Justin Tucker just can’t find the range

Justin Tucker sat in a football player’s cape and hidden under a hood, alone with his thoughts and the millions of other people who were thinking them. He had just missed a 53-yard field goal that would have put the Baltimore Ravens ahead of the Philadelphia Eagles, and Tucker looked more than a little grumpy. He seemed even more confused. The most productive NFL kicker of the last decade looked like the living embodiment of a Yip.

People often talk about the yips, usually in connection with a golfer who has problems putting; For what it may be worth, the Oxford English Dictionary believes the term was first used in 1935 American golfer. Everyone agrees on what it is – the sudden inability to perform a task that one has performed many times before because the person performing the task thinks too much about the task itself and becomes overwhelmed by the very idea. It’s less about the task becoming more difficult and more about it becoming more and more out of perspective.

Placekickers are not granted the luxury of the yip. Kickers tend to only fall into three categories: There are those who suck, those who will suck at some point, and those who are unemployed and just waiting. The culture, over years of well-traveled, if never entirely rational, ignorance, has chosen to hate kickers, probably because of what they represent – a touchdown drive that is not met by the offense that makes the kicker necessary; Some size 8 idiot keeps running to do a job the mesomorphs couldn’t do.

Justin Tucker, everyone agrees, is the pinnacle of art. He was certainly the face of the industry that began almost a decade ago, and his work is spoken of with reverence, at least until recently, when it turned to pity. Even his coach, John Harbaugh, consoled Tucker after his 53-yarder veered left. That reduced Tucker’s rate for the year to a woefully inadequate 70.6 percent, putting him in last place among currently active kickers, that is, those not yet cut or actively disabled.

What’s important here is that every other kicker who’s ever had the yips didn’t have them for long. It’s not because they fix them either. Kickers affected by Yip are fired seconds after the failed attempt in a coach’s head and are usually informed of it the next day with a slap on the back and a cardboard box, a particularly bloodless way of operating in a largely bloodless industry. That’s why many of today’s kickers are on their third, fifth or seventh job; The kickers who are with their original teams are both young and haven’t failed catastrophically yet – for example, Houston’s John Christian Ka’iminoeauloameka’ikeokekumupa’a (aka Ka’imi) Fairbairn, who we’re citing just because of his name.

However, Tucker was special, or at least he was until this year. So special that no one noticed that his peak ended three years ago when his streak of exemplary distance kicks ended. He had converted kicks of 50 yards or longer with breathtaking speed for six years – he was 30 of 36 – and was therefore declared the greatest kicker of all time. Tucker’s outstanding performance from distance has authentically changed the game, reducing the game’s fear of field goals over 50 yards and then 60 yards to the point where the first becomes a boring routine and the second just a big deal. Anything within 65 yards is considered doable by Tucker himself, even though the NFL record is 66; New England’s Joey Slye was asked to kick a game-winning 68-yarder yesterday but failed by one yard. And don’t even start.

But the funny thing about an athlete’s reputation is that it’s often cemented just as the recipient retires from the job as they get older. Those who age after the performance are often revived with other, more desperate teams who believe that because it has already given so much and because it is too difficult, the lemon still has juice worth squeezing. to find the next great player. People still believe Tom Brady can play, and he owns a broadcaster. People still think Barry can play Bonds, and he’s a 60-year-old cyclist. People thought Mike Tyson could still box, and he…well, he was still ready to take a paycheck to keep going, but now he’s something different. And yes, we spared you the obligatory dig from Aaron Rodgers.

But kickers are different and always have been. They are believed to be expendable even at a time when coaches have fallen in love with their strategic utility; The number of 50-yard field goal attempts is on track to increase 40 percent since this writing, and Tucker has been the face and mainstay of that revolution.

So there’s a certain irony that in the most footy football season in the history of the sport, the man most known for his encouragement should be allowed to endure the torments of Yip-Hood in this way. And his reward for that is getting the full support of the man who, under normal circumstances, would have let him walk to the parking lot while he lined up for a six-person kicking-casting jamboree on Tuesday, because that’s how it’s always been done every other franchise.

Except Baltimore. You have Justin Tucker.