Like Karras Did, Suh Dominates In Trenches for Lions

The greatest defensive tackle in Lions history had a nose for the quarterback. He had to, because he couldn’t see the passer.

Alex Karras, the Golden Greek (aka Tippy Toes), had the eyesight of Mr. Magoo but the olfactory nerves of a shark in blood-tinged waters

Karras was a wrestler at the University of Iowa, and he used that experience to break free of pass protectors through the use of agility and leverage.

Amazingly, it was Karras who initially feared for his own safety.

“I learned at a very young age,” Karras once told NFL Films, “that if I ever lined up to do battle…that I could get hurt!”

Karras joined the Lions in 1958 as a rookie from Iowa, when the Lions were defending league champs. Needless to say, no other rookie has joined the team under those circumstances since then.

He came into the NFL with Wayne Walker, the linebacker from Idaho. Together they were part of some very good defenses in Detroit, often when the offense was nowhere nearly as competent.

But that was the NFL, circa the mid-to-late 1950s through most of the 1960s: The league was filled with gritty, nasty defenders who rarely made a tackle below the jaw line. Helmets of the so-called “skill” players popped off like champagne corks on New Year’s Eve, in those days.

Occasionally, the player’s teammates would check to make sure the head wasn’t still inside.

This was the NFL of the day—the polar opposite of the upstart American Football League, whose game scores looked more like college basketball tilts than those of pro football.

The AFL had the Mad Bomber—Oakland QB Daryle Lamonica. The NFL had the Mad Stork—linebacker Ted Hendricks.

The Lions could play some defense, especially in the trenches, where Karras was joined in crime by partners Darris McCord, Sam Williams and Roger Brown. Behind them was middle linebacker Joe Schmidt, the pride of Pitt.

Then the Lions added Lem Barney to the secondary, which already included Dick LeBeau and Bruce Maher.

Too bad the offenses were often plodding units who needed a month of Sundays to score 50 points.

Karras was the ring leader, make no mistake. Alex adored the spotlight and the attention. He walked around training camp at Cranbrook wearing horn-rimmed glasses, plaid shorts and smoking a cigar.

“Alex was two different people,” longtime Chicago Bears center Mike Pyle told Ed Sabol’s folks at NFL Films. “On the field, he wanted to destroy anyone wearing the opposing uniform. But off the field, just a really nice guy.”

Karras played in the days when television was just starting to sink its claws into pro football. He once told me that the classic Thanksgiving Day game in 1962, when the Lions tore Green Bay quarterback Bart Starr limb from limb, was special to him because it was one of the first games Karras had played on national TV.

“You started to play the game for television in those days,” Karras told me.

Karras liked TV so much, he found a second career in it.

Some might argue against my opening sentence, refusing to believe that Karras was better than today’s Lions brute, Ndamukong Suh, even though Suh has played just one season in the NFL.

Sorry, but never can a man of one year’s experience be considered the best of anything.

However, I may be stupid, but I’m not foolish enough to tell that to Suh’s face.

Clearly, Suh has the potential to best Karras as the Lions best-ever defensive tackle. Granted, that might even happen this season. But it’s too soon to declare Suh the best—for now.

The Lions have themselves, in Suh, a weapon of mass destruction. Defensive coordinator Gunther Cunningham ought to come to work handcuffed to a briefcase, inside of which holds the keys that are simultaneously inserted to turn Suh on.

The destructive powers of Suh, once unleashed, are irrevocable.

That is why the Lions should dismiss the fine that Suh received after his throwdown of Bengals quarterback Andy Dalton, which occurred early in last Friday’s exhibition opener.

The NFL nicked Suh for $20,000. But it’s not the money that has coach Jim Schwartz, GM Marty Mayhew and the Lions fan base worried.

It’s the reputation.

Suh, after just one season and one exhibition game, is smack in the middle of the NFL’s radar. He wears Honolulu Blue to us, but to the powers that be in the league offices, Suh wears a black hat. The fines started early last year, too—also in the preseason. And they never really stopped.

It’s troubling that Suh gets an inordinate amount of attention from the disciplinarians for his wont to cause mayhem. It’s not his fault that he has the strength to throw people around like rag dolls. Suh’s tackles just look worse than those of other, mortal men.

Helmets tend to fly off and arms and legs get splayed around, when Suh gets his mitts on a ball carrier.

