Emotion's Eleven

If David Akers can do his job in the name of groin-grabbingly bad adversity, I can at least catch up one post this weekend. Way to go, Dave. Now that man is an athlete.

There are two positions on a football team that garner a tad less respect than the rest of the roster, and both of them happen to play on special teams. First off, I love the term “special teams.” This moniker is reserved for the personnel units that handle kickoffs, kick returns, punts, punt returns, field goals and other score-by-kick scenarios. Ok, seems like a lot, right?

Yeah, and the D in Dallas stands for Dependable Defense.

These guys, typically backups at positions that don’t allow you to be best buddies with the buffet line, see the field no more than 8-10 times a game. Figure each special team play lasts around 6 seconds – and the special team has logged 1 / 60 of the playing time. Wow.

It’s not that these plays aren’t crucial to a team’s success, I just pose the following question – are they all that “special?” Does the head coach not find his offense, capable of mounting killer comebacks, special? Would you go up to hulking defensive ends and linebackers, who strike fear in QBs whose names end in –atrick Ramsey, and tell them they’re not special either? Doubt it. Seriously doubt it.

But every player that comes in on this unit also can play a role on the franchise’s two “ordinary teams.” That is, except for two.

Enter Mr. Kicker and Mr. Punter.

Their special jobs are simply defined. The kicker is responsible for kicking the ball off after scores, chipping in extra points and trying to put a three-spot on the scoreboard via the field goal. The punter sends all hopes of additional points far away, in the form of a booming arc of a punt. No one likes the punter, since his appearance in a game is never good news. Seems bland, yes? Let’s try a different route.

Let’s say a football team makes up the entire cast of Ocean’s Eleven. The quarterback is Danny Ocean. Now Danny’s right-hand man is the guy he was forced to handoff the whole heist to. Thus, the running back is Rusty. The linemen do the grunt work, oft-under-appreciated. Seem like the Mormon twins to me. I could flesh out this analogy some more, but I’ve already strayed once.

The kicker is the technology guy. It’s ironic I can’t remember his name.

Ok, thanks IMDB. Technology Guy is names Livingston Dell. Without him, Operation: Screw Benedict never gets off the ground. They have no idea on where the bad guys are, the video feed switcheroo goes to hell, and the clever “Hey Julia, your husband’s a tool on Channel 87” tie-in never happens. Without a kicker, you cede incredible field position to your opponent. You allow linebackers to kick extra points. You get offensive linemen who have sore necks from getting drilled by the aforementioned linebacker. Your poor quarterback has to go for two after every TD, since his neck-aching linemen threaten to go on strike. It’s not a flashy job, but it’s a necessity for it all to work in the end.

David Akers rose above his role of Technology Guy today for the Philadelphia Eagles. On a severely pulled hamstring, he hobbled out to the 12 yard line with time running out to punch through a field goal and to punch the Raiders an 0-3 ticket back to the Bay Area. You could see the pain on his face as he crumpled to the ground. Today, Danny Ocean didn’t wear number 11. He wore number 2.

In case you were wondering, in the world of Ocean’s Eleven, the punter plays the role of “Man in Casino.”