September 25, 2003
A Tale of Two Davids
by Ric Sweeney
HoustonProFootball.com
On Sunday, as Shaunard Harts raced by him, I could have sworn I saw on David Carr’s face something I’ve yet to notice in his 19 games as a starter: despair. Which troubled me, because it came on the heels of last week’s Saint game, when I noticed something else I’d never seen from Carr: pain.
And it brought to mind the story of David Klingler’s demise. It’s a tale that may sound eerily familiar.
In 1991, John Jenkins and the University of Houston Cougars were riding the arm of Klinger, who, as a junior, had rewritten virtually every passing record imaginable. He had actually thrown for 732 yards in a single game. In fact, Klingler was so prolific, it was easier to keep track of the records he wasn’t breaking. But as a senior, he was stuck behind an inexperienced offensive line and well, he had thrown for 732 yards in one game… When you do that, you have a tendency to become a marked man and Klingler was battered his final season by defenses that had previously been burned by the pass happy run-n-shoot.
It seemed to culminate in a visit to College Station to face what was then a feared cadre of hard-hitting linebackers, led by guys like Quentin Coryett. I was there, and the hits Klingler had to endure that afternoon still rattle my brain. It was excruciating, more painful than finding out your friends took advantage of your open tab at the strip club. Snap after snap, Klingler was hit, again and again. And these were the kind of hits that made you turn to your buddy and wince; they were so furious, you actually expressed relief it was some other guy, and not you, on the receiving end.
After each and every smack, Klingler picked himself up off the turf, dragged his battered body back to the huddle and did it all over again. And it earned my respect. I was certain I was in the presence of the next great NFL quarterback. Andre Ware had been a product of the system; Klingler was the real deal. I told everyone I knew to keep an eye on him. How could someone who could endure so much not be mentally and physically ready for the NFL?
I’m sensing now would be a good time to mention that I spent much of 1989 loading up on Gerald Young rookie cards…
In my defense, several NFL scouts saw the same thing and the Bengals, who may or may not actually employ scouts, liked Klingler enough to trade up and make him the sixth overall selection in the 1992 draft. But Klingler was a decidedly different quarterback by the time he ended his holdout and reported to Bengal camp. His tumultuous senior season had taken a toll, though no one knew it.
Upon arrival, he was thrust into the position of having to replace a popular, and still productive, Boomer Easiason, and asked to do so behind a line that wasn’t appreciably better than the line he had toiled behind the year before.
It wasn’t pretty. He was sacked 83 times in 33 games as a Bengal, chump change for Texan fans, but a staggering number, nonetheless. He also lost. A lot. Not just games, either – though he certainly did that, the team going 18-46 in his tenure – something else: his swagger. The gunslinger from Texas was soon shooting blanks, and the failure began to take its toll. Fast forward a decade, and Klingler’s the poster child for Cincinnati’s ineptness – they can’t draft, the can’t develop talent, they can’t win. He’s the reason many didn’t want Carson Palmer anywhere near Ohio.
And that’s too bad because Klingler really was a great quarterback, with tools to spare. But the hits began to whack away at his confidence, the losing his psyche. Toss in an ailing elbow and a steady rotation of offensive systems, none of them containing “run” or “shoot” in their title, and you had the foundation of a gigantic bust.
Twelve years later, and that Saturday afternoon in College Station jumped feet first into my head Sunday afternoon while watching Carr try and do battle long after the battle had been decided. And you wonder…
You wonder if the pounding and the losing Carr’s endured thus far has started to add up. You wonder why the Texans think it’s so important to expose him to so much of it, week in and week out. And you wonder what effect this is all going to eventually have on the kid.
Should he really be on the field when the game gets out of reach? I suppose you could argue pulling him implies the losing is his fault, and that doing so might shatter his confidence, but then you have to wonder if Carr has any confidence left to shatter.
I’m not about to say the Texans have been wrong in the way they’ve handled Carr… I mean, what do I know about nurturing a quarterback, I still haven’t housebroken my six-year old cats. But I know that there’s no way I could ever put up with what the team has asked Carr to put up with and I find it hard to believe, despite his loving wife and wonderful support system and all the other ya ya’s you hear about each and every week, that it’s not taking some toll on the guy.
And that’s not to imply he’s weak, or any such nonsense, but instead, human. How can it not be getting to him? For it not to impact him would be inhuman, in my opinion.
Being able to endure more hits than Snoop Dogg’s bong is commendable, but we’re supposed to believe, ultimately, that it’s not harmful?
I watched David Klingler go through a similar experience and never quite recover. Here’s hoping the Texans know what they’re doing with the cornerstone of their franchise and aren’t jeopardizing his, or the team’s, future.
Ric Sweeney also has a shoe box full of Cameron Drew, Chuck Jackson, Ty Gainey, Eric Anthony and Scott Elarton rookies, if anyone’s interested.