MEDIA
Superhero Stance
2005-12-28 13:07:46
By Jim Taylor
Understand, now: what Geroy Simon does in the end zone is not a dance. It's more of a stance, a now-you-see-it, now-you-don't freeze frame that, without a word being uttered, tells another poor defensive back that his butt has just been hung out to dry.
Which sets him apart from the other twitching, cavorting, trash-talking Arthur Murray rejects currently cluttering up CFL end zones.
Let us put these routines into perspective.
Say your job involves, oh, running a jackhammer. When you break through that chunk of concrete do you drop the drill, call in the rest of the crew and burst into the boogaloo? In 30-some years of writing a sports page column, I do not recall high-fiving the deskman because I found just the right adjective. It was my job, something I'd been hired to do. If I didn't do it reasonably often, they'd find someone who could.
But football players who are paid to get the ball into the end zone feel that the occasion is not complete until they have gathered around the scorer, swapped high-and-low-fives, gone airborne and bumped chests, done a step-and-glide routine that would have gotten them thrown off American Bandstand, or rolled on the turf in a group fit. “Look at me! I did what they're paying me to do! Hi, Mom!&rdquo
I know where it started – in the ‘70s, with an all-star Bombers' and Roughriders' cornerback named Paul Williams. Whenever he ran an interception into the end zone he would plant both feet and do what became known as the Williams Wiggle, his entire body twitching as he shimmied like your sister Kate. Quick, colorful – and solo. Today, everybody joins in like the Rockettes on steroids.
Which is why we all owe a debt of thanks to Jaden Simon, age four, who is in some ways the choreographer of his Daddy's signature move.
You see, there was a time, as a Winnipeg Blue Bomber, when Geroy was one of Them. As a member of the receiving corps, he had little choice but to become part of the dance routine concocted by Milt Stegall, a wonderfully gifted receiver who clearly knew as much about choreography as earthworms knew about tractor pulls. Until, in a fateful battle with Montreal, the Alouettes reacted violently to the Bomber celebrations, and in the ensuing dust-up, Stegall got thrown out of the game.
Geroy decided it was time to go solo.
At first, he'd punctuate a big catch by throwing the ball into the air. Referees did not take kindly that. Taunting penalties could follow, even though Geroy insisted he wasn't diss-ing anyone, just celebrating. Clearly, he needed something new. And there, sitting in front of the TV set, spurning Barney and his mob in favor of super-heroes like Batman and Superman and the Power Rangers, sat Jaden, all of two years old at the time.
Watching with him, Geroy noticed how really cool Superman or the Power Rangers looked, striking those heroic postures just after they'd subdued the villains, hands on hips, jaws in full jut.
Just like that, Geroy had found his thing.
He didn't have to dance, or throw the ball. He could celebrate standing still. And The Stance was born: Put the hands on the hips or cross them on the chest, drop one hip a little, lean back a tad, and cock the head in that oh-my-look-what-I-just-did grin. Then trot to the sidelines, message delivered. No showing off, no antagonizing opponents, and no taunting penalties. Hiccup-quick, distinctive, and over.
There is, of course, the Superhero ingredient, Captain Marvel's “Shazam!&rdquo or Spidey's sticky fingers: raw, unfettered talent. Get into the end zone once or twice, you could stand on your head and who'd notice? Do it 27 times, as Geroy has done in the last two seasons, add the Superhero strut, and you've got yourself a signature.
And nobody has to boogaloo.
Understand, now: what Geroy Simon does in the end zone is not a dance. It's more of a stance, a now-you-see-it, now-you-don't freeze frame that, without a word being uttered, tells another poor defensive back that his butt has just been hung out to dry.
Which sets him apart from the other twitching, cavorting, trash-talking Arthur Murray rejects currently cluttering up CFL end zones.
Let us put these routines into perspective.
Say your job involves, oh, running a jackhammer. When you break through that chunk of concrete do you drop the drill, call in the rest of the crew and burst into the boogaloo? In 30-some years of writing a sports page column, I do not recall high-fiving the deskman because I found just the right adjective. It was my job, something I'd been hired to do. If I didn't do it reasonably often, they'd find someone who could.
But football players who are paid to get the ball into the end zone feel that the occasion is not complete until they have gathered around the scorer, swapped high-and-low-fives, gone airborne and bumped chests, done a step-and-glide routine that would have gotten them thrown off American Bandstand, or rolled on the turf in a group fit. “Look at me! I did what they're paying me to do! Hi, Mom!&rdquo
I know where it started – in the ‘70s, with an all-star Bombers' and Roughriders' cornerback named Paul Williams. Whenever he ran an interception into the end zone he would plant both feet and do what became known as the Williams Wiggle, his entire body twitching as he shimmied like your sister Kate. Quick, colorful – and solo. Today, everybody joins in like the Rockettes on steroids.
Which is why we all owe a debt of thanks to Jaden Simon, age four, who is in some ways the choreographer of his Daddy's signature move.
You see, there was a time, as a Winnipeg Blue Bomber, when Geroy was one of Them. As a member of the receiving corps, he had little choice but to become part of the dance routine concocted by Milt Stegall, a wonderfully gifted receiver who clearly knew as much about choreography as earthworms knew about tractor pulls. Until, in a fateful battle with Montreal, the Alouettes reacted violently to the Bomber celebrations, and in the ensuing dust-up, Stegall got thrown out of the game.
Geroy decided it was time to go solo.
At first, he'd punctuate a big catch by throwing the ball into the air. Referees did not take kindly that. Taunting penalties could follow, even though Geroy insisted he wasn't diss-ing anyone, just celebrating. Clearly, he needed something new. And there, sitting in front of the TV set, spurning Barney and his mob in favor of super-heroes like Batman and Superman and the Power Rangers, sat Jaden, all of two years old at the time.
Watching with him, Geroy noticed how really cool Superman or the Power Rangers looked, striking those heroic postures just after they'd subdued the villains, hands on hips, jaws in full jut.
Just like that, Geroy had found his thing.
He didn't have to dance, or throw the ball. He could celebrate standing still. And The Stance was born: Put the hands on the hips or cross them on the chest, drop one hip a little, lean back a tad, and cock the head in that oh-my-look-what-I-just-did grin. Then trot to the sidelines, message delivered. No showing off, no antagonizing opponents, and no taunting penalties. Hiccup-quick, distinctive, and over.
There is, of course, the Superhero ingredient, Captain Marvel's “Shazam!&rdquo or Spidey's sticky fingers: raw, unfettered talent. Get into the end zone once or twice, you could stand on your head and who'd notice? Do it 27 times, as Geroy has done in the last two seasons, add the Superhero strut, and you've got yourself a signature.
And nobody has to boogaloo.
