Are you a fan of Wes Welker, Danny Woodhead and Julian Edelman? Of course. You like them for their grit, their playmaking abilities, their chemistry with quarterback Tom Brady, and their ability as kick/punt returners. You also like them because they’re shorter than normal football players, and have found success in the NFL regardless of the freakishly large men around them.

If you adore what Welker, Woodhead and Edelman do for your team, then you need to cross team allegiance lines and thank the man who blazed their path twenty years ago: Steve Tasker.

Those who have read this blog for a while know my feelings on Tasker. I think it is honestly ridiculous that the legendary Buffalo Bill is not in the Pro Football Hall of Fame. He, along with his special teams minded coaches, made the position of kick returner/punt returner/wide receiver what it is today.

The 5-9, 183 pound Tasker defined the idea of a shorter statured wide receiver finding success in special teams. He used his short-and-stout body type as a positive and plowed over, around and through defenders double his size. He returned kicks and punts for touchdowns. He blocked kicks and punts, took down other kick returners, and mired the Bills’ opponents deep in their own territory or gave the Bills’ offense back the ball immediately. Tasker would just throw himself in front of whomever had the ball – the kicker, the kick returner, whomever – and make their life at that moment in time a living hell. He also had grit and determination that showed on every play – no matter if his team was dominating the early 1990s AFC or in the midst of being embarrassed by the Dallas Cowboys in a Super Bowl. One of football’s most influential football minds, Bill Parcells, once admitted that he had to change his entire special teams game plan specifically for Tasker.

Tasker made seven Pro Bowl teams, seven All Pro teams, and is considered one of the top ten players never to make it into the Hall of Fame. Voters are hesitant to elect him to Canton because he only played on special teams, though it is well documented that the main reason Bills’ head coach Marv Levy held him out of the offense because he feared injuring their key special teams player. You can see Levy’s logic at work: because of his work defending kickoffs and punts, Tasker got his offense the ball back much quicker, giving them more opportunities to score each game.

I’ll grant you that Tasker was used differently than Welker, Edelman and Woodhead are on the Patriots’ offense and special teams. The three aren’t used as much defensively as Tasker was. But had Tasker not been used the way he was, and had he not been so valuable to the Buffalo Bills, NFL coaches might not be so inclined to use smaller wide receivers and kick returners the way they currently do. In the lineage of NFL offensive players, Tasker begat Welker, Edelman and Woodhead. The three would have had less of a chance to succeed had Tasker not given opponents fits and his team such an advantage in the 1990s.

So Patriots fans, cross those party lines and give credit where credit is due. Steve Tasker made the quick, gritty and short wide receiver who can make an impact on special teams a desirable commodity. If Hall of Famer Levy is to be celebrated for his creation and curation of modern special teams play, then Canton should induct the pen with which Levy wrote his special teams manifesto: Tasker.

Sincerely,

Kat

P.S. Need video proof? Here’s some for you:

NFL Network’s package on Tasker as the ninth best player not in the Hall of Fame

As any early reader of this blog might have discerned, I may have been a giant Bills fan as a youngster, but in addition, I was a giant Steve Young fan. After Young won Super Bowl XXIX in 1995, thirteen year-old me asked my father if he thought Young would make the Pro Football Hall of Fame. “Maybe. It really depends what else he does,” said my father.

“Well, if he does, can we go to Canton to see the ceremony?” I asked.

My father, knowing that this was several years down the road at that point, if it happened at all, nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

I’m sure he thought I had forgotten his promise, until I called him on a Monday morning in February of 2005 – ten years later – to tell him I had four tickets to the Enshrinement Ceremony, and that we were going to see Steve Young get inducted.

Being in Canton during Enshrinement Weekend was one of my favorite experiences as a sports fan. It is a true celebration of the sport of football, one that even the most marginal of football fans will appreciate. To read about our trip to Canton in 2005 – the first family vacation my immediate family had ever taken – read the following blog post: “Earning the Fabiola.”

