Post by GeorgiaEagle on Oct 19, 2005 19:14:59 GMT -5
An interesting article which mentions that we probably won't have to endure any more player holdouts, since holdouts will now cost players more than ever. 
Rich Hofmann | Gratey One
Expect more from jersey devil with holdouts no longer a weapon
In honor of his last media ally, Terrell Owens tugged on a Dallas Cowboys No. 88 jersey with the name "IRVIN" on the back. He did this in Texas Stadium but, because still photographers are barred from postgame locker rooms in the NFL, there are no snaps of this latest desperate plea for attention. T.O. must be mad about that. I mean, what's the sense of having a publicist in the first place?
You have to figure that the next postgame statement jersey will be an homage to a former Eagles player whose reputation preceded his short term in Philadelphia. Owens really ought to do it, too, just to remove the last shred of doubt about where he stands with the Eagles and with quarterback Donovan McNabb, who is now publicly campaigning for a new contract for Brian Westbrook after pointedly refusing to do the same thing for T.O.
You know the jersey:
"HE HATE ME"
The real news here is that this kind of nonsense - these kinds of jackassical attempts to be an irritant - are all that Owens has left. Because, in a really underdiscussed bit of business conducted by the NFL earlier this month, the league has managed to remove the last, tiny bit of leverage that a player has in contract negotiations.
That's right: The holdout is dead.
(Pause now for a moment of silence.)
It is a league that can do nothing wrong, and the latest evidence comes from the case of Keenan McCardell, the former Tampa Bay receiver who held out last spring, summer and into the season before being traded to San Diego. So he won, right?
Well, no. The Bucs withheld his salary for the games he missed, which is automatic. But then they filed a grievance and sought to get back $1.5 million in signing and roster bonuses that McCardell already had been paid.
The NFL's arbitrator on such collective bargaining matters, Shyam Das, heard the case and ruled in early October - and the Bucs won. The Bucs won big. They get the whole $1.5 million back. The holdout might have forced the trade, but the cost to McCardell was significant.
And now the precedent is set. It isn't as if this is now black-letter law in the NFL, but it's pretty close. Holdouts are dead as a tool to get your contract renegotiated - because the NFL can now confidently come after the thing its players hold dearest: their guaranteed money.
Which leaves T.O. with no options - not that the Eagles are likely to want to keep him anyway, not after everything that has gone down so far. Just to be sure, though, he'll probably have to ratchet up the nonsense before the end of the season.
But as he contemplates all of that - it must kill him not to be in control of this thing, don't you think? - I am here to mourn the death of the holdout. They used to be such fun.
My personal favorite was Mike Quick, who raised it to an art form in the '80s. He had two kinds. The more common was the holdout because he just didn't feel like coming to camp. The less common was the contract renegotiation holdout, but also the most fun.
As an Eagles beat guy back then, you would call his agent in California once or twice a week starting in about April. A despicable sort, the guy would never call you back - as in never ever. And, yes, children, these were the days before cell phones - so you would call, leave a message, and then sit around all day waiting for the guy not to call back.
Not getting a return call was all part of the ritual, though. You didn't get really nervous until about a week before camp opened. Then, it would happen: The phone would ring and it would be the despicable agent offering the blissful words:
"We've decided to use you for Mike's holdout."
Yes, use.
"He'll call you in 5 minutes," the guy would say, and then Quick would call and sadly explain why the current contract was so terribly unfair and that he wouldn't be there for the opening of camp.
You'd write it all up, get your little exclusive, and then watch the thing play out. There'd be a little yelling, a little screaming, a little threatening, and then in the end, Quick would get his new deal in time for the season opener. Ah, good times.
But now there won't be any holdout anymore. It's just not the same. This T.O. thing will never be fun, if for no other reason than this: The guy Owens will inevitably use for his next pronouncement will be the guy whose name is on the back of that Cowboys jersey.
www.philly.com/mld/philly/news/columnists/12888959.htm
Rich Hofmann | Gratey One
Expect more from jersey devil with holdouts no longer a weapon
In honor of his last media ally, Terrell Owens tugged on a Dallas Cowboys No. 88 jersey with the name "IRVIN" on the back. He did this in Texas Stadium but, because still photographers are barred from postgame locker rooms in the NFL, there are no snaps of this latest desperate plea for attention. T.O. must be mad about that. I mean, what's the sense of having a publicist in the first place?
You have to figure that the next postgame statement jersey will be an homage to a former Eagles player whose reputation preceded his short term in Philadelphia. Owens really ought to do it, too, just to remove the last shred of doubt about where he stands with the Eagles and with quarterback Donovan McNabb, who is now publicly campaigning for a new contract for Brian Westbrook after pointedly refusing to do the same thing for T.O.
You know the jersey:
"HE HATE ME"
The real news here is that this kind of nonsense - these kinds of jackassical attempts to be an irritant - are all that Owens has left. Because, in a really underdiscussed bit of business conducted by the NFL earlier this month, the league has managed to remove the last, tiny bit of leverage that a player has in contract negotiations.
That's right: The holdout is dead.
(Pause now for a moment of silence.)
It is a league that can do nothing wrong, and the latest evidence comes from the case of Keenan McCardell, the former Tampa Bay receiver who held out last spring, summer and into the season before being traded to San Diego. So he won, right?
Well, no. The Bucs withheld his salary for the games he missed, which is automatic. But then they filed a grievance and sought to get back $1.5 million in signing and roster bonuses that McCardell already had been paid.
The NFL's arbitrator on such collective bargaining matters, Shyam Das, heard the case and ruled in early October - and the Bucs won. The Bucs won big. They get the whole $1.5 million back. The holdout might have forced the trade, but the cost to McCardell was significant.
And now the precedent is set. It isn't as if this is now black-letter law in the NFL, but it's pretty close. Holdouts are dead as a tool to get your contract renegotiated - because the NFL can now confidently come after the thing its players hold dearest: their guaranteed money.
Which leaves T.O. with no options - not that the Eagles are likely to want to keep him anyway, not after everything that has gone down so far. Just to be sure, though, he'll probably have to ratchet up the nonsense before the end of the season.
But as he contemplates all of that - it must kill him not to be in control of this thing, don't you think? - I am here to mourn the death of the holdout. They used to be such fun.
My personal favorite was Mike Quick, who raised it to an art form in the '80s. He had two kinds. The more common was the holdout because he just didn't feel like coming to camp. The less common was the contract renegotiation holdout, but also the most fun.
As an Eagles beat guy back then, you would call his agent in California once or twice a week starting in about April. A despicable sort, the guy would never call you back - as in never ever. And, yes, children, these were the days before cell phones - so you would call, leave a message, and then sit around all day waiting for the guy not to call back.
Not getting a return call was all part of the ritual, though. You didn't get really nervous until about a week before camp opened. Then, it would happen: The phone would ring and it would be the despicable agent offering the blissful words:
"We've decided to use you for Mike's holdout."
Yes, use.
"He'll call you in 5 minutes," the guy would say, and then Quick would call and sadly explain why the current contract was so terribly unfair and that he wouldn't be there for the opening of camp.
You'd write it all up, get your little exclusive, and then watch the thing play out. There'd be a little yelling, a little screaming, a little threatening, and then in the end, Quick would get his new deal in time for the season opener. Ah, good times.
But now there won't be any holdout anymore. It's just not the same. This T.O. thing will never be fun, if for no other reason than this: The guy Owens will inevitably use for his next pronouncement will be the guy whose name is on the back of that Cowboys jersey.
www.philly.com/mld/philly/news/columnists/12888959.htm
