Watters' debut - 'for who, for what' - is a big disgrace

It was as though someone had written on a blackboard all the things a professional athlete shouldn't do and all the things he shouldn't say, and then Ricky Watters defiantly stood up and did them and said them, every last regrettable, stupid, self-absorbed one of them.

It was the most graceless, clueless, classless debut by a professional athlete in Philadelphia in memory.

In the Eagles' season opener - a sullen 21-6 loss to the Tampa Bay Buccaneers at Veterans Stadium yesteday - Watters, the running back who has yet to prove he is nearly as wonderful as he believes he is, blatantly shied away from collisions on the field, threw telephone tantrums on the bench, and then committed the most grievous sins of all afterward.

First he whined about the fans, and then he blamed his quarterback, and finally, with supreme arrogance, he wondered why anyone could possibly think he should take a hit.

In response to the question of why he didn't try to reach a pass aimed his way over the middle and then pulled up to a dead stop when he saw a defensive back coming at him, Watters offered up the following quote, one that should be in every manual given to rookies, one that could be engraved on his own tombstone:

"Hey, I'm not going to trip up there and get knocked out. For who? For what? "

Well, at least five reasons spring immediately to mind:

For your teammates.

For your coaches.

For your fans.

For your own self-respect.

And for your enormous paycheck.

Probably, there are some others.

Of all the stadiums in all the cities in all the leagues, Ricky Watters could not have picked a worse place to do what he did, to say what he said.

Philly will fry him now.

This is a town that adores effort and will hand its heart to those who spill their entrails trying. But it is also a town that is without pity once it sniffs out a fraud. Cheat the fans here and you'd better run like a scalded dog, which is what Ricky Watters did at game's end.

When the clock hit all zeroes, he was the first one sprinting up the tunnel, leaving the rest of his team to take what vituperation the remnants of a sullen crowd had to offer.

Lamentably, Randall Cunningham, who actually had played quite well, took a beer shower from some of the nitwits. Their disgruntlement was understandable, but they were picking on the wrong man, even though Watters complained that the pass on which he bailed out had been thrown much too late.

Ricky Watters has a bigger mess on his hands now than that odiferous mess the Eagles laid on the new Vet carpet.

He moaned about how, of all things, the Eagles fans were "too loud. "

Excuse me. Isn't that precisely what football players yearn for - passion

from their people? Well, yes, but not when the Eagles have the ball, Watters amended.

Ricky, Ricky, Ricky. If you thought yesterday was loud, wait until the next home game. From the time you are introduced through every handoff to you, every pass aimed at you, the too-loud fans will be in full, lusty throat, your name spilling in foaming frenzy from their lips.

There is one possible way out. In the interim, Watters would be well-served to offer up a sincere apology and a heartfelt mea culpa. And then, on Sunday night in Arizona, he should put out about a four-concussion effort. And then, maybe, he can get back into good graces.

Otherwise, his will be the shortest honeymoon ever in a town notorious for romances that end almost before they begin.

Watters' rationale for not trying, for not diving for a ball, for stopping short, both arms up in what looked like fright, was this: "I mean, there is another day. I'm going to make a whole lot of plays here. I made a whole lot of plays where I was at before (with San Francisco). I've always made plays. "

Well, he didn't make any yesterday. He ran 17 times for a scuffling and undistinguished 37 yards. He made five receptions for 34 more. He fumbled the ball twice, losing it to Tampa Bay once.

Given his price tag ($3.6 million this season) and his running mouth and his pregame strutabout, during which he shamelessly played to the fans, asking them for noise - well, by the third quarter, the people in the seats were less than enthralled with the new running back.

At that point in the game, running behind an offensive line whose performance admittedly was wretched at best, Watters had 20 yards on 14 runs. He was taken out, and Charlie Garner was inserted. The crowd booed Watters, cheered Garner. Garner gained 23 yards in five carries.

Watters reacted petulantly.

"I'm an emotional guy," he said, which is fine. Football is a game of emotion. But his actions - and words - suggest an egoist whose every thought is self-directed.

Before Ricky Watters got around to hanging himself with his own tongue, Ray Rhodes was asked about the obvious lack of effort by certain of his players. Typically, the new coach did not shy away.

"Guys have to step up and make plays, even if it involves taking a lick," he said.

And then, pointedly, added: "I know what you're referring to. "

The whole stadium knew what the question referred to. Watters had clearly dogged it on one pass to him, and then, in the game's final minutes, not only had quit going for a ball but had all but made his shoes smoke when he slammed on the brakes at the sight of cornerback Charles Dimry bearing down on him.

You and I would have done the same thing. But we don't play football for a living. We won't get $6.9 million over the next three seasons.

Ricky Watters is not a coward. You can't lack for courage and play in the National Football League. He is an undeniable talent. But he allowed his mouth to overload the rest of his anatomy by braying about all that he would do now that he was on a team with which he would be the man.

And now his initial performance was not even pedestrian.

The West Coast offense, of which we had heard so much and had such high expectations, looked tepid and ineffectual. Iggles loyalists were frustrated.

And to compound matters, Watters' lack of effort on a few plays was shameful and committed in full view.

This was more than just a loss - a bad loss - in a new regime's debut. Watters has managed to alienate a town. It gets the season off to a foreboding start.

Asked about the crowd's booing of him, Watters had the audacity to say: "I don't care about the crowd. "

And that's even worse than the loss.