Monday, November 6, 2006

Former Colt Cook finds you can go home again

By Edward Lee
Baltimore Sun Reporter

November 6, 2006

For a guy who used to shake up opposing quarterbacks, former Baltimore Colts defensive end Fred Cook found himself a little dazed and confused Saturday night.

"I got lost last night," said Cook, who drove 14 hours from his home in Mississippi to Baltimore. "Baltimore's changed a lot. It seems like there are new highways here. I don't remember Interstate 395."

Cook, who hadn't visited the city in almost a decade, can be forgiven, and judging by the number of Colts fans who lined up outside the Baltimore Football Alumni Tent yesterday before the Ravens' game against the Cincinnati Bengals, he was.

Bill Dunn of Perry Hall, 47, brought an RC Cola can with Cook's playing card printed on the side of the can. Jeff Laumann brought 10 of Cook's trading cards to sign.

"I was just a kid, but I remember all of the cheering for 'The Sack Pack,' " the Pasadena fan, 36, said of the nickname given to the defensive line of Cook, Mike Barnes, John Dutton and Joe Ehrmann. "I liked the whole defense."

For Cook, his return had been delayed by Mother Nature. He had planned to visit Baltimore last year, but those plans were changed when Hurricane Katrina ravaged the Gulf Coast.

Cook, who lives in Pascagoula, Miss., lost two cars to flooding, but he downplayed his losses, focusing instead on the suffering around him.

His elementary school was destroyed. Bodies began to pile up as cemetery owners waited for the waters to recede. The son of a female friend, an ex-Marine, committed suicide.

Cook said he found himself suffering from depression and intense migraines.

"There was so much sadness," said Cook, who said he recently lost 70 pounds as his body battled blood poisoning. "The wind and water was not prejudiced. It took the rich and poor, the young and old."

Returning to Baltimore seemed to refresh Cook, who was greeted with a hug by former Colts teammate Bruce Laird.

"It's a pretty strong fraternity," said Laird, who was a defensive back. "Although you don't see each other as much, anytime you do get together it's like you never left."

Cook, who looked trim and fit, said he missed suiting up. "It brings back old memories of cold Sunday afternoons," Cook said. "It has revitalized me."

edward.lee@baltsun.com

Copyright © 2006, The Baltimore Sun

Sunday, November 5, 2006

Most players wait until they have to be carted off field

By Dave Goldberg, AP football writer
November 5, 2006

As usual, Tiki Barber's retirement announcement got all the attention in the nation's largest media market.

As usual, low-profile Curtis Martin flew under the radar when he declared himself done for the season — and maybe for his career.

The status of the two marquee New York running backs illustrates one of the facts of life in the NFL: Most players have to be dragged off the field because they are hurt and/or can no longer play. Barber's announcement, in fact, got as much attention as it did because it was so unusual for a player at his peak.

More common is the attitude expressed by guard Pete Kendall, Martin's teammate with the Jets.

"If you're going to last 10, 11 or 12 years in this league, I think there is something in you that says, ‘I'm going to play this out as long as I can, as long as they let me,' " said Kendall, who is 33 and in his 11th season.

To understand that attitude, you have to put yourself in the strange, brutal world of NFL players.

Barber is 31, an age when most running backs are on the downslide. By that standard, his retirement announcement is no surprise.

But because he was used primarily as a punt returner and third-down back during his first five years — 6,696 of his 9,502 yards rushing have come in the last 4 seasons — the NFL's current rushing leader presumably could play another couple of years, solidifying what now are marginal Hall of Fame credentials at best.

He doesn't want to do that.

Like Jim Brown and Barry Sanders before him, Barber wants to go out on top. "I've seen backs go from 1,500 yards a season to 500 just like that," he said. "I don't want to be like that."

He also says he wants to be known as more than a football player. So the networks already lining up for his services will probably have to offer him more than just a talking-head sports job. He talks about lunching with Condoleeza Rice and interviewing Osama bin Laden's ex-mistress during his current offseason TV gig.

The subtext, however, is that football hurts.