But the Lions ought not to worry about the fines so much that they try to reel Suh in. He’s too good, too powerful, too dynamic to try to suppress.

Suh is the most dominating force the Lions have employed in years. Even Big Baby, Shaun Rogers, wasn’t this good in his heyday. Neither was Jerry Ball or Doug English or Al “Bubba” Baker.

Karras was, but Alex isn’t likely to hold his place as Best Ever Lions Defensive Tackle, for much longer.

The two of them—Alex Karras and Ndamukong Suh—have something else in common: both got themselves into hot water with the NFL; Karras for his gambling, Suh for his sadism.

“In pro football,” Karras told NFL Films, “you line up every Sunday to play the game of battle.”

Here’s Suh, speaking to the Free Press last week: “I'm not going to stop playing hard. Like I said before ... I owe it to my teammates, I owe it to the coaches, and I owe it to the fans first and foremost. That's the reason why they watch the game. It's one of the reasons football is football, cause it's physical contract, aggression that is made exciting.”

Karras and Suh—two defensive greats whose careers began over 50 years apart. Yet they sound like they could have been terrific teammates, in any era.

Nothing Good Happens for Lions if Stafford Can't Stay Upright

The roster says that Matthew Stafford is a third-year NFL quarterback. Don’t believe everything that you read.

Stafford is the Paper Lion, with apologies to George Plimpton. The kid reared in Texas was drafted first overall in 2009 by the Lions out of the University of Georgia, and he’s still working on a complete season of 16 games.

He stands at 13 games played after two seasons—10 in 2009, three last year. The other 19 have been missed because of his knees or his shoulders.

If this was baseball, 13-for-32 would be a cool .406 batting average—very Ted Williams-ish.

But this is pro football, where 13-for-32 for a quarterback isn’t good, no matter how you slice it. It’s not good as a completion percentage, and it’s downright disdainful as a playing percentage.

Stafford is entering his third year as a pro, but we don’t know enough about him to make a clear, confident assessment of his quarterbacking abilities.

Everything about Stafford is talked about as if you’re looking at him through a dirty screen door.

“Gosh,” folks will say, “he looks like a good quarterback.” Then, they’ll just as quickly add, “But I really can’t tell.”

Well, he’d better be good, because for all the offensive weapons the Lions possess, they won’t mean a hill of beans if Stafford can’t stay upright for an entire season.

Speaking of hills, the Lions have one named Shaun, who will serve as Stafford’s backup. Even though Hill is a great guy and a gutsy player, the Lions hope he’s seen as often as Olivier’s understudy.

The Lions plunge into the 2011 season with more national and local buzz surrounding them than I can recall—and I’ve been following them since 1970. I think some of the old-timers whose recollection goes back much further would agree with me.

What do you call it when even Sports Illustrated’s Peter King, usually so wise, puts “Super Bowl” and “Detroit Lions” in the same sentence? And just three years after 0-16?

King went on record last week as hinting that the Lions, if things go right and this happens and that happens, could—maybe, might—find themselves in Super Bowl XLVI.

The Lions had the gall to win their last four games of the 2010 season, and as soon as they did, I knew they’d be the trendy pick of 2011.

Maybe the Green Bay Packers and Chicago Bears have something to worry about, maybe they don’t.

But all of the nicey-nicey talk about the Lions, all the excitement and buzz and high expectations, all of it floats around an assumption that has yet to transpire.

The Lions will be a contender, the optimists say, because their assumption is that Matthew Stafford will be under center and not under the surgeon’s knife.

That’s quite an assumption. That’s a leap of epic proportions. It involves suspending disbelief.

Here’s the conundrum: Believers in Stafford and the Lions would convince you that the young QB isn’t snake-bitten, that he isn’t injury-prone. Yet the only way they can be proven right is if Stafford makes it through a full season without setting foot in a hospital, unless it’s to visit sick kids.

This injury-prone thing is going to follow Stafford, like it or not. And it should. The pessimists have history on their side.

The pessimists and haters look at Stafford cross-eyed, like he’s a defendant on trial and the prosecution has bags and bags of evidence and witnesses lining up around the block to testify: “He’s the one, your honor!”

You really can’t blame the pessimists.

