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Last of the Duke Street Kings
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Enshrinees wear emotions on gold sleeves
Sunday, August 5, 2007
SPORTS SPOTLIGHT
TODD PORTER
LINK
CANTON
With inspiration, real inspiration, comes tears. On Saturday night, many cheeks glistened under the lights at Fawcett Stadium. Across the street from the Pro Football Hall of Fame Enshrinement, Kleenex could have made a killing.
The night started with wet eyes and heavy hearts. Charlie Sanders hit everyone where they felt it, in their heart.
And Michael Irvin took us to the depths he once took himself, showed us his greatest fear, and then displayed how to “look up, get up and never give up.”
Which is what Hall of Fame running backs — Jim Brown, Leroy Kelly and Bobby Mitchell — did for one of their teammates. Brown, Kelly and Mitchell, all Cleveland Browns who rode to the Hall of Fame through holes that Gene Hickerson opened, stood behind Hickerson and pushed his wheelchair up to the stage as he was inducted into the Hall. Hickerson suffers from symptoms associated with dementia and Alzheimer’s disease.
It was one of the most poignant moments in 44 years of Hall of Fame Enshrinement history.
The three great Browns backs supporting the man who got them to Canton was followed by Irvin asking his sons, Elijah and Michael, to stand before 12,787 fans so he could tell the world a story of his failures and how they nearly closed the Hall to one of the NFL’s greatest wide receivers.
IRVIN WAS HUMAN
Michael Irvin wasn’t a textbook Hall of Famer, but he was a textbook human being.
Irvin watched last year’s enshrinement ceremonies as Dallas teammate and quarterback Troy Aikman was enshrined.
“I said, ‘Wow,’ ” Irvin said. “That’s what a Hall of Famer is. Certainly, I am not that. I doubted that I ever would have the chance to stand before you today.”
Irvin worried that his well-documented off-the-field transgressions would keep him out.
“So when I returned home, I spoke with Michael and Elijah, and I said, ‘That’s how you do it,’ ” Irvin said.
Then Michael asked his father if they would ever be in Canton, celebrating their father’s achievements.
“I wanted to stand in front of Michael and say: ‘Do it like your dad, like any proud dad would want to,’ ” Irvin said, tears rolling down his face.
But Irvin did drugs. He cheated on his wife.
“He had his faults,” Cowboys owner Jerry Jones said. “But in a unique way that only Michael Irvin could pull off, his fallibility ... gave the people who followed him strength. They wanted to see somebody rise, fall and get back up on his feet.”
Irvin thanked his wife, Sandy, for staying by his side, a pitiful side at times.
“For better or worse, those are the vows we take before God in marriage,” Irvin said. “It’s easy to find someone who will still be around for the better, but rarely can you find someone who will stick around and endure the ‘for worse.’
“Sandy, I have worked tirelessly to give you the ‘for better,’ and I also gave you the ‘for worse.’ And you didn’t deserve it. ... I thank you from a place I can’t even express for keeping our family together.”
For all Irvin’s charisma on TV and the persona he created, this was raw emotion.
‘HI, MOM’
The event started the same way.
Sanders waited nearly 61 years — and his entire NFL career in Detroit — to look into a TV camera and say “Hi, mom,” a phrase uttered by many athletes during a broadcast, perhaps without a thought. He never got to do it during his playing days, because his mother died when he was 2.
This time, there was thought and feeling put into “Hi, mom.”
“I always thought that was special, and I always thought that was something I wanted to do, but I couldn’t,” Sanders said, fighting back tears. “I take this time right here, right now in Canton, Ohio, at the Pro Football Hall of Fame, to say, ‘Hi, mom.’ ”
Parteacher Sanders died from childbirth complications in 1948, long before Charlie would grow into one of the greatest tight ends in football.
“Thank you for the ultimate sacrifice,” Sanders said with an eye toward the sky. “This day belongs to you.”
It belonged to this class — Irvin, Hickerson, Sanders, Roger Wehrli, Thurman Thomas and Bruce Matthews — but it also belonged to their families. Everyone shares their mistakes and triumphs.
Only those closest feel their pain and redemption.
“My mother raised 17 children,” Irvin said. “There were challenges, but she would never complain. She always walked around the house saying, ‘God has promised me that my latter days will be better than my former days.’ ”
It appeared so Saturday night.