Barber mentioned getting an e-mail after his announcement from fellow Virginia alumnus Barry Word, who had 705 carries for New Orleans, Kansas City and Arizona from 1987 to 1994. Word's message: 12 years after he left the NFL, he still feels the pain.

That's what Martin feels.

He is 33, two years older than Barber, and his credentials are already established: 1,000 yards rushing in each of his first 10 seasons, something accomplished only by Sanders, and a total of 14,101 for his career, fourth on the career list behind Emmitt Smith, Walter Payton and Sanders.

But he also demonstrates what Barber said about players crashing quickly.

In 2004, at 31, Martin led the NFL in rushing with a career-high 1,697 yards. Last season, the injuries hit and he dropped to 735, a career low with an average of just 3.3 a carry on a 4-12 team.

But he still wanted to come back despite surgery on his knee and a continuing bone-on-bone condition (it hurts just thinking about that). Finally, last week, he conceded that his season is over and probably his career.

"I don't know if it's even possible to come back," Martin said.

The fact that he still would like to come back next year is what you hear from most players at the end of their careers — even those who don't need the money. Most veterans who have reaped the benefits of free agency either by moving or re-signing for big bucks are pretty set financially.

Mark Schlereth, for example, spent 12 years as a guard and played on Super Bowl winners in Washington and Denver. He underwent surgery 29 times — 20 times on his knees — and once said the only time he wasn't in pain was the seven seconds that each play took.

Yet he hung on until 2001, when he finally realized that at age 35, there wasn't much of a market for his services.

"The truth of the matter is, after going through the 15th operation on my left knee, it became painfully obvious that I couldn't sign a six-day contract for $42 worth of Tupperware," he said when he retired in 2001.

And this from a guy who, as Barber will, went from the field into a TV studio.

Some guys play even after they "retire," as Junior Seau is doing this year.

After two injury-plagued years in Miami, the 37-year-old linebacker announced his retirement in August in San Diego, where he had spent 13 of his 16 NFL seasons. Four days later after the ceremonies there, he signed with New England, unable to resist another chance to play, especially with a winning team.

He did it at the behest of another guy a lot of people thought might retire, 33-year-old Rodney Harrison, a former Chargers teammate who missed most of last year with a devastating knee injury. As with Seau and Martin, injuries are what happen to 30-somethings in the NFL.

"When a championship team calls, you've definitely got to answer the call and definitely look into it," Seau said. "That's what I did."

Now both Seau and Harrison are starting for the Patriots, who are 6-1 and improving every week.

It's not impossible that both might be in Miami on Feb. 4. Perhaps attempting to tackle Tiki Barber in his final game.

Thursday, November 2, 2006

Joe Ehrmann on ESPN and NFL Films

Friends of Joe Ehrmann and Building Men and Women for Others,

This Friday, November 3, at 8:30 PM EST, Joe Ehrmann will be featured on the NFL Network in a 12-13 minute segment titled "NFL Film Presents." The show was originally aired on ESPN October 31 and will continued to play on ESPN and affiliates. The response has been terrific and will only help Joe and Building Men and Women for Other create a Tipping Point in America where a youth's physical, academic, social, emotional, moral and civic competency are no longer viewed as being beyond the scope of sports and coaches responsibilities.

Also please NOTE Joe's new web page (see below).

Peace,
Joe Ehrmann
www.buildingmen.org

Monday, October 30, 2006

Heavy pressure: NFL players struggle with weight game

Since the 1980s, NFL players have packed on the pounds, but is the league's emphasis on weight harmful?

By Carlos Frias, William M. Hartnett
Palm Beach Post Staff Writers
Sunday, October 29, 2006

Brad Culpepper got benched.

He was playing pretty well. He wasn't injured and he hadn't broken any of the Chicago Bears' team rules.

Except one.

He didn't weigh enough.

"The coaches would look at you and how much you weighed to see if you were going to play," said Culpepper, the former Florida Gator who played defensive line for the Bears and Tampa Bay Buccaneers.

Culpepper thrived in a Tampa Bay defense that stressed speed and strength, but then he went to Chicago, where the Bears were slaves to the scale. Like many NFL teams, Chicago had a minimum and maximum weight for each position.