The play that separated Stafford’s shoulder for the second time last season, in a November tilt against the New York Jets, didn’t appear to be anything that doesn’t happen to NFL quarterbacks every week.

Of all his injuries, I believe the one against the Jets is what turned a lot of folks in the Lions fanbase against Stafford.

And until he gets through at least one full season without serious injury, the discussion about Stafford’s durability will continue to fester.

Might as well call the dudes from Guinness, because we’re about to set a world’s record for most people holding their breath every Sunday, from September to January.

Every time Stafford gets hit, every time he scrambles around in the pocket—hell, every time he jogs onto the field for player introductions—Lions fans will wring their hands and rock back and forth in their seats.

The sales of candles and rabbit’s feet will explode in Motown this football season.

The Lions are worthy of the buzz for reasons other than Stafford, I will grant you that.

There’s Ndamukong Suh, the wrecking ball defensive tackle, who might be, after just one season, the best in the business. Suh is the godfather of the D-line and sitting with him at the table are some very fearsome lieutenants.

There’s freakishly big Calvin Johnson, the receiver who gleefully gallops across the gridiron, making the football that he’s clutching look like a baking potato.

There’s more talent across the board than any Lions team we’ve been presented with in years.

But Matthew Stafford has to stay healthy. He just has to.

Let me take you back to 1979.

The Lions’ quarterback was the competent Gary Danielson, who didn’t have as much talent in his entire body as Stafford has in his left bicep. But Gary was good enough for the Lions and their rebuilding process. In 1978, against the Minnesota Vikings in the Silverdome, Danielson threw five TD passes—still a shared franchise record.

But in the final exhibition game of ’79 in Baltimore, Danielson wrecked his knee. He was lost for the season. The Lions didn’t have a capable backup, like they do today.

In an instant, the Lions went from being led by Danielson to relying on a rookie named Jeff Komlo. A 2-14 season ensued.

But all was not lost—that awful season enabled the Lions to draft running back Billy Sims in 1980. Sims was the Lions’ best player until a game in 1984, when he suffered a career-ending knee injury. Again the Lions went rebuilding.

The Lions have been rebuilding ever since. They’re the Bob Vila of the NFL.

The slapstick might be near an end. The Lions might have found the superstar quarterback they’ve been lacking for over half a century.

I think. Though, I can’t tell for sure.

Is Tiger Woods Still Relevant?

No one wins a golf tournament so much as they don’t lose it. It’s 72 holes of survival of the fittest, and he who makes the fewest mistakes comes out on top on Sunday afternoon.

It’s a sport with no teammates and only one person who understands you—the caddie. You spend four days trying to avoid about 17 miles worth of land mines and it can all blow up on you in the final few feet—or even inches.

Does the collar get any tighter than it does for the professional golfer on the tourney’s last day, when he starts the morning with a four stroke lead and looks behind him and sees a gang charging after him, making birdies and sinking 25-foot putts, all while looking cool and collected?

It can be the loneliest place on Earth—being the leader of a major golf tournament in its waning hours. The pressure has gotten some of the game’s greats, and a whole lot of its goods.

The pro golfer can’t duck into the showers and hide out after the 72^nd hole and then sneak out the back door of the locker room, avoiding reporters. He can’t point to an error by his third baseman or an errant pass by his point guard or a strange play called by his coach as a contributing factor to his loss.

Golf tournaments aren’t won, as a rule. They’re just not lost.

No one can snatch a tournament in come-from-behind fashion without a conspiracy involving the leader. The followers can make all the birdies and eagles that they want, but they’re useless unless the leader is three-putting or slicing a drive into the woods or hitting a fat fairway wood into a bunker on the approach.

The caveat here is that none of this was true when Tiger Woods was on top of the golfing world.

Tiger won tournaments. He didn’t not lose them.

Woods was the exception to the aforementioned corollaries. He was the exception, no matter if you wanted to throw Hogan, Nicklaus, Jones and Nelson into the mix. Woods was better than them all. He played in a league of one.

Golf was a game that Tiger Woods owned, more than Muhammad Ali owned boxing and more than Pete Sampras ever owned tennis. Tiger didn’t come from ahead to lose, and when he came from behind to win, the leader never had a prayer.

Woods became one of the world’s best known athletes, traveling the globe in his red shirt and black pants and all those magic wands in his bag. He had a smile that could light Broadway during a blackout.

