Role models and why kids should fear prompting their wrath:

There is no mystery why a whopping 90% of the football players that grace the annals of the Hall of Fame were from four states; Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania. To the residents of these states, football is more than a season. Football is Chi, a burial rite, and in the top three of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs between self-actualization and esteem. When I was a boy growing up in the southern suburbs of Pittsburgh, through the 70's, one thing was for sure; Fall = Football. In fact, from the late days of August running through most of January, any number divided by 'Football' would also equal 'Football'. Months at school were fraught with discussions of how the Steel Curtain would destroy Earl Campbell before he left the backfield or how Bradshaw would hand the ball off to Rocky for another TD and another Steelers win. Scores for our imaginary games would escalate into the stratosphere with the Steelers winning games 108 to 3. When these game would finally play out on Sunday to a 24 to 17 Steelers win, the conversation was about how the Steelers wanted to keep the game close for the fans. More comical was the banter between our drunken parents during the game that would be echoed in the school yard the following Monday. Ten year old kids saying stuff like, "I wish Guerella would pull his head outta his ass and kick some field goals," and "That dumb Polack couldn't catch a pass, it's like the ball is made of soap or sumthin'." Good, all-American, 10 year old, playground discourse. Little known fact: prior to 1880, going to church actually took place five days a week. When football was invented, church attendance dropped to record lows across the United States. Through a long boring story, church officials wound up switching church to one day a week, just prior to football on Sunday, to ensure that parishioners would attend to pray for their team's victory. It's on the internet, so you know it must be true! I'm all over the board here, let's get back to the business of my subject line, 'Role models and why kids should fear prompting their wrath.' Football players have come and gone, that's the circle of life. What has happened, and has been happening since the days of Joe Namath, is that superstardom and fame has clouded the once lofty position of the NFL Role Model. (Hello, I'm the beginning of the end of the NFL Role Model) Solipsists like The Boz: The Fridge: Neon Dieon: Baby Sapp: and TO: become more recognized icons than the symbols of teamwork and leadership attached to say a 'Steel Curtain Defense.' I'm not going down the road of, 'things were better in my day' or 'kids don't understand founding concepts of my generation.' What I'm getting at is that when you have a team, a group, or a collection of individuals that are working towards a common purpose, you can find one individual in that gridiron pitri dish that you can gravitate to. Someone who shares your beliefs, someone who gets the job done, someone who you wish to emulate in your life. For me, it was someone who scared the shit out of me. For those too young to understand, I'd like to introduce you to my personal mentor and nightmare; #58, Mr. Jack Lambert. For years, Jack Lambert was a symbol whom I would need to answer to if I ever made a mistake. If I thought I could do an end-around on my chores or that I could flea-flicker my way out of homework, Mr. Lambert would be there to put me in my place. I knew that if it came down to it, #58 would eat people if he wanted to; dislocating his jaw and sliding people down through his toothless maw. Jack Lambert epitomized the 'shit your pants,' scared straight fear that simple parental authority couldn't hope to provide. If your dad came home drunk one night and chased you around the house with his belt, you know he will eventually feel some degree of remorse for his actions. Not Mr. Lambert. He will find you, again and again, then proceed to pull you apart in pieces until the whistle blows. Even then, that is a small consolation as you know play will start up again in 45 seconds. Over and over, he'll find you and he'll beat you. It absolutely will not stop, until you are dead. I believe Mr. Jack Lambert's lasting, terrifying legacy can be best summed up in his 1990 NFL Hall of Fame induction speech where he said, 'If I could start my life all over again, I would devour you all as Saturn did his son.' Is that too obscure a reference for ya?