*************************************************************
NFL great Munoz gets hero's welcome The flashiest
thing about Anthony Munoz is his wedding ring. No gold chains. No Super Bowl
rings -- he never won an NFL championship.
Nothing about Munoz other than his 6 foot 6 inches and oak tree frame hints
that he was perhaps the greatest offensive lineman who ever played the
sport.
Munoz is a throwback. A quiet, hard-working sort whose aggression and prowess
on the field does not show off it. He was the kid who stood out only for his
uncanny ability and size, the one who sat in the back of biology class and
turned in his homework on time.
His cousins, coaches and friends insist that had he not played big-time
football, Munoz would be the same decent family man that Ontario honored Friday
with pep rallies, fire trucks, presidential plaques, ribbon cuttings and
$75-a-plate dinners.
The spectacle was all Ontario's. Munoz is embarrassed by such attention but
handles it by praising God and talking about commitment.
Maybe that's why Ontario basked so brightly Friday. Its parks programs and
high school athletics had produced a lost breed of sorts. A sports star not
unhinged by stardom. A man with a wife, two well-adjusted kids and a mother who
blanches at cameras.
In this age of on-field celebration and off-field glitz in professional
sports, Munoz's spotlight does not shine too bright for anyone, except maybe his
mom, who sorted eggs at chicken ranches to provide for five kids.
At the ceremony where the city renamed Colony Park to Anthony Munoz Hall of
Fame Park, residents discovered they were distant cousins of Munoz. Even City
Councilman Alan Wapner said Munoz is related by marriage.
Munoz embodies the offensive lineman. Silent. Powerful. Indispensable. And
for that, Ontario is proud.
"This city has never rolled out the red carpet for anyone like this
before," said City Councilman Gary Ovitt, who coached Munoz's high school
baseball team. "He's a taller man than he is large in stature and
size."
Imagine the city honoring Deion Sanders with a quaint reception underneath an
ash tree in a neighborhood park (Munoz met his wife, DeDe there during a pick-up
softball game). Imagine the city making Brian Bosworth an honorary policeman and
firefighter for the day.
Then again, could Sanders have even come from Ontario -- a city with stoic
Midwestern roots and tight-knit Latino families? A city that acts like a town
and is uneasy claiming a shopping mall as its tour de force.
No. Anthony Munoz is what Ontario still is: humble and rooted.
Munoz lives in Cincinnati but he belongs to Ontario, said Councilman Gary
Ovitt.
Munoz is a parks and recreation kid. The football field, basketball hoop and
baseball diamond raised him. He was the kid who rode his bike to the park early
enough to help open the equipment shed.
His size and ability always awed others. Munoz's Little League coach carried
a copy of his birth certificate to prove he wasn't too old to play. He was
deemed too big for Pop Warner football, so he focused on baseball and thought
that would be his ticket.
Teachers and classmates say he quietly starred in three sports at Chaffey
High School. He then played football and baseball at the University of Southern
California and went to 11 pro bowls in 13 seasons for the Bengals.
But who cares about all that? "He was just friendly and nice, just like
he is now," remembers Shirley Palmer, 70, whose son brought Munoz home
after school. "He was always so handsome, and imagine that famous man,
hugging an old lady like me." |
