Published: Jan 15, 2006 12:30 AM
Modified: Jan 15, 2006 02:50 AM
Ex-Colts star Mackey a forgotten man
John Mackey is battling an illness that affects his memory.
Barry Saunders, Staff Writer
So, you think you love your football team, huh? Put your money on the table, homes, because I'm betting that nobody loves their team the way I love the Colts.
You've heard how some guys don't get over their team's Sunday loss until Wednesday?
I didn't get over the Colts' 1968 Super Bowl III loss to the Jets until around 1980 and I've still not forgiven quarterback Earl Morrall for missing a wide-open Jimmy Orr.
Then, why oh why am I praying that the Indianapolis Colts lose in the Super Bowl? Not just lose, you dig, but lose spectacularly -- like by having No. 88 Marvin Harrison drop a wide-open pass in the end zone?
Because of the disgraceful way that franchise is treating the original No. 88, John Mackey, the greatest tight end in the NFL's history and the person who, next to Johnny Unitas, is the MVC -- Most Valuable Colt -- that's why.
When I called the Colts' front office recently to find out why the organization has forgotten this wounded, troubled warrior, I was treated with the warmth I suspect they usually reserve for a blitzing linebacker who makes a late hit on Peyton Manning.
My first call was to Bill Brooks, the Colts' executive director of administration.
After a moment of pleasantries during which I introduced myself as a columnist from North Carolina and told Brooks we have a mutual friend -- former Colt defensive tackle Donnell Thompson -- I asked why Mackey's number hadn't been retired. Brooks, a former Colts receiver, admitted that "To be honest with you, I don't even know what number he was." When I told him, he said something to the effect that the team was running out of numbers in the 80s and would have had to petition the league to retire any more.
Yeah, I laughed too.
In the middle of the telephone interview, Brooks apparently heard my pencil and asked "Are you writing this down? Look, I'm not giving an interview. I thought you were just some guy calling to talk about D.T."
He steered me to Craig Kelley, the team's vice president of public relations. Asked about Mackey, he said that involved "a different franchise. ... I don't see what the issue is. We have a very good relationship with John. ... When he was inducted into the Hall of Fame, John invited me to go with him."
He didn't mention that when Mackey was inducted into the Hall in 1992, it was his last chance -- despite having been voted the top tight end in the NFL's first 50 years. Iron Mike Ditka, another Hall of Fame tight end, was moved to say upon his own induction "How the hell I got in here before John Mackey, I'll never know."
I know: That was the league's way of snubbing Mackey for leading the players' union and demanding free agency.
Seconds after saying he had no further comment and hanging up, Kelley called me back.
"Were you recording our conversation?" he asked. I assured him I wasn't. "It sounded like I heard a tape recorder click before you hung up."
Chill, homes.
In the movie "50 First Dates," Drew Barrymore's character couldn't remember anything from the previous day. Mackey is afflicted with frontotemporal dementia, which makes him forget things that happened in some instances 30 minutes before. It also makes him a danger to others but mainly to himself. His effervescent wife, Sylvia, had to return to work as an airline stewardess to supplement John's negligible income.
That income used to be aided by several businesses, but as John's mental acuity diminished, so did the money in his bank account. "We don't know where the money went," she said. His current income consists of a monthly NFL pension of $1,950 and proceeds from occasional card shows.
Despite a barely there income, Sylvia Mackey asks that contributions be sent to The John Mackey Fund to help find a cure for his ailment.
When I asked what she wants the NFL to do for her husband, she said "Nothing. Whatever they do, it has to be something that helps all of the older players. ... There are lots of athletes in worse shape than John."
Yikes. The tight end who once carried eight Chicago Bears 20 yards and caught a 75-yard TD pass in Super Bowl V now spends his days in childlike wonder with his daughter while Sylvia works. She said "He loves to get in the car and just ride." That's a good thing, because he can no longer fly: a recent airport incident in which something in his head told him he was in danger and made him respond accordingly nearly turned deadly.
One wonders how the NFL, which is so image-conscious that it hires guys to travel from city to city ensuring that players' socks are the same length, could allow the pioneers responsible for its exalted status to wither away unseen, unmourned, unsupported.
Even more deserving of a 15-yard penalty for excessive disregard for old-timers, though, are the players, the ones benefiting from Mackey's efforts. That today's players express no appreciation for Mackey and other pioneers makes their silly celebrations -- doing the funky chicken after a 6-yard reception? -- seem even more stupid -- if that's possible.
He has talked about how, at his induction ceremony, no one was there to officially represent him: The Baltimore Colts no longer existed -- except in our hearts -- and the Indianapolis Colts acted as though he didn't exist. "As we were leaving the field," Mackey recalled, "Reggie White hollers loudly, 'Hey, fellas, if this man does not sue, we don't get paid.' "
Only then, he said, did the players express appreciation. It obviously didn't last long, though. If anyone, especially the Indianapolis Colts, wishes to contribute, the address to the John Mackey Fund is 201 N. Charles Street, Suite 2404, Baltimore, Md., 21201.
