics over leaders. Mark Sanchez's playoff win "line" is certainly proof of the power of spin. GQ shoots are the new currency folks - there’s no longer a place for extraordinary feats by simple men. In fact, you only have to glance down the list of starters for 2011 to see that there are three kinds of signal-callers right now: the elite, qualified by their numbers; the middle tier, qualified by ups and downs; and then the prospects, qualified mostly by their potential. And the drop off after those five or six elites is alarming.

In the end, I can’t help but think there was consistency to all those old quarterbacks. A persistence. They were just always there – starting. It was their names – not the name of some multi-millionaire rookie hovering over their shoulder – that always flashed up onscreen in those budget yellow titles. They labored through three-win seasons, took the hits to their much smaller cardboard cut-out bodies. And yet, they always bounced back up. These warriors may not have been franchise quarterbacks as we consider them today, but media and fans alike rarely screamed for their heads with the same ferocity that they do today.

It might just be nostalgia, but I miss that quarterbacks were once stars by virtue of hours clocked, not pre-draft hype. They were classically skilled but not powerful. Confident, yet grizzled. A little rough around the edges with a noodle arm and flat ass. Kurt Warner fit that mold, which is why he seemed such an oddity in the current era.

But once upon a time, every team had their Kurt Warner, didn’t they? Average or not, short or stout, he started and usually finished. He just played football, come sleet or snow. And that’s why he always seemed so heroic.

At least, that’s how I remember it.

A pitch for the L.A Rams

The Los Angeles Rams have never felt as distant as other defunct NFL outfits, mainly because they still exist - well, sort of. Since the team's migration to St. Louis in 1995 we've seen the Ram logo streamlined, club colors intensified and oh yeh, a Super Bowl Championship. It's tough to argue change when it brings that type of success, right? Forgotten Batman Michael Keaton knows how that goes.

But L.A. Rams fans lost interest a long time ago. They don't care about Great Turf Football Shows (or whatever it was), future Hall of Fame Quarterbacks like Kurt Warner (no offense, he seems like a swell guy), or championships of any kind outside of Orange County.

The truth is, real Rams fans passionately supported their squad for almost 50 years, during which time the superbly bright yellow and blue hard men of Anaheim - Youngblood, Slater, Dickerson, Faulk etc - put on a show of their own, some of the most entertaining football ever played in fact. The Rams were so thrilling that they were the first pro football team to have all of their games televised in 1950. Consider how big a deal that was so early in the TV era. Don Draper would have wooed 'til dawn for a piece of that action.

So as rumors swell about the possibility of an NFL team coming back L.A., you can't help but feel a little giddy that maybe, just maybe, the Rams have a chance of being that team (and of course, that your crusty Rams tee from '81 might also get another run in public). What's made the possibility seem more of a reality of late is that the L.A. City Council passed a memorandum of understanding this month that outlines a plan between the Anschutz Entertainment Group and the city to build Farmers Field.

Thickening the plot like an L.A. fog is the news that current Rams owner, Stan Kroenke, is good buddies with Phillip Anshutz. Maybe they craft this thing together, maybe they don't. What we do know is that it was a crying shame when the Rams were transplanted from their home by former owner, Georgia Frontiere, who apparently tanked the L.A. product to justify packing and shipping it to her home town. Rachel Phelps in Major League, anyone?

Look, everyone recognizes how great St. Louis fans are and they don't deserve to lose another team after already giving up the, er, Gunners (briefly in 1934), and obviously the Cardinals to Phoenix in 1988. But the NFL is a business - as the talking heads say ad nauseam - and bringing back the Rams is not only right for the NFL historically, culturally and Karmically, it's $700 million worth of good business. 

And come on, who doesn't want to see those vintage Rams uniforms storming the pitch again? 

The Battle of the Bay

The idea of California football always appealed to me. Its dusty 50-yard line and sun baked bleachers were the antithesis of traditionalist football - winter winds, heavy snow, frozen tundras. The latter was harsh and messy, evoking icy crunches and cracks. They were bruising affairs that mired Midwestern and Mid-Atlantic teams in muddy trench warfare. The Californian game, by contrast, was brighter, more dazzling. Its football soared and its players blazed. Touchdowns were plentiful.

The type of blue horizon backdrops and sweet lemonade-infused days I'm referring to are San Francisco 49ers games of the Eighties. Football was never more romanticized than those glorious years, during which Joe Montana surveyed the field behind center, dropped back to pass and fired the ball into the hands of John Taylor or Jerry Rice skipping across Candlestick. Forty-Niners football always seemed to be cool and calm, free-flowing and determined. Sure, in reality, it  might have been a little chilly by the bay, and there were probably more imperfections than I can recall, but on television it always looked sunny, and the red and gold uniforms appeared, well, gladiatorial.

So it was certainly deflating to see the 49ers collide with their closest rivals the Oakland Raiders last weekend, in a contest that was a mere shadow of former glories. After all, the "Battle of the Bay", while usually confined to the preseason, is a competition and tradition clubs in remote corners of the map must salivate over. Here you have the golden glitz of the Niners, the team that took the West Coast offense to new heights, against the NFL's footballing pirates, a brand that embodies more than toughness - perhaps brutality. You couldn't script a better story if you were Steve Sabol of NFL Films.

Unfortunately for fans of both teams, Sunday's battlefront was more stunning in the stands than on the field, and in this instance, that's a tragedy.

