Season-After Syndrome

The Ravens—and everyone else—continue waiting for Jamal Lewis to “return to form”.

Don’t hold your breath.

He gained 2,066 yards on 387 carries in 2003. That is a lot of yards. So many in fact, that he joined an elite group of only five backs who had ever rushed for 2,000 yards. The rest of the group is filled by guys with names like “Sanders”, “Dickerson” and “Simpson”.

Jamal Lewis was never was as good as them, but by carrying the ball 387 times in one year, he all but guaranteed himself he would never even be good again.

Since his breakout 2003 season, he has rushed for less than 1,900 total yards, his season high coming when he barely cracked 1,000 in 2004. This is not because he is a terrible running back. He was decent, though not spectacular. Think of a 1250 on your SAT. The reasons for his running demise are obvious, and I can count them. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,... 387.

Running backs simply do not come back from that type of punishing anymore. I don’t know if they ever did, but in today’s NFL, where murderous safeties, assassin linebackers, and 350 lb defensive lineman are the norm... it does not happen. Let us look at a few of those unfortunate players who ran for 2,000 yards in a season, or made an inordinate amount of carries, usually approaching or surpassing 400. These are all from 1980 or later.

Eric Dickerson: This guy was simply strange. I start out with him to somewhat remove an odd exception. He isn’t exactly an exception to the “season after” rule, but he had a roller coaster career. The all-time single season rushing leader had his big season in 1984, rushing for over 2100 yards on nearly 400 carries. The “Season after” was what you would expect from him. His carries decreased, his starts decreased, and he only ran for 1300 yards. Then, he took on even more carries in ‘86, got 1800 yards, and then... he was pretty much done. He averaged 880 yards a season until 1993, when he played only four games. So Dickerson avoided the model somewhat, by having one terrific season after his 2,000 yard escapade, and having another great one later on (sandwiched between half a dozen lousy ones), but the next examples are no so fortunate.

Terrell Davis: He had a monstrous year in 1998, rushing 392 times for 2008 yards (not to mention he also carried the Broncos through the playoffs). His next four years: 211, 282, 701, retirement. He is exactly what one would expect from a running back taking on that many carries.

Jamal Anderson: He did not reach 2,000 yards in 1999, but it certainly was not because they failed to give him the ball. He carried it 410 (!) times. Needless to say, his next season was ruined by injuries, and after three years he was done.

Jamal Lewis: Well you know what happened to him.

Now, there are those two anomalous 2,000 yard runners, Barry Sanders and O.J. Simpson. Both of them played great even after their 2,000 yard seasons, though Barry did retire after one more season (certainly wasn't because he was falling off! See below). What people don’t realize is that they got as many yards as the others, but did it by barely scratching 300 attempts! O.J. carried the ball 332 times for 2003 yards. Barry carried it 335 times for 2053 yards. They both gained their massive totals on significantly fewer attempts than the other members of the 2,000 yard club. They survived, because they got their 2,000 yards by averaging over six yards a carry, instead of simply running for two and falling over for another two, 400+ times.

The running back is a short-lived commodity, obviously. The pounding they take usually necessitates early retirement. Throw in a 2,000 yard, 400 carry season, and they are commentating games even sooner than expected.

The “Season after” syndrome does not only apply to running backs, however. Adrian Beltre is a strong example of a player who will never regain his “previous form”, simply because his “previous form” is most likely the six seasons of mediocrity, and not the one superb outing he showcased.

It also engulfs fluke championship winners, such as the Pittsburgh Steelers and Miami Heat. The Steelers are going nowhere this year, thanks to the fact that their improbable run to the Super Bowl last year was due to a shredded knee, a bad tackle, and bad officiating. Now that everyone expects them to do well (myself being excluded from “everyone”, of course), they aren’t. The Heat won last year by taking off the regular season and then letting Dwayne Wade get fouled in the postseason. This year, the whole team knows that can be done, so when Pat Riley is attempting to convince his team that taking off the regular season while staring at Dwayne Wade taking a team 1 on 5 does not work, they can point to last season and say “oh yes it does work!”

