Sports of The Times: Burress Finds Redemption Within His Sizable Reach

It was his fault. Plaxico Burress gave no trace of the “Just Give Me the Damn Ball!” attitude that Keyshawn Johnson did in the title of his book in 1997, early in his Jets days.

By all accounts, Burress has been working to fit into the Jets’ offense, after 622 days in prison for carrying a gun into a nightclub in 2008. He wasn’t totally invisible early this season, with 14 receptions and 2 touchdowns in his first six games, but Burress accepted as fact that he was not living up to his own goals, and the hopes of the Jets and his fans.

Burress carried the expectations with him. A willowy receiver, still only 34, could not have totally rusted away in prison. Could he?

“It was feeling worse than it looked,” Burress insisted Sunday after catching touchdown passes of 3, 4 and 3 yards in a 27-21 comeback victory over the San Diego Chargers. He was perfectly willing to credit the touchdowns to the right calls by Mark Sanchez on man-to-man coverage from a cornerback, Antoine Cason, who is listed as four inches shorter than Burress’s 6 feet 5 inches. Burress was also willing to attribute his touchdowns to his acclimation to a new team, a new system.

Everybody knows where he has been. Up the river. Away. Out of circulation. It is the unspoken fact, the P-word. When a reporter says “rust,” everybody knows what that means.

“It takes a little time to get these routes down,” Burress said. “It’s coming. It’s a work in progress. It always is.”

He reported to the Jets in August after missing two full seasons and part of the previous season when a concealed pistol went off, hitting him in the leg, and fortunately doing no more damage in a crowded club. The foolishness suggested somebody who totally did not get it, whatever it is, and could conceivably be just as numb in reporting to the Last Chance Saloon run by the garrulous border gambler himself, Rex Ryan.

But out of this, Burress has emerged as, at least, a teammate, a self-critic.

“You can’t just plug in somebody else after throwing to Braylon Edwards for two years,” Sanchez said, referring to the wide receiver, not exactly an early bird himself, the Jets allowed to walk to make room for Burress.

After six weeks, the Jets were floundering at three victories and three losses, and the summary judgment was that Burress was failing.

“I think a lot of people are putting pressure on him — but not in our building,” Sanchez said.

There is plenty of pressure already on the Jets, some of it put there by the rat-a-tat faux pas from the coach, who did it again last week when he said he would have had a couple of Super Bowl rings by now if he had been chosen coach of the Chargers back in 2007. He had to use up a lot of minutes on his phone to say the right things to Norv Turner, who had gotten the job instead.

Outbursts like these, whether intentional or not, are part of Ryan’s outsize charm. They also put pressure on the Jets to keep up with the sideshows, the controversies.

Actually, somebody else in the building was putting pressure on Burress. The receiver admitted — has been saying all along — that he was not doing his part in fitting into the offense.

“You get so tired of seeing yourself looking bad on film,” Burress said late Sunday afternoon, after his three touchdowns rescued the Jets and Ryan from a humiliation. Burress was the security device — open if needed — that made up for two turnovers, including an interception by Sanchez.

Burress’s touchdowns came in the second, third and fourth quarters. They followed a clumsy miss from Sanchez in the general direction of where Burress was expected to be, up the middle, in the first quarter. Burress saw it as more of the same. He knew where he should have been. He just did not get there as precisely as he should have.

“I said, ‘Hey, man, I didn’t get there,’ ” Burress said later.

This is not for lack of trying, for lack of attention. That is what Sanchez was saying afterward. He said Burress underlined his own routes in the playbook, studied them, worked on them in practice, asked questions like “What about this?” — which is not the same thing as demanding the ball.

“He’s such a big body; you have to stay with him,” Sanchez said, referring to Burress’s wingspan as much as his height.

“You’ve got to feed your studs,” the quarterback added.

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That began to happen in the normal flow of the game. The Jets recognized that Cason was picking up Burress. With the boobirds already warming up their larynxes, Sanchez hit Burress up high in each of the last three quarters, and Burress said it dated to the way the offensive coordinator, Brian Schottenheimer, kept working with him in practice. The opposite was also true. Burress has never demanded the Jets get the ball to him. On Sunday, they did.