One Friday morning — weigh-in day — during the 2000 season, Culpepper barely hit 265 pounds, and coaches determined he was too light to line up Sunday for a Bears team that would finish 5-11.

"Things like weighing in on a Friday were illogical to me," Culpepper said, "and it didn't make me a better football player.

"What did I do about it? I retired the next year. I'd had enough."

Culpepper was a victim of the numbers game. BIG numbers.

In the modern-day NFL, size does matter — at least if you want to keep earning a paycheck.

By compiling a database of NFL rosters dating to 1920 — nearly 40,000 players — The Post tracked the size of players decade-by-decade and team-by-team.

From 1920 to 1984, there were never more than eight players in any season who weighed 300 pounds or more. This year, there were 570 players who weighed 300 or more listed on 2006 NFL training camp rosters, nearly 20 percent of all players.

Other super-sized findings:

- Since the NFL-AFL merger in 1970, the average player is nearly 25 pounds heavier, averaging 245.

- Over the same period, the average offensive lineman is 62 pounds heavier; defensive lineman, 34 pounds.

- Running backs weigh 17 pounds more and quarterbacks are 26 pounds heavier.

Coaches, players, analysts and doctors say there are many reasons for the increases in size: the natural progression by generations; better nutrition; supplements; illegal substances, including steroids, which the league began testing for in 1987, and untested drugs like human growth hormone; workout regiments that now begin in high school.

But what has maintained the trend toward bigger and bigger players is the league's copycat tendencies — what works well for one team will soon be tried by many others.

NFL is league of copycats

Mark Schlereth experienced a range of poundage in his 12-year NFL career. He was a member of "The Hogs'' offensive line for the Washington Redskins and also played in a Denver Broncos system that demanded leaner, quicker blockers.

Schlereth, now an analyst for ESPN, gives three reasons why NFL teams started pumping and plumping their offensive linemen through the '80s and '90s.

Larry Allen. Nate Newton. Joe Jacoby.

Between them, they played in 22 Pro Bowls and packed on more than 1,000 pounds as 300-plus players.

"Whatever is in vogue, that's what the league goes for," Schlereth said. "The league saw these incredible athletes, who were huge men, and decided this is the way to go — bigger is better."

That mantra trickled down to the college and high school level, where massive linemen no longer were born but bloated up on extra cheeseburgers and shakes.

Aspiring prep tight ends, defensive ends and linebackers "ate their way to being offensive linemen,'' Schlereth said.

In 1980, offensive linemen outweighed their teammates by 45 pounds. In 2006, the difference is about the weight of one Olsen twin — 81 pounds.

Schlereth fought to keep up. In Denver, he was issued a minimum weight of 285 pounds and fined $100 for each pound short on weigh-in day.

Sometimes, just before stepping on the scale, he would guzzle a gallon of water or slip a small weight plate into his jockstrap. Players who needed to shed pounds also took extreme measures, like pulling on rubber suits to run in the heat.

"To me, it's all relatively stupid and ridiculous," said Schlereth, who now weighs 205 pounds, less than he did in high school. "On one hand, the NFL says it doesn't want things like ephedra (a banned supplement used for weight loss), but it's OK to have a guy in a rubber suit running and passing out trying to make weight."

Culpepper had to stuff himself to push 280, eating between meals and making late-night runs to McDonald's and Wendy's.

"You know how you feel after Thanksgiving dinner? I felt like that every day," said Culpepper, now a personal injury attorney in Tampa who also has slimmed down to about 205.

Eight months after retiring, Culpepper shed his football fat suit, weighing in at 195 pounds and running his first marathon in 3 hours, 50 minutes. His waist size dropped from 40 inches to 33.

More weight does not guarantee wins

NFL offensive linemen started to get bigger than their defensive counterparts in 1975, the first year the O-lines outweighed the D-lines.

This season, the average weight for an offensive lineman is 312 — 23 pounds heavier than the average defensive lineman.

