Copyright 1999 The New York Times Company  

The New York Times

August 22, 1999, Sunday, Late Edition - Final

SECTION: Section 8; Page 11; Column 1; Sports Desk 

LENGTH: 918 words

HEADLINE: Backtalk;

Time for Sports Heroes to Start Acting in a Heroic Way

BYLINE:  By ROBERT LIPSYTE 

BODY:

Those archangels of the arena, Michael, John, Wayne and Steffi, flew away this year, and I hardly thought about them. All I could muster was: gone now, too bad, nice people, played good.

And then they all floated out of my consciousness until Jordan appeared with his cartoon friends in a television commercial for a telephone service. Was it a message from Michael, was I supposed to call? Show that I missed him by subscribing? Can it wait until all four are snug in their Halls of Fame, and I see who has replaced them?

We love you, honey, but the season's over. These are the days of fungible heroes. Get them off the field before they turn clumsy or embarrass us with behavior unbecoming. And if possible, pack them away, to be opened only on ceremonial occasions. Ty Cobb, Joe Louis and Lawrence Taylor did nothing positive for their legends after retirement.

These fab four left on top, although Gretzky, who was only intermittently Great lately, was two franchises removed from skating for a winner. All four were driven, hard-working perfectionists who gave us our money's worth, the kind of consummate professionals you want managing your portfolio or defending you in court. Yet none of them quite grabbed at our hearts or elbowed our ribs. They worked so hard, they didn't seem to be having fun. It ultimately mocks our fandom, our heroes burning out to entertain us. Or have they long lost that old conceit of loving the game so much that they would play it for free, or least for only two million a year?

Steffi started so early as a pro, at 13, that burning out at 30 seems like a long career. Seventeen years, and they were not always easy ones; despite a cheesecookie pose in a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, she never seemed much more than a tennis machine, dedicated and distant. Her father's imprisonment for misrepresenting her $20 million in prize money to German tax authorities was not particularly endearing. Nor was her lack of public sympathy toward Monica Seles, who was stabbed on court in 1993 by a self-described Graf fan. The crime, barely punished, allowed Steffi to regain her No. 1 ranking over Monica's body. A classy or human Steffi would have refused the ranking. But then, a classy or human Michael would have stepped up in some way to deal with Nike's exploitation of Asian workers, Air Jordan profits over their bodies. Are we asking too much?

Pee Wee Reese, who died last week, was not on any of the millennial lists that most, if not all, of the fab four will make, yet he will be remembered longer than any of them for just one powerful, historical gesture. Ragged by an opposing team as an apostate Confederate for playing with a black teammate, the Dodgers' shortstop made sure the entire ball park saw him put his hand on Jackie Robinson's shoulder.

Such opportunities don't always come with the schedule, but they do exist. In a time of terror and violence, Derek Jeter's little peace mission should have got a mini-Nobel. While the Yankees and Mariners were recently in a typically senseless beanball brawl (were the umpires on strike already?), Jeter chatted amiably with his Seattle friend Alex Rodriguez. At least one teammate and some fans questioned his loyalty. Maybe next time he should bring a gun to the game.

Some athletes are thrust into roles as examples. I do not believe that Lance Armstrong contracted testicular cancer as a career move, although no athlete's triumph has moved me as much in recent years. A testicular cancer patient myself, I went right out and bought the first new bicycle I have owned since I rode a red Schwinn delivering telegrams for Western Union. This one's a beautiful silver hybrid, and I change gears constantly, every molehill the mountains of the Tour de France. I can imagine my carcinoma sisters running harder, thinking about Lyudmila Engquist jumping hurdles after chemo for breast cancer. I will be happy to never meet Armstrong or Engquist, lest the real people disturb the symbols. Perhaps it should be thus for Michael, John, Wayne and Steffi.

Some of the most interesting and important athletes of our time -- Billie Jean King, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Jim Brown -- have not always got their due, perhaps because we think we know them. Muhammad Ali has got too much too late, often for the same reason, which has less to do with his magnificent achievements than our interpretations.

Joe DiMaggio, who died this year to often mawkish eulogies and overwrought sociology, was an ancestor of the current four: driven, selfish, unidimensional in his playing days. It was not until after he married and divorced Marilyn Monroe that we began to see him as something more than a performer, and it was not until after her death that we were taken by his strength and courtliness. We then invested his playing career with a hidden passion we hadn't always seen then.

So there's still time for Steffi, Wayne, John and Michael. And for Barry Sanders, the Detroit Lions' running back who may very well unretire if they get him the team he feels he deserves. And, of course, Tiger Woods.

Remember him? The Lion King's cub? Two years ago, we were told that Babe Ruth was the Tiger Woods of his time, that golf would save the developing world, that Tiger would change sports marketing and race relations.

Well, he's moving right along. Last week, he finally won his second major tournament. He was chased all the way by one Sergio Garcia of Spain, who is 19. How do you buy that boy's stock?

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GRAPHIC: Photos: From left, Steffi Graf, John Elway, Wayne Gretzky and Michael Jordan were hard-working perfectionists who didn't quite grab at our hearts. (Associated Press)

LANGUAGE: ENGLISH