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Monday, March 12, 2007
Horn has high hopes for Falcons
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Terence Moore
Let’s reflect back to last November in the Georgia Dome, where the Falcons continued their free fall after dropping a second blowout in three months to the New Orleans Saints. I had a striking conversation with Joe Horn, the NFL receiver whose tongue always makes his world more tutti-frutti than vanilla.
My question at the time: Uh, what’s wrong with the Falcons?
Horn’s answer: “They’re not far away from where they should be, but they’re missing a couple of things.”
What things?
After easing into a smile, Horn replied softly, “I know, but I’m not telling.”
He just did. Not with his mouth, but with his feet. He left the Saints after seven years as a noted Falcons killer to become one of those “couple of things” that his previous victims needed. It doesn’t matter that his 35-year-old body has shown its age so much during the past two seasons that he has missed 11 games with groin and hamstring injuries. He nearly is better than what the Falcons have on the field as a wide receiver and in the locker room as a leader.
Thirty-seven receptions. That’s how many a healthy Michael Jenkins had last season to lead the Falcons’ sorry group of wide receivers. Thirty-five receptions. That’s how many a creaky Horn had last season while sharing duties with two of the league’s better wideouts.
Now if the physical that Horn took with the Falcons is accurate, this is a healthy Horn, which means Roddy White, Brian Finneran and Jenkins must become consistently good or risk getting embarrassed by an old man. Not that the old man isn’t into mentoring. Take, for instance, those two Saints victories over the Falcons last season by a composite score of 54-16. Even then, Horn stood on the Saints sideline and contemplated ways to enhance the games someday of White, Finneran, Jenkins and that No. 7 guy with the strong but erratic arm.
“I had caught passes from Michael Vick before in Hawaii [in the Pro Bowl], and I visualized a couple of times in those games last year [against the Falcons] what it would be like for me to be on the other side and to help those young cats and to give them some of my expertise,” Horn said recently from Tupelo, Miss., the hometown of his wife, Lacreshia. He spoke on his cellphone, presumably not the one he used as a prop after scoring a touchdown. “Oh, man. Playing with these guys [on the Falcons] instead of against them? I thought about all of that a few times.”
Those thoughts will turn into action for Horn, which brings us to his role in the locker room. No-nonsense safety Lawyer Milloy was a sufficient leader last season during his first year with the team. It’s just that Horn will expand that role from mono to stereo.
“I have high expectations of myself, and I want the guys around me to have those same high expectations of themselves, and I’m sure they will,” Horn said. “I’m not saying I’m coming in here to try to change everything around. This is a group thing, and everybody’s going to have to put in time and work to make everybody better overall.”
Before we conclude, let’s hear it from the man himself. I mean, you were one of those “couple of things” that you said the Falcons were missing, right?
“I still can’t tell you,” said Horn, chuckling. Then after a little prodding, he confessed. Boldly. “I’m absolutely one of those things,” Horn said. “Any sort of participation I have with this organization, I think I can put them to the next level. I’m going to go in, and I’m going to be Joe Horn. I’m going to talk to guys. I’m going to get into conversations to see what they’re talking about. I’m just going to be me.”
That’s a lot.
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Anatomy of a Fiasco
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
This being the 20th anniversary of the Final Four Fiasco, I thought it might be helpful to offer some sort of explanation for late tuners-in. Here goes:
1. Why did you start this silly contest, anyway?
There were two flashpoints. First, after making several spectacularly wrong picks in 1987, I got a letter — no e-mail in those days — from a reader saying, “You obviously know nothing about basketball.” And then Gerry Overton, who was and is a member of our crack desk crew, said to me in passing: “I really haven’t followed college basketball this year, but it’s every red-blooded American’s duty to fill out a bracket.” And these two nuggets coalesced, if that’s the word, into an idea: If I know nothing, let’s see how much our red-blooded readers know.
2. Was it always called the Final Four Fiasco?
No. Like the Super Bowl, the name arrived a year or two after the event. An entrant wrote on the envelope, “It’s a fiasco!” And I, er, appropriated the term.
