Stories of the '87 Season 1: Topsyturvydom

A lot of corrosive things about this new period--the pursuit of individual pleasure above all else, complete saturation of media fogging us of what is real and what is not, the dismantling of The New Deal, The Great Offshoring, The Drug War, CIA-supplied Newports out of white vans, Blurring of Church and State, Sentimental Sci-fi movies, Suppression of Civil Liberties, New Coke, NFL Showboaters, Decline of Dynasties. "The Meek Shall Inherit Squat," is the new tagline for chaw line Beech-Nut Supreme (available in Grape and Watermelon); they rolled out a sign at Fulton County which provided a few good photos. An SI cover story about Dallas rookie Brian Bosworth features him standing over a crumpled David Archer with the big sign in the background--fuzzy but still coherent (it was one of 4 sacks on the year for the Boz). Atlanta went 4-12 but finished the season better than Dallas, who lost seven of eight to finish 6-10.

"If only Ayn Rand had not died, I would have tried her for her crimes and stuck her on a boat, like Lenin did, with all the degenerates. Let her die from the coughing black smoke of a wheeling ship; the grave is all around her," wrote Morenov in a "musing" for the October Soviet Life. The intelligensia all across the American Right well-actualied and how-dare-youed their way into ulcers or heart attacks or piss in their pants (mostly that last one). That macho-but-sensitive faction of American Liberals, as small and as bad as it is, cracked closed smiles. The General Secretary knew when to play wrestling "heel." 

Not so much The Meek, several suffering clubs did find at least some salvation in '87. The Colts and the Oilers--the two worst teams in '86, going 2-14 each--both won 10 games and made the playoffs, with Houston reaching the AFC title game. 

For the latter, success could be credited to the draft. Cornelius Bennett and Haywood Jeffires, both first rounders, immediately contributed, and promising if disparate pieces finally mended together. They were 2-14 and kind of bad in ‘86, but not like Colts bad, the misery more tragic: they hung around in a lot of games, but Moon’s constant passing, Rozier’s sort of “softness” (a terrible football theory but one sort of legit, he wasn’t holding up to big hits), and a defense half-old and half-raw couldn’t keep them in games. It was also the first full year of Jerry Glanville, a sort of perfect coach for our media age: brash and weird, a vaguely southern accent (even though he grew up in Michigan), endless flamboyance. NBC’s Gayle Gardner noted his all black dress a la Johnny Cash and his endless screeching to refs. On the deeper examination of a full game it seemed pretty silly--especially during a bad year--but in sound bites and little 3 minutes pre-game pieces he was machismo; it probably blunted criticism of '86. 

For him, ‘87 was pretty lucky, a goddamn miracle. Bennett finished the season with 11 sacks--second best on the club behind Ray Childress (12). That mix of athletic ability and intelligence--he knew when to float in the middle or go straight in to split an offensive line--was what every scout and head coach wants. He was just one piece of a defense that finished fifth in holding off the pass; Childress terrorized lines while Keith Bostic, who finished with 7 picks, read routes well. Jeffires and Earnest Anderson, a USFL refugee, plugged into an already promising offense, one that finished third in the league. Moon was more accurate and Rozier looked tougher--Anderson proved to be the right type of backup, a mix of speed and just enough thickness to absorb hits (the Oklahoma State formula it seems, with Thurman Thomas on his way to the league in ‘88). Moon’s line looked stronger, giving him more time to find targets. The Birchers would claim, in their November 16 newsletter, that Warren and Mike were getting conditioning training from an ex-Spetnaz agent who “defected” to the US and settled in Nagodoches, where he coached soccer at Stephen F. Austin and ran a gym. They were really pulling at straws. 