I plan on returning to Canton at some point – hopefully for a 2010 induction of Jerry Rice and Steve Tasker? Rice is next year’s shoo-in, and as evidenced by both Wilson’s and Smith’s speeches this evening, Tasker greatly deserves the honor, but he’s been overlooked by voters for a few years now. Maybe his continued broadcasting career will help him in securing spots in the voters’ minds. All I know is that if I was choked up watching Smith’s induction speech on NFL Network tonight, I would just bawl through Tasker’s.

In a post-season which is sure to future a coaching carousel, what makes the firing of Chow significant? Well, because the Bills are looking for an offensive coordinator, of course. The Bills message boards are all abuzz with the possible matchup already, with a fair amount of people pooh-poohing the possibility already, using the reasoning that if Chow couldn’t cut it in Tennessee, than he’ll never cut it as an NFL offensive coordinator. This is a rather flimsy argument – what if pro football had said the same after Bill Belichick underperformed in Cleveland? We wouldn’t have the evil genius to make fun of today. Another poster used Chow’s age as a deterrent for hiring Chow. Well, that person obviously doesn’t follow Ralph Wilson’s line of decision making much – he’s of “the older, the better!” school of thought. I think it’s most likely because everyone seems like a spring chicken at his advanced age.

To further support Chow’s candidacy, consider that Chow was in the running for Stanford’s head coaching job in 2005 – a chance he had to coach Trent Edwards, until he wasn’t chosen for the job. From the interview process, he must have a little insight into the system Edwards was coached under. He also developed many young quarterbacks – namely, Steve Young (oh, and Carson Palmer…but he’s not as hot.) Edwards is a young quarterback that needs mentoring. We saw how well JP Losman was mentored under ex-Bills offensive coordinator Steve Fairchild and the rest of the coaching staff – why not bring in someone who understands young quarterbacks trained in West Coast offenses, like Chow? Detractors may point to Chow’s inability to make Vince Young into the phenom expected of him – but who is to say V. Young would be any better off this point in his career with any other coordinator? It’s not like he’s another Ryan Leaf – he did make it to the playoffs this year, after all.

Considering the other choices out there for offensive coordinators – Cam Cameron, among others – I think Chow may be the least risky, and almost most experienced, choice. The Titans were Chow’s first NFL job – if the Redskins and others can seriously consider Gregg Williams for a head coach job after he demonstrated to all of the NFL in the early part of this decade that he really is better left as a defensive coordinator, the Bills should be allowed to seriously consider Chow for offensive coordinator.

But then again – these are the Bills we are talking about, and the hiring of Chow would make too much sense for them. I wish someday, the Bills would make personnel moves that I wouldn’t get teased about by my students.

*****

3 Things I Think I Think (copyright whenever by Peter King)

1) Musically-challenged me would give anything to be able to sit down at the piano and play Ben Folds’ You to Thank. I do play piano, but I can only sight read and can’t memorize music. It was a good thing my piano teacher was nice enough to weigh effort rather heavily in our grades for eighth grade piano at SOTA.

2) On the I-swear-I-am-not-a-figure-skating-fan-but-indulge-me-for-a-minute front, Emily Hughes withdrew today from the US National Championships due to a hip injury, making the race for the ladies championship even more crazed and unpredictable. Despite the fact that you have a reigning US champion and former World champion in the mix (Kimmie Meissner,) the scene is ripe for a take-over. And as a national federation, wouldn’t this be almost what you want? Meissner is still considered obscure, and for some reason, has not appealed to the masses like skaters from the last decade. Do you want to spotlight the Michelle Kwan skate-a-likes you have festering (Caroline Zhang and Mirai Nagasu) who could possibly bring the masses back to the sport, even though these two skaters are age-ineligible to compete in the Senior World Championships? Or do you just let the competition figure itself out, and aim to recapture public attention closer to the 2010 Winter Olympics? Would figure skating have any chance to thrive this year anyway, seeing that the sport draws fans from the same population as gymnastics, a sport that is in its Olympic year? But in this day in age, can a marginal sport afford to take a year off from full-out marketing to find itself in new faces?

