Tom Talks: Stories of Panthers’ new Hall of Honor class

The Carolina Panthers’ Hall of Honor comes with controversy. Of course, it comes with controversy. This is the first class in the history of the Panthers, who in September begin their 25^th season. You can’t induct four players and expect everybody to say, “Good call!”

Who was left out? And if you think you have a good case for a player who was, whom do you push out to get your guy in?

Players no longer in football who could have made the cut include, in no order but alphabetical: Michael Bates, John Kasay, Ryan Kalil, Mike Minter, Muhsin Muhammad, Josh Norman and Julius Peppers (neither Kalil, Norman nor Peppers were eligible this year).

I know many of you believe Norman should have no shot. But it can’t always be about you.

Show me any Hall of Honor, or all-star team, or a hall of fame, that includes everybody you think should be in?

To sustain interest, I hope players are named sparingly. We’ve waited 25 years for this. Why rush to catch up?

Sam Mills, the middle linebacker who played as hard as any Panther ever has, was honored in 1998, and deservedly so. He became an assistant coach, coined the team’s motto, “Keep pounding,” and ultimately succumbed to cancer. As a coach, he went to practice immediately after life-force sapping chemotherapy. You want courage, that’s it right there.

Another player that never took a play off, also a middle linebacker, is Dan Morgan. If Morgan had not been repeatedly injured, he would have been Luke Kuechly first. But he was injured.

The beauty of a team’s Hall is to remind fans, as well as players, what makes their franchise special. When I travel to other stadiums, even a nondescript game on a nondescript day is enhanced by the names on a wall or in a hall.

Hometown fans that passed those names dozens or hundreds of times often pause to look at the pictures and read about the exploits of those who had come before. Remember what that quarterback or running back, cornerback or defensive tackle, did in front of everybody on this turf?

Visitors also pause. Wow, I remember him, in his helmet and uniform, and how good he was, right here, not so very long ago.

Players leave a legacy, and I was fortunate to be in Charlotte and watch the Hall of Honor’s class of 2019’s Steve Smith Sr., Jake Delhomme, Jordan Gross and Wesley Walls play, and get to know them a little.

Because of the attention the Hall will confer, fans that weren’t here will pause when they see the four represented, and feel as if they know the players a little, too.

Steve Smith Sr.: ‘X-clown’ means ‘Ch ching’

The greatest player in the history of the Carolina Panthers, and it’s not close, is Smith. Yeah, you can make a case for Peppers. You just can’t make a good one.

When Smith played with Delhomme from 2003-2009, they had a play that probably was never written, unless it was on dirt with a stick.

The play was: I, Jake Delhomme, will throw the ball way up there where the only people that can catch it are you, Steve Smith, and the other team’s defensive backfield.

On two.

Steve was 5-foot-9.

And, true to his word, Delhomme lofted the pass. And Smith suddenly was the biggest man on the field. This was the NFL’s alley-oop. Smith made a series of incredible catches, just going up and claiming the ball as if he had a deed to it.

Smith, who turns 40 next week, was fast, had good hands, was a heck of a blocker, and what he had, he gave. Man, he worked. Some 5-9 receivers refuse to go over the middle. There were games when Smith lived in the middle.

Most teams don’t let the media on the field, but the Chicago Bears made an exception. The Panthers trailed big in the fourth quarter, and their playbook consisted of: Smith, get open.

The Bears knocked Smith to the ground repeatedly and hard. And he kept getting up, unfazed.

Smith’s most famous play came in January 2004. Carolina is playing the St. Louis Rams, the heavy favorites, in St. Louis in the divisional playoffs. The Rams don’t lose there.

It’s overtime, third and 14, and the Panthers call X-Clown. Delhomme hits Smith over the middle, and Smith takes off as if propelled. The closest player to him when he reaches the end zone probably is Muhammad. The 69-yard touchdown propels the Panthers to the NFC championship game.

I asked Smith what he thought when he broke free.

Said Smith: “I know what Angie (Steve’s wife) was thinking. Ch ching.”

