|
By Saturday, it didn't matter whether Jennifer Capriati went onto the floor of Roland Garros Stadium in Paris and (a) claimed citizenship, (b) claimed asylum or (c) claimed her stake at a legitimate Grand Slam sweep by dusting up the clay court with Kim Clijsters. Win, lose or rain, Capriati already had established herself as the 2001 winner of the coveted You Never Know gold medallion.
It's a crowded field, this thing. Every year in sports, there are a fair handful of formerly wonderful athletes (or aggregations) who, for one reason or another, have seen themselves or their games slide down below the dread Suspect line -- and every year, at least a couple of those feared lost-causes find ways to reinvent themselves, possibly even at championship trim.
It could be injury that these redemption cases have to navigate their ways around. Could be attitude. Could be family (yo ho, Williams sisters). Could be the crushing weight of history (we'll get to you, New England).
The point is that things are almost never exactly as they seem to be. It only takes a Capriati, after all, to set people to dreaming. If this woman can repair the damage to a tennis career that was so severe she was essentially given up for dead, then who's to say what is possible and what isn't?
If there was hope for Capriati -- and, upon further review, there sure was -- then there isn't a person on this list who doesn't have at least a theoretical shot at staging the big comeback. Look, it's all about time, isn't it?
Rick Ankiel. Kid gets boosted to the majors, kid falls apart in the playoffs, kid never recovers his pitching form. Right? Well, sure. And then again, not at all. The Cardinals did right by Ankiel in sending him back to the minor leagues to try to find himself, but the rush to write off Ankiel as some sort of doomed project is just the worst kind of reactionary nonsense. Ankiel is, what, 21 years old? If he's 25 and still can't throw a strike, then you've got trouble. Until then, he goes back to being one of the 10-to-1 shots who makes up the entire minor-league system. In other words, he's still got the shot.
Deion Sanders. You say he isn't washed up to begin with? OK, but the facts are that, as of this week, Sanders (1) can't hit a big-league breaking ball and (2) appears to be tremendously ambivalent as to whether he'll ever play in the NFL again, much less for Marty Schottenheimer in Washington. Sanders once was a two-sport wonder; now he just makes people wonder. And this, of course, is the precise point at which Deion usually comes up with something either hilarious or incredibly inspiring. Preferably with lyrics set to a nice beat.
Venus Williams. Suddenly the poster girl for the imploding Women's Tennis Association, Williams now is being fitted for her life after the tour -- mildly interesting because she has barely played on the thing to begin with. Dogged by insinuations that her dad decides which Williams sister will advance in certain tournaments and by the notion that she just generally doesn't care about the sport enough to really leave a mark. Wouldn't it be riveting to watch Williams go on a summer-long championship tear, if for no other reason than to prove she can?
Tonya Harding. Said to be considering a nude ice review in Las Vegas. But perhaps that's only if the film career doesn't pan out.
Red Sox Fans. A collective entry, but not an all-inclusive one. We speak here strictly of the faction that bailed out on the home team in the spring, with the injury loss of wonderful shortstop Nomar Garciaparra. While the surviving Bosox might not have set the world on fire, they absolutely have played well enough to get to the front of the pack in the A.L. East. Whereupon, natch, they lost Jason Varitek to a fractured elbow. Caution: Second reincarnation ahead.
Phil Mickelson. Can't close out a huge golf tournament -- until, of course, he does. And he will. And he will again.
Seattle Mariners. Big Unit; Junior; A-Rod; 46-12 and counting. All together: You ... never ... know.
Woody Allen. Musicals? Murder mysteries? Come on, what happened to the guy who wrote "The Purple Rose of Cairo" and "Hannah and Her Sisters"? But he's a sly one, the Wood-man. It's just when they think they've got him in a career-ending slump that he finds a way to break out. We're waiting.
Dennis Miller. Spent most of his first season on "Monday Night Football" trying to figure out a way to survive to a second season. Prediction: Miller's Year 2 is one straight from the Broadcasting Hall of Fame, the only downside being that the NFL is forced to switch the games from ABC to HBO to avoid repetitive stress syndrome on the part of the seven-second-delay-button operator. You give Miller the cusswords, the man is golden.
Charles Barkley. Still only 80 pounds away from the promised land.
OK, 100.
But that's today.
Mark Kreidler is a columnist for the Sacramento Bee, which has a Web site at http://www.sacbee.com/.
| |
|
