A Time of Reckoning for Dexter Manley

We sensed this was coming, this time of reckoning for Dexter Manley with himself. Very possibly, he is finished with football--and this leads to the question: If he couldn’t handle fame, how will he deal with obscurity?

Few athletes ever brought more joy to their work than Manley did with the Redskins. Few ever had the sad side of their lives become more public. Almost every emotion is possible, including a touch of guilt among those of us who helped turn an immature and rather limited player into DEXTER.

NFL Commissioner Paul Tagliabue is expected to announce Friday a decision that seems both obvious and fair, a permanent suspension with the right of appeal after a year. Even in football, it’s three (drug) strikes and out.

Off the field, Manley will continue to command attention, as another focal point in the endless debate about the role of sport in society. Those who wonder why Manley has been allowed to play professionally for so long join those furious that he got a chance at big-time football in the first place.

Manley’s case will force the NFL to examine its drug policies once more. Perhaps the 30-day suspension for second-time offenders is too brief for meaningful treatment.

Why at least two players this season (Manley and Barry Wilburn) have become involved in drugs to the point of being dismissed from the team troubles the Redskins. Like less glamorous executives similarly affected, Coach Joe Gibbs acknowledged: “It’s something that does happen. We’ve got to be realistic.”

Ironically, Manley’s latest trouble with drug-related discipline surfaced within days of his being honored for persistence. Having managed to slip through Oklahoma State without being able to read on an adult level, he accomplished that over a considerable period at Washington’s Lab School.

Smiles and well-deserved congratulations for that considerable feat fade into the shame of failing a drug test for the third time and being hauled before Tagliabue.

If Manley is suspended, the earliest he could apply for reinstatement would be late in the 1990 season. If he were reinstated and a team took a chance on him, Manley would be 33 before the start of his first full season of eligibility.

Among Redskins officials and teammates, concern for Manley’s well being surely is tempered by anger at him not sharing his considerable portion of their burden. Were he not so talented, Manley would not have lasted so long.

What makes Manley close to unique is the elementary and elemental ability to disrupt quarterbacks. The job description reads: pass rusher. The idea is either to dump the quarterback on his rump before he can throw the ball or hurry him into something erratic.

Because chasing quarterbacks is the most noticeable aspect of the complex area of defense, Manley-like players receive the most attention. Other Redskins may have played better, other Redskins may have sacrificed themselves to make him spectacular; Manley drew the largest dressing-room crowds after games.

Manley loved the attention -- and realized early on that quiet competence was not the way to get it. His quotes were as raw and outrageous as his sport frequently is. Still, few begrudged Manley’s popularity because he needed it so much -- and seemed almost childlike in so many ways.

Whatever it took to get on the air or in print Manley gleefully provided. Perhaps ignoring him more might have helped, except some of the most seemingly stable and out-of-the-limelight athletes also have had immense personal sadness.

Who could resist Manley for long? At a critical point against the Saints in RFK Stadium two seasons ago, offensive tackle Jim Dombroski said he drew a penalty because Manley spit on him.

No, Manley quickly replied. Just sneezing. For a fellow with little formal education, Manley could be glib and witty. Plus he has a smile that would light a dungeon.

Privately, a Redskins official acknowledged that the team was trying to ease him out as a starter months ago. But injuries and the late development of rookie Tracy Rocker kept Manley’s replacement at end, Markus Koch, at an inside position. Upsetting was Manley having just nine tackles after nine games this season.

Gibbs surely cringed nearly every time Manley opened his mouth near a microphone or notepad. Rarely has a Redskin provided more pre-game fodder than Manley in his boasts and challenges.

Manley arrived in Washington as a lightly-regarded member of what proved a bonanza of a draft in 1981, a fifth-rounder chosen after Mark May and Russ Grimm. Had he not rather quickly been moved into a prominent position on defense, Manley might have become an immortal on special teams.

Special teams is the most primitive part of football and Manley reduced even that to the basics. His specialty, he said, was “ear-hole jobs,” clobbering the other guy at breakneck speed where it hurt the most.

Manley’s excesses on and off the field were clear and costly. For every couple of dramatic sacks and holding penalties on the opposition’s tackle, there would be a silly penalty or some intrasquad disruption.

The typical reaction to a typical Manley stunt was a rolled eyebrow. Whether he knew it or not, Manley usually was on the edge. Sacks made nearly everything tolerable.

Without trying to crawl inside Manley’s mind, it is possible to wonder why he would live so recklessly, why he would seemingly all but dare the league to enforce a clear-cut policy.

Manley has gotten himself into this mess. In addition to the warning signals, there has been very loud talk about what would happen if he stretched his rope too tight. Regretably, that’s what he seems to have done.