© Copyright 2006, The News & Observer Publishing CompanyA subsidiary of The McClatchy Company
Modified: Jan 15, 2006 02:50 AM
Ex-Colts star Mackey a forgotten man
John Mackey is battling an illness that affects his memory.
Barry Saunders, Staff Writer
So, you think you love your football team, huh? Put your money on the table, homes, because I'm betting that nobody loves their team the way I love the Colts.
You've heard how some guys don't get over their team's Sunday loss until Wednesday?
I didn't get over the Colts' 1968 Super Bowl III loss to the Jets until around 1980 and I've still not forgiven quarterback Earl Morrall for missing a wide-open Jimmy Orr.
Then, why oh why am I praying that the Indianapolis Colts lose in the Super Bowl? Not just lose, you dig, but lose spectacularly -- like by having No. 88 Marvin Harrison drop a wide-open pass in the end zone?
Because of the disgraceful way that franchise is treating the original No. 88, John Mackey, the greatest tight end in the NFL's history and the person who, next to Johnny Unitas, is the MVC -- Most Valuable Colt -- that's why.
When I called the Colts' front office recently to find out why the organization has forgotten this wounded, troubled warrior, I was treated with the warmth I suspect they usually reserve for a blitzing linebacker who makes a late hit on Peyton Manning.
My first call was to Bill Brooks, the Colts' executive director of administration.
After a moment of pleasantries during which I introduced myself as a columnist from North Carolina and told Brooks we have a mutual friend -- former Colt defensive tackle Donnell Thompson -- I asked why Mackey's number hadn't been retired. Brooks, a former Colts receiver, admitted that "To be honest with you, I don't even know what number he was." When I told him, he said something to the effect that the team was running out of numbers in the 80s and would have had to petition the league to retire any more.
Yeah, I laughed too.
In the middle of the telephone interview, Brooks apparently heard my pencil and asked "Are you writing this down? Look, I'm not giving an interview. I thought you were just some guy calling to talk about D.T."
He steered me to Craig Kelley, the team's vice president of public relations. Asked about Mackey, he said that involved "a different franchise. ... I don't see what the issue is. We have a very good relationship with John. ... When he was inducted into the Hall of Fame, John invited me to go with him."
He didn't mention that when Mackey was inducted into the Hall in 1992, it was his last chance -- despite having been voted the top tight end in the NFL's first 50 years. Iron Mike Ditka, another Hall of Fame tight end, was moved to say upon his own induction "How the hell I got in here before John Mackey, I'll never know."
I know: That was the league's way of snubbing Mackey for leading the players' union and demanding free agency.
Seconds after saying he had no further comment and hanging up, Kelley called me back.
"Were you recording our conversation?" he asked. I assured him I wasn't. "It sounded like I heard a tape recorder click before you hung up."
Chill, homes.
In the movie "50 First Dates," Drew Barrymore's character couldn't remember anything from the previous day. Mackey is afflicted with frontotemporal dementia, which makes him forget things that happened in some instances 30 minutes before. It also makes him a danger to others but mainly to himself. His effervescent wife, Sylvia, had to return to work as an airline stewardess to supplement John's negligible income.
That income used to be aided by several businesses, but as John's mental acuity diminished, so did the money in his bank account. "We don't know where the money went," she said. His current income consists of a monthly NFL pension of $1,950 and proceeds from occasional card shows.
Despite a barely there income, Sylvia Mackey asks that contributions be sent to The John Mackey Fund to help find a cure for his ailment.
When I asked what she wants the NFL to do for her husband, she said "Nothing. Whatever they do, it has to be something that helps all of the older players. ... There are lots of athletes in worse shape than John."
Yikes. The tight end who once carried eight Chicago Bears 20 yards and caught a 75-yard TD pass in Super Bowl V now spends his days in childlike wonder with his daughter while Sylvia works. She said "He loves to get in the car and just ride." That's a good thing, because he can no longer fly: a recent airport incident in which something in his head told him he was in danger and made him respond accordingly nearly turned deadly.
One wonders how the NFL, which is so image-conscious that it hires guys to travel from city to city ensuring that players' socks are the same length, could allow the pioneers responsible for its exalted status to wither away unseen, unmourned, unsupported.
Even more deserving of a 15-yard penalty for excessive disregard for old-timers, though, are the players, the ones benefiting from Mackey's efforts. That today's players express no appreciation for Mackey and other pioneers makes their silly celebrations -- doing the funky chicken after a 6-yard reception? -- seem even more stupid -- if that's possible.
He has talked about how, at his induction ceremony, no one was there to officially represent him: The Baltimore Colts no longer existed -- except in our hearts -- and the Indianapolis Colts acted as though he didn't exist. "As we were leaving the field," Mackey recalled, "Reggie White hollers loudly, 'Hey, fellas, if this man does not sue, we don't get paid.' "
Only then, he said, did the players express appreciation. It obviously didn't last long, though. If anyone, especially the Indianapolis Colts, wishes to contribute, the address to the John Mackey Fund is 201 N. Charles Street, Suite 2404, Baltimore, Md., 21201.
© Copyright 2006, The News & Observer Publishing CompanyA subsidiary of The McClatchy Company
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