This isn’t the first time this has happened, but there is something a little humbling about what is going on at the current Nike All-America Camp in Indianapolis this week. Sons of Bears and Bulls All-Pros are showing up on the recruiting radar. Not too terribly long ago, it seems, their fathers were the sports idols I worshipped.
It’s been twenty years since I graduated from Woodstock High School. There is a reunion coming up on August 19, which unfortunately I’ll miss as I head to WikiSym 2006 that evening. Twenty years ago, Michael Jordan was a brash young superstar in the making, known for his shoes, his foot and his scorching of the Celtics. He hadn’t yet met a power forward named Horace Grant. Jordan wasn’t even the biggest name in his city of Chicago. Thanks to a historic romp through the playoffs, the Super Bowl Champion Bears had a half dozen players with more noteriety. Among them, middle linebacker Mike Singletary, whose intense eyes appeared on as many SportsCenter highlight clips as Bobby Knight and furniture. Outside of the sports world, Chicago was host to a July 13 talk in which Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan described the giant spaceship that follows him when he travels, ready to pick him up on Judgement Day. The progeny of all of these guys are passing the rock to each other at the Nike camp.
I think it is the presence of Jeff Jordan that is the most freaksome. Walter Payton’s son, Jarrett, already went through his football career at Miami and may still be trying to latch on to a pro career with the Titans or some other team. (Walter’s teammate Jeff Fischer is the head coach in Tennessee, so it makes sense the offspring landed there if for no other reason than to honor the late father.) It was a bit momentous for Payton the Younger to reach the NFL because he was the first little boy I remember roaming the sidelines or carrying a bat back to a dugout. Walter was MJ before Jordan put Nike on the icon map. However, there may never be another player in my lifetime to so dominate both his sport and his culture as Michael Jordan. To have his son now making jump shots that count for something … well, freaksome.
My dad’s favorte player was Sam Huff, a linebacker for the New York Giants. He was also a Frank Gifford fan. I was in college before I heard another reference to Huff, and my exposure to Gifford began with him being the voice of Monday Night Football (but then devolved into his being the butt of Kathy Lee jokes). I can imagine the life milestone that might have passed for him if little Sammy, Jr. or Frankie Lee-Gifford had been drafted somewhere. I’m feeling some sense of loss right now, knowing (a) Carter and Archie will never see my sports heroes hoopin’ it up, and (b) that there is a 50-50 chance they will know MJ only as a mediocre GM who couldn’t commit to retirement.