About Smith the person, there’s this. I asked him in the locker room one afternoon if he had anything coming up, meaning, anything charitable. He said he did that weekend.

It was the Steve Smith Family Foundation’s first event, and Smith didn’t publicize it. He gave me the wrong address, inadvertently, by about 20 miles, and I messed the time up, inadvertently, by about two hours. Yet it worked.

The Smiths held the event at a Charlotte women’s shelter, and to get in you had to walk through three separate doors, each heavily locked and heavily monitored. After passing through the third door, there were Steve and Angie, on the floor, washing women’s feet, and fitting them with new athletic shoes.

They hired a magician to entertain the kids, and the kids stood around him like adults do Rory McIlroy at the Wells Fargo Championship. It was one of those gatherings where you walk outside and think, “Wow.”

There’s a myth about Smith, and it’s this: In 2014 former general manager Dave Gettleman decided to cut him, as if the rest of the Panther decision makers didn’t find out about it until they picked up the paper (the Charlotte Observer), the next day.

Gettleman was the spokesman and perhaps catalyst, but it was a Panther decision. Smith was not pleased, you could say, and he played the final three seasons of his 16-season career with the Baltimore Ravens.

The Ravens loved him. But he was a Panther first. Smith did better work in Charlotte than any player in franchise history, and will return to be honored for it early next season.

Welcome back.

Fast-talking, excitable -- and clutch -- Jake Delhome

Delhomme was a journeyman when the Carolina Panthers hired him in 2003. Here’s how much a journeyman he was. I asked the Panthers if I could talk to him, and Delhomme, who had been a reserve with the then lowly New Orleans Saints, called that morning.

Delhomme wasn’t a journeyman long. On opening day that season, the Panthers trailed the Jacksonville Jaguars 14-0 at the end of the first half. Needing a spark, and offense, coach John Fox replaced starting quarterback Rodney Peete with Delhomme.

The Panthers cut into the lead, but still trailed 23-18 with 16 seconds remaining. They then ran a play from the Jacksonville 12 called Reno. Ricky Proehl ran a corner route, a route so crisp you could plot it on a graph, and Delhomme hit him in the corner of the end zone. Carolina won 24-23.

The Panthers made the Super Bowl that season, losing a thriller to New England 32-29. Some fans contend that they made the Super Bowl in spite of Delhomme. That’s not true. Without Delhomme, they don’t make the playoffs.

He was sort of Brett Favre light, taking chances, getting picked off, and returning undaunted to make great plays.

Delhomme was a leader. He got excited and he talked fast and he believed. He believed that the Panthers would get the first down, the touchdown and the victory. He believed so strongly that his teammates believed, too.

Players occasionally would say, “Jake is great, but he has that Cajun accent and he gets excited and talks fast and nobody can understand him.”

But even if they didn’t understand the words, they understood the message.

Delhomme, 44, was a guy everybody liked and likes, humble then and now. Ten years after he played for Carolina, he’s still a go-to guy for Charlotte sportswriters and sports talk show hosts. He lives in his hometown, Breaux Bridge, La., Cajun country.

I went there for a story, asked if he could recommend some restaurants, and he did. Oh, man, was the food good, and plentiful, and quinoa and tofu free. Back in Charlotte, I did have one question for him.

“Why do you not weigh 400 pounds?”

Here’s Delhomme.

In 2009, I had cancer, and wrote a piece about it.

My first assignment upon my return was Panthers’ training camp. I was used up, leaning against a fence on a scorching late summer day, when the whistle blew and the players on the field in front of me took a break. Everybody headed to the tent for a water break, except Delhomme. Sweat running down his face, he jogged across the field to the fence, and asked me how I was doing.

Wesley Walls never dropped a pass. Or did he?

The legend of Wesley Walls is that he never dropped a pass. Parents have passed the legend down to their kids, and those kids have by now have told their kids.