3. Why doesn’t the Fiasco work like other office pools, where the goal is to pick the national champ?
Because I’ve always believed the core of the tournament is the Final Four. It’s CBS hyping “the road to the Final Four.” It’s people asking, “Who’s your Final Four?” And also because I’ve always seen the Fiasco as two columns — one with me making my picks and asking for yours, and another with me interviewing the winner and asking why he/she picked the way he/she did. And, being blunt, I figured nobody would care about such a thing after the tournament was over. But leading into the Final Four, people might actually be interested.
4. Does anybody outside Atlanta pay attention to this contest?
I always assume it’s purely a local thing, but I’m often surprised. Brent Musburger, whom I hardly know, once told me, “I loved that story about the preacher and his grandson.” (Casey Skeen would have won the Fiasco one year but his grandfather, a local minister, crossed out one name — Duke, as I recall — and wrote in another — Georgetown, as I recall — before mailing the envelope.) The Associated Press picked up the news that Michael Stipe, the lead singer of R.E.M., entered one year and picked Tennessee-Chattanooga to reach the Final Four. And the British-based paper the Financial Times ran an article on office pools a few years ago and mentioned the Fiasco, saying that the winner got a lot of money.
5. Does the Fiasco winner get a lot of money?
No. The winner gets a sweatshirt.
6. Why a sweatshirt?
In the early days, the prizes were whatever I happened to have around the house — books, videos, T-shirts, basketballs, caps. (Dick Vitale was always a great source of freebies.) Finally I settled on the official Final Four sweatshirt because (a) it has something to do with the Final Four itself, and (b) it’s a NICE sweatshirt. Up to around $65 retail, I can attest.
7. Why no money?
Because I always wanted this to be a friendly contest. If money’s involved, friendship takes a hike.
8. Has there ever been a disputed result?
Never. Probably because there’s no money involved.
9. Wasn’t there a technical glitch one year? What happened then?
It was 2004, and I’ve never told the full story before. Here it is: The online results were taking forever to tabulate, and finally I got a message saying, “Here’s your winner — George Henry of Gainesville.” Well, I KNOW George Henry of Gainesville — he works for AP — and I called him and said, “Did you win my contest?” And he said, “No, dude, I got smoked. I only had two of the four right.”
Turned out the on-line results were being scored in a way contrary to Fiasco guidelines. (My contest is to pick the Final Four, not to pick the most games correctly. The earlier rounds are used only to break ties going backward.) So a new tabulation was run and a new winner declared — a very nice man from Fuquay Varina, N.C. I called him, offered congratulations and went into the standard so-why-did-you-pick-these-teams interview? And he said, “I have to tell you. I didn’t really mean to enter the contest. I was just going to your Web site to check the tournament scores.”
That’s when it hit me. “You mean our system allowed you to enter the contest after the tournament had already started?” I asked. He said yes. I thanked him, hung up and made the command decision to throw out all online entries. (We still accept faxes and snail mail, thankfully.) And the very nice man from Fuquay Varina got a sweatshirt for his honesty.
10. Is it true you were so disgusted that you proclaimed the 2004 Fiasco the last one?
Yes, but Robbyn Footlick, then our interim sports editor, deleted that line from my story. She said, “I figured you’d calm down and regret having said it.” And she was right: I did, and I would have.
11. Because it’s out of your hands, do you still get antsy about the online stuff?
A little, but our people have worked really hard to prevent a recurrence of 2004. And I’m not anxious to go back to the days when I had to open 2,000 envelopes myself. (I had a special letter-opener just for the task.)
12. Didn’t somebody famous once win the Fiasco?
Mike Mills, the bassist/keyboardist/vocalist for R.E.M., won in 1999. (The R.E.M. camp always enters, even if the group happens to be on tour abroad.) The problem with that, I freely admit, was that it looked like a set-up because (a) Mills was the most famous person entered that year, and (b) he and I happened to be friendly aquaintances. But he won fair and square, I swear, even if he did say in his winner’s interview, “I’d like to thank Don King.”
13. Have you ever picked the Final Four yourself?
Once. In 2004. I’m fairly confident I’ll never do it again. I went 0-for-4 last year.
14. Who won the first Fiasco?
Lou Ricke. He remains the only winner I couldn’t contact, something I regret to this day. He still enters every year.
15. Any tips for this year’s contest?
I picked Florida, Kansas, Georgetown and Texas A&M. Pick four other teams and you should be fine.
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