Woods was the prodigy golfer—swinging clubs that were taller than he, when he was still diapered. Other kids had a playground; Woods had a driving range.

Golf was forewarned. In the years leading up to Tiger joining the PGA tour, the stories of his prowess on the links were told the same way wide-eyed bank patrons of the 1930s talked about Dillinger’s jobs.

Golf was forewarned. Tiger Woods didn’t sneak up on the PGA. His presence was announced beforehand, like a tornado—and no one can do anything about those, either, except weather them.

Woods won tournament after tournament—with more than a few majors sprinkled in—and when he wasn’t winning he was often scaring the bejeebers out of the guy who did win. From 1997-2009, Woods was the tour’s no. 1 money winner nine times out of 13.

Almost $100 million Woods has won, slapping that tiny, dimpled ball around like no one else.

Woods owned golf. He won as a teenager and he won as a young man and he won as a veteran and he won off the course, with endorsements and a gorgeous wife and a beautiful family.

There’s irony—and maybe a cruel joke—somewhere in the fact that the demise of Tiger Woods began on a Thanksgiving weekend.

It was November 2009 when the story broke of Woods being involved in a bizarre car wreck near his home. It wasn’t long before the facts began to ooze out: Woods had been a naughty boy, cheating on his gorgeous wife, former model Elin Nordegren.

Then out of the woodwork came women who also claimed to have had sexual relations with Woods.

Divorce soon followed and golf was put on the back burner while Woods sought help for his destructive, deviant behavior.

The road back for Tiger Woods has been pocked with injury and poor play. He’s an also ran now; just one of the guys to fill the field. He hasn’t won a tournament in two years, not really coming close, in fact.

He lost his wife and his family and his endorsements. He lost his edge on the golf course and his aura. No one fears Woods now; it’s as if the PGA tour has been freed from his bondage.

The majors are being won by first-timers and Cinderella stories. Woods has abdicated his throne and a bunch of paupers are getting the chance to sit in it.

The latest news about Woods came earlier this week, and like all news about him since November 2009, it wasn’t uplifting.

Woods announced that longtime caddie Steve Williams, Tiger’s best friend on the golf course since 1999, was being canned.

“I want to express my deepest gratitude to Stevie for all his help, but I think it’s time for a change,” Woods said, not explaining why a change was needed.

Speculation is that the relationship between Woods and Williams chilled like champagne on New Year’s Eve after Tiger and Nordegren split.

Williams joins swing coach Hank Haney as ex-Woods employees turned scapegoats for their boss’s poor play.

Since caddies get paid based on the success of the golfers for whom they work, the past two years have been lean times for Williams, who nonetheless stuck by Woods.

All it got Williams was kicked to the curb.

In an interview with Television New Zealand following his firing, Williams said, “Obviously, working through a scandal, he’s had a new coach, a swing change, the last 18 months has been very difficult and I’ve stuck by him through thick and thin. I’ve been incredibly loyal — and then to have this happen, basically you could say I’ve wasted two years of my life, the last two years.”

Williams will probably be better off in the long run, because it’s becoming apparent that Tiger Woods simply isn’t relevant anymore. He’s a broken man with Achilles and knee injuries who fights himself on the course something fierce, and loses.

It’s not overly dramatic to suggest that Woods, at age 35, is in the sunset of his golf career.

And, as usual with the pro golfer, he has no one to blame but himself.

Osgood's HOF Worthiness to be One of Hockey's Greatest Debates

The sure-fire Hall of Fame goalie was beginning to show his age. At 43, the Red Wings' netminder was battling the puck something awful, and the puck was winning. Too often the vulcanized rubber disc was finding its way over the goal line and tickling the twine.

It was another playoff season in Detroit, aka "Hockeytown", that self-named moniker smacking with arrogance. The Red Wings were six years removed from their last Stanley Cup and in between were many post-season disappointments.

The 2003 first-round sweep at the hands of the Anaheim Mighty (then) Ducks. The 2004 second round upset levied on them by the Calgary Flames. The 2006 first round shocker suffered against the Edmonton Oilers. The heartbreaking 2007 Western Conference Finals loss to the just plain Ducks.

Now it was 2008 and after four games of the first round series with the inferior Nashville Predators, Red Wings coach Mike Babcock made, in my book, one of the gutsiest moves authored by any coach in this city. Ever.

