A Time to Reap, a Time to Bargain, a Time to Run, Eric

Come back, Eric. Your work in football is not done, son. You have promises to keep, and miles to run before you sleep.

Come back, Eric Dickerson, and break your rushing record, 2,105 yards gained. Come back and break Rickey Henderson’s rushing record, 3,900 yards stolen.

It pains me to make this plea, Eric. I was, I believe, the last holdout in support of your holdout. Everyone told me you were a jerk for not reporting to camp and for not honoring your contract, and I kept telling them you were doing the right thing.

I held out because I didn’t want to smooch up to Ram management and because I truly believe you’re worth the $1.5 million a year or so you’re asking, and because other sports heroes hold out and get their contracts renegotiated all the time, so why shouldn’t football’s Superman get in on the action?

I argued, my voice rising in volume and pitch, that you are a special case, that the Rams should realize you’re underpaid.

But my holdout on behalf of your holdout is over. I’m throwing down my picket sign. The weight of reason leans too heavily against you, amigo.

For starters, there’s that contract. The one with your signature on it, good for four years. You say the Rams promised to write you a new one, and they’re reneging. By now you should know, or your agents should, that oral promises between management and players tend to have about the same shelf-life as a piece of cheesecake, and carry about as much weight in court.

Besides, I’ve been reading that you’ll only be getting $200,000 to play this year, plus a $150,000 reporting bonus. What I hear from a neutral source, though, is that your complete signing package is worth $2.2 million, which comes out to roughly $545,000 a season.

It’s still not what you deserve, big fella, but it could be worse. In 1970, for instance, Larry Brown led the NFL in rushing and earned $17,000. Gale Sayers made $30,000 that season, and Merlin Olsen and Bob Lilly made $15,000 apiece. Whew.

I always argue that these years of oppression by the owners justify whatever squeezing and bullying players do to get more money. But if you’re going to squeeze and bully, why not do it in private? I question the style of your representatives, the high-profile, battering-ram approach. Back the Rams into a corner. Appeal to the media, to the fans.

Man, the fans are so sick of salary squabbles that they could throw up. They want to get back to the wonderful fantasy of sports, and if you try to shove any more stark, fiscal reality down their throats, watch out for your shoes.

I know, Ram management can be petty. The fans voted you to their all-time Ram team, but when that team was announced before the last game, your name was omitted. You have become Mr. X. Next they’ll try to have your yardage recalled. Or they’ll draw a mustache and blacked-out teeth on your official Ram portrait.

So go ahead and make them sweat a little. There’s no real rush to get to camp. A good running back needs about 45 minutes to get ready for the season. Besides, camp isn’t much fun. The food is lousy, and you could get killed. Last year in a camp scrimmage, you took a blind-side hit and they had to strap you to a stretcher and haul you away in an ambulance. For a few minutes, you wondered if you would ever walk again.

Why risk your life? Take a few more days off, then come on home, to your teammates and your coach. John Robinson understands the running game the way Picasso understood cubism. If you have to play cheap, at least they try to make it fun for you by providing some swell pieces of daylight, and a football.

Mainly, I’m appealing to your sense of loyalty. I’ll probably wake up in the morning and kick myself for saying anything this corny, but here goes: The fans are counting on you.

You’re the show, baby. A one-man thundering herd. They want to thrill to your crunching stiff-arm, whoop with anticipation when you turn the corner and zero in on that poor slob of a linebacker, slap each other silly when you make the bad guys look like Keystone Kops.

Explain to your agents that you have to answer a higher calling.

Whose yards are these? I think I know. Come and get ‘em, Eric.