Alex Smith looked better in the pocket and in delivery, but that's not saying much when you're coming from a state of disarray. Smith just doesn't apply enough zip on the ball, though he is releasing it more quickly these days. His feet look hurried, which my be why his passes are popping out like a pinched grape. One throw to Braylon Edwards - who made a spectacular single handed grab - gave hope. Then a floater to the Raider defensive end Matt Shaughnessy defused any excitement possibly brewing in the stands.

Meanwhile, Oakland's Jason Campbell continued his penchant for clutching the ball too long. On one occasion it hindered his ability to find the open man in the back of the end zone, and on another, his final play of the day, Campbell took a stray knee to the helmet and was forced to leave. It's probably better that he had extra time to think over this performance.

If not for Daniel Kilgore's fine block in the middle of the park that stalled three Raider defenders and sprung Kendall Hunter for a 53-yard touchdown sprint, this day might have felt like a great waste. And if the 17-3 scoreline wasn't crushing enough, it's now apparent that the weekend's fan violence has prompted police to seek a permanent ban on this famed match-up.

So now we're left to reminisce decades past, when those shiny gold helmets furiously knocked about sunny California with the scary silver ones. And it was really fun to watch.

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Henne and making the leap in Miami

In a single jam-packed offseason in which trades and free agent signings were triggered faster than a nervy prom night consummation, Chad Henne is suddenly a bust and Kyle Orton is John Elway. This proves once and for all that NFL lockouts are good for nobody.

Henne is the current Miami Dolphins starting quarterback, but not without having to endure criticism from fans and media, which has included boos, "sickening chants" and doubts about his leadership. Sure, Miami's No.7 hasn't performed up to expectations, has thrown some loose passes in training camp and has been possibly too honest with reporters. These things create doubt whether you're an NFL quarterback or the president. But that doesn't mean it's warranted.

Henne, like any young QB, needs time to ripen. If fans in other parts of the country are willing to offer average performers like Mark Sanchez and Kevin Kolb an opportunity after all, then surely Fins fans can see the silver lining in Project Henne. Making the leap, as they say, is a process not an instance.

To this end, there are three reasons why I think the Miami faithful should chant for Chad Henne, not Kyle Orton. Firstly, perception is overrated. There are some members of the media who love quarterback controversies, and in fact, spend most of their time drumming them up. You may recall the Sun-Sentinel's Dave Hyde announcing the "end to the Henne era" last year following his 16 for 32, three interception performance against the Browns. Clearly that assessment was incorrect, but it was the sort of stirring headline that has contributed to the perception among fans that Henne isn't fit for the job in Miami.

That's the problem with being a highly drafted backup QB in the NFL, isn't it? Everybody loves your shiny new packaging. Once you throw a costly pick, however, you're damaged goods. Even if your only interceptions are during midweek scrimmages when simply testing the arm, chances are there's a reporter or blogger in the stands whose agenda is to rewrite the perception around you. It's the same powerful mechanism that allows so-called experts to elevate a player like Kyle Orton, a second-string game manager who currently looks like a swan amongst ducks.

When Henne was a rookie backup, everyone was enamored with his potential. Playing understudy to Chad Pennington—who by comparison has a pistol to Henne's bazooka—only served to enhance the Michigan man's reputation. So by the time he earned the starting spot, everyone expected Dan Marino Version 2. (I guess the Microsoft era has burdened us with the notion of always "updgrading.") While Henne has a similarly powerful arm, he hasn't yet shown Marino-like vision. But shouldn't we give him a little more time to do so? Acquiring Marino or even Pennington-like vision will take time.

Secondly, Henne can make plays. His top-line stats from last season paint an ugly picture: 12 touchdowns and 15 interceptions. We get it. But there have been moments among the poor passes that defy the numbers, moments where the quarterback squeezed a mini-rocket into the hands of tight end Anthony Fasano, or lobbed a rainbow over the shoulder of back Patrick Cobbs. You can't teach these passes, they're instinctive. There have also been plays that were superbly extended when Henne, despite lumbering size, moved out of the pocket with agility and poise. He's rolled to the right and side-armed lasers; other times he's hopped forward behind the defense to steal first downs. That's solid quarterbacking.

Before we jump to the next online forum to chastise Henne, think about Marino's first few years as a pro. In only his second year, No.13 threw 17 picks. In his next season, in 1985, he gave away 21 interceptions. Now Marino certainly threw a lot more touchdowns, but he also had some elite receivers like Mark Clayton and Mark Duper, not to mention the fastest release of any QB in memory.

Henne isn't far off. He just needs more time and patience from the very pundits who called for his number when he was riding the pine.

Finally, Henne has more upside than Orton. I'll admit, the prospect of adding a quarterback who could instantly convert seemed attractive.Yes, Kyle Orton, for a moment, felt like a good idea. But then I stopped throwing back the Kool-Aid and asked myself, "Are we talking about the same Kyle Orton who barely held down the starting gig in Chicago? Are we talking about the same Kyle Orton who in 2005 threw just nine touchdowns, 13 interceptions and fumbled six times? Are we talking about the same Kyle Orton who completed just 58 percent of his passes against Henne's 61 percent in 2010?"

Indeed we are.

Over the past few weeks, we've all been led to believe that Kyle Orton is closer to John Elway than Gary Kubiak. But the reality is that Orton won just three games last year. Henne won seven and his ceiling isn't yet in view. Orton's ceiling looks more like the one Charlie and Grandpa Joe flew up to inside the chocolate factory: it's suddenly there, slippery and somewhat dangerous, with seemingly nowhere to go but back down.