Americans love our tall tales, and especially our mythic beings imbued with powers far beyond the realm of mortal mankind. From Paul Bunyan to Luke Skywalker, pop culture abounds with tales of heroes who were gifted far more than any of us could ever be, but in real life "heroes" often seem just out of reach, unrealistic and fantastical. But a few real-life titans walk among us, and when I was a kid I knew of the best athlete to ever come around, a man who played two sports and could've played so much more (at least according to the Nike ads). He went down with a freak injury in the early days of 1991, and was never the same after. But his legend still resonates with those who were there, as well as subsequent generations who heard of him after the fact, who could've never seen him in action at the time but who can thanks to the internet. His name, of course, is Vincent Edward "Bo" Jackson.
Jeff Pearlman's "The Last Folk Hero" is a biography, to be sure, but it's also a recounting of Bo Jackson's legendary and ephemeral career, a period in time made all the more mythic by its fleeting nature. In less than a decade, Jackson went from the gridiron at Auburn to both the MLB and NFL playing fields, in a move that was unprecedented at the time and which remains so in many ways today. Had injury not come for him as it does for all sports immortals, could Jackson have been the best that ever was, in two sports? Impossible to say, but for the time that he was active, Bo was a force to be reckoned with.
Pearlman, a legend in his own right in terms of his sportswriting, recounts the ups and downs of Jackson's impoverished upbringing at the hands of a single mother in Alabama, where being Black and poor meant that your options in life were limited. With minimal effort, Jackson managed to be a star in two different sports in high school, and when he arrived at Auburn University in the early Eighties, he continued to play both baseball (his passion) and football (which he was good at, but which never held his affections in quite the same way). After upsetting expectations by not taking the (NFL) money and running, he went to the Kansas City Royals and managed to be a name worth knowing during his brief heyday as a two-sports phenom. The numbers might not have matched up with the legend, but the legend was of a pure athlete who couldn't be contained by mere stats alone; Jackson was a force of nature no matter what he was doing.
Pearlman goes over Jackson's brief moment in the spotlight with a fine-toothed comb, seeking out stories that seem too good to be true but also too good to ignore. In that way, he turns what could be a run-of-the-mill sports biography into an examination of our need for myths, and the costs when those myths come face to face with reality. For a moment in time, "Bo Knows" was the slogan of the era. But just as soon as he came into being as the legendary figure of myth, an injury on the football field decimated his left hip and caused his career to come to a slow, grinding halt. He'd hang up his football cleats after the injury, and spend a brief time in baseball before stepping away in the aftermath of the 1994 player's strike.
Bo Jackson is rendered here in all his contradictions, all his faults and skills, and Pearlman is unfailingly honest about Jackson's personality (the harsh, bully-like tactics he used sometimes mixed with the moments of genuine warmth towards a teammate or heartbreak over a sick child's passing). Bo Jackson is, in many ways, one of the last mythic beings of American life, someone whose actions had to be seen to be believed, and even then you might not believe what you just saw. Jeff Pearlman has written, arguably, one of the best sports biographies in recent memory, and all about a man who had a short career playing two sports. But had Bo stayed healthy...well, that's a myth for another time.