A More Perfect Time the Undefeated Season Changed the Lives of Jim Kiick, Mercury Morris and the Rest of the ’72 Dolphins Forever.

This was the real Dream Team. Two decades before Michael and Magic there were Zonk and Kiick. Back when Barkley was a baby, there was Mercury.

Best team ever?

Not that collection of millionaires in Barcelona. No. It was a collection of No-Names in Miami, the 1972 Dolphins. Manny, Nick and Jake. Foley, Kolen and Swift. With all due respect to the basketball players who routed Croatia and Puerto Rico, the best team ever was the one that rumbled through Cleveland and Pittsburgh and Washington and 14 other teams.

They did what no NFL team has ever done. They did it behind Don Shula, the driven coach, and with Bill Arnsparger, the defensive genius. Did it with an aging, substitute quarterback and a group of castoffs. Did it with power and finesse and a consistency that bordered on arrogance.

Two decades before it became a marketing slogan, they just did it. The 1972 Dolphins were 17-0, a flawless run that culminated with the 14-7 win over Washington in Super Bowl VII.

Now they are in their 40s and 50s. Some are unemployed, some are network stars. Some are business presidents, some are ex-cons. Two are farmers and one is a former cocaine addict.

Life after perfection hasn’t been perfect. Anything but. It has been like most ordinary people’s existence. The difference is that it was framed by a reality that supposedly was a fairy tale — you can’t win them all. Oh, yes you can. And once you do, what then?

FLIGHT OF MERCURY

Nov. 7, 1982. From cell 5A3, he could hear the roars from the Orange Bowl. It was Mercury Morris’ second day in the Dade County Jail and the members of the Perfect Team were being introduced to the crowd on the 10th anniversary of their achievement. They named everyone on the team. Except one.

“Guys were coming up to me saying, ‘Hey, Merc, man, they called everybody’s name but yours, man. How come they didn’t call your name?’ ” Morris says. “Another guy says, ‘It’s like you never existed.’ “

Nicknamed for the wing-footed Roman god of travel, he once existed as Eugene “Mercury” Morris, running back. When he had the ball in his hands, flight always seemed a possibility. You can still see him moving behind Larry Little, shoulders square to the line, legs gliding toward the sideline, and then, suddenly, bursting into the secondary.

Acceleration. That set him apart. He zoomed like a funny car, like one of those weird and wired Big Daddy Don Garlits machines. He played a bit part in 1971. But the next year?

“I was the difference between that team that lost the Super Bowl and the 17-0 team,” Morris says, ever modest. “I was the different ingredient.”

Thing is, he’s right. He was the outside threat that made the difference in ’72. He also was an outside threat of another kind. He learned about cocaine in the offseason, and became a guy about town, a party animal. Three seasons after perfection he was sent to San Diego and to NFL oblivion. That year, 1976, was his last in pro football. He gained just 256 yards. Neck problems and a custody battle for his son sent him back to Miami.

He had $250,000 in the bank, a couple of houses and no schedule. Bad combination. By 1979, he was freebasing. Both his Super Bowl rings were gone, hocked for cocaine. Three years later, Morris sat in the Dade County Jail on a cocaine distribution charge he insists was trumped up.

Morris spent 3 1/2 years in jail. He was released in 1986 after the Florida Supreme Court ordered a new trial and he avoided it by pleading no contest to the original charges. Morris began a new life as a sort of traveling anti-drug evangelist, preaching the evils of cocaine with fervor. Today, Merc is back running, accelerating.

He is in production for Outside The Lines, a new syndicated television show he will host. He is much in demand as a speaker. His book, Against The Grain, is being re-released this month. When the 20th reunion comes this year, they will call his name, and he is glad, because he drew on the experience of ’72 to become the ’92 Merc.

“I’m telling you right now, I used what we had back then with that team,” he says. “I had to. Otherwise, I’m dead. What I took away from all that is: regardless of what it takes to get the job done, you have to do it. There’s no such thing as it can’t be done.

“Hey, we proved that’s true, right?”

Twice, in his case. Once on the field, once off it.

