Pac This
It would be nice to tell Pacman Jones to take a hike—too bad the Titans need him
by Randy Horick
My friend Don T. Pearson, founder of Big Head Caps Inc., UT fan of Shiite intensity and self-proclaimed visionary thinker, called the other day with his latest big "win-win idea." I have become conditioned to respond to Don's announcements about his brainstorms, especially when I hear my name involved, in the same way I respond to tornado warnings—I head for the basement and hope they'll blow over.
One time, for example, Don got the win-win idea of manning the punch bowl at a wedding reception and demanding that the bridesmaids show I.D. before he served them any libations. Incredulous, one affronted young woman, having already removed her high-heeled shoes, skulked out of the hall in her stocking feet to fetch her purse from the car. When she returned, an entire posse of scowling bridesmaids marched with her straight toward Don and demanded to know if he was a policeman or a TBI agent.
"No," he replied without smiling. "But I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night."
You can maybe see why Don maintains that he is chronically atop the prayer list at his wife's church. You can also see why his employees all tell me their productivity soars when Don is out of the office.
This time, though, Don had a scheme I kind of liked, if only for its daring. He proposed approaching the agent of Adam "Pacman" Jones, the Titans' recalcitrant, recidivist top draft pick, with a proposition. (Pacman's contract holdout and legal difficulties already have cost him a considerable pile of Benjamins in the form of signing bonuses and other potential remuneration.)
Don's plan is to get the agent's permission to report to the Titans training camp impersonating Pacman. He'd introduce himself to his new teammates, make nice and mend fences with those he's alienated, which is practically everyone. The fact that it takes Don several days just to run out of sight would not be a hindrance, but part of the thickening plot.
After Don spent a couple of days smoothing the way for him, the real Pacman would show up at camp instead. Hopefully, no one would recognize the switcheroo. They would notice, however, that the new, "rededicated" Pacman had gotten about 20 steps faster. "What a workout ethic!" people would exclaim. "What commitment!"
Don figures that the faster, gentler Pacman could recoup some of the money his attitude and behavior have cost him. For his part, Don would receive a slice of the gains over the team's previous contract offer.
I have some doubts about Don's scheme. On the other hand, it's about as good as any other proposed solution I've heard for the Titans' Pacman problem—and, friends, they do have a whangdoodle of one.
I don't know if I can remember an unsigned draft pick who caused this much disruption for an organization. Certainly it's terra incognita for the Titans, who justifiably pride themselves on smart picks and expeditious contract negotiations.
First, he (allegedly) scuffles with a nightclub owner. Then he's embroiled in a media war of words with Keith Bulluck, who now addresses Jones only as Adam. Then, adding chutzpah to hubris, his agent breezes into Nashville and flummoxes general manager Floyd Reese with word that the Titans' offer is inadequate, given the fine residence on Woodmont Boulevard Pacman bought with the money he hasn't earned.
Get the feeling that Floyd and Jeff are quietly experiencing some buyer's remorse these days?
It's tempting at this point to suggest that Fisher should take a page from Jon Gruden's playbook and inform Pacman that his services are no longer needed this season. Maybe a year off (the payroll) would give Jones a welcome shove toward maturity.
Unfortunately, the Titans need Jones this year, ready or not. They were counting on him to shore up a secondary that got shredded last season like an accounting ledger at Enron. After watching them against Gruden's Tampa Bay team last Friday, it's clear they need Jones to make an even bigger impact than is typically expected from a first-rounder.
Yes, I know. An initial preseason game tells less about a team's prospects than a Jackson Pollock painting reveals about landscapes. Much of Norm Chow's new offense doubtless remains unwrapped. Still, apart from a few glimmers— Bulluck's interception return for a score, Roydell Williams' long TD, an encouragingly Nedney-esque field goal—this team didn't exactly look like a shimmering jewel. Most fans I've surveyed think an 8-8 record this year is a best-case scenario. We'll see. Maybe Fisher and the boys have all the underestimators right where they want them. And maybe not.
In any case, it's clear the team sorely needs Pacman's talent—just not his, er, eccentricities. I'll credit him for one thing: he's made this the most entertaining preseason in Titans history.
In his latest move, Adam is suing the club owner who filed the original complaint against him, alleging that the negative publicity has damaged, among other things, his endorsement opportunities. I think that's a stretch. For example, if they need a replacement for that obnoxious little jive character on the Sprite commercials, Jones would be the man.
Still, when I read the details of his counterclaim, I spat Diet Dr. Pepper all over my keyboard. Don thinks I should sue for a new one.
Comments (1)
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