Outside of the awesome Phoenix Suns hat I lost when I was five, the first memories I have relating to sports all occurred in 1994. I was six then, and attended the first three sporting events that I can recall.
There was the New England Patriots game against the Minnesota Vikings. My dad made us leave in the fourth quarter because of the notorious traffic that occurs when exiting Foxboro Stadium. So we were forced to listen on the radio as Drew Bledsoe set NFL records of 45 completions and 70 passing attempts, ending the game with a touchdown pass in overtime to Kevin Turner.
Then came my first Boston Celtics game, featuring my older brother's other favorite team — the Seattle SuperSonics. All I can remember about my first and only visit to the famed Boston Garden is that the man sitting next to us spent the entire game heckling the "Reign Man" Shawn Kemp. Unsurprisingly, I have continued this trend (Derrick Rose, that was me chanting "SAT" at TD Garden, or whatever it is called now, back when your Chicago Bulls came here in October) ever since.
But there is one random memory that stands out in my mind: what I dubbed the "Mike Mamula Show." I don't remember what team Boston College was playing at Alumni Stadium that day, and I can barely recall who was there. But I know that I shouted for Mamula, a BC defensive end, every play, and that in the brain of the first−grade me, he had about 25 tackles and eight sacks. I'm pretty sure I was a little bit off.
I'm reminded of that game every year at the end of February when the NFL's annual pre−draft showcase, known as the combine, occurs. Mamula became the poster boy of the "Workout Warrior" in the 1995 draft with his ridiculous combine numbers — 26 bench presses, a 4.62 40−yard dash and a 49−out−of−50 in the Wonderlic, which prove that he is probably smarter than I am. That workout record helped him become the seventh pick in the draft after the Philadelphia Eagles traded up to grab him.
Now, to be fair to Mamula, his NFL tenure was not nearly as bad as everyone assumes. Sure, he wasn't the second coming of Reggie White or anything, but he did have two seasons with at least eight sacks before his career was cut short by injuries. Yet, all anyone ever remembers him for is being the original Vernon Gholston.
For whatever reason, the NFL Combine has become an increasingly more scrutinized spectacle. I tried to watch it once, back when I lived in the Tufts dorms and had the NFL Network but not ESPN. It has to be one of the most boring things I've ever seen — even more so than the first "Lord of the Rings" movie (2001) or the opening 20 minutes of "There Will Be Blood" (2007) — and I actually have sat and watched the entire two−day NFL draft before (confession: I love the draft, and to this day I do not know why). So I cannot understand why anyone would bother to put so much stock into such an event.
And yet, every year one team gets sucked in by "the next Mamula." Last year it was the Oakland Raiders with Darius Heyward−Bey, two years ago it was the New York Jets with the aforementioned Gholston, and in 2007 it was University of Arizona running back Chris Henry dazzling the Tennessee Titans with his 4.40 40−yard dash and 26 bench presses.
It appears that no one bothered to watch these guys actually play. I'm no football scout, but when you go to Arizona and you average 3.5 yards−per−carry in the one year you start, you probably are not the 50th best player in the draft. I'm not picking on any of these teams either, except maybe the Jets because I hate them. Bill Belichick and Scott Pioli once got fooled, too, when they traded up for the 36th pick to take Florida Gators receiver Chad Jackson. Despite his 4.32 speed, he was cut by the Pats after two years and totaled only 14 career catches in three NFL seasons.
So that is why I am taking everything I hear about the Combine this year with a grain of salt. Is it impressive that Clemson receiver Jacoby Ford ran the second−fastest 40 in the combine since 2000? Sure, but then again, he is an All−American for the Tigers' track team, too. He can join Troy Williamson if I want to build the NFL's best 4x100 relay team.
Similarly, am I at all awed by the fact that Maryland's Bruce Campbell, the apparent winner of this year's Mamula award as deemed by Sport Illustrated's Don Banks, ran one of the fastest−ever times for an offensive lineman? Well, I would be if that was actually a facet of his game that mattered. That could account for his poor showing on game tape if his new team inserts the draw into its playbook for a 314−pound back. Same thing goes for Tim Tebow's 4.7 40 and record−tying vertical for a quarterback. If he wants to play that position, maybe he should work on important things like, say, throwing the ball.
It really doesn't matter how a guy measures in his shorts and spandex shirt (or shirtless, if, like me, you can unfortunately never un−see the image of 2009 top−10 pick Andre Smith running the 40 and flaunting his man−boobs in all their glory). What matters is whether the person in question can, and more importantly wants to, play football when he has the pads on.
Now if you want to put more stock in how well a guy catches the ball or whether he can throw with any accuracy, that is OK with me. Or if you want to do tackling drills or blocking drills, that works too.
And if someone comes up with a combine drill that measures a player's heart, I'm on board for that.
Aw, who the hell am I kidding? No one wants to see Tebow be the No. 1 pick.
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Ethan Landy is a senior majoring in English. He can be reached at ethan.landy@ tufts.edu.