The push for poundage led to earth-shaking moments for gargantuan players. In 1999, the Detroit Lions made Wisconsin offensive tackle Aaron Gibson, who at one time weighed 440 pounds, the 27th overall pick in the draft. Gibson mostly played in the upper 300s, but in 2002 he became the league's first 400-pounder at 410 with the Dallas Cowboys.

That same year, Buffalo selected 370-pound OT Mike Williams fourth overall.

Both are now out of football.

"Truth is, bigger isn't better. Better is better," Schlereth said.

Research supports Schlereth's claim.

Since 1980, the two teams with the highest winning percentages — the San Francisco 49ers and Denver — had the lightest offensive lines.

Of the five teams with the biggest offensive lines over the past 25 years, only one franchise — the Raiders — has won more games than it has lost.

When Indianapolis Colts President Bill Polian kept hearing coaches talk about the importance of size, he decided to put the theory to a test, comparing winning percentages to the average weight of players on each team over about 10 seasons.

"We found higher weight had no bearing on winning — none," said Polian, who was the general manager in Buffalo when the Bills played in four Super Bowls. "There was a lot of noise about 'Big is the answer.' We tested it. It's not valid."

The offensive linemen who played for the perfect 1972 Dolphins, including two Hall of Famers, averaged 251 pounds, 13th of 26 teams. Size apparently means little this season, too. The Dolphins average 321 on their interior line, the fourth highest in the league, but they're 1-6.

Polian now is with a team that might spur a reverse copycat trend. The Super Bowl contender Colts average 302 pounds of protection for Peyton Manning — 30th in the league.

Still, it's hard to resist the big guys.

After April's draft, Dolphins coach Nick Saban said he wished he could have worked a trade to move up and pick Haloti Ngata, a 6-4, 340-pound defensive tackle selected 12th overall by the Baltimore Ravens.

"I always say it this way: They have weight classes in boxing for a reason. The heavyweights don't fight the lightweights," Saban said. "What's the reason for that? Because if a big guy is just as good as a little guy, the little guy doesn't have much of a chance."

Dolphins linebacker Zach Thomas has done pretty well for a little guy. The six-time Pro Bowler is in his 11th season and he doesn't like it when comments about his success end with "for a guy his size."

Thomas is listed at 228, but said he plays closer to 220 and "sometimes lighter."

He remembers his second year with the Dolphins, when several trainers suggested he get bigger so his body could hold up.

"I tried to put on weight and I was sluggish," Thomas said. "Now I don't even worry about that because I know it doesn't matter."

Football becomes a 12-month job

NFL teams started encouraging players to train year-round in the 1970s.

Former Dolphins coach Don Shula, who was an NFL defensive back in the '50s, said he and his teammates did little more than play some pickup basketball and run in the off-season. Hall of Famer Art Donovan, one of Shula's teammates on the Baltimore Colts, was huge for his day at 270 but not exactly a specimen. The Colts called him "Fatso."

Shula's Dolphins and Tom Landry's Cowboys were among the first to start mandatory off-season workout sessions five days a week, three hours a day. Soon, the copycat syndrome took over in the rest of the league, especially after the Dolphins and Cowboys played in a combined seven Super Bowls.

"That's where players really started to take off as far as size goes," Shula said.
"The other teams saw the progress that you were making, then everybody started to do it so that they wouldn't be left behind."

Shula believes the push for size also led to a change in overall strategy. Bigger players on defense meant tougher yards on the ground, so more teams added advanced passing games to their offenses.

"You had to find new and better ways to do things," Shula said. "You couldn't do the old stuff that perhaps was successful for you, the ground game that didn't involve the drop-back passing."

Steroids also became a factor in the late '70s and early '80s.

Shula said steroids were "probably a part" of the boom in size, especially since testing did not begin until 1987.

"Without a doubt that happened, people looking for a magic pill to get as big and strong as they could be," Shula said.

Supplements and untested drugs like HGH are likely factors in continued growth. But ESPN's Chris Mortensen, who has been covering the NFL since the '80s, said the steroid ban has changed the frames of some of the players whose careers require packing on and maintaining the pounds.