Since that did not seem like a good way to end this article, let me simply give you a link to Barry Sanders’ career numbers. I do not know if there has ever been a more consistently fantastic player. Jim Brown, maybe? No matter what, it is a two or three person list. Remember also, that Barry Sanders did this despite the fact that everyone knew he was Detroit’s only serious threat most of the time. Stare in awe, people, stare in awe.

GAAAHHH: Bill Simmons has long held a position of loftiness in my regard due to his amazing ability to discuss *exactly* what I had been complaining, praising, or talking about in days recent. This time, though, it is almost creepy. I mean... Joe-Morgan’s-incessant-Pujols-loving type of creepy. I wrote this in an article a few weeks back:

“On a related note, Chris Berman has got to be stopped. If he injects one more “oh by the way” into a spot where it simply does not fit, he needs to be shot. He’s an okay guy, and besides his incessant “back-back-back-back” (which starts to sound more like a chicken than a home run call), I don’t think he is a bad commentator. But his squeezing, twisting and forcing of “oh by the way” into these spots is sort of like that guy who has obviously never cursed in his life, wants to be “cool”, so he starts dropping f-bombs in all the wrong places, and sounds far more like a moron than he would have had he kept his mouth clean.”

Recently, I had decided to write an addendum to this, pointing out that while Chris Berman is the largest perpetrator, nearly every ESPN anchor/commentator/analyst was using this phrase like beer at a frat party. Of course... Bill Simmons beat me to it.

“(Important note No. 2: I will now be incorporating "andohbytheway" into my columns as mandated by the new company-wide policy that all ESPN personalities must say the phrase "andohbytheway" as much as possible. Andohbytheway, I'm not a big fan of this policy.)”

This is amazing. If Simmons, every once in a while, wrote about something I had thought, discussed or vaguely mused upon, that would be normal. After all, most people can associate with a guy who writes from the standpoint of a fan. In fact, if he wrote things all the time that I think about, discuss, or vaguely muse, it would be merely coincidental. But everything he freaking writes about, I have already thought, said or vaguely mused! He is either stupidly good at writing what the fan thinks (unlikely), or he is an alien with telepathic abilities (more likely). There aren’t any ways around it, people.

Decision Making: Brad Johnson made some horrible decisions last Monday, throwing the game away in the first quarter with two horrific interceptions. They were so horrific that it made me realize that 99% of the interceptions we see thrown aren’t that bad. There are Daunte Culpepper interceptions—i.e. his INT against Buffalo earlier this year—which are painful to watch, and then there are the rest, which are simply slightly misthrown passes. The thing here that is strange is that we usually say “oh what a stupid throw” or something along those lines. Yet, the difference between one of those brilliant Peyton Manning touchdowns, and one of those status quo Joey Harrington interceptions, is... about a foot. No one claims Peyton made a “stupid throw” when he perfectly shreds double coverage. When J.P. Losman does it, however, he was making a stupid decision. In reality, he simply cannot throw the ball as well as Peyton. Had the throw been on the money, we would all be lauding it as a terrific strike.

Along Those Lines: We need to begin charging receivers with INTs when the ball was perfectly thrown. How many times, last week alone, did QBs hit their receivers in the hands or chest, have the ball bounce off, right into a defender’s waiting arms, on his way to touching down? Many a time, to answer my own question. The QB does nothing wrong, yet his passer rating is dropped, and he gets another one of those ugly “INT”s on his resume. Same thing with dropped balls. The QB is supposed to throw it where the receiver can catch it, yet if the receiver drops it... the QB takes the stat hit. This makes no sense. If they can judge everything else—tackles, errors, etc.—they can freaking judge this. If the ball is perfectly thrown and the receiver simply *drops* it, the incompletion and/or interception should not be charged to the QB. It is that simple. They already use "drops" as a statistic, yet the QB is still penalized for an “incompletion”. That is simply hypocritical.