Andrews' Head

What's eating Shawn Andrews?

by E. James Beale

Back before John Heisman was a trophy, John Heisman was a collegiate coach. Everywhere he went he won, which was all the more impressive because he not only coached at Clemson and Auburn, both rightfully known for their football programs, but also at schools like Oberlin, rightfully known for its drug habit, and schools like Buchtel, rightfully known not at all. What made Heisman so effective went beyond his revolutionary vision — he was one of the guys behind the forward pass and the idea of quarters instead of halves. Heisman, even as far back as the late 19th century, stressed that football was as important as, if not more important than, life and death. "Gentlemen," he would tell his student charges, "it is better to have died as a small boy than to fumble this football."

Before long, a culture of football based upon self-importance and an ethic of dedication was built. In football, unlike basketball, where talent almost always wins, or baseball, which is as individualistic as a swim relay, players must devote themselves to a system. Sacrifice is required. You can't just play football, you have to be a football player — football players know that there is nothing worse than fumbling that ball.

On a related note, the Philadelphia Eagles recently announced that All-Pro offensive lineman Shawn Andrews will not play football this year. The initial press release, since altered on the Web site, read "Despite receiving medical clearance from back specialist Dr. Robert Watkins late in the summer, Andrews was unable to overcome back pain to get on the field." And just like that a medically cleared Pro Bowler's season was over. As if being quarantined, Andrews was promptly told to get away from Philly and head to California to rehab. Probably, he will never line up as an Eagle again.

Despite a proclamation that the decision was medical — "He has a sore back. ... It's that simple," Reid unconvincingly explained — the move is unprecedented. In pro football, sore isn't a complaint, it's a state of being. It's a word that is usually prefaced with words like "only" or "just." Calling an NFL player sore is like referring to the flowers your buddy surprised his new girl with as sweet — it means you're soft.

This won't be the first time Andrews' desire has been questioned. When Shawn was a junior at Arkansas he came down with a case of nasal polyps, essentially a really stuffy nose. Andrews stopped practicing with his teammates, stopped traveling with the team and stopped going to class. This culminated when Andrews had to sit out the Razorbacks' Independence Bowl game. Not only was he was out of shape and ill, but his 0.0 GPA rendered him ineligible. A local news channel ran a poll asking if viewers thought the All American was selfish for not playing. It came back 70-30 "yes." For reasons right or wrong, Andrews had abandoned his team.

Despite these question marks the Eagles traded up in 2004 to draft Andrews. After an initial setback — minutes into his first regular season game, Andrews broke his leg and missed his rookie year — he established himself as one of the best guards in football, earning three straight Pro-Bowl nods.

Then, before the 2008 season, Andrews once again stopped showing up, this time to Eagles camps and activities. Andrews went public with the fact that he was suffering from depression. He remained in Arkansas, refused to meet with Eagles' physicians, and waited. Stories about the lineman emerged. There was the time that Andrews had a minor ankle injury that brought him to tears — "just pray for me if you care about me" he told a group of confused reporters. And the time he casually told the press that "random people [had] pulled out a gun on [him]" in Philly, crimes he did not initially report. And the series of bizarre YouTube videos (search "bigkid73") plaguing this preseason. Andrews, the thought goes, acts as a person, not as a cog.

In the NFL, that is a problem. NFL players are supposed to deal with their issues internally, not through press releases and public statements. Now Andrews was not only refusing the Eagles' doctors in lieu of his own, but also happily sitting down with the press and responding to specific anonymous tweets attacking him.

All this, coupled with "Getting [his] Michael Phelps On," the room in his house dedicated entirely to SpongeBob SquarePants and his decidedly un-cookie-cutter personal style, began to define Andrews more than his profession does. He's become more of a character than a player, more Mohawk than motor.

In the real world, that is fine: Nuanced, layered people aren't supposed to be defined solely by their jobs. They're supposed to take time off when they're sick and they're supposed to believe their own doctors will get them healthy. But football is different. Shawn Andrews is a man for whom music seems to be a passion and for whom football, his profession, apparently isn't. That doesn't mean he's not a good person, but it might mean that his most important context isn't his team and isn't his sport. It might mean that he would rather fumble that football.