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For Wisconsin’s Bielema, Tough Times Become Motivators to Success

While reflecting on an upbringing filled with callused hands, early wake-up calls and a don’t-skip-a-day work ethic that helped mold him into one of the country’s top young coaches, Bielema, 41, also recalled one of the defining moments of his formative years.

While he was a student at Iowa, only hours after the Hawkeyes beat Michigan in 1990 to help propel them to the Rose Bowl, Bielema found out that his 27-year-old sister, Betsy, had died while doing charity work with underprivileged children in the Seattle area. A snake darted from under a rock and spooked a horse, which threw Betsy, who landed on her head.

Since that day, games against Michigan have always carried extra meaning for Bielema. Last year, Bielema told his team before the Michigan game that everyone deals with demons, but “how you handle those things really define you.”

Bielema did not mention his sister, but after the Badgers won, 48-28, the Wisconsin senior defensive back Aaron Henry approached Bielema and said, “Your sister is watching, Coach.”

Tears welled in Bielema’s eyes while he reflected on Henry’s gesture.

“I got caught up in the moment,” he said. “After we had just beat Michigan like we did. Wow.”

When No. 4 Wisconsin plays No. 15 Michigan State in the marquee game of Saturday’s college football schedule, there will also be a reminder on the opposite sideline of that dark time.

The Michigan State defensive line coach Ted Gill held the same job at Iowa in 1990 and was the one who delivered the news of Betsy’s death to Bielema on that Saturday night.

“I went over to the dorm and everyone was still on the high from beating Michigan,” Gill said. “When I told him what happened, we went from one extreme to another.”

Bielema is still grateful that four of his closest friends, all of whom will be groomsmen in his wedding, met him at the Iowa football facility that night and rode home with him. One, Chris Greene, stayed with Bielema for a week, through all the services for his sister.

Betsy’s death forever bonded Bielema and the teammates who helped him through it. It also further strengthened his resolve.

“That probably did go a ways in terms of making him feel like, I’m going to wake up and go to work today,” Greene said. “Life is precious and can end unexpectedly. He’s not going to waste the opportunity he’s been given. And as much as anyone, Betsy is one of the ones he would have wanted to disappoint the least.”

Bielema’s response to his sister’s death accentuated the relentless mentality forged while growing up on a hog farm in a town, Prophetstown, Ill., where the Bielema family’s 2,500 pigs outnumbered the human population of 1,800.

Bielema woke up before sunrise every weekday, primarily saddled with the task of cleaning out the hog pens. He would wake at 7 a.m. on Saturdays to work while his friends spent leisurely days at the mall. Family vacations were nonexistent; Bielema said the only traveling he did was to a pig show in Minneapolis and a few bus trips to the Six Flags amusement park in a Chicago suburb.

“That was a big deal,” he said. “I’d never been on a plane until I went to the Peach Bowl my freshman year at Iowa.”

For Bielema, football became a joyous escape from the monotony of farm life. He chose to be a walk-on at Iowa instead of going to a Division III college but finished his career as a scholarship player and a team captain.

Bielema, Greene and Paul Kujawa got Hawkeye tattoos after all three earned scholarships, a pact they made early in their careers. The tattoo is a humorous talking point every time Wisconsin plays Iowa, and Bielema likes to note that he was born at Illini Hospital in Silvis, Ill., giving him two awkward ties to Big Ten rivals.

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Sports of The Times: William C. Rhoden: Fitzpatrick the Underdog?

The Sablich Brothers give their take on the 10 toughest start/sit choices of the week, according to FantasyPros.com, and allow readers to make their own picks.

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Sports of The Times: Two Guys With Super Bowl Rings to Join Jets Ring of Honor

Larry Grantham, an original Titans linebacker at the Polo Grounds half a century ago, and his Super Bowl III teammate Gerry Philbin, a defensive end on the all-time American Football League team. Freeman McNeil, a two-time 1,000-yard running back who has been described as the Curt Flood of N.F.L. free agency, and his teammate Al Toon, a sleek Pro Bowl wide receiver whose career was short-circuited by concussions.

