Do we really need an autopsy to diagnose what’s killing the beauty of sports?
Long before San Francisco 49ers behemoth Thomas Herrion dropped dead in Denver after a game that didn’t count in the standings, the NFL had a serious weight problem.
Herrion died at age 23, a young offensive lineman with a stomach that cast a shadow on his toes, working in a business in which you no longer qualify as a big man unless you weigh 300 pounds. His tragedy brought the league to its knees.
We gather today not to bury Herrion, but to mourn an epidemic that has spread from football to basketball to hockey.
Grace is gone, being squeezed out by girth.
In the Supersize-Me Generation, size matters far too much.
May the best man win? Fat chance.
This is an era of ham-handed rule by the Big Aristotle in basketball. Golf is too often reduced to a long-drive competition.
We grew so addicted to the home run that baseball poisoned itself with steroids. Linemen have swallowed too many burritos bigger than a football. Too many goons find work in hockey.
Too many jocks would rather hit the weight room, pop a pill or chug another protein shake than work on their craft. This mad-scientist trend has resulted in players who look better wearing a uniform than playing the game.
Everywhere a disappointed fan spends 75 bucks on a ticket, speed and skill is getting bullied by brute strength.
NBA superstar Shaquille O’Neal, whose body mass index is roughly the same as a dump truck, is now the dominant force in a game that not long ago was defined by Magic Johnson’s uncanny creativity and Larry Bird’s deft touch.
Before he was applauded as one of the 50 greatest players in NBA history, should not O’Neal have been required to prove an ability to dribble or shoot a free throw? No wonder basketball turns off so many televisions across America.
After being busted for steroids, the validity of every one of more than 500 homers and nearly 3,000 base hits by Baltimore Orioles first baseman Rafael Palmeiro has been called into question. But the real indictment is of a baseball arms race in which the largest biceps usually won.
At worst, Palmeiro is a product of his time, all tangled up in peer pressure. In a country where movie star Arnold Schwarzenegger can be voted California governor because he’s buff, what would stop Palmeiro from thinking he could win election to the Hall of Fame the same way?
The scales of justice tip grossly in favor of big stars. Steve Moore is an NHL journeyman whose broken neck might prevent him from ever skating in a game again. Vancouver Canucks forward Todd Bertuzzi is a marquee name forgiven by the league for shattering Moore’s health with a cowardly punch.
That Bertuzzi is back at work is not an injustice. What’s a crime is hockey still embraces fighting as entertainment.
Maybe on-ice fisticuffs were mindless, harmless fun back in the day when Gordie Howe, who stood 6 feet tall and weighed 205, packed the meanest punch in hockey. Bertuzzi, however, sags the scale at 245. Mayhem now carries far heavier consequences.
Pick a league, any sport. Pump up athletes too far and the game explodes. Finesse turns to rubble. Skill gets blown away.
Does tennis really improve when served up at twice the legal speed limit?
Put Maria Sharapova and Serena Williams on the same court and there’s more grunting and squealing than a pigpen.
After a preliminary report from the Denver coroner’s office, there’s no proof weighing 330 pounds killed Herrion.
But sports need to take a hard look in the mirror at a dangerously bloated misconception.
Do they make caskets in size XXL?
The funeral for Herrion seems as good a time as any to bury the big fat sports lie that bigger is always better.
Staff writer Mark Kiszla can be reached at 303-820-5438 or mkiszla@denverpost.com.
