JAY SCHROEDER
(by ED AGNER)
Dean gets drunk upon occasion
(No. Really.) and emails the VP.com world-wide headquarters and
swears at us. Well, actually, he swears at Phil, but who
doesn't? Anyway, Dean emails and requests oddball stuff.
(For the record: No, Dean, Bill
WILL NOT arrive at your door dressed in leather. Phil WILL go
rollerblading with you dressed in a cat suit IF you ask nicely
enough. I MIGHT arrive at your door dressed as Robin - but NO
sliding down the bat pole, big man - IF the check clears.
Please-please-please-please-please let that check bounce. PLEASE!)
So, for some strange reason, in
Dean's latest email, he begged for a FPOTM on - ready self, must not
swear - Jay Schroeder. Grumble. Can't work blue.
Can't work blue. Can't work blue.
Schroeder was case-in-point #700
of what a genius Joe Gibbs was/is(?) as I still have deep, crippling
hate in my soul for the man thanks to his pathetic Raider tenure.
But I've just jumped ahead of myself.
Schroeder
was a big-armed QB out of UCLA who, after failing out as a catcher in
the Blue Jays farm system (which would, of course, qualify him as a
Cowboys QB these days), latched on with the Redskins in 1985 to,
ostensibly, hold a clipboard for a living. Hey, if nothing else,
Schroeder LOOKED like a QB (and this in the beginning of the era in the
NFL when LOOKING like a QB meant more than anything - Doug Flutie can
tell you what a crock that is) and since the Skins had Joe Theismann
deeply entrenched as their starter, Schroeder and his big arm could be
kept on the scout team without having his flaws and inexperience
exposed. Well, that was the plan, anyway.
The best laid plans. Along
came Lawrence Taylor to cripple that evil midget and the Jay Schroeder
era began in D.C., where he filled in admirably for Theismann in the
rest of his rookie season, throwing for over 1400 yards in 9 games; yet
the Skins still missed the playoffs all the same.
Then out of nowhere, Schroeder -
thanks to the genius of Joe Gibbs - plays out of his head in his
sophomore season; throwing for over 4100 yards (with 22 TD's and 22
INT's as a harbinger of things to come) and leading the Skins to a wild
card berth. A beat-down by the fabled '86 Giants defense in the
NFC title game cast a bit of a pall on the season but, hey, the Skins
found their QB of the future. Things could only go up from there,
right?
Sure. If by QB of the future
you mean the Skins signed Doug Williams in the offseason to be their QB
of the immediate future and a kid named Mark Rypien was in the fold to
be their QB of the sorta longer-term future, then yeah. And
EVERYTHING WAS on the ups for the Skins - after an injury cut
Schroeder's 1987 season short, Williams lead the Skins to a Super Bowl
win.
And then it gets ugly - for me,
anyway.
The Skins were content with
Williams and the future of Rypien so they needed to find a sucker for
Schroeder. A sucker. A sucker. Hmm, where to find a
sucker?
*Sigh*
Al Davis, as always, intoxicated
by big-armed QB's (even though the Raiders had just hired Mike Shanahan
as head coach to bring in the West Coast offense where big armed QB's
are unnecessary. Sooooo much hate.), decides that trading
perennial Pro Bowl OT, Jim Lachey - whom the Raiders had just stolen
from San Diego a year pervious - for Schroeder is a GOOD ideal.
Oh, and who REALLY wants to give that Steve Beuerlein kid a shot?
Feh. Yeah, that Beuerlein guy could NEVER be any good.
Grr. Must not swear. Must not swear.
Ahh, the Jay Schroeder era in
Oak...err, L-ugh. - aww, fudge it! Schroeder's Raider-era
was...well...thankfully, at first, the Raiders had a hellacious running
game with Marcus Allen (when Al would let him play - Grrr.) and Bo
Jackson (when Bo wasn't fooling around with baseball - Grrr.) so the
interceptions and fumbles were...well, lets just say that I only wanted
Schroeder horribly crippled, not killed in '88-89. But
considering the way ALL of the team underperformed under the super
genius of Mike Shanahan, who can blame the QB entirely?
So, OK. Wait! My pain
gets better!
Schroeder stays healthy in 1990
and the Raiders play their butts off for Art Shell - who, for some
God-unknown reason, is not the Raiders head coach today! Stupid
Al! - and everything goes dandy and I am an ecstatic and annoying
college freshman thinking the Raiders maybe...maybe...Grr. Then
Bo Jackson gets crippled by the Bengals (Eat the curse, Bengals!
Eat the Curse of Bo!) in the AFC divisional playoffs and Jay Schroeder
lays the groundwork for how the Kerry Collins-era will be in the AFC
title game as the Readers are annihilated by the frickin' detestable
Buffalo F-- ....Cannot curse! Cannot curse!
Oh, wait! But my pain gets
better! Revel in the pain that took much liquor to dull!
So, Al gets a wild hair up his
wrinkly and leathery-as-his-gangsta-track-suits old butt that, you
know, maybe a junkie QB is the answer! (Oh, I know I'm gonna
punch a wall here soon.) So - Grrrrr! - the Raiders, fresh off
major embarrassment in the '90 AFC title game when our boy, Jay
Schroeder, reminded the world that he was Jay Schroeder after all,
drafts - ARRGH!!! - Todd Frickin' Marinovich.
'Scuse me while I go kick
something.
Ahh, better. Those bones
will heal eventually.
Anyway, the next two years
Schroeder spends in Oak...err, L.-ugh...with the Raiders are full of
interceptions and fumbles and disappointment and getting jerked around
in favor by FRANCHISE SAVIOR~! Todd Marinovich.
(And of course, to make me hate
life even more, the Redskins win the Super Bowl with Jim Lachey, but I
won't mention that because it will just make me
hate...even....more...Grr!)
So come the '92 offseason, with
PRIZE FA QB Jeff Hostetler out there for the Raiders (Yeah, I'll have
to drink heavily to rid myself of all this pain coming back at
me. Stupid Al! Stupid crappy Raiders QB's!) and Todd
Marinovich trying to QB when not hanging out in the Cobain/Love
household, Schroeder was allowed to fly free to Cincy (where he did as
well as any QB could possibly do for the '93 Bengals) and Arizona
(ditto), before retiring after the '94 season.
Yeah, so...yeah. That's the
Jay Schroeder story - and of course the story of how I grew to hate
football in the early-90's - without any F-bombs. A minor
miracle, really.
On the bright side, I assume I can
just recycle this in ten years replacing "Jay Schroeder" with "Kerry
Collins" if I'm not on a shooting spree at that point.
Stupid football! Stupid
Al! Stupid crappy Raiders QB's!