PSYCHOLOGY: When it's time to say goodbye

Playing tennis at St. Bonaventure University, one of my biggest off-court memories, while still staying involved in athletics, was talking to the men's basketball coach.

He told me that one of the biggest things in athletics is also one of the more underrated things. It's the ability to know when your career is over and real life hits. It's the ability to effectively move into your second life.

Knowing when to leave a sport can be a powerful tool for those wanting to leave their legacy intact, or if anything, enhance it. Some athletes have had the knack for leaving at the right moment, keeping their reputations shining like 24-carat gold.

Some hang on, leaving us to write a career epitath that ends, "He was great, but..." They can't let go of what they think they are. They are athletes, yes, but more importantly they are human beings. But they get the two mixed up, putting the athlete before the individual self.

Joe DiMaggio left the right way, with the right reasons. "I don't want them to remember me struggling," he said of his fans. Michael Jordan, despite the recent misguided speculation, also ended his career the right way: The portrait of him standing at the foul line, watching a shot go in to win a sixth NBA title.

Muhammed Ali, instead of leaving after his third fight with Joe Frazier, stayed in the ring until 1980, finishing with an uninspired loss to Larry Holmes, a shell of his championships self. Willie Mays, one of the greats in baseball, made a number of errors in his final World Series as an over-40 outfielder with the Mets.

The decision to stop is one that requires courage and conviction. It requires the ability to recognize one's legacy, one's aura, and say three words that seem harder than any other: "It's all over."

That's why Troy Aikman should retire. That's why Evander Holyfield should retire. That's why they should say it's over, take the athletic torch and apply it to their personal lives. To keep their reputations intact.

Aikman, waived by the Dallas Cowboys. A quarterback that has grown synomonous with concussions, the repeated blank look while walking off the field, waiting for the smelling salts.

Along with Emmitt Smith and Michael Irvin, Aikman made the Dallas Cowboys. He was the team's perfect image, the integrity that flourished on the national stage. He was the shining beacon on the team throughout its various off-field problems, always the team spokesperson, always the ideal United Way spokesman.

Here it comes. "But..." But Aikman has not played on a contending team since when? But Aikman, now, has not proven to be able to lift subpar talent than what he was surrounded with in the mid-1990s.

There is a family to concern himself with. That is not a cop out, that is not an excuse. That is a factor. Last year, despite feeling that he could play and being cleared by doctors, Steve Young retired. In doing so, he walked away with a clear head and his body intact. He spared himself any further damage. Who knows what the next hit will bring for Aikman?

Holyfield's sport is all about taking hits. He is the finest warrior in the heavyweight division since the halycon days of Ali and Frazier. He took on Riddick Bowe three times, each of them a fight of the highest quality. He beat Mike Tyson twice. He won the heavyweight title three times.

He's also done. He's finished. Holyfield has survived a match against Lennox Lewis he should have lost, a loss to Lewis in a rematch, then repeated the same occassion with John Ruiz.

Who? John Ruiz. A guy that, even three years ago, Holyfield would have chewed up as a practice partner. Holyfield has become the heavyweight version of Julio Cesar Chavez, holding onto stubborn pride, continually beaten in the ring by a conga line of no-names.

For an athlete, just as valuable an asset is not just talent, but knowing the situation and rising to the occassion. It makes the great ones. It makes the champions who they are, it makes for great drama, it makes for classics.

Knowing the situation also requires the strength to know when it's over. Ego has helped and elevated many a great talent. It has also contributed to just as many a depressing epilogue.

You go back to DiMaggio's comment about retirement, about not wanting his fans to see him struggling. Last year, we did not see the real Troy Aikman. Two weeks ago in Las Vegas, we did not see the real Evander Holyfield.

The catchphrase is to keep it real. The real Aikman is the Super Bowl quarterback who led America's Team. The real Holyfield is the heavyweight champ who was invincible to the most savage of ring opponents.

The Aikman and Holyfield we see, in the athletic arena, aren't real anymore. That's why they should go. Because it has stopped being real.