Comfort in Familiarity

Typically speaking, sports fans are creatures of habit. They hail the praises of their team during periods of success and they lambaste the team when things go awry; most often singling out one particularly undesirable player as the source of their decline.

They gather in numbers, at stadiums or in front of television screens of various sizes, ready for the ritualistic highs and lows that come intertwined with sport.


So much time, money and emotion is invested in what is, basically, a group of people you'll never meet, playing a game. I personally am a guilty culprit of this fascination; the deflation I feel after a particularly bad loss is apparent in my day to day actions: I'm extremely unpleasant. It was as though I were out there, stumbling about on the field as my hapless team was dismantled.

It is true to this nature, then, that we as sports fans clamour for familiarity. We seek the things in our team that hearken to better days; more competitive teams, players we enjoyed watching, or maybe even something as simple as fond memories of a bygone era reminding us of our youth.

For this reason, Toronto Blue Jays backers were ecstatic when Cito Gaston returned as team manager in 2008 after an eleven year departure. Gaston had famously guided the franchise to back-to-back World Series titles during his first tenure, and all of the key elements were apparent. In Gaston, we were reminded of the Blue Jays of the early 90s, of Joe Carter and Roberto Alomar, of the baseball powerhouse that came out on top not once but twice.

In the three seasons of his return, Gaston led the Jays to 211 wins, 201 losses, and no playoff appearances. Any other manager who accumulated numbers this mediocre would have been berated, but not Cito. To the people of Toronto, Gaston would remain a hero, a man simply put up against insurmountable odds without enough talent on the diamond to create a winner.

We love our familiarity. And right now, following a 41-7 loss in what could be the most important game of the year, Tennessee Titans fans wish they could see something they recognise from their past.

Over the last three generations of Titans football, there was a common element among the type of players who led the team at the quarterback and running back position.

This tradition was typified by a duo who only played together for one season. In their careers, Warren Moon and Earl Campbell were like ships passing in the night. As Moon arrived with the Houston Oilers (the franchise that would later become the Titans) from the CFL's Edmonton Eskimos in 1984, Campbell was only two seasons away from his retirement.

However, the two often go hand in hand as torch-bearers for the success of the Oilers of the 80s. They were superior athletes; nimble and athletic in the case of Moon, while Campbell famously demolished opponents by simply ploughing through them with herculean might.

Perhaps then, it was through no coincidence that the faces of the franchise would then become a pair of players who mirrored the abilities of Moon and Campbell to a tee.

Steven LaTreal McNair was drafted in the first round of the 1995 draft, and his counterpart Edward Nathan George would arrive one year later. What followed were eight seasons of physical football, battling through injuries, and steely resolve. In short, Titans fans were spoilt by the kind of people they had leading their team. The only words that would come out of their mouths were words of encouragement during a game, or acceptance of blame following a loss. They preferred to let their actions speak louder than their words, and, put simply, their actions spoke volumes for close to a decade.


After that period, we enter an era that looks unfamiliar, and frankly, it does not bode well for this team.

To fill the gaping holes left by the departures of McNair and George, the Titans made Vince Young and LenDale White the heirs apparent. And though their physical traits again fit the formula we had grown accustomed to, there was something new in the air. It wasn't so much confidence, because the prior generations of leaders had this in abundance. Now, we met leaders with arrogance.

The Young/White era was incredibly short-lived. LenDale White entered the NFL with a sense of entitlement and nagging weight issues that limited his effectiveness. He would leave for Seattle after four years, and was out of the league one year later.

The Vince Young saga was much more chaotic than that. A supreme athlete with question marks surrounding his accuracy and work ethic, Young was meant to revolutionise the quarterback position. And, sure enough, in his first season, he seemed to be on track to do this. Defenders had to gameplan against his unique skill set, and he tore the league apart with his quick feet.

However, Young once famously uttered the phrase "Can't nobody tell me nothing". At the time, the populous assumed that surely he meant the words of his detractors would not discourage him, and he would continue to mature and flourish.

Unfortunately, it would later seem as though the true meaning behind this statement was that Young thought himself invincible, and his natural ability would be enough to succeed. After five roller coaster-like seasons that led to the dismantling of the roster and the departure of Jeff Fisher, the coach for sixteen years, Young was gone.

The Tennessee Titans have washed their hands of the mistakes they made in 2006. What seems to be becoming apparent, however, is that the new generation may be providing them with the same headaches right over again.

I am speaking, primarily, of the words and actions of Chris Johnson, supposedly the Titans' best player, and a man so illiterate it is downright painful.


Now entering his fourth season, he has become one of the league's most prolific running backs, an elusive speedster who, in 2009, became only the sixth player in league history to amass more than 2,000 rushing yards in a single season.

He has also been known to enjoy excessive celebration, banging drums on the sideline on one occasion, and at times even holding the ball out in front of opponents' faces in the middle of play, as if to say, "here it is, try and take it".

After missing this year's preseason over a contractual holdout, Johnson became the richest running back in the league, netting himself a four-year contract worth $53.5 million, with $30 million of that guaranteed.

How has he rewarded the Titans for their generosity? Through the first six games, he has had the worst season of his career: 93 runs for 268 yards, an average of 2.9 yards per run. To put this in perspective, his career average prior to this year had been 5 yards.

And for all of this, the lacking performance isn't the most frustrating part of this debacle. What is worse, quite clearly, is his reaction to claims of diminished ability.

After this latest lashing at the hands of the Houston Texans, a game that held important connotations to winning the division and assuring a playoff spot, Johnson was unapologetic, despite managing a meagre 18 yards on 10 rushing attempts.

He was quoted in his post-game press conference as claiming, "If you are watching the game and you can't tell what's going on with the run game, then I'd say you really don’t know football. I am just getting the ball and running hard and doing what I have been doing since I got here, reading my reads. I wouldn’t say I am the issue. I'm very confident I've been doing the things... I do. I can’t do nothing but keep working hard."

Johnson says he "can't do nothing but keep working hard", but it would seem as though there is a great deal more he could do to solidify himself as a face of this franchise.

This is a far cry from the leaders of yesteryear, who, as established, would never have thrown teammates to the wolves of the media. For all of his ignorance, Johnson was always dazzling on the field, to the point where we forgave his incomprehensible boasting.

Now, we see a man without the lofty numbers, pointing the finger at everyone but himself. And now, we can see that the things we admired most about the players of old wasn't their athleticism or their talent. It was their humility, their moral values and their ability to rally their men.

Losing isn't necessarily unfamiliar to the Titans, but floundering without any sense of direction, with their best and brightest bemoaning his teammates, is unsavoury, tenuous ground. And if they hope to right this tattered ship, they'd best find some players with leadership qualities. They'd best find some familiarity.