What’s more fearsome than living without opportunities?

Deacon Jones was found dead earlier this week. He was universally considered one of the best defensive linemen in the history of the NFL. He is credited with creating the term “sack” before it became an official stat two years after he was admitted to the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

Jones played at South Carolina State for three seasons before transferring to Mississippi Valley State for his final season of collegiate eligibility.

Despite being drafted in the 14th round of the NFL Draft, the Eatonville, Fla. native did OK for himself professionally. Throughout his football career, Jones was one of the pillars of a defensive unit called the Fearsome Foursome.

In athletics, if someone has talent, they will be spotted. This is especially true in football and baseball. Whether someone is from an isolated town in Middle-of-Nowhere, America, or the latest All-American, if they are talented some scout will “discover” them.

One question that has been asked in some HBCU circles is why black athletes prefer to attend schools that are more interested in their brawn than their brain. Clearly, it’s a question that is not discussed as much as the major issues plaguing collegiate sports, but one that has been discussed away from the mainstream.

For the last 40 years African-American athletes have been more likely to accept a scholarship from Alabama rather than Alabama A&M. Additional opportunities are a good thing. But, are those chances coming at a cost?

Of the 70 teams that played in a bowl game last year Notre Dame, Georgia, Rice and San Jose State were the only schools where the graduation rate of African-American football players was equal to or greater than the graduation rate for white players in the football program.

The curious case of another talented defensive end is a spectacular example. Taurean Charles was a high school All-American from Miami initially enrolled at the University of Florida in 2003. Charles got into trouble and was quickly dismissed from Florida’s football program. He made his way to Bethune-Cookman University, never fulfilling the potential many thought he had coming out of high school.

Bethune-Cookman would have loved to have an athlete of Charles’ caliber after a 2002 season where the Wildcats were 11-2 and won its conference for the first time in 14 years. However, Daytona Beach was seen as a step far below Gainesville in the realm of college football — despite the fact the two cities are 96 miles apart geographically.

Jones’s death, as well as the fact there has been a HBCU graduate on four out of the last six teams to win the Super Bowl, reaffirms the fact there is talent coming out of the colleges in Itta Bena, Miss.; Pine Bluff, Ark; Jackson, Tenn. and elsewhere.

Grambling has just as many alums in the Hall of Fame, four, as the University of Florida and Florida State combined. Jackson State and Oklahoma both have three former players enshrined in Canton.

Clearly, the Hall-of-Fame is the pinnacle of any profession. Whether someone attended Penn State or Prairie View A&M, they still must possess the talent to not only make the NFL, but thrive once there.

Deacon Jones’ humble beginnings, outstanding personality and football legacy illuminate what athletes, or anyone for that matter, can achieve once put in an environment that fosters their strengths — on and off the field.

How can a cucumber tell time?

For years wife and I have maintained our similarities, but with individual wrinkles. Her juicing infatuation in the mornings is the newest example. A combination of kale, carrot, apple, strawberry and cucumber go in the juicer for her breakfast. Stray strawberries and bananas go into the blender for my breakfast smoothie.

A recent trip to the local farmer’s market harkened back to a summer where a cucumber was the length between adulthood and adolescence.

It was 2002 and I was a packaging engineer at a grocery store. Scrawny and lacking self-awareness it was a period where the summer seemed endless.

On that steamy Florida evening the boy whistled a Beatles song. From Me To You was in his mind because it was on a relatively new compilation release. Upon hearing the lyrics, the cucumber-carrying colleague at the grocery store inquired about the lyrics.

“If there’s anything that you want,
If there’s anything I can do,
Just call on me and I’ll send it along…” 

The lyrics were just the opening she needed. Instantly, she quipped there was something she needed and I could provide it. The cucumber the coitus-seeking-cashier was twirling in her hands answered the question before her bespectacled brown eyes.

The boy’s joke about being able to answer the question and her desire received a woman’s response. A raised eyebrow and a lustful look were enough to unnerve the lanky wiseass.

She was 10 years older. A combination of being older, with money and interested in my comings and goings made her seem exotic to someone who had no responsibilities other than saving spending money for college. 

She drove a brown Ford. It was probably a Taurus, but his memory evades him. The open ended invitation was too much for his synapses to compute while coolly strolling to his car. Sensing his insecurity, she said the cucumber would suffice.

At the time the cashier was 27. It was an age that seemed beyond imaginable and well into the future. Four weeks before my wife’s 27th birthday, the case of the curious cucumber arose again.

Wife’s eyes didn’t bulge at the sight of the massive cucumber at the market. To her, it was going to make a lot of juice — the type that was far from the tongue of a teenager a decade ago. Throughout the years the cucumber remained the same, its application, by two different women wasn’t the same. In short, it was the difference between adolescent and adult.