Donovan McNabb, meet John Tucker

On the eve of the Mardi Gras Bowl between the Eagles and the Saints, where the mummers of Philadelphia meet the krewes of New Orleans in a domed stadium near Bourbon Street, I've been thinking a lot about Donovan McNabb.

Number 5 has been a class act throughout his career in Philadelphia, but never has his graciousness been more evident than during the weeks since his season-ending injury against the Tennessee Titans. The way McNabb has force faded himself into the background during the Eagles off-the-canvass drive from third place to the NFC East Division championship is an classic example of team leadership. Instead of being a distraction, he has been a quiet motivator. He's been virtually invisible in the media, and yet a constant presence in the Eagles training facilities, where he works hard to a rehabilitate his knee and talk football with his teammates. He has removed himself from the stage so as not to waver the spotlight from his Cinderella replacement, Jeff Garcia, who has led the team to a 6-1 record since he took over as quarterback.

You just know that this Eagles playoff drive without him must be killing McNabb. But he has communicated no public angst, no righteous frustration, no anger at the gods of freak injuries. He has simply anted up and kicked in. He has supported his teammates the only way he can, by being himself.

I got a behind the scenes glimpse once of what a true leader of a professional sports playoff team does when he is injured and can't play in the championship game. This was in April 1990 when the Philadelphia Wings of National Indoor Lacrosse League travelled to Hartford, Conn., to play the Blazers for the league chamionship. John Tucker, the Wings all-time leading scorer, and the quiet leader of a team full of characters, had injured his knee in the previous playoff game. His playing status was to be determined on game day.

Just before the pre-game meal, Wings coach Dave Evans announced that Tucker would not dress for the chamionship game, much to the three-time All American's disappontment, not to mention his teammates. Instead of sulking or raging at fate, Tucker did was leaders do. He picked up a water pitcher and acted as a busboy during the Wings pre-game meal. He played it for laughs, limping from table to table, and his teammates responded by busting his chops. "Oh, Boy, over here!" they'd shout, holding up empty glasses for him to fill, as he rushed from one end of the room to the other. The ribbing was non-stop, and so was the smile on his face.

In the locker room after the championship game ,which the Wings won, Tucker acted as the towel boy with the same humor and self deprication he'd shown as busboy at the team meal. "Thanks towel boy," his teammates said, as they draped him with wet used towels after the victory showers. It was an almost defiant act of humility and there was not a false moment about any of it from Tucker or his teammates. It was one of the most heartfelt and ego-free acts I've ever seen in sports. And it wouldn't surprise me one bit if Donovan McNabb has done or will do something just as cool that we may never hear about.