3) Another January, another year Steve Tasker (honorary member of my father’s Steve Quarterbacks, honorary because he’s not a quarterback) does not make the finalist group for the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Shame, shame, shame, Hall voters. The media is so entranced with the Patriots’ Wes Welker and the Bears’ Devin Hester as of late, and they’re forgetting one of the original WR-KR combos in their Hall balloting. And now Tasker is making quite a name for himself on the broadcasting side of things, taking over for Boomer Esiason the Westwood One NFL Matchup Radio Show and holding his own on mid-level game commentating crews for CBS, and still, he is unloved. But then again, if Tasker ever does make it into the Hall of Fame, what will my father and I have to complain about every January?

**********

Note on this entry from Wednesday evening – yep, as predicted, the Bills did not hire Norm Chow. They just decided to promote from within. Because they’ve been sooooo good the past few years. Whatever. I’m just bitter now because I reside in Patriot Land. I’ll get over it.

Now that I’m 23, and regret the immense geekiness of my teenage years, I rarely use the Fabiola. I’m reluctant to mention it, until Tricia (my best friend since age 3–”We’ve been friends for 20 YEARS!!!!!“) inevitably brings it up and I have to explain my 14-year-old thinking. However, now the choice has become highly appropriate, for I have doing more traveling in the past three months than I thought I would. Here’s the overview:

• Ending a wicked busy commencement weekend by taking a short little trip to Providence to see the last hockey of the season.
• Going to Poughkeepsie to attend my college friends’ wedding and getting to room with Regina again.
• Taking four flights (yes I got on a plane for the first time in five years) in order to attend my little sister’s graduation party in Rochester.
• Driving out to Framingham for dinner with Caitlin and Chris and sharing the road with the Speeding Nuns.
• Traveling to Yarmouth, Freeport and Kittery, Maine to attend a clam festival and to see the fine state of Maine for the first time.
• Sticking my toes in the Atlantic for the first time while on a day trip to Martha’s Vineyard.
• Of course, no exploits are complete without a jaunt to cheat death in East Somerville, MA.

To ramble about every single trip would be long, boring, and nearly impossible, so I will focus on the most important one of all (sorry, Chris):

SEEING STEVE YOUNG GET INDUCTED INTO THE PRO FOOTBALL HALL OF FAME!

Yes, the trip I’ve been talking about for years (a decade, to be exact) finally occurred. My parents, my 10-year-old brother and I (my sister had to work Park Avenue Fest in good ol’ Rochester, and could not join us) piled into the family Buick Rendezvous (Buick’s spelling, not mine) and drove five hours to the grand state of Ohio to visit the Pro Football Hall of Fame and watch the induction ceremonies live. We also took a detour to Cleveland to let my father bask in the glory of the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame, and so my brother and I could run around downtown singing, “Cleveland Rocks!”

Okay, my brother and I didn’t do that.

The Cleveland detour took place on Saturday afternoon (and was not exterampeous in any means, as I had mailed my parents the “Hasenauer Hall of Fame Weekend” iternary weeks beforehand, in their folder of relevant trip information. And they think I have OCD–where would they get that idea?) My family arrived in Cleveland, parked on the waterfront, and headed over to the museum. As we walked the steps of the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame, we saw our first Dan Marino fan. Remember, this was Saturday afternoon, in Cleveland, 45 minutes away from Canton. And there this guy was, in a white, teal and orange 13 jersey. No biggie, I thought. There was bound to be a few.

A few turned out to be 20, 000.

We saw around 200 at the Rock N’ Roll Hall of Fame alone. Teal jerseies, orange jerseies, official t-shirts, homeade t-shirts, NFL jungle pants, orange hats, the number 13 EVERYWHERE.

At one point, in front of the Alan Freed exhibit I believe, I turned to my mother and said, “Mom, I think I’m outnumbered. There’s not a red number 8 in sight.”

My mother looked at me and shrugged. “How do you think I feel? I’m a Bills fan.”

We left Cleveland a few hours later, already disinheartened (see photo of Sam, my brother, at right) by the number of Dolph-fans (my dad’s word) we had encountered. Back in our hotel in Akron (the Vestal, NY of eastern Ohio, I am convinced) we thought we were safe from them. Just to be sure, when we headed to Bennigan’s for dinner, I threw on my new Hall of Fame issue Steve Young jersey (thanks, Chris!). To use Hunter 115 lingo, I had to start “reppin’.” I encountered four Marino fans across the dining room, but no confrontation occured, although I did get quite a few stares from the other diners for wearing an oversized jersey tied up 1992-style. (In another note of weirdness, did anyone else know that Ohio still allowed smoking in their restaurants?)

