Dispatch
4/6
COMMENTARY
Ignore Clarett, and maybe he’ll go away
Thursday, April 06, 2006
MIKE HARDEN
Whether the archetypal heroes of our lives make their perch atop Olympus or are tumbling from its summit, we seem to speak of them in superlatives.
The night Ohio State running back Maurice Clarett helped the Buckeyes notch a national title, he was the greatest.
The day he was accused of a stickup behind a Columbus bar, he was the dumbest.
The one thing it appears we refuse to permit Clarett to be is old news.
Four days after he was a passenger in a car involved in a Youngstown fender bender, a Sportssection snippet recounting the incident was the best-read story on The Dispatch Web site.
Empires were in disarray, rogue nations were testing nuclear weapons, the prime of our youth were fighting a distant war, and Maurice was the top story.
Many of the Buckeye faithful view Clarett as they might an estranged spouse. The opposite of love is not hate but indifference. And watching Maurice in crisis creates the ambivalent sensation for some that is equivalent to seeing your ex-wife drive off a cliff in your BMW.
"It’s an attachment of ours to the hero," Columbus psychologist H. Lara Braxton said of our fascination with Clarett’s fall from grace. "Whenever a superhero fails, it seems, maybe, that life isn’t so bad for the average person."
Referring to playwright Arthur Miller’s flawed protagonist in Death of a Salesman, Braxton continued, "Maybe even a Willy Loman would feel some sense of pride in his own life if he had read about this young fallen hero.
"This is opera. Opera is tragedy taken to the highest level we can take it. When a man of such promise goes down in the manner that he did, there is intrigue about it, wonder."
Columbus psychologist Dennis Eshbaugh said of the Buckeye faithful, "We tend to idealize people, and we end up with a culture of idols."
Eshbaugh allowed that it is somewhat similar to the beginnings of a marriage.
"When you get married, you have very high expectations of a person and tend to have had very good experiences with them. When it doesn’t work out, there is nothing like the feeling that our trust in them and our future with them has been violated," he said.
"It is not as bad as divorce, but we do invest a lot of ourselves in Ohio State football."
Bill Long played quarterback for Ohio State from 1966 to 1968. "We all suffered from the hubris Maurice showed. All of us who played at that level experienced that problem to one degree or another," he said.
"I still remember strutting down High Street after beating Michigan at Ann Arbor in 1967. I was a little bit drunk, had a chip on my shoulder ’cause Woody had held me out the first four games, and I bumped into this guy on the sidewalk.
"I turned to take a swing and it was a guy who had gone out for football but couldn’t take Woody. He said, ‘Go home, Bill. You’re drunk.’
"My emotions are with Maurice Clarett. His ass wasn’t painted scarlet and gray and so he is divorced from us. I live in Upper Arlington and you should hear the vitriol there.
"People live through these (players), and they have ideas about the mold they ought to fit. We wanted Maurice Clarett to be the Maurice Clarett we wanted him to be."
Whatever Clarett’s part in our little opera — whether it be heroic, impetuous or, if allegations are true, felonious — the fat lady has sung.
Now can we all please go home?
Mike Harden is a Dispatch Metro columnist. He can be reached at 614-461-5215 or by e-mail.
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