THE RUNNING LAWYER

Ed Jenkins was an 11th-round draft pick from Holy Cross in 1972, a running back in a camp with many. He was training camp fodder, one of two Jenkins in camp — Al was the other — and neither came with advance billing. But he believed.

“I got a physical edge from my high school, St. Francis Prep in Brooklyn, where Vince Lombardi went to school and coached,” he says. “And I got the mental edge from Holy Cross. The thing about that ’72 Dolphins team is, it gave me the winning edge.”

Not on the field, though. In two seasons, Ed Jenkins had just two special- teams tackles with the Dolphins — one for each Super Bowl ring. Traded to the New York Giants in 1974, he was cut and played some with Buffalo and New England before leaving the football field for good.

What Jenkins needed to succeed was a different field. The week after he left the Patriots, he entered Suffolk Law School in Boston, where Nick Buoniconti got his law degree. He graduated in 1978, spent two years working for the Department of Labor and by 1980, he was in the district attorney’s office in Boston. Ten years later, he won 38 percent of the vote in the race for Boston district attorney — despite being outspent 10-1 by incumbent Newman Flanagan.

Jenkins, a partner in the Boston law firm of Johnson and Jenkins, recently founded 1,000 Black Men, a service organization of ex-athletes and black business leaders who give time and energy to help troubled inner-city youngsters.

“It’s funny, ’72 was just one year of my life,” Jenkins says. “But it has had an impact. It showed what can be accomplished with discipline and teamwork. We had a group of largely ordinary players, some stars, but mainly guys who had been overlooked and rejected.

“But we were the best team. Not because we had the most talent. We were the best team. That taught me a lot, and it carried over into my life.”

KINDIG’S RISE AND FALL

Howard Kindig had retired. After six years as a reserve guard, tackle and center with the Bills, he had enough. He walked after the 1-13 season of 1971 and was in a real estate class when the call came from Shula.

“He said to come on down,” Kindig recalls. “Hell, I was out of shape and had no thought of playing.”

But he came. After two Dolphin seasons, Kindig retired again. He built a paper empire in Baton Rouge, La. With the free-wheeling savings and loan funds flowing, he speculated on real estate projects and oil and gas deals. He estimates he was earning $50,000 per month on investments.

In 1985, the bottom fell out. The Oklahoma-based Sunbelt Savings and Loan, through which Kindig was financing his deals, went under. Federal investigators found that many of the projects and holdings financed through the S&L; had been vastly overvalued by Kindig.

“I stumbled and fell,” is how he explains it. “I lost $17 million. It was one hell of a blow.”

The government prosecuted. Kindig was convicted of bank fraud and served 30 months of a four-year prison sentence in an Oklahoma federal prison from 1988 to 1990. Now he is trying to rebuild. It won’t be easy. Last June, Kindig testified in court that his net worth was $106,510. He is still under court order to repay debts totaling $85 million.

“I’m in the process of, well, I wouldn’t say starting over — hell, my wife’s doing fine, I’m doing fine, my kids are graduating from college,” he says. “It’s like a game. Hell, you get crippled, you gotta get your butt back up and get in the game. You gotta get back up.”

Kindig’s new company, Kindig and Associates, builds truck stops. He has one under construction right now, on I-10 West, on the outskirts of Baton Rouge.

“If I hadn’t been a part of that team, I imagine I would never have gotten back up,” he says. “It made a hell of a difference in my life. I was probably the luckiest Dolphin of all. I came in late, didn’t contribute all that much as other guys, but took away an awful lot.

“The most important thing was knowing that anything can happen, even if people say it can’t. I know. I’ve seen both sides.

STILL KIICKING

Everything about him was tough. The way he looked, the way he walked, the way he ran. Especially the way he ran. Jim Kiick was the perfect counterpart to Larry Csonka. He was Zonk in miniature, a relentless, raging inside runner who would punish tacklers and who fumbled about as often as Shula smiled.

The season before the undefeated team, he rushed for 738 yards in 12 games. The next year, splitting time with Mercury Morris, he gained 521. But he never complained. To this day, he doesn’t complain.

