Star Wars Are the Rule in Athletics

A lot of sports fans were startled, not to say shocked, at Joe Theismann’s public declarations of contempt for his fellow pro, Jim McMahon. They needn’t have been.

It is the conceit of the sporting public that superstars of a stripe are really brothers under the skin, that they enjoy each other’s company and are, off the playing field, the best of friends.

They’re not. Stars in any field of endeavor do not like to share the same spotlight, any more than opera tenors, vice presidents or Latin dictators do. Competitors in any field are, likely as not, unable to stand the sight of each other.

Sometimes, even teammates can’t make it. Never mind whether Macy’s tells Gimbel’s, Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig didn’t even speak to each other for years. Neither did Joe Tinker and Johnny Evers of Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance fame. The rest of the Dodger infield ignored Steve Garvey and his pitcher even got into a punch-up with him.

They tell a story of Ben Hogan about to leave a tournament to drive to the airport when a bellhop came running out to him with the news that rival Sam Snead needed a lift to the terminal.

“Wouldn’t you like to give Mr. Snead a ride to the airport with you?” the fellow asked.

“No,” Hogan said, and drove off.

When Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus were tearing up the golf tour between them, hostesses thought it would be charming to seat them together at dinner parties. The facts were, they saw quite enough of each other on the golf course.

Tournament directors also thought it would be charming, to say nothing of good business, to pair them together in the opening rounds of tournaments. Both Jack and Arnold grew to hate it. And said so.

I would not expect Jimmy Connors and John McEnroe to want to be on the same invitation list, nor do I expect anyone who has had to stare across a net at Ivan Lendl beating his brains out on the court all afternoon to want to spend the evening seeing him across a dinner table, too.

Dempsey and Tunney were publicly paired in the fans’ minds, but there is no evidence that they ever took any ocean voyages together. Ty Cobb and Rogers Hornsby steered clear of each other during and after their great careers, and I can never remember even seeing Hank Aaron and Willie Mays together on a dais or anywhere else.

Still, there is a public perception that these birds of a feather flock together. Moreover, there is a protocol to be observed in these things. You must always murmur the correct, polite things about your competitor, observe how much respect and admiration you have for him. Sometimes, you name your kid after him.

Joe Theismann is having none of that. Joe is coming off a terrible, probably catastrophic, injury. His career is in a twilight, and Joe is not going gently into that good night.

Joe has clawed for everything he has. Jim McMahon seems to have found his under the Christmas tree.

Theismann was one of the best quarterbacks Notre Dame ever had, but he got drafted so low by the Dolphins that he decided to skip to Canada to get the money he wanted.

But, Joe always wanted more than money. Joe wanted recognition, celebrity. So, he came back to American football, after three years, to find the Dolphins didn’t want him at all. They traded him to Washington, where he had a lively career running back punts.

On a team that had Sonny Jurgensen and Billy Kilmer, that’s all he could do. Joe did it because Joe would rather get killed than not noticed at all.

When Jurgensen retired, Joe didn’t even speak to Billy Kilmer. Joe works alone.

When Billy retired, Joe led the Redskins to two Super Bowls. When he won the first, everybody said, ‘Well, look at the team he has around him.’ When he lost the second, everybody said Theismann blew it.

McMahon, by comparison, has hardly ever had to step across a crack in the sidewalk in his life. It hasn’t been a career--it’s been a parade.

He went to the quarterbacks’ paradise in college, Brigham Young University. He was a No. 1 draft selection by the Chicago Bears, the football equivalent of being a jockey on Man o’ War or a pitcher for the 1927 Yankees.

Every place Jim McMahon looked was roses. When he won the Super Bowl, Theismann suggested it was like Germany taking Austria.

What probably made it worse for Joe was that Jim McMahon was a bright-lights guy, too. It’s bad enough when a church type like Roger Staubach upstages you, but McMahon was working the same side of the street as Joe, showing up at the Playboy Mansion and the sets of Hollywood.

Joe decided he didn’t want his kid growing up to be Jim McMahon. I don’t know why. You wonder what he’s got against his kid. You would wish for everybody but your worst enemy the kind of breaks McMahon seemed to be getting.

But, of course, Joe wouldn’t want his kid to grow up to be Billy Kilmer, either. Or anybody else who’s getting all the lines.

The moral of the story is that no one has to like the guy who’s taking his spot on stage. It’s an age-old story, as old as Homer. Achilles probably didn’t want his son to grow up to be Paris, either. Thought he was a heel.