Vintage Rick: Oaky, With a Hint of Charcoal

From the old SI Vault, comes this column Rick wrote after the 2001 Super Bowl. It’s incredibley sacchrine and it’s about Kerry Collins. So…you’ve been warned. Oh yeah…remember that our new domain name is: http://firerickreilly.com, but you’re welcome to get here the old way, too: http://firerickreilly.wordpress.com

THE REAL SUPER BOWL WINNER

Here’s a tip: any time you see a headline like this, you know it’s about some scrub with an uplifting life-story who still lost the big one.

THE SUPER BOWL hero walked down the tunnel with no trophy in his arms or minicams in his face. In fact, all the Super Bowl hero had done was throw four interceptions, a dozen or so wounded quail, and one touchdown pass—to the other team.

Hmm…sounds to me like he wasn’t the Super Bowl hero. Where are you going with this Rick, I’m intrigued.

Yet can you name anybody in Tampa who stood taller than New York Giants quarterback Kerry Collins, who spent his Super Bowl week gluing his family back together? All week, while Baltimore Ravens linebacker Ray Lewis ducked and covered, Collins split open his soul and laid it on a butcher block for everybody to see. He stared straight into the jaw of his mistakes and dealt with them all. Ol’ Vodka Collins. The DUI. The quitter. The racist.

Yep, I can name at least 53 players who stood taller than Kerry Collins. Those would be the members of the Baltimore Ravens football team. I’m really glad that Kerry Collins was able to stare down his drunken racism, but the dude lost the game. Heart-warmers like this are OK, but don’t try to tell me he’s the real winner, I guarantee you that Collins wouldn’t tell you that.

He told of how his dad, Pat, split him at 14 from his mother, Roseanne, and older brother, Patrick, and moved him 30 miles from their Lebanon, Pa., home, just to enroll him in a high school with a powerhouse football program. How his parents divorced two years later. How he mixed up winning with love, and football with self. How the pressure to win started the drinking, and the drinking led to hating himself, and the hating himself led to hurting himself. How the booze sent his career “to rock bottom,” to the place where nobody wants you, except the NFL, which wants you to enter rehab.

Awww, poor Kewwey Cowwins. Confusing love with winning. And himself with football. And those daddy issues! Wow, this certainly is compelling. I’m glad the poor guy still had the lowly old NFL and his multi-million dollar salary to ease his pain. Still, those bastards made him enter rehab. C’mon, Rick. Really?

He walked into that rehab as a psychological yard sale, bitter toward his father, estranged from his mother, an enemy inside his own skin. Luckily, he found a dozen others just like him. “There was the coolest guy in there,” Collins remembered. “A Hollywood agent. We got close. We talked every day.”

I’d just like to say that “psychological yard sale” makes zero sense to me. Really, it’s completely meaningless. I’ve read that phrase 30 times and I can’t begin to think what he means by it.

They both checked out. Within a year the agent had blown his brains out. Within a year Collins’s mind was as straight and true as his spirals. “I found out,” he said, “winning doesn’t make you a good person and losing doesn’t make you a bad person.”

Sure, losing the Super Bowl doesn’t make you a bad person, but it certainly doesn’t make you a winner.

Within two years he was leading the Giants to the Super Bowl, and his father, mother and brother to a reunion for the first time in 10 years, courtesy of his Visa card. “It was kind of amazing to see us all in the same room again,” said Patrick, 29, who lives in San Francisco, “but we were all so happy to see Kerry so happy.”

Awesome. I can’t write anymore through the tears.

Said Kerry, 28 and single, “Hey, we’re not the Brady Bunch, but we’re doing O.K. I’m back to being a son to my mom again, and that means a lot to me.” For Roseanne, not only was it the first time she was going to be at one of Kerry’s NFL games, but it was also one of the best weeks of her life. “I sat him next to me and said, ‘Don’t go anywhere. Let me just stare at you,’ ” she said. “I never stopped being his mom. He just got away from it for a while.” Nobody held any grudges against Kerry’s dad either. “He didn’t mean any harm,” Kerry decided. “He saw a big kid with a big arm and didn’t want to see that talent wasted.” She picked a bad first game to watch. To wit: So Kerry Collins, number 5, went into the biggest Sunday of his life happy with Kerry Collins, happy with number 5 and happy, finally, to know the difference. Naturally, he played like a tranquilized beaver. He missed wide-open receivers. The only people he hit between the numbers were Ravens—four of them. He threw 39 times, missing 24 times, for 112 sickly yards. Yeah, Lewis was the game’s MVP, but Baltimore couldn’t have done it without Collins.

Oh man, a tr—hahahaha…a….a tranquilized….hahahahha….a tranquilized beaver!!! Now I see why your so hilarious, Rick. What amazing imagery, and just ridiculous funny. Good one, man. Good one.

Yet in the interview room afterward, there he was again, staring into the cameras, accepting his starring role as goat. “I sucked today,” he said. “I was prepared. I was ready. I just played terrible.” He fingered a water bottle. Two years ago it might’ve been Jack Daniel’s. “Two years ago, I would’ve checked out,” he said. “I would’ve got mad at somebody or something. I would’ve self-destructed in some way.”

So since he wasn’t slugging down Bourbon instead of water, that makes him the real Super Bowl winner?

Instead, for the first time in forever, he had a family hug waiting for him at the end of the tunnel. “Some things in life don’t always work out quite like you planned,” said Roseanne, consoling Kerry. “Super Bowls are one of them.” But Kerry knew that. He’d seen rock bottom, and this wasn’t it. “Nothing can happen on a football field now that can affect me,” Collins said when the sting was starting to wear off. “My worst day sober is better than my best day drunk.”

I’m glad, but that doesn’t make him the “Real Super Bowl Winner”

Besides, this week Collins gets his driver’s license back, two years after it was taken away for the DUI conviction. He’s going to take off, see if that road is really as smooth and limitless as his future. “You know where I’m gonna drive?” he said. “Grace-land. Gonna go see Elvis.” This just in: KERRY LIVES!

Ugghhhh. My hands are sticking to keyboard from all the sap. I remember all this when it happened, and it was a good story, but to write something that acclaims Kerry Collins as the real winner of the Super Bowl is just dumb. I know that Rick is not the only one guilty of this kind of shitty journalism, but he’s definitely the best at it. And that’s not a good thing.