"Original" Number 20 Was Also The Original Deion

He seems too slight of build to have played professional football, even taking into consideration his age — 60 years — but then again, how big do you have to be to intercept passes and jitterbug through opponents, returning punts?

Lem Barney was introduced at a Michigan Sports Hall of Fame luncheon Tuesday as "The ORIGINAL Number 20", and I wished I had come up with that. Jersey #20 has been wonderful for the Lions and their fans: Barney, Billy Sims, Barry Sanders. Perhaps Barney wasn't greater than Sanders in terms of statistics, but I'm not sure that Lem Barney — at his peak — didn't turn this town on more than Barry.

It irks me when today's fans — many of whom wouldn't know greatness if it zinged them in the fanny — seem to think that nothing of any significance happened before they started following sports.

"Isn't Michael Jordan just the greatest player ever?," they will gush.

"You ever hear of a guy named Oscar Robertson?," I would like to retort. I can imagine the blank looks I would get.

Today's pro football fans have marveled — and rightly so — at Deion Sanders. "Neon Deion." "Prime Time." Call him what you like. But Sanders, who may have by himself helped coin the term "shutdown cornerback," indeed was exciting. Once he got the ball — whether from an interception or a punt return — look out. He had the potential of going for a touchdown every time. He all but eliminated one half of the field for opposing quarterbacks who didn't dare throw the ball in his direction.

Well, lookie there — I just described Lem Barney.

The "original" #20 for the Lions


Barney, out of Jackson State, joined the Lions as a rookie in 1967. He was a prized pick, having intercepted 26 passes in three seasons in college. The book was he could return some punts, maybe some kickoffs. And perhaps he could transfer some of his pass-intercepting abilities to the pros.

Bart Starr was firmly entrenched as not only the Green Bay Packers' quarterback in 1967, but as a perennial All-Pro. He was clearly on his way to the Hall of Fame. Starr was a cerebral quarterback — a brainy signal-caller who knew a defense's underbelly and how best to attack it. So when the Packers opened their 1967 schedule against the Lions, and when Starr saw that Detroit was going to start a rookie cornerback out of Jackson State named Lem Barney, I can imagine the salivary glands were working overtime.

I often wonder how much rookies, in any sport, know of the legends who are playing the game with them. I couldn't tell you what Lem Barney knew of Bart Starr back in 1967, though I can imagine a few of his teammates told some stories.

Regardless, Starr brought his team up to the line of scrimmage on the first play in that opener, and made sure he knew where the rookie was. The ball was snapped, Starr made a quick drop, and zipped the ball to whomever Barney was covering.

Even Hall of Fame quarterbacks can get burned. Barney stepped in front of the intended receiver, picked off the pass, and returned it. All the way. A touchdown — on the very first pass thrown in his direction. And enemy quarterbacks immediately had another reason to reach for the Excedrin. Welcome to the NFL, Lem Barney.

It wouldn't always be that easy, of course, but Barney didn't make it look hard, either. He was always around the ball as a pass defender, and as a punt returner? As Keith Jackson would say, "Whoa, Nellie!"

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Lem Barney is getting screwed. Probably because he played for the Lions.

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The Lions, for all their warts, have been blessed with some wonderful kick returners besides Lem Barney: Bobby Williams; Mel Gray; Glyn Milburn; Desmond Howard; and today, Eddie Drummond has shown some flash. But none of them have I seen pull off a move that Barney made against the Bengals in 1970.

It was at Tiger Stadium. The Bengals punter booted the ball, and Barney decided to let it drop. No return on this one. The ball landed and rolled a few yards. Then it came to a stop, with Bengals players surrounding it. But they were slow to touch it — thus officially downing the ball. So Barney suddenly grabbed the motionless ball off the grass, amidst all those Bengals, and ran with it. And he ran. And he ran. He ran all the way into the freaking endzone for a touchdown, about 55 yards or so. Only Lem Barney would have had the brashness to make that play. Never saw Neon Deion do that, even in his most prime of time.

Barney played 11 seasons with the Lions ('67-'77), and made the Pro Bowl seven times. He was, in my book, one of the top five most exciting players I've ever seen, bar none. Frankly, he WAS Deion Sanders before Neon was even remotely in his mother's womb. Yet it took far too long for Barney to be inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame for my liking. He made it in 1992, but that was 15 years after he retired. I know that sometimes the voters don't always get it right, but what was the hold up? My friend Chris Gerbasi and I would bring Barney's exclusion up over some pops from time to time before '92. Always it was the same refrain: Lem Barney is getting screwed. Probably because he played for the Lions.

I don't know how much playing in Detroit hurt Barney's Hall chances, but I can tell you it certainly didn't help. Had team success even halfway matched Barney's individual brilliance, he would have been a no-brainer inductee. But as it was, the Lions only played in one playoff game during his career: that ugly 5-0 loss to Dallas in 1970. And Hall of Fame voters like that postseason stuff, no matter the sport. If you think a player can play, regardless of what his teammates do, you're wrong. Well, actually, you're right, but it doesn't matter. In some cross eyes, you're not validated unless you won a championship or at least a playoff game here or there. Lem Barney did neither, so he had to be put on the waiting list. Go figure.

So when I saw Barney at the Hall luncheon last week, I chuckled at his "official" listing of 6'0" and 188 pounds while he played. If he's six feet, then I'm Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. And if he ever weighed 188 pounds, maybe it was after a pie-eating contest or something.

Lem Barney may have been slight of build, but he was never, ever slight of effort. He loves the city, and the city has loved him back. And not too many of today's players can you say that about.