SUPER BOWL XXIII : CINCINNATI BENGALS vs. SAN FRANCISCO 49ERS : 49ers’ Randy Cross Hoping to Go Out on Top Today

Football savants who had confidently predicted that an important 49er would announce his retirement during Super Bowl Week were proven correct. Except it wasn’t genius-in-residence Bill Walsh. It was the most veteran 49er--13 years in San Francisco, 3 more than Walsh, 1 more even than owner Eddie DeBartolo Jr.--offensive lineman, quote machine and broadcaster-in-waiting Randy Cross.

“I’m not a boxer. I’m only going to do this once,” Cross promised last week as he assumed a rare speaking posture for a center--facing people directly, instead of bent over with his head between his knees.

“I’ve always wanted to do this on my time, on my terms, and on top. This was the best-case scenario: to go out on the Super Bowl.”

Smiling at the notion that his teammates might want to present him a Super Bowl victory in lieu of a retirement watch, Cross said, “If Mr. Reagan were still the president, I’d say the old Get One For The Gipper would work. But he’ll have been gone for two whole days by then.”

This was not a spur of the moment decision by Cross. He began thinking about it in July, more or less decided in October, told Walsh about it on last Sunday’s plane ride to Miami, and then resisted Walsh’s plea for him to reconsider.

One of the reasons was his left knee. His right, Cross bragged, is the “knee of an 18-year-old.”

But his left is “the knee of a 13-year veteran . . . I want to go out playing somewhere at or near the level I’m used to playing. I probably could have struggled through and stolen a couple more years of salary. But I didn’t want that.”

This brings up an interesting point. Most athletes are loathe to retire for two reasons: one, they love the life of privilege and can’t imagine even liking anything else; two, where the hell are they going to find nearly as much money? So they routinely hang around like bad smells, preposterously past their primes--Pete Rose, Gaylord Perry and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar as examples--and into their IRA years. Cross is a rarity, an accomplished athlete content to retire before his skills erode noticeably and before they have to chainsaw the uniform off him. “Football money isn’t out there to be had, but I’m willing to accept that,” Cross said, acknowledging the cost ineffectiveness of his decision. “My friends think it’s premature, but just because you’re quoted a lot and the announcers say you’re good doesn’t mean you have forever.”

Having made peace with his career, Cross began taking leave of it. Three weeks ago, in the waning minutes of San Francisco’s dismantling of Minnesota, Cross gazed deliberately around Candlestick Park, drinking in his final moments there as if they were the last smooth sips of a 19th century Chateau Lafite.

From there, he started composing his farewell address, knowing when the time came he’d give it “as dramatically as possible, because those who know me know that’s my M.O.” A Super Bowl press conference gave Cross a ham’s dream--a huge stage and a captive audience.

“You make a whole list, from A to Z, in sequence. I thought I had it down pat, but I guess it was etched in sandstone, because just before I got on the podium I said to (49er public relations man) Jerry Walker, ‘What the hell am I going to tell these people?’ Why torture everyone with an Academy Award speech thanking people they’ve never heard of? What I ended up saying up there . . . “ Cross’ voice trailed off, and he blushed. “I still have no clue what I said.”

Informed that he’d nonetheless stolen the spotlight from Super Bowl microphonemeister Boomer Esiason, Cross smirked, “One of the highlights of my life, obviously.”

Cross’ gentle humor was an antidote to the many harsher moments thus far in Super Bowl Week.

Athletes and reporters alike have been searching for ways to balance the entertainment function of the Super Bowl and the cultural and political significance of the Miami riots without sounding irredeemably patronizing.

You’re expected to say something, but you don’t quite know what. Obviously, the spontaneous violence has eclipsed the ritualistic hype and diverted attention from it. “I don’t see how it can’t,” Cross said soberly. “It brings a perspective that maybe the league doesn’t want.” With just one game left in his career, Cross has already crossed the bar from contemporary athlete to elder statesman. When that happens, the epitaphs are being set in type, and there’s the tendency to ask the One Last Wish question. In Cross’ case, it was to name the specific play to cap the bottle and take home forever. Boomer, for example, had earlier announced his Super Bowl closer would be, “Down by 5 with 6 seconds to go, and I hit Eddie Brown.”

Ultimately, speaking for the grass-stained fraternity of linemen who spend their careers looking up and out from under a pile, Cross chose for his last play ever: “I block my brains out, and Joe Montana hits Jerry Rice.”

And, of course, Cross never sees it.

Randy Cross