Kick Out the Sports!
by Bob Cook
Bob Cook's weekly ruminations on sports appear Mondays in Flak.
You don't have to check out your local ballet company to see the latest in
interpretive dance. Instead, look in the end zone at any NFL game, and you
might see a new, satirical form of athletic ballet — a touchdown celebration that skewers another athlete's personal problems.
Right now, the most celebrated practitioner of the form is Cincinnati Bengals
wide receiver Chad Johnson. A few weeks ago, after catching a touchdown pass
against the Chicago Bears, Johnson broke into a Michael Flatley-style jig, an homage to the baby-daddy status of Bears linebacker Brian Urlacher, who fathered a child with a woman who once had sued, unsuccessfully, Mr. Riverdance on the accusation he raped her.
Johnson denies his own feet of flames had anything to do with the Urlacher-Flatley connection. But Johnson has let it be known that he meticulously plans his touchdown dances. You think he didn't know what he was doing?
Though his work is well-known, it's possible Johnson wasn't the pioneer of this new form of interpretive dance. Then-Minnesota receiver Randy Moss' famed pull-down-your-pants-and-squat move last year at Lambeau Field, interpreted as an insult aimed toward Green Bay fans, might actually have been a laugh at the expense of Packers running back Najeh Davenport.
Davenport is No. 42 in your program but No. 2 in our hearts for, a few years
ago, allegedly breaking into a woman's college dorm room and crapping in her laundry hamper as she slept. Prosecutors dropped specific criminal charges against Davenport when he agreed to perform community service, though he maintained his innocence, asking, "Where's the evidence? Where's the manure?" (This legal technique is known to attorneys as the "If you don't have shit, you must acquit" defense.)
But like Johnson with Urlacher, Moss has never copped to Davenport inspiring his dance of doo-doo.
Perhaps these dance pioneers don't want to overexplain the subtlety of their
routines. Or maybe they have more moves in mind and don't want to be associated
with their initial works. Whatever the motivation, the work of Johnson and
Moss is bringing the end zone dance beyond the mere Neanderthal spiking of the
ball, and the I-wish-I-were-Shaq dunking the football over the goal post. It's
far more technical, inspired and socially relevant than Terrell Owens' end-zone
Sharpie, or Joe Horn fishing a cellphone from the goalpost padding.
In fact, don't be shocked to see more personal foibles re-enacted in end zones across the NFL. The following list of potential works should not be construed as an endorsement — this is a form of dance where questions of taste, like the early avant-garde, are very hotly debated. I present this list more as a viewer's guide, because with these dances often lasting less than a minute, an educated eye is necessary to know when such satire is occurring:
1. Player takes the football, puts it to his mouth, and sparks it like a fattie. Most likely to occur against the Oakland Raiders to satirize Moss, who told HBO Sports, in the least shocking revelation ever, that he still smokes pot "once every blue moon." (What is it about Randy Moss and moons?) Also could occur against the Miami Dolphins because of vagabond, hippie-ish running back Ricky Williams, who just finished serving a four-game suspension for marijuana use. Given Williams' year-long leave from the NFL to seek out Eastern mysticism to fill his soul, a Miami opponent might celebrate a touchdown by sitting in the lotus position.
2. Player rubs the ball against his 'nads with one hand, while making a rowing motion with the other. This move would occur against the Minnesota Vikings, especially if defensive back Fred Smoot got burned for the touchdown. The dance would be a minimalist reenactment of the allegedly sex-filled boat cruise involving multiple Viking players, a very un-Gilligan-like three-hour tour the boat company said Smoot chartered.
3. Player puts the ball on the ground and trips over it. Inspired by Tampa Bay Buccaneers quarterback Brian Griese, who in a five-month span in 2002, injured his head after tripping in teammate Terrell Davis' driveway, and sprained his ankle tripping over his dog at the top of the stairs. The dance might begin with the player pretending to down a shot, what with widespread speculation that alcohol somehow was involved, rather than the dog and the driveway wantonly throwing themselves at Griese.
4. Player pretends to play the piano. This Beethoven-esque display would happen against the Detroit Lions, signaling to keyboardist/quarterback Joey Harrington that he can can complete a sonata more effectively than a five-yard out. It's possible, given how Harrington's Lions teammates feel about him, that once the routine begins, they might join in the dance.
E-mail Bob Cook at bobc@flakmag.com.
