Only NFL can turn friends into foes Hubert Mizell, The St.Petersburg Times, published 16 November 1998 Reidel Anthony loves Fred Taylor. They grew up together along the tough, poor, proud eastern shore of Lake Okeechobee. Taking up football in tandem as gifted tots. Maturing into high school heroes in Belle Glade. Always like brothers. Moving ahead to collegiate grandeur, side by side with the Florida Gators. It took the NFL to separate them. Lithe wide receiver Anthony had his most splendid Sunday yet for Tampa Bay, fleeing for rare Bucs home run touchdowns of 47 and 79 yards. But, among the teal-tinted enemy from Jacksonville, there was thick but speedy running back Taylor to bombastically one-up his pal from the swamp. Bucs were leading 24-23. Less than three minutes to go. Taylor took a Mark Brunell handoff, darted left and then broke into the open. He was uncatchable. Unbeatable. "For that moment, I hated Fred," Anthony said. "I wanted to run out on the field, going on defense, thinking I might hit my old buddy in a certain way that I know often causes him to fumble." Taylor got smacked by no Bucs. Alltel Stadium went into supper- time delirium. Seventy yards of grass behind him, Taylor scored and did an end zone tango that did not qualify him for the Bolshoi. Anthony was gritting his teeth. Despising, temporarily. Then he smiled. "Seen it before," he recalled saying. "In past years, when Fred did such good stuff, he was always on my side." Today's name of the Jaguars' ballpark is Alltel Stadium, due to a commercial buy by a cellular phone company. But, for three mesmerizing hours, as Taylor steamed for three TDs and Anthony made two, the big house where Florida-Georgia college games are played had unquestionably once again become the "Gator bowl." When it ended, Bucs with funereal faces trudged to midfield for obligatory hand slaps with elated Jaguars. Losing 29-24, Tampa Bay (4-6) had seen its already fragile playoff hopes become akin to nonexistent. But, among that sweaty gathering, there was an overload of grinning at the 45-yard line, where Taylor and Anthony embraced. One of their former UF teammates, Bucs receiver Jacquez Green, was also there. They gabbed. Guffawed. Posed for photographs. It was hard to tell winners for losers. "I liked to see Fred do good, but not that good," Anthony said. "It didn't bother me when he scored two touchdowns. We had plenty of time to make comebacks. Which we did. But that last one, it was a killer." They often converse by telephone. "Fred's been bragging for weeks about getting a lot of touchdowns as a rookie," Anthony said. "I've been trying to tone him down. Hoping to keep Fred a little bit humble. But, this time, it's a tough thing to do. Jacksonville made the big plays when they absolutely had to, but none as huge as that 70-yard run by my old Belle Glade home boy." Taylor went into a drum major's strut for about the final 15 yards. An "in your face, Reidel" dance. "My coach (Tom Coughlin) almost had a heart attack," Taylor said. "We just had to win," Taylor said. "Needed to get our record to 8- 2. Needed to avoid having to listen to Reidel and 'Quez talking to me all year about beating me and the Jaguars." Taylor ran 20 times, gaining 128 yards. Scoring his ninth and 10th touchdowns of the season. Last dance. Last laugh. Down by the big lake, Taylor and Anthony lived eight minutes apart. Anthony's father is mayor of South Bay. Taylor is from Belle Glade, a renowned cradle of football talent that has produced a dozen NFL players. "They must have some great high school teams in Belle Glade," Bucs coach Tony Dungy said. "Back home, people are football crazy," Anthony said. "They love their boys. Our high school games drew a full stadium. Maybe 6,000. This year, I heard they sold 12,000 tickets for the Muck Bowl against Pahokee, our big rival. Probably sat them two to a seat. "I'm sure, seeing me and Fred on TV, scoring five touchdowns in Jacksonville, they must've really been going nuts."