My parents, brother and I retreated back to our hotel, which my family was rather excited about. My family has never taken a family vacation ever, and this was only the third time my father has ever spent in a hotel, and only the third and fourth state my father has ever been in. Needless to say, our pretty large and cozy hotel room was one of the most exciting parts of the trip for my family. Even for a veteran hotel stayer myself (hello, I’ve even lived in one), I do have to say that our hotel in Akron was one of the nicest I’ve seen. It had a living room, a full kitchen (complete with dishwasher, which totally impressed my mom), a gorgeous bathroom/dressing area, and three beds. (Of course, I forgot to take a picture of it because I’m an idiot like that.)

My parents and Sam were out like a light that evening, and I would of been as well, had there not been the ESPN Classic Hall of Fame Weekend on. I have never been known to turn down a viewing of the 1993 San Fransisico 49ers Yearbook (well, except for the last five minutes–the NFC Championship Game), so I stayed up and watched that. But soon enough I went to bed, knowing full well that we would have to depart early to beat all the Marino-ites to Canton the next morning.

We packed up and reluctantly left our swanky hotel room early Sunday morning. Chris called us while we were on the 30 minute trip and let us know from Boston that NFL Network was already broadcasting live from outside the hall–and this was at 8am! After parking and taking the shuttle, we got to the Hall by the time they opened at 9am. When I was walking onto the Hall grounds, I was dejected already by the fact that I had been the only person clad in 49ers scarlet in the parking lot and shuttle–until two women who had to be in their 60s or 70s with handmade Steve Young shirts bounced up to me. “Hey girl, give me a high five!” they both screamed, and we all smiled and gave each other high fives. “We’re so excited to see another Young fan!” said one, “We’re rather few and far between here!” We were chatty for a few minutes about the crazy Marino-ites, and then went our separate ways, but instead of “Bye,” we left each other with a big, “Go Young!”

While this was going on, my family hung back, pretending that they didn’t know me, as they would end up doing several more times that day.

We then went into the museum (warning: during Hall of Fame weekend, they do raise the admission prices.) The Pro Football Hall of Fame is an absolutely awesome place if you are a football fan. There is just so much memorabila and information that it is almost overwhelming. It is also in a very cramped space, so if you’re claustrophobic, I reccommend going on like a Tuesday morning in the middle of October or something. Lucky for Hasenauers, we’re used to being crammed into spaces tighter than sardines in a can (anyone who has seen the house I grew up in can attest to that), so the throngs of people that were mingling around the hall didn’t bother us. Among the highlights is the Super Bowl section, with the box score and memorbila from every Super Bowl (including rings, not to mention a Brady jersey at every turn–it’s what you get when you win three in four years!); the “Other Leagues” section, with great information on the AFL and USFL (including a blown up front page of the Rochester Times Union from the 1920s when Rochester had a pro team); and the photography exhibit highlighting the best photos from the 2004 season. There is also the actual Hall of Fame with all of the busts of every inductee (see Jim Kelly at right), which is a great history lesson for those of us who started watching football back in the early 1990s. I must say that some of the busts look absolutely nothing like the actual people (the Kelly one is pretty close, but the Marv Levy one looks like they used a “generic old man” model.) They had the engraved shelves installed for Young and his fellow inductees already, but the busts would be unveiled during the ceremony and placed there afterwards. My absolute favourite part of the Hall of Fame had to be when a young boy and his family who were guests of the Steve Young Foundation sought me out to take a picture of them in front of one of the Steve Young exhibits. “We’ve been looking for a friendly face,” they laughed as they handed me over their camera. I was like totally shaking, and didn’t have the guts to ask where they got their Steve Young straw hats (all of Young’s personal and foundation guests had a special straw hat with a red embrordered scarf tied on it) or if I could hang out with them for the rest of the day. That would be the closest I got to meeting Steve Young, but that was cool enough for me.