"The puck is going in the net," Babcock complained to the media after the Predators beat the Red Wings twice in Nashville to square the series at 2-2.

The puck went into the Red Wings' net in the first two games in Detroit, too, but Babcock's bunch was able to overcome that with its high-powered offense. Not so much in Nashville.

So, just like that, Babcock pressed the "eject" button and Dominik Hasek was vaulted out of the Red Wings cage and in went Chris Osgood for Game 5 in Detroit.

I'm still amazed by Babcock's moxie in making that move, because I'm convinced that he's one of few NHL coaches who would have pulled the trigger---maybe the only one at that time.

My belief was supported later in the playoffs, when Colorado coach Joel Quenneville failed to show the same guts and left bedraggled goalie Jose Theodore as his starter when a goalie change could have given the Avalanche a much-needed boost.

Osgood was magnificent in Game 5, despite surrendering a goal late in the third period that tied the game. The Red Wings won early in overtime to take a 3-2 series lead. It gave me chills when Osgood was announced as the game's no. 1 star and he skated out and raised his goalie paddle while the Joe Louis Arena crowd chanted "OZZ-IE!! OZZ-IE!!"

The Red Wings won the series one game later and eventually captured their fourth Stanley Cup in 11 years, thanks in no small part to Osgood's goaltending.

Babcock went with his gut in switching from the Hall of Famer Hasek to the hardened veteran Osgood and the reward was the greatest.

That moment is dripping with irony, because indefinitely we will debate whether Chris Osgood belongs in the Hall of Fame, despite his clutch work in 2008 in relief of a no-brainer HOFer in Hasek.

Who should or shouldn't be in any sport's HOF makes for the best arguments and liveliest debates. It's great bar talk, a wonderful complement to a cold one and some pretzels.

Osgood retired yesterday at age 38, unable to assure the Red Wings that his troublesome sports hernia injury and suspect groin won't go "pop" sometime next season.

Osgood leaves the playing ranks with 401 wins and 50 shutouts, and two Cups as a starter, a third as a backup. And one game away from a third and fourth, respectively, in those categories.

He leaves with 15 playoff shutouts and a 2.16 GAA and .916 save pct. in the post-season.

For comparison's sake, the great Martin Brodeur---another sure-fire Hall of Famer---has 23 career playoff shutouts, a 2.01 GAA, a .919 save pct, and three Stanley Cups.

Not all that different, is it?

But the HOF debate, when it comes to Chris Osgood, isn't just about numbers. If it was, then there would be little debate at all.

Fellow Bleacher Report Red Wings featured columnist Matt Hutter, on the sports podcast I co-host, "The Knee Jerks," addressed the Osgood/HOF talk earlier this year.

Osgood, Hutter fears, doesn't have that "wow" factor that other HOF goalies have.

Guys like Patrick Roy, or Brodeur, or Hasek.

Matt's right.

Osgood achieved his 401 wins and his 50 shutouts as quietly as one man can get them. The 400 wins were upon us before we knew it, or could squawk too much about them.

Osgood got his 400 wins and now he's retired, just like that. We're starting the debate flat-footed.

Osgood will be one of the most interesting players in recent years to discuss, post-retirement. His worthiness of HOF status can be expertly argued, both ways. Depending on the talking points of the plaintiff, you can walk away certain that he is or isn't a Hall of Fame goalie.

Maybe Chris Osgood is the Jim Thome of hockey.

Thome, the left-handed hitting slugger, is closing in on 600 home runs. In past years, such a milestone would earn the achiever a punched ticket into Cooperstown, no questions asked.

No more.

There are those---and I'm one of them---who aren't convinced that Thome is a Hall of Famer, despite the 600 dingers. Again, Thome supporters could wonder why there's even a question.

The Osgood topic is made even more volatile because Osgood himself has gone on record expressing his intense desire to be in the Hall of Fame. This isn't some guy who is taking a "que sera, sera" attitude about his worthiness. Osgood wants to be in the Hall---badly.

There's a three-year waiting period after retirement before a player is eligible for election into the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto.

Osgood is on the clock. That's great news for the beer and bar industries.

The Writing Is On the Wall, But Will Osgood Read It?

