Maybe you have been following the brewing storm about the dearth of black coaches in the NFL.
With the recent publication of a report titled "Black Coaches in the NFL: Superior Performance, Inferior Opportunities," a group of high-powered black attorneys, economists and representatives of the Black Coaches Association has said things better improve fast or there will be hell to pay.
To wit: If the 32 teams don't hire more than the current two black head coaches--the Indianapolis Colts' Tony Dungy and the New York Jets' Herman Edwards--expect a big lawsuit against the league soon.
One of the members of the report's group is civil-rights lawyer Cyrus Mehri, who was counsel in two mammoth race-discrimination suits against Texaco and Coca-Cola. Combined winnings in those settlements? Try $368 million.
The mouthpiece of the protesters is none other than the famous Johnnie Cochran. I think everyone knows his record when it comes to high-profile cases involving, for instance, a former NFL employee, a double homicide and the 'race card."
The black coaches group has the NFL's attention, you can be sure. The league has offered its rebuttal, citing improvements, trends, etc., and--above all--its good intentions.
I call Greg Aiello, vice president of public relations for the NFL, and he emphasizes all those points.
"Progress has been made and will continue to be made," Aiello says of the minority coaching situation. "We take it very seriously."
He notes that "eight of our teams in the last decade have had African-American coaches. That's 25 percent of our teams."
Of course, some of those coaches are the same guys. And with sure- to-coach-again Dennis Green sitting on the sideline, active black NFL head coaches this season make up just more than 6 percent of the total. Yet nearly 70 percent of the players in the league are black.
Aiello points out that until 1989, when Art Shell was hired by the Raiders, there had been no black head coaches in the NFL, at least not since the days of Fritz Pollard in the 1920s.
"The number of black coordinators is growing," Aiello adds. "The total has risen since 1997 from five to 12, and that is the pipeline. That is where Herm Edwards came from."
The league doesn't hear the "black quarterback question" anymore, it should be pointed out, because there are now fellows named Culpepper and McNabb and Peete and Carter and Vick and McNair running offenses all over the place.
So the black coaches issue no doubt will be worked out some day soon, whether through fairness or legal stranglehold it doesn't much matter.
But I have an issue of my own.
"Has anybody protested the lack of white cornerbacks in the league?" I ask.
"No," says Aiello, chuckling.
"Well, there aren't any. I was one in college and in semipro ball, and it bothers me that there aren't any these days. And don't give me Jason Sehorn because that's the only name I ever hear, and he's injured all the time and only playing nickel back now, if not just preening for TV and hanging with Angie Harmon. So what do you intend to do about it?"
More laughing.
Well?
"Why are you asking me?" says Aiello, perhaps realizing his questioner was somber and intense. "That's a football issue. The teams hire who they want."
Precisely.
And pretty-boy Sehorn aside, there haven't been any starting white cornerbacks since leather helmets faded away. Scott Case of the Atlanta Falcons was 15 years ago or so.
Pat Fischer, Tim Foley, Charlie Waters, Roger Wehrli, even former Bear and dentist-to-be Terry Schmidt--where did they all go?
More laughing.
Dammit, Mr. PR man, I'm serious.
Sixty-four starting NFL cornerbacks, sixty-four starting black cornerbacks.
"We may have to create some programs," says Aiello, coming up for air. "We don't get too many calls about the lack of white cornerbacks."
"Do you get any?" I demand.
"Well, no."
But where are they? Where are the cornerbacks of not much color?
Aiello hasn't a clue.
I'd say they're as dead as pterodactyls and as uncared-about as ticks.
While we're at it--or at least I am--where are the white NFL tailbacks? Not the big-headed fullback types such as Mike Alstott. I mean the main guys, the mail-carriers, the runners, the dancers, the yardage guys.
"Boy, I tell you ... man ... " says former Dallas Cowboys general manager Gil Brandt, a personnel expert for NFL.com, when I ask him the white-cornerback question. "Off the top of my head, I can't think of any."
Of course he can't. Other than ex-freak Sehorn. They don't exist.
"You go back to Scott Case, who was drafted ahead of Boomer Esiason in the second round in 1984. Thirty-second player taken. Out of Oklahoma," Brandt says. "Little Bobby Boyd for the Baltimore Colts, now he was a really good corner."
In the Pleistocene era?
"How about white running backs?" I ask.
Brandt rummages through his papers.
"You can tell I don't pay attention to that stuff," he says. "I guess, hmm, Ed Marinaro. Second-round pick of Minnesota in 1972. Played six years, ran, let's see, 385 times for 1,310 yards."
Whoop-ee.
"Tommy Vardell?" I offer.
"More of a fullback," Brandt says. "First round for Cleveland in 1992. Carried a rousing 397 times in his career for 1,421 yards."
That's enough. It's just not right.
And I have the title of the paper I'll be starting soon: "White Cornerbacks in the NFL: Dubious Performance, Zero Opportunities."
Watch out, NFL. And send the check to my attention.
