For all those who think that Chad Johnson, Terrell Owens and Plaxico Burress invented wacky wideout syndrome in the NFL, think again.
It goes back 73 years, long before television and the Internet could show every move, dance, popcorn throw and sharpie signing.
The original (somewhat) wacky wideout was Don Hutson, by far the best receiver of the NFL's vintage era. His 488 receptions in an 11-season career that ended in 1945 were 200 more than anyone else in that era and he invented routes that are still used today.
But he wasn't your conventional American football player.
In 1935, when Hutson came out of the University of Alabama there was no draft. And no agents. And, apparently, no real rules.
So when a scout from the Green Bay Packers approached him with a contract, he signed it. Then he did the same when a scout arrived from baseball's Brooklyn Dodgers, apparently thinking that two paychecks were better than one at a time when NFL salaries barely reached four figures a season.
When the contracts arrived in the NFL office, there was considerable head scratching. The league president made the only logical decision: The Packers' contract was postmarked 8:30 a.m., while the one with the Dodgers was postmarked at 8:47 the same day.
Hutson was a Packer.
Not everyone who catches the ball in the NFL these days is wacky. In fact, the ones that act out are a decided minority.
But Owens, Chad Whatever, Randy Moss, and Burress are among the best at their jobs. They're boosted by 24-hour sports networks that are so personality driven that anyone whose behavior strays from the norm is a candidate for immortality.
There are plenty of classy receivers without ego. The best ever, Jerry Rice, never posed for cameras or acted up.
In fact, he often confessed he was too shy to communicate well with the media. And his most contentious moment came after the 1989 Super Bowl when he was voted MVP and suggested that he was getting less media attention than a white teammate might have.
"If it were Joe Montana, Dwight Clark, it would have been headlines all over," he said.
The conventional theory about why receivers are individualistic is that they often are separated from their teammates when they line up. And because they need someone else _ usually the quarterback _ to make sure they get the ball.
The first chronicled showboating by a wide receiver was by Elmo Wright, who at the University of Houston did a jig in the end zone after scoring touchdowns. He brought the dance with him to the NFL with the Chiefs, Oilers and Patriots, for whom he played from 1971-76.
But the more remembered end-zone dance was by Billy "White Shoes" Johnson, who entered the league in 1974 and played 14 years, many of them as a punt returner. The shoes, obviously, were his trademark and when he scored, he would hold the ball high in the air, roll it up his arm and then down his neck.
Johnson and Wright, however, never caused much trouble for their coaches.
The same can't be said for some of the current showboats _ all in different ways.
Burress, for example, does nothing untoward on the field, played all of last season on a sore ankle and still caught 70 passes for 12 touchdowns in the regular season, then the Super Bowl-winning touchdown pass for the New York Giants. But he also has been fined a reported 40 to 50 times by coach Tom Coughlin for various team infractions during his four years in New York, and was suspended for a game this year for failing to show up at a training.
Moss, now a solid citizen with the New England Patriots, was known in Minnesota for saying "I play when I feel like it," and walking into the locker room before games ended.
He was even less disciplined during his two seasons in Oakland _ where lack of discipline is a way of life _ but went to New England and set a single-season record with 23 touchdown catches last season without a hint of trouble. It helped that he was playing on a team that went unbeaten in the regular season and had Bill Belichick as his coach and Tom Brady as the quarterback.
Owens, who always has played hard on the field (although his drops have been up the past few years) left San Francisco after squabbling incessantly with coach Steve Mariucci, offensive coordinator Greg Knapp and Garcia. He played brilliantly, but the trouble prompted the 49ers to trade him to Philadelphia.
He prospered there for a year, helping the Eagles get to a Super Bowl, when Owens came back from a severe ankle injury to catch nine passes for 122 yards in the big game.
But the next year, he feuded with coach Andy Reid and McNabb and ended up suspended by Reid for the season's final nine games. He was released and signed with Dallas in 2006 and now acts as "team spokesman" on a dysfunctional underachieving squad.
And finally "Chad," who's pulled a variety of "look at me" stunts, including kissing coach Marvin Lewis twice this season, the second time last week when the Cincinnati Bengals won their first game of the season.
"Johnson" remains on the back of his jersey although before the season he officially changed it to "Ocho Cinco" for 85, his number. The NFL, marketing Bengals jerseys with his old name, didn't permit him to wear his new name on his jersey.
Said Chad Johnson Ocho Cinco (and other names) of receivers: "We're the rock stars of the NFL."
