My name is Eppa Rixey, and I am writing today at the behest of one of your newsmen about compiling a list of the top 25 athletes in the history of our fine University. Of course, when Mr. Wakeman asked me to assist him with such an endeavor, I inquired as to his motivations:
“Son, don’t you think this is a bit of an oyster carnival?,” says I. “Well, Jeptha — can I call you Jeptha?” he asked. “Of course, son.”
“Well, you studied classics before you graduated back in 1912, so I’ll use an analogy.
“It’s like this poem where a woman rides a bus from the coast inland, narrating what she sees, how the other passengers get on and speak with one another. And everything seems exactly how it should until the bus stops for this moose just standing smack dab in the middle of the road. And the relief these people find in finally catching up on the events of their lives while riding together on the bus is nothing compared to the joy that arises when they see this moose.
“And you, good sir, are that moose. You are something sublime and impossibly stable; someone who steps out of the fabric of imagination, full of life.”
“Well, you put things pretty sideways son,” I say. “But I’ll give you what I can reckon. And you know it will still be your name atop this thing?”
“Yes, sir, but the fact that we know nothing about your athletic career at the University in any of the three sports you played attaches you, in our minds, to possibility. What are we to make of your 210-pound, 6-foot-5 frame, whose 266 career MLB wins still rank seventh among left-handed pitchers? And that you’re the only ACC player to make Cooperstown?”
“Well, son, that’s thoughtful of you to mention, but you can’t rightly expect me to speak about myself, now can you?”
“No sir, but we can still wonder.”
Now, having talked with your newsman about these lists you seem so keen to throw together, I throw my hat into the ring.
I will say first that this whole endeavor seems to rely on numbers that measure Lord knows what and agreements that seem more like how the guys thought my wife Dorothy was the sweetest lady in the stands because she sat right behind the dugout, than taking account of all the bosoms in the crowd. And because I would send ’em down the Ohio to Cairo if they disagreed.
And some such committees reminded me of how some young’uns could not hinge their jaws back together when they laid eyes on their first big city belle down the bar, batting her eyelashes their way.
There seem to be three ways to go about this business. First, you can seek the impossible: finding some benchmark that cuts across all these sports like a big ol’ scythe, such as how many mammas bring their cubs down to the park; by counting all the dollar bills in the tills, or all those millions thrown at stadiums and fancy powder rooms I wouldn’t mind living in; or even by what this fella’ right here is having me do — how much ink gets wasted on these games.
The second involves finding a mark — like the cut we knived into the pew telling how far Lil’ Sam Lee rolled his marble without it falling to the ground — within a position and sport. And then trying to compare that against other sports — like putting my marble spin against the spitting contests Sunday evenin’ across the back porch, sunset spread out before us like heaven’s peach cobbler. Here, still, there needs to be some way of making sense of the difference between the lone wolf and the hound dog, between the cougar in the zoo and the cougar in the hills.
The last option throws the linens to the wind and gives you fine readers a chance to vote for their list, but your newsman seems hesitant toward that suggestion because there is no way to control how they will choose. Although, such a method gains legitimacy because they choose, not because they choose well.
Choosing will not be easy, particularly if you insist on comparing Achilles to Beowulf; remember, the rules of the game change, as does the competition, even if it seems like all everyone does is win or lose.
Son, don’t go and get all antsy on me, I’m getting to the point. Now, though I’m a decided man, being dead and all, I’m just going to give my top five athletes because I’ve already said enough, and this is really for you all to argue.
Number Six: I know this is just a bit outside, but hold on to your teeth. There will be six in my top five because I see some of myself in Tom Scott. Back in my twilight years, the 1950s, Tom was an All-American in two sports, football and lacrosse. Granted, it seems increased competition limits a young man’s chance to switch sports, let alone play both ways as an end for the football team; and more of that choice seems complicated these days by making a career out of one sport. On the other hand, I played three sports at the University and still played professional baseball for 20 years. As a lineman and defenseman he may not have put points on the board, but the team compiled a three-year 24-5 record while he pushed his way to All-American status, and he was nominated to the College Football Hall of Fame. Judging also by the lack of any other All-Americans from those years, he must’ve been one tough bulldog.
Number Five: For my fifth spot, I decided to go with another relative unknown, Mortimer Caplin because he single-handedly led the University’s most popular sport in the 1930s — boxing — to an undefeated season and national championship. Now, I understand that boxing isn’t even a varsity sport at the University anymore, but my concern is not what you would like to see, but what I think would be just. Caplin went undefeated for three years while at the University, including his last two. The clincher for me shows his talent and grit: winning the NCAA middleweight title with a broken hand — and in a time when medicine was not as precise as today.
Number Four: I understand a desire to put high on such a list athletes hanging with accolades like blossoms weigh down bleeding heart shrubs, but it is rare to have an athlete hold a world record while still competing at the collegiate level. Paul Ereng won gold in the 800 meters for Kenya at the 1988 Olympic Games in Seoul, and then he broke the world indoor record in the 800 meters the next year in Budapest. The three-time NCAA champion and four-time All-American still holds five school records.
Number Three: The lone woman on this list did much of the same work as my Number two. Dawn Staley, a renowned basketball player, won two ACC and national player of the year awards, three All-American awards, and the NCAA once named her the Female Athlete of the Year. For Virginia, Staley compiled all-time records in several scoring, defense and assist categories. But more importantly, Staley legitimized Virginia’s women’s basketball program on the national scene, leading the team to three Final Fours — including a championship game lost in overtime.
Number Two: This decision is going to raise some fists and shake some heads, but Ralph Sampson does not deserve the top spot. Yes, he was one of the most heavily recruited basketball players of his generation, appearing on the cover of Sports Illustrated an unprecedented six times. Yes, he holds Virginia records for rebounds, field goals and blocks, and more importantly, he put Virginia basketball on the map. Yes, the two-time unanimous national player of the year earned three Naismith and ACC player of the year awards, four All-American selections and one National Invitational Tournament title. But what was this Sampson’s Delilah? An NCAA championship. All the pieces were there, but Sampson just could not keep the team from crumbling come Final Four time.
Number One: When it comes down to it, picking Somdev Devvarman for the top spot instead of Sampson is like choosing between scrapple and liver for breakfast: you win either way. Maybe by putting Somdev here I am casting the pall of Sampson’s short NBA career over his time at Virginia. Devvarman doesn’t suffer from such aftersight because he hasn’t yet established a professional legacy. I can list the accolades for one of the greatest college tennis players of all time: two-time national player of the year, two-time NCAA singles champion, NCAA record three-time singles finalist and the greatest individual season in college tennis history, his last in Charlottesville. Sampson doesn’t garner such superlative comments, but he also played a game with a much deeper and competitive history. We can argue that Devvarman didn’t face as stiff competition as Sampson, but then again, Devvarman dominated the court with a more complete game than could be said for Sampson. Devvarman wins out in the end, in part, because your newsman says some controversy will stir things up, but moreso because he gives the University firmer ground to stand on when appealing to the imaginations and pocketbooks of fans and community members: a champion, yes, and one still full of potential.
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