"The bodies are different," Mortensen said. "They're not Popeye bodies. They're obese bodies."

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Concussions a dirty little secret in the NFL

By Tim Dahlberg, AP Sports Columnist

Questionable is a word used a lot around the NFL. It's there every week in the injury reports that bookies and bettors like to study so much, usually stuck somewhere in between probable and doubtful.

Ben Roethlisberger, who was last seen sprawled unconscious on the field in Atlanta, is questionable this week. The Pittsburgh Steelers said so, meaning their star quarterback may or may not play Sunday against the Oakland Raiders.

Questionable. It's a word that can be used to describe many things.

Let's begin with the judgment of anyone involved with the Steelers who actually believes it is a good idea to rush back Roethlisberger after two concussions in four months.

Head injury one Sunday, starting nod the next. You don't need a degree in neurology to figure out something is wrong with this equation.

Concussions forced two other quarterbacks out of the game in recent years. Troy Aikman and Steve Young retired early because of the cumulative effect of concussions, and they're hardly alone among NFL alumni.

Current players aren't faring much better.

Quarterbacks Charlie Frye and Steve McNair recently left games with concussions and so did Minnesota receiver Troy Williamson.

Carolina linebacker Dan Morgan's season is over, and the horrifying image of Chiefs quarterback Trent Green having his head slammed to the ground in the first game of the season is an indelible one.

Concussions, it seems, are the NFL's dirty little secret. It's not just that they happen so often, but that the league doesn't seem to be doing much about it.

Sure, the NFL says it has had a committee of doctors studying them since 1994. But experts in the field say the league's studies are flawed, use suspect data, and don't stand up to peer review.

So when the NFL says no evidence has been found that brain function declines as a result of a concussion, the news is greeted with skepticism in the medical community.

"What the NFL allegedly finds is totally at odds with scores of publications that are out there," said Dr. Robert Cantu, a neurologist and leading expert in brain injuries at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston. "The stuff the NFL is putting out is just not the way the thinking is in the community of sports medicine and specialists with expertise in this area." Among those is a recent study by the University of North Carolina, which reported 10 percent of retired NFL players say concussions have had a permanent effect on their ability to think and remember things as they've gotten older.

Hall of Fame linebacker Harry Carson of the New York Giants is one of them. He estimates he had a dozen or more "bell-ringers" in his career, though he wasn't aware they were concussions. Carson said he has long had memory problems because of postconcussion syndrome.

For others, it's even worse.

Former Steelers lineman Terry Long died last year at the age of 45 from a brain inflammation that resulted, in part, from repeated head injuries. Fellow Steelers center Mike Webster was diagnosed with football-induced dementia before he died at the age of 50.

Coaches, though, seem to regard them as minor irritants.

Vikings coach Brad Childress offered his own diagnosis the other day after Williamson was injured.

"He does know what time zone we're in right now, and he can read a clock. So he's going to be OK," Childress said.

Football, of course, isn't alone in having to deal with brain injuries. Keith Primeau had two years and $6 million left on his contract with the Philadelphia Flyers but retired earlier this year when even the most mundane skating drills caused him problems due to past concussions.

And David Eckstein and Jim Edmonds of the St. Louis Cardinals struggled for much of the season after concussions.

Still, the NFL, filled with violent helmet-to-helmet tackles and players with bad intentions, stands out.

In boxing, a fighter knocked out is automatically suspended for 60 days. In the NFL, a player knocked unconscious has returned to play in the same game.

Roethlisberger didn't go back into the game last Sunday, though he wanted to. He also wants to play this Sunday.

"If I get cleared I'm going to beg and plead to be out there," he said.

Hopefully, no one will be listening. Hopefully, the Super Bowl champions, 2-4 so far this season, will resist the temptation to put him in.

Roethlisberger has no business playing Sunday. There's a good argument to be made he shouldn't play again this year.

Big Ben has only one career -- and only one life.

It's up to those around him to make sure neither is cut short.

