Young

Exactly how much harder was illustrated this week by what Steve Young of the 49ers and Michael Irvin of the Cowboys had to say about their futures.

Both men, among the greatest football players of their era, got the kind of news nobody in the NFL likes to hear.

A neurologist treating Young after his fourth concussion in three years told the 38-year-old quarterback he couldn't play this weekend, nor for who knows how many more games to come.

A spinal-injury specialist treating Irvin painted a grim picture for the 33-year-old receiver -- a swollen spinal cord and herniated disc -- and told him to come back in two weeks for another, more revealing set of photos.

In a business where even a single hit can push the strongest man off a cliff, this is like being told you're teetering at the edge, having already absorbed one blow too many. Each man could step back with his legacy secured, his financial well-being assured and the likelihood of more healthy days ahead than behind.

Being tough guys, naturally, each said no.

Or at least not yet. Employing verbal maneuvers every bit as dazzling as the ones we're accustomed to seeing them make on Sundays, they disarmed the dangerous words, danced away from the troublesome ones or simply ignored the hits altogether.

After a battery of tests, Dr. Gary Steinberg said Thursday that he made a recommendation to Young and the 49ers about whether he should continue to play. He declined to reveal it at Young's request, but Steinberg did say the reason we won't be seeing the quarterback for the time being is "to allow his brain to recover."

Of course, the likeliest way for that to happen is for Young to retire -- immediately. The problem is that he sounds so sensible discussing the problem that it's easy to assume he understands the risk involved and will wind up doing the right thing.

That's the first mistake. And something his agent said a few years ago reminds us of how long -- and how successfully -- a bright guy like Young can string people along.

"I finally figured out what Steve meant by a significant episode," agent Leigh Steinberg said. "It meant he had to be carried off the field."

This year's "significant episode" occurred almost three weeks ago and Young remains in a fog. Exactly how deep is illustrated this way: Everybody close to Young is advising him to leave, but he keeps garbling the message.

"Most of my family and friends are saying what I'm saying: If there's concern, then we shouldn't do it," Young said. "If there isn't and you can work through it and the doctor feels good about it, there's nothing mysterious about it.

"It's pretty cut and dried," he added. "I really want to play again."

In the interest of clarity, we'll reduce the message to a single word:

Don't.

Irvin's case is a little trickier. On one hand, the most important pieces of the medical puzzle are not on the table. On the other, defiance practically defines him. He will probably come back just to prove that he can.

When Irvin turned up at Cowboys headquarters after Wednesday's visit to the doctor, he was uncharacteristically subdued. That led to speculation he'd received some bad news, since Dallas coach Chan Gailey described his star as upbeat earlier in the week.

Irvin, wearing a brace to protect his neck, explained away the difference by saying, "Right now, all I know is not to move it much, and that's what I'm trying to do."

He wasn't looking any further than that. When a retirement question came up, Irvin sidestepped it like a matador. "I don't want to get into answering questions about will I play," he said, "because I don't know."

	Irvin

Irvin recalled looking helplessly at the sky, being wheeled into an ambulance then slowly regaining the movement in his extremities. But as the panic eased, his concerns only grew.

"I was just scared," Irvin said. "I thought about not playing with my son."

Missing from his recollection of events was any mention of the sick cheering by a cluster of fans as Irvin lay motionless, then again as a gurney was wheeled onto the field. A fan quoted in the Philadelphia Inquirer the next day said, "This makes our season."

Irvin said he didn't notice the howling at the time, but you can be sure it's been filed away. Other than Michael Jordan, there may not be an athlete alive who relished walking into an opponent's house with a bull's-eye on his back and then shutting up the locals with his play more than Irvin.

But if he were to take a pass on this one, nobody -- save the fans in Philly, maybe -- would blame him.