The season started promising if a little rough--the Oilers were 4-4 at the halfway point, stuck neck-and-neck with the Steelers. Jeffires (pronounced jeff-freeze--ed.) really didn't make his way into the lineup until little ticky-tack injuries to Duncan, Hill, and Givens provided an opening. Houston was arguably the hottest team in the second-half, winning 7 of 8; he would finish with 17 catches for 482 and 6 touchdowns during the run. They got sort of lucky in their early playoff draws, knocking off a battered Dolphins club and beating a paper tiger Raiders team that, while good, lacked offensive harmony. The Operatic Glanville also finally figured out what he was good at as a coach--instilling not toughness, but a sort of irritating bitchiness. Other teams complained of Houston’s defense and their propensity to eye gouge, trip, helmet slap and body slam. Glanville credited it to a sort of “scorched earth” policy. It really worked until it didn’t and by then that was fine--10-6 and a conference title game appearance would suffice for now (the approach might’ve contributed to the Browns cleaning Moon’s clock on the second play of that AFC title game--ed.). 

Jim Irsay’s eccentricities and wild deal-making was extensively documented in last year’s Annals, but they all seemed to work. Indy finished 10-5-1 to win the AFC East--their first division title in a decade and first since moving to Indianapolis. Ron Meyer’s fairly simple game plan worked pretty well: have Testaverde use that big arm, have everybody run like hell, fill the gaps with Dickerson. Make sure the defense could hold; Vinny played better than expected and Big Jim let everyone know it. Wearing a blue uniform and playing in a state-of-the-art-dome (right in the Heartland!) was key, he said: imagine the poor kid in Patriots Blood Red or Washington Maroon-ish. He’d be blasting but to the other side (early scouting reports expressed unease over the lovable galoot’s color blindness--ed.). 

It wasn’t just Irsay landing a generational quarterback talent and swinging a deal for arguably the best running back of the decade, his few signings in the offseason went gangbusters too--while Buddy Curry’s 51 sacks turned out to be a computer error as already documented, about half of those “sacks” were legit and he did have talent. Curry anchored a promising linebacker core and defensive line, and always seemed to read run plays well; Jackie Flowers, another USFL star overlooked by clubs, would tie an NFL record on kick return touchdowns (2, both in one game) and was a strong gap-filler for Brooks and Bouza, finishing with 11 catches for 368 yards and 5 touchdown catches. Tommy Krammer helped win a couple key games in relief and seemed fine in an elder statesman role while getting rich off the hydroxychloroquine-for-aquariums business Curry had started. The Colts stayed in a three horse race all season with the Jets and the Dolphins, pulling out the division on the last day of the season with a blowout win of the Bucs. They had to wait and watch an injured Marino be humiliated by the nothing-to-lose Patriots Monday night, but that only added to the excitement, you see. 

While the season ended in disappointment in Cleveland--the Browns quickly figured out Meyers' 2 play offense and targeted Dickerson--it all felt destined, just the first chapter in a larger saga about a man overcoming his father's deficiencies and proving one can assail beyond Blood, to make themselves into a New Self. That was the takeaway among the kulaks too, watching as far away as Muncie and Evansville. To the old giants, the world had gone topsy turvy, but it was a correction you see.

Tampa Bay and New Orleans' division winning seasons in '87 seemed less Hollywood only because one could see the flashes in '86--6-10 and 7-9, the Bucs actually in it until a 6 game losing streak closed out the year; a 4,000+-yard passing season by Dave Wilson and a quality run down the stretch, including serving as a key spoiler in that year’s Central Division race. 

The Saints finished 11-5 through brute force: Rueben Mayes broke through walls like the Kool-Aid man, Hebert killed by a thousand cuts, often doinking this way down the field to Eric Martin, Lonzell Hill, or Hoby Brenner. On defense, "The Dome Patrol"--the linebacker core of Sam Mills, Pat Swelling, and Ricky Jackson--harassed quarterbacks either by roaming no man's land or charging right through porous lines. It was a synthesis of midwest smash mouth and southern elan. They were probably the most entertaining team in the NFC, if not the league, and they kept up with--and eventually overtook--Walsh's Niners in the back-end. They rolled a slow Tampa team to get to the conference title game and an oddly loose gameplan--Mora was usually pretty methodical on the offensive side of the ball--done them in, but it was another one of those "start of something" endings clubs not used to success tell themselves.

As documented in last year’s Annals, the rallying cry of Bucs fans was “yeah but still.” This carried over into ‘87--it was a wild year, the first under the ownership of Lafcadio Guzman DeLongpre Bolivar and “The Salt Lake Outfit,” a group of mormon businessmen who owned a 30% stake, and the first year under half-metis-half-inuit Chief Riel, the sometimes gentle giant, and his equally eccentric coaching staff. Tampa had a fun year despite its brutal ending against New Orleans. 

