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Randy Moss could have been better, but what we had was good enough

It's gone from part of the conversation, to the biggest part, to the only part, all in barely 24 hours. "Randy Moss had one of the great careers in the history of his sport,'' we've all said, "but how great could he have been had he really tried?''

We'll all keep looking for answers, but we'll never get one, because it's impossible to know. So Moss, if he stays retired, takes his place in one of the most exclusive and illustrious clubs in sports.

This group did things that may never be duplicated by anyone under any circumstances -- but will be remembered just as much for what they didn't do, or what the world believed they should have been able to do if they had wrung every molecule out of their unsurpassed ability.

It's the group that Shaquille O'Neal joined just two months ago. It's the one that Mickey Mantle has ruled for half a century, when people take time to think about it.

And it's the one Babe Ruth pretty much founded.

Even when Moss gets to the Hall of Fame, he won't be in better company.

It's hilarious, actually, to hear the either-or debates about Moss's legacy. Will he be remembered as one of the two or three most unstoppable forces the NFL has ever seen at any position, much less wide receiver -- or as the bottomless well of aggravating soundbites, like "I play when I wanna play,'' and "Straight cash, homey,'' of patterns cut short and plays taken off and early departures from sidelines?

Both. It's what he was in full: the outrageous talent who even at half-speed was twice the speed of everybody else on the field or the court - but also the tease who had even more than 954 catches, more than 14,858 yards and 153 touchdowns buried in that once-in-a-lifetime skill set, waiting to be unleashed with just a teensy bit more effort and dedication.

It was too much to behold at times. It also wasn't enough. There were records and memories by which all others are and will be measured. But there should've been more.

Is it fair to treat him that way? Not really. But it's human nature. And after a century or so of experiencing it with the greatest of our sports legends, we should all understand it by now.

So Shaq crushes the NBA underfoot like a real-life Godzilla, and we celebrate his retirement by saying that being fifth all-time in scoring, winning four championships and being one of the handful of best centers ever was a real letdown.

Serena Williams changes everything we ever previously perceived about women's tennis, wins 13 Grand Slams while losing two other finals to her big sister, and her reward is to constantly hear about how much better she'd be if she'd concentrated more on her game and less on her outside pursuits.

But this isn't new.

No era in sports has been without its "Yeah, but ..." stars -- and if Mantle's legacy can withstand the shortfall between what was and what might have been, anybody's can. Yes, he left a generation of boys starry-eyed for life, but he left an older generation somewhere between perplexed and enraged. Not the least was Mantle himself; he was the one who famously said (in some version or another), "If I'd known I was gonna live this long, I would've taken better care of myself.''

He did live long – he was 63 when he died in 1995. He didn't take care of himself. The headlines about the late-night partying and the nightclub brawling often matched the ones about his home runs. There was plenty of talk, when he retired, about how sad it was that he'd "only" hit 536 home runs, when he seemed for so long like a serious threat to Ruth's 714.

Which brings us back to the Babe. Those who aren't engulfed by the legend and hero worship are acutely aware of how all the talk in the last decade about who the "true" home run champion is would be moot had Ruth been a little more diligent during his career.

Forget the years he pitched -- the years he was so careless about his eating, drinking and socializing were the keys. Those 714 homers could have been well beyond 800.

It’s inconceivable that Ruth could have left even more of an impact on baseball, sports and culture than he actually did. In fact, his image as a big, playful man-child can hardly be separated from his image as an athlete. But back then, nobody ever deluded himself that Ruth left everything he had on the field – and nobody today should be deluded, either.

The Babe Ruth we were left with, then, was good enough. Same for the Mantle. It's hard to complain about the Shaq and Serena we're left with.

In time, the Moss we had, from the catches to the fake-mooning, will be good enough, too.

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