Except for his millionaire status, the boom-box personality and all that bling, Terrell Owens is the same as you, me and every working stiff in America.
We all deserve a raise.
Can I get a show of hands from the congregation of everybody who is underpaid?
Thought so.
Which is why I’m here to say: You go, T.O.
While it has become popular to take Owens’ name in vain for various crimes against society, from being a lousy teammate to acting like a Me-Generation fool to committing treason against the American work ethic, his juicy contract melodrama with the Philadelphia Eagles is mad genius.
Sportsmanship is dead and loyalty so long gone, the NFL would have to hire an archeologist to find traces of it.
Owens is nothing more than the embodiment of the pro athlete in the ESPN generation. The new rules are clear.
Forget the numbers on the scoreboard. He who gets the most face time on TV and shouts the loudest wins.
If Owens could not match Oakland’s Randy Moss and Marvin Harrison of Indianapolis stride-for-stride as the most dangerous wide receiver in the game, he could never get away with insulting everything within the Eagles’ air space. Nevertheless, we abhor him for treating his one-week banishment from Philadelphia’s training camp as a joke.
The joke is on all the NFL addicts who need football on Sundays worse than church.
T.O. wants to get paid. Now.
If fans’ hearts, the toes of teammates and his employer’s feelings get pinched in the process, no big deal.
Sure, Owens is guilty of emotional blackmail. But all you T.O. haters, please tell me: How are Owens’ crude, rude tactics really any different from the threats of an NFL franchise owner who hints he will reluctantly cart away the local team if taxpayers fail to replace an old civic landmark with a
spanking-new stadium?
In football, the squeaky replaceable part usually gets the grease, not to mention a hefty signing bonus.
Sure, bad-mouthing the boss and insubordination would earn most hard-working Americans a pink slip rather than the summer vacation in the Bahamas T.O. promised himself after being suspended by the Eagles.
While NFL apologists angrily scream into a microphone or pound a laptop with righteous indignation, it’s all just a game for Owens. And he knows the score.
How any times do we have to be reminded that in professional sports, the bottom line always wins?
When the NHL recently rewrote fiscal rules in language spelling the end of a beautiful relationship between Peter Forsberg and the Avalanche, it would have been nonsense to accuse the player or team as the guilty party in the divorce.
Years ago, as Denver pushed one of its rare basketball stars out the Nuggets’ locker room, Dikembe Mutombo somberly told me that for such an advanced economic country, too many U.S. workers naively clung to hopelessly outdated ideals regarding loyalty.
As sure as a mismanaged corporation forced to cut to the bone often begins by slashing jobs of loyal employees, Owens understands that when he stops catching passes over the middle, the NFL will rip up his contract and slash his pay or cut him from the team.
Owens certainly did not have to start a feud with Philadelphia coach Andy Reid to demand a raise, although a coach does not have to like a receiver to call his number on third down.
Owens, however, spoke nothing but the truth when dissing Eagles quarterback Donovan McNabb for being a hypocrite who has toed the company line during the receiver’s labor
dispute.
Of all people, McNabb should know football is a full-contact sport. Both on the field and in contract negotiations.
We are insanely jealous because Owens can afford to get away with telling the boss to take this job and shove it.
We despise Owens because he is brazen enough to not apologize for the No. 1 rule of athletic money-grubbing.
Whatever works.
Staff writer Mark Kiszla can be reached at 303-820-5438 or mkiszla@denverpost.com.
