James Wilder is the proud captain of a sinking ship Hubert Mizell, The St.Petersburg Times, published 6 November 1989 In the eight seasons of handsome, muscular James Wilder, the Bucs have played 127 games. All but 91 have been victories. Hurt is a J.W. habit. Through the tortuous Tampa Bay Eighties, old Number Thirty-Two absorbed bruises, abuses and painful overuses. Wilder ran the football endlessly, behind a lot of lousy offensive lines, for too many crummy Tampa Bay teams. James became the Timex Tailback. Taking a licking but keeping on ticking. And Sunday after punishing Sunday, his attitude was exemplary. Fresh out of the University of Missouri, he immediately became the Bucs' load-carrying runner as a 1981 rookie. Wilder would go at it for 98 straight starts, through 1988 when he had become a tired-looking NFL graybeard. Last summer, as the Bucs opened training camp, Wilder's name was erased from coach Ray Perkins' batting order. Lars Tate became the tailback. Then, stunningly, old 32 was asked to play special teams. A lesser man might've quit. Imagine Eric Dickerson, at age 31, being asked to go screaming downfield, covering kickoffs and punts. Or Bo Jackson. They'd say “adios” in a New York minute, burning Mercedes or Ferrari rubber as they left the team parking lot. But not Wilder. Every NFL player gets paid, but not many are pros like old 32. “Nobody likes special teams,” said the Bucs' all-time rushing leader, “but when I'm asked to do something, I always try to do it right.” Against Chicago, the aging one ignited Tampa Stadium with a bone-rattling tackle that was a catalyst in a 42-35 upset. Two weeks later, as a rally fell shy in a 32-28 loss to Washington, Wilder gave the Bucs an 11th-hour shot by recovering an onside kick. “People said James was out to pasture,” said linebacker Ervin Randle, “but his approach to football has been an inspiration to me since I first got here in 1985. Wilder is the guy I most look up to. No matter what coaches ask, James gives it his all. The man never learned the meaning of the word `selfish,' so Mr. J.W. is a lot to admire.” Sunday, in still another Bucs failure, Wilder did his special-teams duties against Cleveland, and far more. For a heroic moment, there was an Old 32 renaissance. James was young again. “I'm a situation player now,” Wilder would say, “going in on offense mostly when it's third down and we're facing a must-pass situation. Against Cleveland in the second half, such a situation seemed constant.” Tampa Bay had dug a 35-17 hole by halftime. No use plowing ahead, running for a yard or two. Vinny Testaverde's orders were to heave, and James Wilder was stationed at the quarterback's side, to do whatever the moment demanded. As always for old 32. Wilder did the spectacular. It wasn't quite a flashback to 1984-85, when a more youthful James was pounding for 1,544 yards one season and 1,300 the next to lead the NFL. This was different, but dandy. Testaverde's missiles weren't enough to catch the Brownies, since Vincent Van Throw had earlier launched too many wild pitches to overcome, but 69,162 paying patrons did get more than a buck's worth - or a Buc's worth - out of old 32. Wilder ran for 23 yards, and he caught eight Testaverde throws for 107. “For a while, James seemed to be carrying the offense,” Randle said, “which some of us have seen before.” During Tampa Bay's concluding touchdown drive, the Bucs mushed 80 yards. Wilder ran twice for 15, and clutched four Vinny passes for 64. Seventy-nine total yards for old 32, although Tate would be summoned from benchville to gallop 36 inches into the end zone. The Bucs got nothing further, and moped away as losers a fourth straight Sunday. Ray Perkins, the Tampa Bay coach, said two things impressed him - “a great crowd” plus explosive Browns rookie runner Eric Metcalf. I suggested he include Wilder. Perkins made a remark not worth writing down in anybody's notebook, but then did say that “since I'm the boss” that old 32 had sufficiently achieved to be named Tampa Bay's starting tailback next Sunday against Minnesota. “If it's not a victory, my statistics mean absolutely nothing,” Wilder said quietly, sitting in his locker-room stall. “I'm always prepared. Whether I start or not does not really matter. My job is to help this team any way I can.” Attitude of a pro. Attitude of a real man. Somebody suggested to old 32 that such an approach to football had to be inspirational to a Bucs roster that includes 41 players age 28 or younger. “My age, now 31, is simply a number,” said a smiling Wilder. “I don't feel old. My legs don't feel dead like some people have said. And as for being inspired, it's the younger guys who pump me up. I'm inspired to try to keep up.” Sunday, he did far more.