A tight end, Walls played for the Panthers from 1996-2002. He knew how to get open at a time when tight ends didn’t run as freely as they do today. A defender always lurked, looking for a reason to take them out. Walls played in five Pro Bowls, and in 1999, he caught 63 passes for 822 yards and 12 touchdowns.

You’d see him occasionally in the evening during training camp in Spartanburg. This was a time before Spartanburg was discovered and buildings and houses and real estate there (I promise) took off.

Whenever I saw Walls after hours in Spartanburg, he was always with the starting quarterback. Then the starting quarterback would get benched or cut, and the next time you saw Walls, he was with the new starter.

There are dues to pay no matter how good your hands are.

Walls is one of those guys you always like to run into. He’s funny, he’s gracious and he’s willing to talk to about days old and new.

Does he have the best hands in Carolina history? How do you measure such a thing? Contenders include receivers Steve Smith, Muhsin Muhammad, and Ricky Proehl, and tight end Greg Olsen.

After the Panthers traded for Olsen in 2011, I watched a Juggs Gun fling footballs in his direction. At first, the passes were so easy Olsen was no more challenged than he would be shaking hands. Then the passes came high and low and left and right and fast and faster. Nothing challenged him. He was like Keanu Reeves in the Matrix, minus the sunglasses and long black coat.

Despite that, I can’t say that Olsen’s hands are better than Walls. The legend of Walls is real.

The last time I saw Walls, I told him that I could not remember him dropping a pass in the 98 games he played for Carolina.

“Aw, Tom, you that’s not true,” Walls said in his soft Mississippi drawl.

He paused a few seconds and added: “I might have dropped one.”

Hidden humor of Jordan Gross

The Carolina Panthers went 12-4 in 2013. They fell to 7-8-1 in 2014, although they still made the playoffs and even won a playoff game against the Arizona Cardinals, who lacked a quarterback.

Yet the Panthers weren’t nearly as effective as they had been a season earlier. Receiver Steve Smith was gone, now a Baltimore Raven. So was tackle Jordan Gross, now a retiree. Because of the attention Smith attracted, the significance of Gross’ absence was not appreciated. The Panthers missed him tremendously. Even at the end, he was one of the top left tackles in the game.

Why’d Gross go? Family. Health. And residual anger about being told to renegotiate his contract the previous season.

Gross played from 2003-13. A first-round pick, he was not allowed to ease into the NFL. As a rookie, he worked in practice against second-year defensive end Julius Peppers.

Gross, 38, sustained excellence throughout his career. People talk about penciling somebody in. With Gross, you could use a Sharpie. He played 11 seasons: in eight, he started 16 games; in two, he started 15 games; in one, he started nine.

Either he didn’t get hurt, or he didn’t tell anybody when he was. His job was to play football, so he did.

During training camp, I watched Gross stay on the field, after other players had left, to work with a new member of the offensive line. I didn’t recognize the new player’s number, so I checked the roster, figuring he was somebody who would at least compete for playing time. The new guy was a free agent who had almost no chance to make the team. Gross stayed late to work with him anyway.

When everybody feels part of something, everybody benefits. Gross led.

He also was funny. Offensive linemen usually are the funniest guys on a team.

In 2010, the Panthers went 2-14. After a late season loss on the road, I approached Gross in the locker room and asked if he had a minute.”Yes, Tom,” said Gross. “I was hoping you would come over and talk to me.”

Another trait at which offensive linemen are good: sarcasm.

In 2005, Carolina center Mike Mitchell drove an RV to training camp, and the offensive line hung out there. Only offensive linemen and honorary linemen, players at other positions who embodied lineman-like traits, were allowed inside.

New play-by-play man Mick Mixon was about to walk past the bus, and the line was thrilled. They could blast the horn and watch Mixon jump. This was going to be so cool.

I sat back, honored to be there, and watched and laughed. The linemen were as unpretentious as kids. Gross and his teammates got to play a game for a living, and they appreciated the opportunity, and each other.

At the Hall of Honor induction ceremony, we get to appreciate him.

This story was originally published May 9, 2019 at 12:03 PM.