(Copyright 2006 by The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved.)
Last Updated: 10/26/2006 6:46:32 AM

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Bob Mann, Packers' first black player, dies at 82

Packers' first black player dies at 82
Mann 'never had any problems' in Green Bay from 1950 to 1954

By Mike Vandermause
October 24, 2006
Packers.com

As the first African-American to play for the Green Bay Packers, Bob Mann will go down as a trailblazer in team history.

Mann, who played for the Packers from 1950 to 1954, died Saturday in the Detroit area. He was 82.

Mann was a 5-foot-11, 175-pound end who led the Packers with 50 catches, 696 receiving yards and eight touchdowns in 1951.

Off the field, he built a reputation as a quiet man with an even temper and dry sense of humor.

Art Daley, who covered the Packers for the Green Bay Press-Gazette in the 1950s, remembers when Mann was forced to stay in a different hotel than the team on road trips because of his race.

Daley recalls Mann telling him, "All it is is politics."

One of Daley's favorite stories about Mann involved teammate Dick Afflis, a guard who later became better known as pro wrestler Dick The Bruiser.

According to Daley, the Packers were staying at a Baltimore hotel that didn't allow black guests. After a team meeting, Mann was forced to go to another hotel and was joined by Afflis, his 252-pound teammate.

"They walked out of the hotel together and got outside and called a cab," Daley said. "The cab came up and the driver said, 'I can't take him because he's black.' Afflis grabbed the cab driver by the shirt and he said, 'You take him where he wants to go.'"

Mann was an honorary captain at a 1997 Packers game at Lambeau Field. In an interview with the Press-Gazette at that time, Mann said: "I never had any problems. Everyone treated me well."

According to Daley, hotels in bigger cities and in the South had restrictions based on race at the time, but no such edicts existed in Green Bay.

"He had a lot of fun," Daley said.

Mann was an honorable-mention all-America player on Michigan's national championship team in 1947.

He signed with Detroit after college and along with Melvin Groomes became the Lions' first African-American players in 1948.

Mann led the NFL with 1,014 receiving yards in 1949, and his 66 catches ranked second to the Rams' Tom Fears, who set an NFL record that season with 77 receptions.

The Lions traded Mann to the New York Yanks in 1950 for quarterback Bobby Layne, a future Pro Football Hall of Famer. Mann was released by the Yanks and signed by the Packers.

"He was on the small side, but he was a very nifty and productive wide receiver," Packers historian Lee Remmel said.

Mann said his biggest thrill was being inducted into the Packer Hall of Fame in 1988.

"That was the highlight for me," Mann told the Press-Gazette in 1997. "Coming back for that was my greatest memory, although I had a lot of them as a player as well."

Mann finished his Packers career with 109 catches for 1,629 yards and 17 touchdowns. He was released midway through the 1954 season and retired.

Mann, a native of Newvern, N.C., earned his law degree after retiring from football.

He headed Robert Mann & Associates in Detroit for more than 30 years. His office was located just a few blocks from Ford Field, where the Lions play.

"Bob was a great example to everyone," Pro Football Hall of Famer Lem Barney said in a Lions press release announcing Mann's death.

"He not only was a great football player but a man who gave of himself to the city and the entire community."

Mann is survived by his wife of 50 years, Vera. Funeral arrangements are pending.

Monday, October 23, 2006

NFL Must Remember Those Who Paved the Way

By Michael David Smith
FootballOutsiders.com
October 7, 2006

Dave Pear was in pain when he called me this week. Pain is something he's felt a lot of in the quarter-century since he retired from professional football.

Pear, who played nose guard for six years in the NFL, suffered a herniated disk in his neck in 1979. He has lived with pain ever since that injury, which would force him to retire a year later. Pear played hurt in Super Bowl XV. On the Raiders' official Web site, his efforts are credited as a big reason the team won. That was the last game he ever played.

Pear called me this week to let me know that he disagreed with the kind words I had for Al Davis in last week's column.

"I continued to play with a herniated disk in my neck," Pear said. "Al Davis encouraged me to play. He told me I was an all-pro and that I could play better hurt than the other players could play healthy. With that injury, I went from all-pro to being cut in two years, and during that time I continually asked Davis for help, and the response was that I wasn't injured, I was a hypochondriac.

