Eddie DeBartolo (AP)
TWO OF A KIND: With the Ravens and 49ers about to clash in Super Bowl XLVII, the Post’s Mike Vaccaro looks back to the days of the former owners of the two teams — the late Art Modell (left) and Eddie DeBartolo (right) — who established a solid foundation for the two franchises. (AP (2))
NEW ORLEANS — It is a happy accident, these two names so close to each other on the Hall of Fame ballot, these two teams gathering at the Superdome to play each other in the Super Bowl. They were of different generations, Art Modell and Eddie DeBartolo. But they were of a similar mindset.
“Goodness,” former Ravens tight end and present CBS analyst Shannon Sharpe says, “did Art love his football team.”
“[DeBartolo] was the most dominant NFL owner ever,” former 49ers offensive lineman Randy Cross tweeted not long ago. “Only one with five rings.”
Their shadows loom, their influences remain. Both men wound up ceding control of their teams before they really wanted to, Modell because of finances and DeBartolo because of his involvement in the corruption case of former Louisiana governor Edwin Edwards. Surely, those things will be brought up in the room Saturday, when the Hall’s electors debate and determine who will comprise the Canton class of 2013.
None of those things, of course, will matter to the franchises, and the fans, for whom they invested so much. You may not want to bring this up around your Ohio friends, but for every Clevelander who still wants to spit at the mention of Modell’s name, there is a Baltimorean who believes Modell’s bust belongs with other local football luminaries such as Johnny Unitas, Gino Marchetti and Art Donovan.
When the Ravens take the field in five days, their uniforms will feature a patch with “ART” stenciled on it, as they have every Sunday since Modell passed away last Sept. 6.
DeBartolo?
“He is the greatest owner in professional sports history,” Ronnie Lott said not long ago. “Ask anyone who ever worked for him. They feel the same way.”
THIS was a dozen years ago, in the stands at Tampa’s Raymond James Stadium, and while Art Modell had vowed he wouldn’t spoil this first trip to the Super Bowl by defending himself against the angry backlash of history, he couldn’t help himself.
I asked if it saddened him that he would walk through eternity alongside Walter O’Malley.
“You see, you see?” he asked, grabbing my arm. “That’s what nobody understands. I grew up in Brooklyn! That man broke my heart! And as a fan I will never be able to forgive that, and I know how ironic that sounds.”
He shrugged.
“But as an owner … let’s just say I understand more now than I did in 1957.”
As an owner, Modell was one of the game’s last lions, a stage he once shared with the likes of Wellington Mara and Art Rooney and even Paul Brown, whom he famously fired as Browns coach in 1962. DeBartolo was 21 years younger, but in many ways his ownership reflected that old-school version of the NFL: paternalistic, parochial, perennial.
He may have been closer in age to Jerry Jones, Woody Johnson and Daniel Snyder, but that was a lie of birth certificates. Now, DeBartolo watches from afar as his nephew, Jed York, guides the Niners into a new millennium, as the team thrives under a coach, Jim Harbaugh, who reminds DeBartolo so much of Bill Walsh.
“I don’t think there’s any question they’re going to go and win the Super Bowl,” he told the Associated Press in the wake of the 49ers’ NFC Championship Game win at Atlanta. “I think they’re too good in every phase of the game.”
There’s one thing you know hurts him about that sentence, too.
They. Not we. Not anymore.
ONE of the staples of old NFL Films is the sight of DeBartolo, drenched with champagne, hugging every one of his players after a big win. Not just Joe Montana. Not just Roger Craig. Everyone. Modell was exactly the same.
“He made more of an effort to congratulate the special-teamers after a big win,” Sharpe says. “He wanted them to know how much they meant to him.”
They were of a time when the NFL wasn’t run out of board rooms, but living rooms. DeBartolo insisted his team travel first class, stay in five-star hotels. When the Ravens arrived at the Super Bowl in 2001, every day every member of the traveling party got a new gift: a sweatsuit, a camcorder, a DVD player.
Maybe those touches aren’t enough, in the end, to persuade voters of their cases for Canton. Which is probably as it should be. Both men would certainly prefer a win on Sunday night than Saturday afternoon anyway.