He was the consummate team player and he and Zonk, Butch and Sundance, were emblematic of the team. Had Miami been an advertising mecca back in the ’70s, Kiick would have been a hot property. With his rugged good looks and his swagger, he could have been a celebrity. As it is, he has done fine, with some local promotional work. He lives modestly in Fort Lauderdale with his wife and 3-year-old son, sometimes doing investigative work for the public defender’s office.

“It didn’t really open any doors,” he says. “I mean, unfortunately, Miami isn’t one of the best cities for endorsements. It’s not a New York or Chicago or L.A. At that time, it really wasn’t even that big a deal.

“I do some things because of my association with the team. But, really, that’s not the point. It was an achievement, and I’m proud to have been a part of it. It’s nice to be remembered. Every year I see a team that gets close and people get worried. I’m glad to see a team get close. If every team had lost one game by the fifth week or so, who’d care? Who’d remember?”

SO MANY MEMORIES

Well, it’s 20 years and just about everybody who saw it remembers different parts of the season. Vern Den Herder remembers every day when he gets up before dawn to start the John Deere and head out on the 900 Iowa acres. Bob Griese remembers when he pulls on the ABC blazer and does his crisp, cool football analysis, the same way he played quarterback.

Manny Fernandez, as bullishly successful off the field as he was on it, Paul Warfield, as smooth in the boardrooms as in the secondaries, they remember. Nick Buoniconti, chasing a cure for paralysis, running it down the way he stalked and stopped running backs, he remembers.

It is a year frozen in time. They were unbeatable and unmatched. Chicago tried and failed in 1985. Washington couldn’t do it last season. And that perfect season still comes back, black and white, in jerky, out-of-synch movements like old home movies:

— Larry Little, sprinting from one end of the field to the other after the third quarter of the opener, showing no effects of the oppressive heat in Kansas City.

— Bill Stanfill and Vern Den Herder harassing Joe Namath in Game 4.

— Bob Griese, writhing in agony on the field under Deacon Jones and Ron East, his ankle broken and dislocated in Game 5.

— The swarming No-Name defense led by undersized linebacker Nick Buoniconti, cutting off O.J. Simpson and holding him to 45 yards in Game 7.

— Charlie Babb returning the blocked punt 5 yards for a touchdown in the AFC semifinal win over Cleveland.

— Larry Seiple running instead of punting in the AFC Championship Game, gaining 37 yards and a first down at the Steelers’ 12.

— Garo Yepremian’s ridiculous intercepted pass in the Super Bowl.

So many memories, so many years. Shula is surrounded by them in his office at St. Thomas University. Super Bowl trophies, dusty now. The framed clipping of the newspaper, browning with age, proclaiming the ’72 Dolphins the Best Team Ever.

The accent is on the team. This collection of disparate parts proved the axiom: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Remember. Right tackle Norm Evans was picked up in the expansion draft. Center Jim Langer was cut by Cleveland. Guard Bob Kuechenberg was cut by Philadelphia and Atlanta. Larry Little, obtained in a trade with San Diego, was a free agent. Only tackle Doug Crusan was a first-round pick.

In two decades, the individuals have gone on to triumph and tragedy.

For the latter there is Marlin Briscoe. Attempts to locate Briscoe were unsuccessful. Anonymously, 10 of his former teammates said he has called them, sometimes in the middle of the night, asking for money.

The success stories — former State Sen. Dick Anderson succeeds in the cellular business, Nick Buoniconti on HBO, and Dr. Doug Swift, the linebacker turned anesthesiologist — are as uplifting as Briscoe’s is unhappy. Some careers contrast: Csonka speaks to corporate America every week about winning and co-hosts American Gladiators. Little is a head coach in the World League. Then the flip side: a defense was named after Bob Matheson and the No. 53 jersey he wore, but he can’t find work in college coaching.

For one season, they suspended reality. Twenty years later, each has a share of immortality. But mortality has touched all their lives. Shula and Griese both lost wives to breast cancer. Wayne Moore, the huge tackle, died of a heart attack in 1989. Buoniconti’s son, Marc, was paralyzed while playing linebacker at The Citadel.