"I went to see Al in his office and said, 'I came to you as an all-pro two years ago and now I'm leaving to have a neck operation and I've lost my job. I broke my neck playing for you. You can't turn your back on me.' He told me he would call me. That was 25 years ago and I still haven't heard from him."

I don't know what happened in closed-door conversations between Pear and Davis. But I do know, and my conversation with Pear made me even more acutely aware, that the NFL has a real problem with retired players who suffered serious injuries and now feel that the league has turned its back on them.

"It's just wrong," Pear said. "If I sound bitter, it's in the sense that the NFL goes on TV and tells us what good they do with the United Way, and they spend money trying to help other causes, and they do that to take the focus off themselves and the way they treat their former players."

Pear is far from alone in feeling that way. Former Buffalo Bills safety Jeff Nixon urged his fellow ex-players to withhold NFL Players Association Retired Players Chapter dues to protest what he called a lack of attention to issues relating to retired players in the most recent collective-bargaining agreement negotiations. Chuck Bednarik, the Philadelphia Eagles Hall of Famer, said of his pension two years ago, "It stinks. It's nothing." Former Colts and Chargers safety Bruce Laird started a blog where he posts articles about retired players who have gone through tough times since leaving the game.

Many ex-players who are doing well financially have taken it upon themselves to provide the assistance that the league and the union won't. Former Green Bay Packers lineman Jerry Kramer has organized fundraisers to, as he says on his web site, "provide direct financial assistance to those retired players who are disadvantaged or indigent due to the inadequate pension and disability compensation the league provides to older players." Former Miami Dolphins and Cleveland Browns quarterback Arthur Roberts, a cardiologist, provides free heart screenings to ex-players. Mike Ditka hosts a golf tournament in Chicago each year to raise money for indigent retired players.

At his Hall of Fame induction speech in August, former New York Giants linebacker Harry Carson said the league needs to do more to help retired players. "I would hope that the leaders of the NFL, the future commissioner, and the players association do a much better job of looking out for those individuals," Carson said. "If we made the league what it is, you have to take better care of your own."

The league and the players association maintain that they do plenty. In July they jointly announced a host of improvements to current and retired players' benefits. NFL player benefits total $700 million a year, and benefits have been improved for both current and retired players four times since 1993. Retired players receive almost $60 million a year from the Bert Bell/Pete Rozelle Retirement Plan. The union's Players Assistance Trust, the NFL Alumni Association's Dire Need Fund and the Pro Football Hall of Fame's Enshrinee Assistance Fund all give more than $1 million a year in financial assistance to retired players. Harold Henderson, NFL executive vice president of labor relations and chairman of the NFL Management Council, called the NFL's package "the most extensive benefits package in professional sports."

But Pear, like many other ex-players, says those benefits need to be distributed more equitably, so that former players who paved the way for the current generation of multimillionaires and are now living with serious football-related injuries can reap some of the rewards from the $6 billion a year industry that pro football has become. Players who retired before salaries exploded with the dawning of free agency in 1993 say it annoys them that people assume that they're rich just because they once played pro football.

Many retired players blame NFL Players Association Executive Director Gene Upshaw for their inadequate pensions. Pear, his former teammate, said, "Gene Upshaw has definitely sold out his players." But under labor law, Upshaw works for the current players, not the retired players. You can't blame the players who helped build the league for feeling that they deserve a bigger slice of that $6 billion pie, but you also can't blame Upshaw for making the current players his top priority.

So if the union's priority is the current players, who can help retired players? I believe individual teams should do more. Before he joined the Raiders, Pear was the first member of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers to make the Pro Bowl. I'd like to see the Bucs do something to honor him, and I'd like to see every NFL team reach out to its former players, the ones who played before MRIs and eight-figure signing bonuses. Most of those players still love the game, but many of them wonder whether the sacrifices they made to play football were worth it.

"I don't want to sound like it's sour grapes, because football was my passion. It was something that I loved to do," Pear said. "But it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth toward your former employer."