There
are many foolish, overhyped things in American sports, but few can match the
annual Heisman Award in either regard.
The
Heisman supposedly goes to the year’s best college football player, but that’s
pretty silly to begin with. College football these days is a 50-players-a-team game
manning 11 positions on each side of the ball, with each position requiring
quite-different abilities and duties. Multiply that by about 700—the number
four-year institutions that field teams—and figuring out which individual
performs best taxes credulity.
The
Heisman folks solve that problem by not addressing it. They eliminate all but the 70 or so schools
that perform in the five “power” conferences (the SEC, Big Ten, PAC-12, Big 12
and ACC), then cross out just about everyone who plays defense or is an
offensive ”down” lineman. Aside from a small handful of tight ends or wide receivers
and one defender (Michigan DB Charles Woodson in 1997), all of the 78 winners
to date have been quarterbacks or running backs. The next selectee, I’m sure, also
will be one of those.
The provenance
of the award is equally questionable. From its origin in 1935 it has carried
the imprimatur of the Downtown Athletic Club, a private group of besuited jock sniffers
based in Lower Manhattan, N.Y., but that outfit went bust a dozen years ago and
it has bounced around since. Now it’s pretty much owned by ESPN, which stages
its culminating, Oscar-style award ceremony in one mid-town venue or another.
It’s always a long broadcast leading to a short conclusion (“and the winner
is….”) whose result usually has been anticipated. It’s good to prepare for the
evening (December 13 this year) by having a Netflix disc at the ready.
The
DAC’s first award carried its own name and considered only players from schools
east of the Mississippi River. It went to halfback Jay Berwanger of the U. of
Chicago, an institution that dropped big-time sports in 1939, thus keeping its
skirts clean of the muck that has followed. The next year the prize went
national and took the name of John Heisman, a leather-helmet-era football coach
who ended his days as the club’s athletics director.
Heisman
may have been a fine fella, but his credentials as a sportsman are suspect. He
made his rep by coaching some good Georgia Tech teams from 1904 through 1919,
and was on the Engineers’ sideline on the October day in 1916 when they racked
up football’s most-lopsided win at any level, a 220-0 trouncing of much-smaller
Cumberland College.
The story has it that Heisman had it in for Cumberland
because he believed it had used ringers in defeating Georgia Tech in baseball
the spring before. Cumberland had discontinued football before the 1916 season
began but Tech threatened to sue if it didn’t fulfill its contract, so the
Tennessee school reluctantly sent a 14-man squad. Tech ran 40 plays from
scrimmage in that game, all runs, netting 978 yards and all of its 32
touchdowns that didn’t result from fumble runbacks. Cumberland registered minus-28
yards in 41 plays. Tech scored 42 of its points in the last quarter.
Possession
of the stiff-armed trophy is decided by an electorate of 929, including 870
sportswriters or broadcasters and 58 former winners. The final vote (yes, one)
is determined by an ESPN poll. The writers and broadcasters are divided among
six geographic regions, 145 for each. That must mean that in some sparsely
populated areas just about every weekly newspaper sportswriter has a vote. Each
elector can name three players with the top choice getting three points, the
second two and the third one. Some
years, the last being in 2009 when Alabama RB Mark Ingram was selected, the
winner gets fewer than 50% of the available points.
Electors
do not make their choices in a vacuum—far from it. The Heisman is more a
contest of sports information directors than of football players, with the SID
of every school that thinks it has a candidate pouring out publicity supporting
his kid, beginning before the season’s start. I never had a vote but I used to
get some of the stuff anyway. One school (can’t remember which) Fedexed me a sturdy,
wood-handled fan consisting of the photographed face of the player it was
hyping. I kept it around to swat flies.
It’s up
to the fans to decide how well the process works, but it’s worth noting that
some non-legendary players have been honored. A few include Colorado RB Rashaan
Salaam (1994), Florida QB Danny Wuerffel (1996), Nebraska QB Eric Crouch (2001)
and Oklahoma QB Jason White (2003). The year that last guy won his competition
included Eli Manning, Philip Rivers, Ben Roethlisberger and Larry Fitzgerald.
College
football (and college sports in general) gets seamier by the year, and some of
its shmutz has rubbed off on the Heisman. The 2005 award, to USC running back Reggie
Bush, later was revoked when it was revealed he’d received more than $300,000
in cash and gifts from an agent while in school, including the rental cost of
the limo he rode to receive his Heisman.
Bush,
however, seems like a pretty straight guy compared with the two most-recent
winners. Johnny “Boys Just Wanna Have Fun” Manziel, the 2013-winning QB from
Texas A & M, left school for the pros a year later in a cloud of rude tweets,
empty beer bottles and allegations of autograph selling. Jameis Winston, the
Florida State QB, won last year despite having been accused of rape by a fellow
student whose charges were deep-sixed by the local and university police. Since
then he’s added to his rap sheet by being caught shop lifting and helping
terrorize his campus neighborhood in a pellet-gun war, although that’s no big
deal at a school where footballers are issued “get out of jail free” cards.
Last
year’s Heisman reminded of a Second City sketch in which an actor playing a Chicago
politician sang “If indicted I will run, if convicted I will serve.” I wonder what kind of encore we can expect
this year.
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