It’s a shame when someone who is 42 years old is told that they are washed up, that they can’t hack it anymore and that they must give up all that they know to young men who were waddling around in diapers when they dominated the field. But such is the evil of professional athletics, where the greatest, most respected men are forced to bow out before they think it is their time. This was the unfortunate, yet inevitable, fate that met Jerry Rice Monday, ending the most successful career of any player in the history of the National Football League.
A career that started with Rice catching bricks at his home in Crawford, Mississippi to soften his hands and continued through Division II Mississippi Valley State ended with 20 of the most memorable years put together by any athlete, in any sport, ever. Rice leaves the game holding every meaningful receiving record: receiving yards, receptions, touchdown receptions and total touchdowns. It’s just incredible. Think Hank Aaron holding the batting average, RBI and home run records. If he were any more of a lock for the Hall, he’d already have his own key to Canton.
This was the day-in and day-out dominance that I got to see first-hand, growing up a San Francisco 49ers season ticket-holder from the day of my birth. Before coming out east to the Hilltop, I attended every single Niners game-pre-season, regular season and post-season. You name it, and I was there every Sunday with my dad, a season ticket-holder since the 1960s, to witness the work of my favorite athlete and role model.
The years up until 2000 were the ones I will remember most. Every game there would be No. 80, running crisp routes and making catches when it counted. He was never the fastest, biggest or most recognizable man on the field, but he always did what counted to make his team win, which is why I and every other fan of the game loved him. Jerry Rice was always the best player on the field, but he didn’t need to shout it out for you to notice him. Jerry Rice wasn’t a gifted individual who just happened to be a part of a team; he was a part of a team who just happened to possess amazing individual talent.
Rice stared down Father Time for as long as any talented athlete I can remember, but, unlike the others, he won. He was productive into his late 30s, and, if given the chance, could be again. Rice’s game was intelligent, and it was the product of hard work. His off-season regimen would have made Superman beg for some kryptonite, and defensive backs were always left scratching their heads, wondering where they went wrong.
Sometimes the men with the most jaw-dropping talent don’t always make the greatest players. It’s the ones with the biggest hearts who turn into our heroes and idols. In his tearful retirement announcement, Rice said that he never thought he would see this day, and frankly, neither did I. This season the league will be missing something it has taken for granted for two decades. It’s not right, and people will be sorry he’s gone. I know I am.
