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The "Lights Outcry"

The San Diego Chargers upset the defending Super Bowl champions on Sunday.  They helped Peyton Manning reclaim his title as Captain Choke-Artist after a slight setback last year when he won it all - a feat that his defense and anemic opposing offense deserve much credit for.  I couldn’t be happier.  This isn’t because I have anything against the Colts per se, but I am elated that the NFL won’t get their w*t dre*m match up next week; Can Peyton upset Brady’s pursuit of perfection, just like he defeated them last year, just like Brady did to him so many times in the past?  The rivalry continues.  I’m just so tired of seeing those two in big games and having them force fed to me in every single minute of every single game, analysis, commentary, and commercial.  I am proud of the officials for not laying down a red carpet for those Colts with questionable calls.  We’ve all seen the phantom pass interferences and the 15 yard roughing-the-passer penalties for looking at Peyton the wrong way.  Now the Colts are out of the race.  But I am a bona fide player hater when it comes to athletes and I feel like hating on one of the guys who helped upend Number 18, former defensive rookie of the year, fellow University of Maryland alumnus and date-stealer of mine; Shawn Merriman.

            His nickname is “Lights Out.”  There is a tattoo of a light switch on his forearm and in his signature dance mimics turning the switch on and off -- not the injecting of a syringe into his vein which is a common yet understandable mistake.  He lays a vicious hit on the star quarterback, jumps up, does his dance; the fans cheer and the announcers rejoice.  But does anyone know where his nickname comes from?  The commentators surprisingly do because they have no problem enlightening people as if it’s completely freaking okay; as a sophomore at Frederick Douglas high school Shawn Merriman knocked four different opposing players out of the same game.  He knocked their “lights out,” if you will.  Are you kidding me?!  This is high school kids we’re talking about, high school.  These fifteen, sixteen-year-olds were physically injured in a game they were probably too young and physically unready to be playing in the first place.  The league thinks this is something to celebrate. 

            Injuries are the unfortunate byproduct of such a physically demanding sport and should be mourned and regretted -- not worn as a badge by the person inflicting them.  When Kevin Everett of the Buffalo Bills sustained a “catastrophic and life-threatening” injury, players, coaches and owners gave their heartfelt sympathies to him and his family.  We heard all of the usual lines; “he’ll be in our prayers,” “we’re here for you,” and everything else.  I have no doubt that most of these sentiments were sincere, although some may have been lip service from well-trained P.R. puppets.  But in any case, no one crowned the opponent, Domenik Hixon, the Paralyzer, tattooed him with Christopher Reeves riding horse, and gave him a dance that mimics a wheel chair being pushed.  That would have been a heartless display for Everett’s family to witness.  The league would not have condoned it.

            For some reason it is okay for Merriman.  Yet, in my opinion, it is worse in many ways.  As a man-child, he injured fellow children and was proud of it.  He then carried that pride with him into his adulthood and, as a grown man, still celebrates the injuries he inflicted on little kids.  It is now incorporated into his profitable public image package for the consumers to indulge and the commentators to swoon. 

            But I really can’t knock Merriman’s hustle on this one.  He’s an amazing player that turned himself into a well-marketed, larger-than-life, icon.  But I am surprised that his persona is not vilified by the league and sportswriters.  We have come to expect more taste from league personalities; ESPN, NFL network, and everyone covering the sport has set the Mr. Softie bar so high.  Every time ninety-five year-old partial owner dies we have a moment of silence and Chris Berman gets choked up when the talks about how the players - who probably never even met him - are playing in his memory.  I’m sorry, were those tears of sorrow?  Or perhaps tears of joy at the thought of an Emmy?  Do you remember how we had to endure all the crap about the Saints saving New Orleans by winning?  Wasn’t that special?  They acted as if the fans would come back from a victory and find their houses magically standing once again.

            Yet, for some reason when Shawn Merriman flicks that little switch on his arm, we hear no violins for the boys he hurt that day.  Although, for four mothers that switch flashes the images of their adolescent sons being carried off of a football field; so afraid for them, so helpless. 

            Seriously, where’s the outcry?  The NFL experts cry about everything else, now “Lights Out” is giving them something to cry about.