05/09/2002

"You don't do things right once in a while, you do them right all the time. Do them right once in a while, and then you win once in a while. Do them right all the time, and most of the time you have a chance to win."

-- Bill Parcells

Memo to Manny:

You'll never be a champion.

Not as long as you run hard only when you feel like it.

And certainly not as long as your manager makes excuses for you for running hard only when you feel like it.

That's the Randy Moss approach.

The most talented receiver in the NFL, blessed with great speed, size and hands, Moss plays hard in some games and makes spectacular plays. But in others, he hardly plays, and runs routes at half-speed.

That's not what wins championships.

What wins championships is having guys like Troy Brown, who caught 101 passes for the Patriots last season, not only returning punts -- he ran three back for touchdowns in the last seven games -- but also playing on kick-block teams so that, as in the AFC Championship Game in Pittsburgh, when the Pats blocked one, he was there to pick the ball up and then lateral it to Antwan Harris, who ran for what proved to be the decisive touchdown.

What wins championships is having Pro Bowl-caliber players such as Lawyer Milloy and Ty Law throwing key blocks that sprung Brown on his TD punt returns.

What do you think Moss would have said if Dennis Green had suggested he line up on the outside and come firing off the line, laying himself out to try to block a kick?

Pretty much what you, Manny, likely would say to your manager, Grady Little, if he had the temerity to suggest you might want to pick up your pace on the basepaths.

Not that he'd do that, of course.

Oh, no. Far from it.

Instead, good ol' Grady says: "I think Manny's running hard enough. It might be perceived by others that he's not running out balls well enough, but the man who counts the most, Grady Little, says he's running hard enough.

"I don't expect Manny Ramirez to run hard every at-bat. He might hurt himself. He knows when he has to run hard and when he doesn't."

Grady Little doesn't expect Manny Ramirez to run hard every at-bat?

Why not, pray tell?

It's no big deal, say Manny's many supporters. It's just Manny being Manny, they say.

Well, if Manny keeps playing that way, he'll never be a champion.

The great ones don't turn it on and off.

Watch Tiger Woods. If he's playing, then he's playing for keeps. There's never a round where he merely goes through the motions. Watch him. See how he carries himself. Look into his eyes. He's focused, he's intense -- not just on every hole, but on every shot.

That's why Tiger's the best player in the game today, and is on his way to being the best ever.

So many pro athletes these days talk about "respect." What they ought to be talking about is respect for the game. Because if they don't respect the game, then nobody is going to respect them.

There is only one right way to play.

And, as Parcells said, if you want to be a champion, then you can't do things right only some of the time -- you have to try to do the right thing all the time.

Cal Ripken did.

I'll never forget seeing him come to bat in Boston late one summer the season before he broke Lou Gehrig's record of 2,130 consecutive games played.

Ripken was closing in on that seemingly unreachable standard, having surpassed the 2,000-game mark earlier that season.

It was the top of the ninth inning of a game the Red Sox were leading, 10-0. There was a runner on first and one out when Ripken hit what appeared to be a game-ending double-play grounder.

Now, Ripken wasn't exactly the fastest guy in the league. And it certainly wasn't likely that the O's were going to rally to win. But he never considered not running as hard as he could to first base. He never thought about possibly pulling a hamstring or a groin muscle -- never worried about incurring the sort of injury that would put an end to his marvelous streak when he was getting close to breaking Gehrig's record.

So he ran as hard as he could, and beat the throw.

The next batter made the third, and final, out.

So did it really matter? It did to Ripken. Because he knew only one way to play the game -- the right way.

You don't do the right thing some of the time. You do it all the time.

You think Michael Jordan ever figured that defense didn't matter, because he was being paid to score?

MJ had too much pride ever to allow himself to be embarrassed by having another player do to him the sort of things he routinely did to overmatched defenders.

Pride, Manny.

There is false pride -- the sort that makes you think you're too good to run out grounders, too good to take extra fielding practice so that balls don't drop over your head, between you and The Wall, or bounce around in the left-field corner until you finally manage to track them down, only to then overthrow the cutoff man, allowing a runner to score from first.

And then there is the quiet pride a professional takes in assuming the responsibility of performing to the best of his ability.

The Red Sox are paying you $20 million a year, Manny, to play a game you should love. If you had any pride, you'd play as hard as you could to earn that money, instead of jogging, rather than running, on the basepaths and fielding in a lackluster, and too-often-lackadaisical, manner.

Grady Little obviously is worried that, if he's too critical of you, you'll quit on him.

That's not something either of you should be proud of.

The Red Sox haven't been champions for 84 years, Manny.

Continue to play the way you do, and you'll never be a champion.