By IAN O'CONNOR
The (Westchester, N.Y.) Journal News

SAN DIEGO - Sorry, but I can no longer effectively serve as an official enabler of Keyshawn Johnson. I have a problem with him, and so I must have a problem with myself. Given my considerable flaws, I hereby resign my post as executive vice president in charge of shameless apologizing for a wide receiver who hinted he might retire in three years.

Funny, but I thought he retired three years ago.

If I used to be the biggest Keyshawn Johnson guy going, hey, I used to be a big Ross Perot guy, too. Things change. Eyes open. Reality hits from the weak side.

One day you're writing breathless Keyshawn Johnson-good, rest-of-world-bad editorials, and the next you're locked inside a frightening funk at the Super Bowl, wondering if you can pick Pete Rose's brain on how one takes it all back.

Johnson has forever had championship visions dancing in his head, and 10 bare fingers to show for it. At every turn, he's blamed his failed quest for a ring on coaches, coordinators, systems, quarterbacks and fellow receivers.

He makes a good politician, and John Robinson did say his former Trojan could someday be mayor of Los Angeles.

For some reason, I elected him pope first.

But there's no more bowing to this false god. Did you hear what he said about Andre Reed, the Buffalo receiver who played in four Super Bowl losses? Great guy, dear friend, love him to death, said Johnson, who's seen three fewer Super Bowls than Reed. "But I don't want to be him."

Beautiful. And did you catch what he said about Jacquez Green and Karl Williams-Reidel Anthony and their contributions to bygone playoff losses to the Eagles? "God bless them, they are my friends and everything," Johnson said. "But they just didn't give us a whole lot."

With friends like Keyshawn Johnson, who needs Al Davis?

Now I'm sure Johnson has delivered an endless supply of big plays for Tampa Bay across the last three seasons; it's just that none comes to mind. Oh, that's right, he did score in the NFC title game. His first playoff touchdown as a Buc, his third as a pro.

Johnson also managed a whopping six touchdowns in the last two regular seasons. For the No. 1 pick in the draft, it's not bad work if you can get it.

This isn't to say Johnson's been Ryan Leaf. Though he's only had one season of at least 100 catches, Keyshawn has averaged more than 1,000 receiving yards per year. And nobody would look sideways at his career if he didn't lead the league in half-baked excuses and self-serving rants.

But he hasn't just sacrificed Reed and Tampa Bay teammates this week in pursuit of a higher place in America's consciousness. Johnson has blamed Bill Parcells for blowing the Jets' playoff bid in '99 by neglecting to play Ray Lucas, of all people, before it was too late, and he has defended his indefensible choice to attend his one-man mini-camps in California while the rest of the Bucs gathered in Tampa, you know, like a real team.

Johnson has also tried to convince everyone that his second-tier stats speak to virtues, not vices. "A lot of people think catching a football's your job," he said.

Now where would anyone get that impression of a wide receiver?

"From the numbers standpoint," Johnson said, "to most of the media that is what makes...the player, the player who has 100 catches, 14 touchdowns and 1,900 yards. But most of the time they are all at home. None of those guys are in the Super Bowls."

One question: Isn't Jerry Rice, the most prolific receiver of all time, about to play in his fourth Super Bowl?

"In my career, I've never played in a wide-open attack," Johnson explained. "I've never played for the Rams. It's always been two backs, two wide receivers, run left, run right, throw a slant to Keyshawn. I've always been in that offense where a guy has 80 catches, 1,200 yards, seven touchdowns."

Yep, and Keyshawn's been that guy. He's a great blocker. A great competitor. A great target over the middle.

But he's not a great player. He's a very good player who hasn't honored his own advance billing.

Johnson said this the day he was drafted: "I hope to be like Jerry (Rice), Michael (Irvin) and Herman (Moore). All three of them put together."

Johnson said this the following summer: "With my leaping ability, height and aggression, I'm still like a Michael Irvin or a Herman Moore. With the way I can run after the catch, I'm like a Jerry Rice. I'm not the fastest receiver. I run the 40 around 4.5 on the clock, but maybe it's 3.9 in the game. I've never been caught from behind."

His team had just finished 1-15.

Johnson ripped away in his book, "Just Give Me The Damn Ball," slicing and dicing some who deserved it and some who didn't. This was the start of an unsettling trend. If Johnson wasn't complaining about Wayne Chrebet's role with the Jets, he was complaining about his own role with the Bucs.

He punctuated last year's loss in Philadelphia with an attack on unnamed loudmouths who play smaller than their words (presumably Warren Sapp, not himself), and then - with Tony Dungy's headset still warm - he announced that Bill Parcells would stand for no such bunk.

Whatever. On Sunday, Johnson squares off against Rice, Tim Brown and Jerry Porter, and the notion that the Jets robbed the Bucs when they exchanged Johnson for two first-round picks and a shot to land Chad Pennington.

There's no excuses left. Keenan McCardell and Joe Jurevicius are complementary upgrades, and Oakland has a platoon of one-legged men in the secondary.

So Keyshawn Johnson should beat the Raiders before he joins them. He should make a huge Super Bowl play, a Jerry Rice or Lynn Swann play, against the team of his childhood dreams. This former Coliseum car parker should drive a truck straight through Al Davis' world.

If he manages all that, I might even reconsider my resignation. But then again, why would Keyshawn Johnson want any enabler who judges a No. 1 pick on passes caught and touchdowns scored?

Return to Bengals front page...