If Muhammad won’t go to the mountain, bring the mountain to Muhammad.
There is no football where I live, so I had to go to the source.
In 2006 I made my holy pilgrimage to Canton, Ohio, the birthplace of the National Football League.Here resides the Pro Football Hall of Fame.
One could feel the spirit of the Decatur Staleys, the Oorang Indians, Jim Thorpe, Red Grange, and Bronco Nagurski. The grace of Lynn Swann, the bloody knuckles of Dick Butkus, and the sheer power of Jim Brown can be found here.
This past Friday I began the day in Brandenburg, Kentucky after speaking at a dinner the night before. I drove 140 miles to speak at a rally in Covington, Kentucky just outside Cincinnati. I then drove another 160 miles to speak at a rally in Zanesville, Ohio. Then that same night I drove another 150 miles to Cleveland, where I spoke at a rally yesterday. Tomorrow will be a rally in Dayton. No wonder I like NASCAR. I am NASCAR. No wonder I love Smokey and the Bandit. I really did put that hammer down and go Eastbound and Down. No wonder I like Blue Moon of Kentucky. I was right there driving through it.
Yet this Sunday is a day for football. Between Cleveland and Dayton is holy Canton.
April 17, 2011 is day for tradition. The players today may be in the midst of a lockout, but history cannot be tarnished. Nothing will change the intensity of John Madden bellowing on the sideline, Don Shula celebrating perfection, or Vince Lombardi yelling at everybody while Tom Landry stares calmly with his arms folded and a shadow cast containing his face and fedora.
This is football. This is the very best of football.
So to the rest of America, not all football is on strike right now.
There is always Canton.
It’s a great Sunday for football.
eric