A topic of conversation in the Steelers locker room, in print and on the air the past week has been the short time they and the St. Louis Rams had between games.

Each played on Sunday, then met four days later Thursday night. Everything went into overdrive, from game planning to video review to scouting and practice sessions. Everything, that is, except for the time the players' bodies had to heal.

NFL players from the 1920s would have had a good laugh over this one. They would sometimes play three games in seven days, and on occasion one day after the next.

The game was different back then, as so descriptively portrayed in David Fleming's new book, "Breaker Boys," detailing how the Pottsville Maroons swept to the NFL championship in 1925 only to have it unfairly yanked from them. An 80-year quest to restore the championship has come up empty, most recently in 2003 when a vote by NFL owners turned down their appeal with only two owners voting for them -- both by Pennsylvania teams, the Steelers and Eagles.

The Maroons from eastern Pennsylvania were declared NFL champs after they defeated their closest competitors, the Chicago Cardinals, 21-7, in the last game of the season to finish 11-2.

As was the custom in the fledgling years of the new pro league, teams would play exhibitions to collect extra gate receipts in order to survive. The Maroons had one scheduled after the season against the Notre Dame All-Stars, which featured the 1924 "Four Horsemen" national champions who were coached by Knute Rockne. The game was arranged weeks previously and, after the Maroons received a verbal OK from the league to play, they signed the contracts.

However, the game was to be played in Philadelphia, home of Pottsville's closest NFL rival, the Frankford Yellow Jackets. The Jackets protested because the game was to be played in their territory. Even though there was no written rule against playing in another team's territory, NFL commissioner Joe Carr ordered the Maroons not to play Notre Dame in Philadelphia.

Fearing the lawsuits would wipe him out financially if he did not play because contracts had been signed, Pottsville owner Dr. John G. Striegel gave the OK for the game. The Maroons stunned Notre Dame, winning, 9-7. It's a game that helped elevate pro football's reputation, yet Carr, who wanted to rid the NFL of its small-city franchises, immediately suspended the Pottsville team and vacated its championship.

Eventually, the NFL title for 1925 was awarded to the Cardinals, even though that team violated NFL rules by knowingly playing another team that had hired four high school players for a day.

Part of the problem for Pottsville's attempts to reclaim the title all these years is that the 1925 "championship" is one of only two won in the sorry history of the Cardinals franchise, whose owners, the Bidwill family, have fought just as hard to keep it, deserved or not.

Fleming's book is about more than just a stolen championship. He writes of the times, about the early days of pro football, its gritty players and teams' unique problems trying to stay afloat and the growing grip it held on fans. Pottsville, home of Yuengling beer, was in the middle of the thriving anthracite coal region at a time when coal was king, but fading to the increasing reliance on a more liquid fuel. Pottsville was called the Green Bay of the East in pro football and the town rallied around its football team like none other in the NFL.

Yet, in the end, its team faded, as did the coal and the town. If justice were to prevail, some day Pottsville will rightfully reclaim its 1925 championship, long after it won the title on the field. But then, even the current use of instant replay does not always get the call right.

The Pro Bowl announcements always are followed by claims of injustice of another kind -- of players who deserved to be on the team and weren't elected, or those who made it and did not deserve the honor.

For years, however, the Pro Bowl teams have displayed another prejudice -- against linemen and defensive players.

Of the 42 players chosen for each team, only 17 defensive players are named and 21 on offense. Four are special teamers. Each coach can add one more "need" player, whether offense, defense, or as was the case for the AFC the past two years, a long snapper.

It's obvious the NFL has pushed offense throughout the years, changing rules as they go to help the offense and hamper the defense. But putting four more offensive players on its all-star team is a blatant slap at those who play defense in the NFL.

But that's small compared to how the league dumps on its linemen on offense and defense. The way NFL teams play today, on offense they start one running back, one quarterback, two guards and two tackles. Yet in the Pro Bowl, only three guards and three tackles make the team while three each are picked at quarterback and running back.

In the typical 4-3 defense most teams use, two tackles and two ends start. Yet only three players at each of those positions make the team.

Forget that individual contract bonuses are often tied to Pro Bowl selections and most of those will go to the so-called skilled players who already make more, it displays a lack of respect for the positions that most coaches proclaim determine most which games are won or lost.