Deion made this year’s class of Hall of Fame inductees. It’s a good thing. High steppin’ Prime Time gave us plenty to look at—his versatile athleticism, his bravado—and I’m sure it’ll be cool for him to re-relish a career he’s now six years removed from. For me, the so-called selection is yawnable; it won’t help me remember him long-term.
That’s a task I leave to ESPN Classic on would-be dull, off-season Sunday afternoons when they broadcast Greatest Moments from the NFL Films’ catalogue. He’s sure to be rendered among the others in saturated near-Technicolor; in slow-mo where, upon impact, the quiver of their bones is shown in its unsound order; to fully orchestrated scores that America’s more aware of than Aaron Copland; in a scene narrated by God and/or John Facenda. Deion’s dances may not be “The Catch” or “The Immaculate Reception” or Joe Namath in Super Bowl II, but they’re treated with the same gold standard vision.
So it’s kind of ironic to me that the voters inducted Ed Sabol this past month, whose done more to help us remember NFL legends than the Hall of Fame ever will. The 94-year old founder of NFL Films never played the game professionally, but he wanted to show its raw allure: the bloody knuckles and missing teeth, the foul-mouthed coaches (which he miked), the way that the spinning pigskin fell into the taped fingers of wide outs falling, sprawled, to the sloppy grass.
A WWII veteran, he sold topcoats before 1962, when he bought the rights to film the NFL championship game for $4,000. The only credentials on his resume: he had filmed his son playing football in the backyard. He went on to win 91 Emmys for his work in NFL Films.
And helped me understand Barry Sander’s juking hips. Sabol presented those hips (which eluded words) in high definition. He showed the way they moved— impromptu, artsy. He made me remember Barry Sanders the way that Barry Sanders was, and made me want to be like him.
Ok, so Sabol’s induction makes for a watershed moment in the Hall of Fame: remembering people that helped us remember. I love it. I hope that they induct others in the same vein. For instance, Chris Berman—because of him, we’ve all had “could---go---all---the---way…” bouncing in our heads like sheep at sleeptime.
My first choice, though, would be the developing team of Tecmo Super Bowl. The Nintendo cartridge did, for me, things that NFL Films could not do.
Rendered in featureless 8-bit, these were characters into which I can project myself, my own features. I could be more than like a player for the Detroit Lions; I could, as my fingers swiveled about the D-Pad like Sanders' hips, project myself into this blurry image of Barry Sanders, or essentially be him. I could be the coach and win a Super Bowl with an offensive repertoire of only eight plays.
It's this being that helps us to remember what was. For instance, anybody who's "been" Tecmo Bo Jackson knows that he was the fastest running back to ever live--who could, in one play, run out an entire quarter before scoring.
For these reasons, I don't find it strange that Tecmo Bowl still has a huge cult following, and that some fans have even re-written the game's code to have updated rosters and franchises. Or maybe they just want to see Chad not-Ochocinco do the same windmill-clap end zone celebration as every other character. Same with dancin' Deion Sanders.
At any rate, it seems appropriate to start giving tribute to the kind of presentations that help us to remember, and even to love, the game. Why now? Because our most recent Super Bowl might have been among my most memorable if Fox hadn't broadcast, and if the Black Eyed Peas hadn't performed at halftime. In a lot of ways, I wish I would have waited for Sabol's version.
Jordan Langer
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