There was the 10 year, $50 million, serpentine contract of Steve Young before the season--he seemed to earn it at times, throwing for 4,550 yards and 39 touchdowns, along with a league leading 25 interceptions. Greg Lloyd, steal of the draft,, finished with an NFL record 35 sacks--even after the correction due to computer error--and a pick. A historic season for Gerald Carter, who joined the 2,000-yard club, and another good year for Wilder. The Bucs finished a club-record 12-4 and won their first division title since ‘79. Those retractable metal shades along the Big Sombrero--Soviet technical innovation finally seeping into the Western World thanks to Morenovism--made the winning actually enjoyable, especially early in September.

The offense was better designed than the Colts, but still thin enough the Saints had no problem with them in the playoffs. Sufan Cabrini, Riel’s offensive coordinator and would-be coach of the USFL’s Bandits before they fell apart at the end of ‘86 (and a concession to the Salt Lake outfit: Cabrini spent the late 70s and early 80s in LaVelle Edwards’ tape room before the BYU legend got him a job in ‘83 with the Arizona Wranglers--ed.)--relied heavily on Young’s arm to power the offense. Carbini worked to balance Young’s scrambling and passing in ‘87; they worked on arm strength and practiced throwing. They studied tape of Kosar, another sort of weird sidewinder. It largely worked on the field, though Young still gambled. It worked when he found Carter and Calvin Magee on long straight routes; it sort of worked with doinks to Wilder, or Jeff Smith, with those cement hands. But the routines and technical experimentation often went by the wayside; the Bucs were fun to watch because they would get reckless--lazy isn’t the right word--and find themselves in wild shootouts. It was also probably why Young got picked 7 times by the Saints in the Divisional Playoff.

Lloyd, the 8th pick out of a little Fort Valley State, was the driving motor of the defense rolling even pro-bowl o-lines, but he did get help--Greg Fields, a USFL vet, anchored a pretty good if still raggy front line. Lloyd’s comrades in the 2nd halo were solid--Ervin Randle racked up 8 sacks and 3 picks working no-man’s land, Chris Washington’s big claws frustrated kickers. Ray Isom and Bobby Kemp, while not as good as other safety tandems, still contributed to the 2nd best pass defense in the league. Jackie Walker, the much maligned 2nd round pick in ‘86, finally flashed promise. 

Jackie credited his success--like many of the older members of the Bucs D--to new defensive coordinator Corinthian "Cold-Cock" Davies, a World Football League and CFL veteran linebacker who, like Walker, was damned with faint praise for his "raw ability." Davies gave Walker that just-enough discipline all artists need (Davies viewed linebacking as the position with the most wabi-sabi). Davies and Walker practiced meditation and, after particularly bad or poor performances, would spend Monday--usually an off day--in Davies’ pagoda quietly reflecting. This routine included drawing images--any would do--in sand before sweeping them away. For particularly difficult days, Walker and Davies would dress in all white kimonos and write and recite hypothetical Death Poems--works they would be comfortable with if they were to die in that moment. It really swept away the anxiety that often built up in Jackie when he’d take the field; it turned him into a “Warrior Poet,” which was something he had always felt he might be. The highlight of Walker's season was probably Week 13 against New Orleans, when he hit Rueben Mayes so hard he knocked the big back out, palmed the fumble, and ran it in for a touchdown. Tampa would win in OT, 27-24. 

So it was a fun year if you have spent your adult or teenage years on the fringes of a declining Empire, watching your little club challenge the historic and financial monoliths. the Cowboys,the Steelers, and the Giants were all messes, finishing 6-10 each; Washington, who went with Schroeder, finished 7-9. San Fran choking away a gimme in the Wild Card. Balance was largely restored in the end, granted--the Browns won their second straight Super Bowl, the Cardinals, one of the best teams in the NFL the last three years, made their first title game--but it did give a little hope amidst your material destruction. And isn’t that the most American thing of all, to be granted solace?