Say Goodbye to Fading Stars

I WAS AWAKENED several nights ago by the slow collapse of one of my posters as my Harvard-issue poster gum once again displayed its worth. The poster, entitled "Don't I Know You," features Bo Jackson in a series of athletic outfits. There is Bo, the former Kansas City Royal, brandishing a bat with those massive arms. Several Bos down, there is LeBo, star of the Montreal Canadiens, with skates half-laced and (according to my Canadian roommate, who should know) holding his stick the wrong way.

But his form with the hockey stick doesn't really matter, because everybody knows that if he really wanted to, Bo could master ice hockey as easily as he has football, baseball and track.

That is, the old Bo Jackson could have done it. Today's Bo, like that poster on my floor, has fallen and can't get up. It's sad enough that Bo is basically finished as an athlete. What is even sadder is that he is still hoping to make a comeback with the aid of an artificial hip. While concern should properly be focused on whether the man will ever be able to walk normally again, both Bo and the Chicago White Sox (his present employer) seem to be most preoccupied with arranging a waiver ruse so that they can keep him on the payroll at a reduced salary.

So it goes today in the world of sports. Like Bo, so many aging and/or ailing athletes don't know when to say when.

THERE are two reasons why athletes tend to overstay their welcomes in the athletic arena. First, athletes have a tremendous desire to feed their egos and their bank accounts. Often when teammates, coaches and agents agree that retirement is the best option, athletes try to hang on. "Given a full year of good health," they reason, "I should be able to win the MVP." Having been told for so long that they are God's greatest gift to the sport, aging jocks may find it hard to believe that a new generation is coming to the fore.

Even if they do realize that their skills have deteriorated, they may stick around just to pick up paychecks. In this era of multimillion-dollar salaries and endorsement deals, it is still not uncommon to find the poorly invested player who leaves the game with little more than he had when he came in. Either he's in serious financial straits or he just wants to father his nest a bit more.

Consider the case of Sugar Ray Leonard. He first retired from the ring with considerable wealth and the accolades of ring pundits the world over. His fights with Roberto Duran and Thomas Hearns assured him a place in the pantheon of boxing legends.

Yet like so many of the greats, he could not get used to the relative obscurity that goes along with the title of "former" welterweight champion of the world. So he returned to the ring, each time losing respect as well as the fluid motion and lightning quickness that made him as sweet as sugar. Terry Norris, the man who brought about Leonard's last retirement, showed that the sugar sweet jabs of the former Olympic golden boy had slowed to the speed of molasses in December.

AND REGARDLESS of an athlete's desire to leave or remain in his profession, the pressure brought to bear by the fans and the media make it seem almost as if he should play until he gets carried out of the stadium or arena on a stretcher. A perfect example exists right here in Boston. His name is Larry Bird.

Sure, Bird recently scored 49 points against the brainless Portland Trailblazers. But performances like this--even strings of them--do not mean that Bird has tapped into the fountain of youth. Given his otherworldly skills, such a game against a team like Portland is not out of the question. What is most important is the impact that the last two or three years of Bird's career will have upon the rest of his life.

By cheering on number 33 to produce more Herculean efforts, are we at the same time assuring him of a post-retirement lifestyle marked by walking canes and recurrent back operations?

As hard as it is to say goodbye to our sports heroes, we fans should provide a gentle nudge into retirement if they linger too long. After all of the tremendous performances turned in by Bird over the years, it seems almost barbaric to place the burden of carrying a team upon an aging star in what seems to be a futile quest for another world championship. Give the guy a break and accept the fact that the Celtics are definitely headed for the netherworld of mediocre teams who win most of their games at home and lose most on the road.

MANAGEMENT needs to respond by making the difficult decision to release stars who are past their prime should they refuse to accept a backup role. For example, the San Francisco 49ers should dump Joe Montana before the beginning of the season and put the job up for grabs between Steve Bono and Steve Young. Montana, like Bird, may lead the team to one more incredible season if he can stay healthy. But he has already taken so much pounding that one good shot from a Charles Mann or Reggie White could put him on the shelf for good.

It only makes sense to give a capable reserve the opportunity to replace an aging star if any team wishes to maintain a high level of performance. There may be problems in the initial transition, but those are better than the problems that result from having to overhaul an entire team, like the Dallas Cowboys and Pittsburgh Steelers have had to do.

GERIATRIC SUPERSTARS should all take a cue from Walter Payton, a good example of the right way to end a career. When your skills start to abandon you, call it a career, tool around the neighborhood in your Lambourghini and let the world remember you as the truly gifted performer you were. These guys should realize that they are ruining the image they created in their youth. The Muhammad Ali of today is not the Ali of the '70s.

No one likes to see the Dr. J who could not hit a jumper to save his life, the Larry Bird who scores 49 points one night and 7 the next, the Jim Palmer who could not strike out a spring training scrub or the Franco Harris who ended his career rather inauspiciously in Seattle, far away from his