If Red Wings GM Kenny Holland were afforded the luxury of managing his roster strictly by heart and by emotion, there's no question that Chris Osgood would be the team's backup goaltender for 2011-12 until proven otherwise.

If the black-and-white characteristics of business weren't involved, Osgood would be welcomed to training camp in Traverse City in September, his no. 30 jersey hanging in his locker stall, freshly laundered and ready to go.

If Holland didn't have to operate with the inconvenience of a bottom line or the harsh realities of the toll that age takes on players, especially goalies, the GM's focus would be on acquiring another skater---forward or defenseman---and the likes of Joey MacDonald and Thomas McCollum would have to wait yet another year to get a crack at the no. 2 job behind Jimmy Howard.

But that is a fantasy land.

One thing you can say about old Red Wings---with apologies to General Douglas MacArthur---they don't die, they just fade away, albeit at times very, very slowly.

The old Red Wings don't make things easy for Holland. Their modus operandi hasn't been to voluntarily raise their hands and ask to be lopped off the roster in order to make room for the kids.

Rather, their tack has been to stick around until they're asked to leave.

You saw it with Chris Chelios, who was closer to 50 than he was 40 when the Red Wings finally cut ties with the defenseman in 2009. You saw it with Kirk Maltby, just last summer, who didn't exactly go kicking and screaming out of uniform, but Holland almost had to hit Kirk over the head to get him to retire.

Those are just two recent examples, and they keep coming.

No doubt that Kris Draper, 40, will have to be forced to read the writing on the proverbial wall, indicating that his role of defensive whiz and penalty killer with wheels has been assumed by Darren Helm.

So it will be with Osgood, 38, who is likely to be among the last to acknowledge that his days as Howard's backup are over with.

Osgood is coming off two less-than-stellar seasons that have been pocked with injury, most recently to the groin---a goalie's worst enemy.

Osgood is another who isn't making things easy for Holland. Ozzie hasn't offered to be jettisoned, nor will he make such an overture. At least, it's doubtful that he will.

But Osgood's reticence hasn't stopped Holland from carrying on with his duties as GM. The Red Wings have some money to spend on a new/old goalie. They told Osgood (and Draper) that a new contract wouldn't be offered until after July 1, the date that free agents can begin to be signed. That is, if a contract would be offered at all.

Last winter, as he was recuperating from his groin injury---an injury he never did return from---Osgood sat in with Ken Daniels and Mickey Redmond during a telecast from Florida.

Osgood was asked if he felt like he had some hockey left in the tank.

Unsurprisingly, Ozzie said yes, he had.

"I'm not ready to join the Red Wings Old-Timers yet," Osgood cracked.

But he also spoke of life post-playing, and how he'd like to somehow assist the current and future Red Wings goalies, whether as an official coach or a training camp instructor.

The preference, of course, was to keep playing.

The Red Wings are unique in that I don't recall seeing, in my 41 years of following Detroit sports, so many longtime players stick with a franchise for so long, who were productive almost until the very end.

We're talking, in the cases of Draper and Osgood, ties to the 1997 Stanley Cup champs, for goodness sakes.

I remember Osgood as a 21-year-old, tearfully facing the media after his ill-timed giveaway to San Jose's Jamie Baker cost the Red Wings a goal and the series to the Sharks in a stunning seven-game upset.

I recall thinking at the time that it wouldn't be a surprise if we never heard of Chris Osgood again after that horrific blunder. That mistake was the kind that can ruin a kid's career.

Ozzie could have been a footnote---the answer to a garish trivia question.

Instead, he ended up as a three-time Cup winner in Detroit---two as the team's starting goalie in the playoffs, once as its savior after replacing the great Dominik Hasek midway through the first round in 2008. And Osgood damn near won another Cup a year later.

I've gone on record saying that the Red Wings ought to raise Osgood's no. 30 to the rafters---a discussion that I won't venture into now. Neither that nor the one about his belonging in the Hockey Hall of Fame.

Both debates have been done to death.

Reports say that Holland's search for Howard's new backup might end with one-time Red Wing Ty Conklin, 35 years old.

Those same reports indicate that where the search is unlikely to drift is to Osgood, 38 and with a questionable groin.

Chris Osgood isn't likely going to make becoming an ex-Red Wing easy for Ken Holland.

But the old Winged Wheelers never do, do they?