Reach Repository sports writer Todd Porter at (330) 580-8340 or e-mail: todd.porter@cantonrep.com
Sunday, August 5, 2007
SPORTS SPOTLIGHT
TODD PORTER
LINK
CANTON
With inspiration, real inspiration, comes tears. On Saturday night, many cheeks glistened under the lights at Fawcett Stadium. Across the street from the Pro Football Hall of Fame Enshrinement, Kleenex could have made a killing.
The night started with wet eyes and heavy hearts. Charlie Sanders hit everyone where they felt it, in their heart.
And Michael Irvin took us to the depths he once took himself, showed us his greatest fear, and then displayed how to “look up, get up and never give up.”
Which is what Hall of Fame running backs — Jim Brown, Leroy Kelly and Bobby Mitchell — did for one of their teammates. Brown, Kelly and Mitchell, all Cleveland Browns who rode to the Hall of Fame through holes that Gene Hickerson opened, stood behind Hickerson and pushed his wheelchair up to the stage as he was inducted into the Hall. Hickerson suffers from symptoms associated with dementia and Alzheimer’s disease.
It was one of the most poignant moments in 44 years of Hall of Fame Enshrinement history.
The three great Browns backs supporting the man who got them to Canton was followed by Irvin asking his sons, Elijah and Michael, to stand before 12,787 fans so he could tell the world a story of his failures and how they nearly closed the Hall to one of the NFL’s greatest wide receivers.
IRVIN WAS HUMAN
Michael Irvin wasn’t a textbook Hall of Famer, but he was a textbook human being.
Irvin watched last year’s enshrinement ceremonies as Dallas teammate and quarterback Troy Aikman was enshrined.
“I said, ‘Wow,’ ” Irvin said. “That’s what a Hall of Famer is. Certainly, I am not that. I doubted that I ever would have the chance to stand before you today.”
Irvin worried that his well-documented off-the-field transgressions would keep him out.
“So when I returned home, I spoke with Michael and Elijah, and I said, ‘That’s how you do it,’ ” Irvin said.
Then Michael asked his father if they would ever be in Canton, celebrating their father’s achievements.
“I wanted to stand in front of Michael and say: ‘Do it like your dad, like any proud dad would want to,’ ” Irvin said, tears rolling down his face.
But Irvin did drugs. He cheated on his wife.
“He had his faults,” Cowboys owner Jerry Jones said. “But in a unique way that only Michael Irvin could pull off, his fallibility ... gave the people who followed him strength. They wanted to see somebody rise, fall and get back up on his feet.”
Irvin thanked his wife, Sandy, for staying by his side, a pitiful side at times.
“For better or worse, those are the vows we take before God in marriage,” Irvin said. “It’s easy to find someone who will still be around for the better, but rarely can you find someone who will stick around and endure the ‘for worse.’
“Sandy, I have worked tirelessly to give you the ‘for better,’ and I also gave you the ‘for worse.’ And you didn’t deserve it. ... I thank you from a place I can’t even express for keeping our family together.”
For all Irvin’s charisma on TV and the persona he created, this was raw emotion.
‘HI, MOM’
The event started the same way.
Sanders waited nearly 61 years — and his entire NFL career in Detroit — to look into a TV camera and say “Hi, mom,” a phrase uttered by many athletes during a broadcast, perhaps without a thought. He never got to do it during his playing days, because his mother died when he was 2.
This time, there was thought and feeling put into “Hi, mom.”
“I always thought that was special, and I always thought that was something I wanted to do, but I couldn’t,” Sanders said, fighting back tears. “I take this time right here, right now in Canton, Ohio, at the Pro Football Hall of Fame, to say, ‘Hi, mom.’ ”
Parteacher Sanders died from childbirth complications in 1948, long before Charlie would grow into one of the greatest tight ends in football.
“Thank you for the ultimate sacrifice,” Sanders said with an eye toward the sky. “This day belongs to you.”
It belonged to this class — Irvin, Hickerson, Sanders, Roger Wehrli, Thurman Thomas and Bruce Matthews — but it also belonged to their families. Everyone shares their mistakes and triumphs.
Only those closest feel their pain and redemption.
“My mother raised 17 children,” Irvin said. “There were challenges, but she would never complain. She always walked around the house saying, ‘God has promised me that my latter days will be better than my former days.’ ”
It appeared so Saturday night.
Reach Repository sports writer Todd Porter at (330) 580-8340 or e-mail: todd.porter@cantonrep.com