From the enormity of heartbreak like that to mundane, everyday things — job uncertainty, overdue bills — the perfect team has known them all.

But the years have not tarnished one thing — 17-0. That glistens still. And when he talks about it, Shula, who pulled it all together, fairly beams.

“The bonding of the team over the years,” he says, “the interest we all have in preserving that accomplishment, that’s been an enjoyment. We get more proud of it each and every year. Going back the next season and repeating, that’s something to be proud of. But 17-0, that has to be the greatest accomplishment of all.”

WHERE ARE THEY NOW

— Dick Anderson: Former state senator, president Cellular Trading Corp., Miami.

— Charlie Babb: GM Causeway Lumber Co., Naples.

— Larry Ball: Defensive backs coach, Southwest High, Miami.

— Marlin Briscoe: Whereabouts unknown.

— Nick Buoniconti: Attorney, HBO football analyst, fund-raiser for The Miami Project to Cure Paralysis, Miami.

— Doug Crusan: Vice president of sales, Texco, Corp., Cincinnati.

— Larry Csonka: Sports motivational and humor speaker; co-host of syndicated American Gladiators TV show, Lisbon, Ohio.

— Jim Del Gaizo: Branch manager, Margaretten and Co. mortgages, Boca Raton.

— Vern Den Herder: Farm owner, Sioux City, Iowa.

— Jim Dunaway: Farm owner, Mississippi.

— Norm Evans: President, Pro Athletes Outreach, Issaquah, Wash.

— Manny Fernandez: Vice president, Commonwealth Land Title Insurance, Miami.

— Marv Fleming: Sports agent, Marina Del Ray, Calif.

— Tim Foley: Owns Amway Distributorship, Tavares.

— Hubert Ginn: Car salesman, Savannah, Ga.

— Bob Griese: ABC-TV college football announcer, Miami.

— Bob Heinz: Promotional advertising sales executive, Palo Alto, Calif.

— Al Jenkins: District manager, beer distributorship, Columbus, Ohio.

— Ed Jenkins: Attorney, Johnson and Jenkins, Boston, Mass.

— Curtis Johnson: Firefighter, Toledo Fire Dept., Toledo, Ohio.

— Jim Kiick: Investigator, Public Defender’s Office; promotions, Fort Lauderdale.

— Howard Kindig: Real estate developer, Baton Rouge, La.

— Mike Kolen: Real estate, Montgomery, Ala.

— Bob Kuechenberg: Owner, Kuechenberg Advertising Concepts, Miami.

— Jim Langer: Manager of Radco Industries, truck accessory division, St. Cloud, Minn.

— Charles Leigh: Employer unknown, Albany, N.Y.

— Larry Little: Head coach, Ohio Glory, World League of American Football.

— Jim Mandich: President Lotspiech Co., Miami building contractor; media raconteur, WIOD radio and TV-33, Miami.

— Bob Matheson: Unemployed football coach, Apple Valley, Minn.

— Maulty Moore: Youth counselor, Fort Lauderdale.

— Wayne Moore: Deceased, 1990.

— Earl Morrall: Republican candidate for the State House of Representatives in District 92; owner of Arrowhead Country Club, Davie.

— Mercury Morris: Motivational speaker, author, TV host for syndicated Outside the Lines show, Miami.

— Lloyd Mumphord: Oil derrick worker, Opelousas, La.

— Karl Noonan: Real estate sales, Charlotte, N.C.

— Jesse Powell: Insurance sales, Lubbock, Texas.

— Jake Scott: Investor, Hawaii, Colorado, Atlanta.

— Larry Seiple: Assistant coach, Miami Dolphins, Miami.

— Bill Stanfill: Real estate, Albany, Ga.

— Doug Swift: Anesthesiologist, Pennsylvania Hospital, Philadelphia.

— Howard Twilley: Clothing store owner, Tulsa, Okla.

— Paul Warfield: President, the Warfield Co., consulting and management placement firm, Moraine, Ohio.

— Garo Yepremian: Sports show on WGAL-TV, Lancaster, Pa.