Of course, after viewing all of the exibits, my family and I made our way to the museum store. In the line to get in, I had my first celeb siting–well, not just siting, but bumping. Junior Seau, now a Dolphin, but a former Charger (he played for them in the Super Bowl against the Niners in 1995), was walking the opposite direction out of the press room near the store, and brushed by my shoulder. Nearby was Zach Thomas. Both were very nice and all smiles as all the Dolph-fans they passed oohed and aahed. After spending way too much money in the museum store, my family and I made our way to Fawcett Stadium for the ceremony. While waiting in line, Cris Carter rushed to the VIP entrance, with a fan trailing him. Only seconds later on the other side of the line, Chris Berman (who was to be the emcee of the ceremony), was driven past us to the stage in a golf cart. Everyone was cheering him as he drove by, and he waved. He looks exactly the same as he does on TV–like everyone’s crazy uncle.

Now to the ceremony itself. It was such a good ceremony–except for the burning sun just frying my family and I in the stands. My parents and brother had to keep going downstairs and getting away from the sun to prevent getting sunburned. I usually don’t burn at all (that’s the 10% Italian in me), but even I was beginning to feel it. But what was even more annoying was the sixteen gazillion (okay, I mean 20,000) Dolph-fans, who were only there for their number 13. They were loud and annoying at times, not to mention rude. (There was one guy in back of me in line in the store explaining to his obviously-dragged-along girlfriend why Steve Young didn’t deserve to be inducted, and that the only way they were going to let him in was to induct them a year with “totally the best QB of all time” so he would be outdone. I don’t know if the guy was blind to my bright scarlet number 8 jersey in his face, or if he was just trying to get my goat. I’d love to say that guy was the exception, and not the rule, but unfortunately, it was the other way around.) But I didn’t let it bother me, and settled in to hear Grit Young introduce his son.

All I have to say is that it is glaringly obvious that the Young clan are lawyers. 35 minutes later, Steve Young took the podium. Steve gave us his useful well prepared remarks, expressing his gratitude to everyone (even Joe Montana, who was noteably absent from the lineup of previous inductees.) It was also interesting to hear him and his father speak about his family life–something a lot of people don’t know about, since he got married and had kids after he retired. We also got the standard story about how his mother came charging out onto his Pop Warner football field one time because a member of the opposing team made an illegal hit on her son, and the story of how he made his parents drag the whole family to the Hall of Fame on a family vacation–and how his siblings only agreed if they all got to go to Hershey Park afterward. He spoke for quite a while, but I relished every minute of it. He was obviously just soaking up the moment of being inducted, and realizing that there were some fans there for him, hidden amoungst the vast seas of teal and orange. He was so appreciative that you couldn’t help but feel happy for the guy, even if you were a Dolph-fan.

After he finished, they took a commerical time out, and my mom turned to me and said, “Um…I hope you’re not planning to see Dan Marino.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because your face is the same color as your jersey.”

I felt my face and realized that I was done. As in, “I’m so done, turn me over” done. As in, almost-Italian-but-really-French-Canadian-me was fried to a crisp. (See photo evidence to your right. That was between Benny Friedman and Fritz Pollard’s inductions. Take that redness and turn it up a few notches and you’ll see what I was really like afterward.)

So my family packed up and left before the Dan Marino celebration began. Rude? Maybe. But I wasn’t willing to risk heatstroke to see the arch-enemy of all Bills fans get inducted.

We packed into the family roadster (well, actually the family Buick Rendezvous) and headed back to Rochester, sunburnt and carrying six tons of Steve Young memoribila. A little less than five hours later, we were back in Rochester, and ten hours after that, I was back in Boston. It was a short trip (and yes, I missed my chance to stick around for Monday’s Meet and Greet with the inductees–I needed to get back to Boston by Monday afternoon), but it was worth it. I know this probably sounds amazingly stupid, but it was amazingly cool to do something that I said I’d do since the age of 13,which is when I turned to my father the summer after Super Bowl XXIX and asked him if we could go see Steve Young get inducted to the Hall of Fame whenever he was elected. I don’t think my father ever thought I’d 1) remember that or 2) really drag my whole family along for the ride when it did happen. So thank you Mom, Dad and Sam for letting me drag you to the boondocks of Ohio for Steve Young–and do you think we can go again in five years when Jerry Rice gets inducted? Please?