RANDALL C'S RENAISSANCE; VIKINGS QB IS BACK ON TOP.

Byline: Bill Lyon Philadelphia Inquirer

This comes under the category of let's-be-a-man-about-this-and-just-admit -I-was-wrong:

Randall Cunningham has become everything that I, and most of Philadelphia, thought he never would, or could.

It is our usual luck, of course, that he has gone and done this someplace else.

For all of us who ever said that Randall Cunningham would never, ever take the Eagles to the Super Bowl . . . it is looking more and more as if we were half-right.

He has become more than just an incredibly gifted athlete who happens to play quarterback. He has actually become an NFL quarterback. And a pocket quarterback at that. And after a year out of the game, and at an age when most players are retiring.

No more is he just the undisciplined improviser. No more the make-it-up-as-we-go-along escapist. He reads the playbook. He reads defenses. He has the self-discipline and the self-control he never had as an Eagle. He actually watches game films now. He has become a bona fide leader and rallier, metamorphosing from that aloof, flighty, ego-centered, self-absorbed loner who was always such a divisive presence in the locker room.

He has overcome himself, and transformed himself. And there is not a more praiseworthy thing that a man can do than try to remake himself for the better.

He has all the appearances of the classic late-bloomer.

If you could split your MVP vote down the middle, half would go to Terrell Davis, the Denver Broncos' tough and sturdy running back, and the other half would go to Cunningham, who has become reborn with the Minnesota Vikings.

The easy way is to dismiss what Cunningham is doing as nothing more than throwing jump balls. The easy way is to say that what is different about him is Randy Moss, Cris Carter and Jake Reed, all of whom have hydraulic jacks for legs and Artful Dodger hands.

So initially, it was easy to join in the disclaiming chorus early in this season and parrot the accusation: All he's doing is throwing the bomb.

As though that requires no particular skill at all.

In fact, Randall Cunningham is probably the best deep passer who has ever wound up and arced a perfect spiral. That same buggy-whip motion that made him so ill-suited for the timing-dependent West Coast offense is ideal for the cross-country pass.

His ball arrives on time, in a catchable parabola, from half a field away, and it is so aesthetically pure that you suspect they have superimposed one of those NFL Films slow-motion smart bombs onto your TV screen. The way the projectile drops from the sky, Randall Cunningham looks like a man throwing lawn darts. From three blocks away.

I always thought the best deep gun I saw was Terry Bradshaw, who would throw the ball to the moon and then Lynn Swann would jump up and snag it. Cunningham is better.

And Carter is better than Swann, especially in the end zone.

And Moss looks as if he will be better than Carter. Or anyone else.

And the Vikings are furnishing the No Fun League with the most offensive entertainment since the buzz-bomb glory days of Air Coryell.

We have, however, the sworn assurance of Brian Billick, who is the Vikings' offensive coordinator, that what we are seeing is more than mere Trampoline Ball, that the offense has not been scaled back even a little bit for Cunningham, that he is making plays within the system, doing precisely what they ask him to do, doing precisely what everyone said he couldn't do. Ever.

From what you are told, Cunningham has acquired an emotional maturity that he never had as an Eagle. Then again, it may be argued in his defense that what he became in Philadelphia was a logical outgrowth of what was asked of him. Buddy Ryan, obsessed with his one-trick-pony defense, thought offense need be no more than Cunningham abandoning the pocket and then doing something breathtaking. By the time Ryan was gone, Cunningham couldn't help but feel that he was the Chosen One, immune from criticism and from the normal rules and restraints.

Not that there was ever any question about his courage, but this season alone he had two sizable bone chips surgically removed from his right knee, and six days later led the team to another victory. On Sunday, he broke a bone in his left hand in the first quarter, got it wrapped and padded, and threw his 29th, 30th and 31st touchdown passes as the Vikes hung half a hundred on Jacksonville.

The offense Cunningham directs needs a dozen points in its last game to make the Vikings the highest-scoring team in NFL history.

He is not the show all by himself, as he was for most of his career in Philadelphia. And that he has been able to blend in speaks to his shriveled ego.

Not that there aren't edges that still need sandpapering, and not that the unceasing references to God aren't presumptuous and wearying on the ear. But it is inescapable that Randall Cunningham has undergone an extraordinary and admirable resurrection.

There is really only one word that can be said:

Sorry.

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2 Photos

PHOTO (1) Randall Cunningham has matured into a leader since leaving Philadelphia for Minnesota.

Mark Terrill/Associated Press

(2--Color) CUNNINGHAM