THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, April 19, 1995 TAG: 9504190572
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BOB MOLINARO
LENGTH: Medium: 67 lines
By saying goodbye to football in a downtown plaza before thousands of worshippers, Joe Montana reminded us how times have changed. When Ted Williams homered in his final at-bat, Red Sox fans failed to entice him out of the dugout for the simple reason, expressed so well by John Updike, that ``gods do not answer letters.''
Judging from Tuesday's tepid ceremony in San Francisco, Ted had the right idea.
No matter what the sport, mystery is preferable to the mundane.
From a distance, this televised benediction looked like an anti-climax - a well-covered nonstory.
Unlike Williams, Montana did not bow out with a bang. He isn't even retiring from the 49ers, but from the colorless Kansas City Chiefs.
Still, he looked young and healthy standing behind the microphone. All smiles, he made a good impression, as long as you didn't mind that he had nothing particularly interesting to say.
In any case, Montana's retirement ``party'' was far less smarmy than the made-for-television production of Michael Jordan hanging his jersey in the rafters. That one came with Kelsey Grammer, Woody Harrelson and Larry King. For Montana's swan song, the key props were cherished teammates, coaches and an owner.
Apparently, we have entered a new stage in American sports worship, one in which a great athlete's retirement is turned into a spectator sport.
Otherwise, Montana's departure is not unusual. Even a scrambling quarterback eventually gets sacked by the calendar.
Montana's arm was pretty well shot two years ago when he arrived in Kansas City. With the Chiefs, he operated on a residue of talent, but was good enough - even brilliant at times - to do no real harm to his image.
In that way, he bows out more like another Joe - DiMaggio - than, say, Johnny Unitas, who lingered too long on bad knees in an outpost called San Diego.
As great quarterbacks go, Montana's name stands alone for a generation that does not remember Unitas or Roger Staubach.
In tributes to Montana this week, football people say that nobody since Unitas has been as good at moving the ball in the last two minutes. But that overlooks John Elway, who has brought the Broncos back countless times.
What makes all the difference is that Elway doesn't own four Super Bowl rings. He hasn't played on one Denver team as good as most of the 49er editions led by Montana.
Present at the San Francisco love-in was Bill Walsh, and some of us will always link Montana with the former Niners coach. It was Walsh who installed the quick-rhythm, short-pass system that took advantage of 1978 rules changes aimed at helping the air game.
It is a wonderful scheme for which the nimble-footed Montana was ideally suited, and vice versa. How much of Montana's success was due to Walsh's innovations - and to the 49ers' superior organization - we can never know, but since replacing Joe in the Niners' system, Steve Young has piled up stats every bit as good, and better.
Montana's mystique remains, as do the memories of those four Super Bowl titles. He'll never be forgotten.
But the 49ers belong to Young now. When they won the Super Bowl this year, it cooled the Bay Area's obsession with the past.
In his breezy goodbye address, Montana said, ``It's time to move on.''
It would surprise no one if a lot of fans already have. by CNB