At Monday night’s game against the Miami Dolphins at MetLife Stadium, they will be inducted into the Jets’ Ring of Honor, joining four from the Super Bowl III team — Coach Weeb Ewbank, Joe Namath, Don Maynard and Winston Hill — and Curtis Martin and Joe Klecko.

In his first five seasons, Toon, the 10th overall draft choice in 1985, had more receptions, 355, than anybody in his era, even Jerry Rice. He caught 517 passes for 6,605 yards and 31 touchdowns in his career, was named all-N.F.L. in 1986 and ’87 and led the league in 1988 with 93 receptions. But halfway through the 1992 schedule, he was flattened by a Denver Broncos linebacker.

“It felt like a cannonball hit me in the back of the head,” he said then. “When I came to, I remember thinking it wasn’t all that bad, but then it got worse.”

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By Toon’s count, it was his ninth concussion. Still dizzy, still nauseated, on the day after Thanksgiving, he retired suddenly at 29. Now a prominent businessman in Madison, Wis., in real estate, banking and Burger King restaurants, he is on the Green Bay Packers’ board of directors and received a Super Bowl XLV ring. Regarding the effects of all those concussions, Toon, 48, said, “I’m not suffering major issues, but the long range will tell.”

Just as McNeil, on their conference call last week, described Toon as having been “an exemplary person on and off the field,” Toon called McNeil, a third overall draft choice from U.C.L.A. in 1981, a “unique individual” whose “dedication permeated the team.” The Jets’ career leading rusher with 8,074 yards until Martin surpassed that total, McNeil was the lead plaintiff in a 1992 jury verdict that struck down the N.F.L.’s Plan B free-agency system.

“The recent lockout reminded me of the time we went through,” he said.

McNeil put his name on that antitrust suit after hearing complaints from teammates who weren’t making that much money but, under the Plan B rule in which teams could protect 37 players, were prevented from becoming free agents. Although four other plaintiffs received awards totaling $543,000, McNeil never got a dime. Still living on Long Island, he is a marketing executive for athletes and entertainers.

“To be up there in the Ring of Honor with Curtis Martin, is an honor,” he said.

Philbin, now retired in Palm Beach Gardens, Fla., was not that big at 6 feet 2 inches and 245 pounds, but he terrorized A.F.L. quarterbacks. Although sacks were not officially recorded then, the Jets contend that Philbin had 14 ½ during their 11-3 season in 1968. At the University of Buffalo, his coach was Buddy Ryan, who joined the Jets as the defensive line tutor for their Super Bowl III season.

“Buddy was one of the toughest, but fairest, coaches I ever had,” Philbin said. “I used to do the spin move inside. My quickness helped me.”

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Philbin and Grantham remember Buddy’s twin sons, Rex, now the Jets’ coach, and Rob, the Cowboys’ defensive coordinator, as youngsters.

“The twins and Johnny Sample’s son,” Grantham said. “Their little games were the highlight of our Saturday practices at Shea Stadium.”

Grantham, who called the defensive signals, praised Philbin as “an undersized guy like I was, but he gave you 120 percent.”

“He rushed the passer great, he played the run great,” Grantham said. “Near the goal line, he always got penetration.”

Like so many of his Super Bowl III teammates, Philbin spoke almost reverentially of Grantham’s smarts, and said that over Grantham’s 13 seasons, he was “pound for pound, the best player” on the team.

Grantham, a linebacker out of Ole Miss usually listed as 6 feet and 210 pounds, said in recent years that “the most I ever played at was 192, and by the end of the season probably 185.” But he was an eight-time A.F.L. All-Star.

In the days before Super Bowl III, Grantham talked about how “we know Joe will get us points, so it’s up to the defense to stop the Colts.” And the defenses he called held those Baltimore Colts to one touchdown. Now he’s in the Ring of Honor with Namath and the other Super Bowl III honorees.

“It means everything in the world to be remembered,” Grantham said.

Especially for someone who has endured throat cancer.

“I’m getting better,” Grantham said from his home in Crystal Springs, Miss. “I’m in remission.”

In remission is even more important than in the Ring of Honor.

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