1963 NFL Football Sunday Human Targets NY Giants Tittle - 2-Page Vintage Article

Description

1963 NFL Football Sunday Human Targets NY Giants Tittle - 2-Page Vintage Article
Original, vintage magazine article
Page Size: Approx. 10 1/2" x 13 1/2" (27 cm x 34 cm) each page
Condition: Good
"Get the Quarterback" is the name of the game. Through the rough National Football League
massive linemen hurl themselves at smaller quarterbacks, hoping to stir a spark of terror. Says
one, "They can't tell me they don’t scare, because I've seen it in the corner of their eyes.”
SUNDAY’S HUMAN TARGETS
In just a few days now the end-zone
camera will be zooming in for a close-
up, and the crouching quarterback will
fill the screen. Under his eyes he will
wear lampblack like warpaint. On his
head a warrior's helmet will sit. Then,
clear and staccato, the crack pro quarter-
back will bark commands.
A portrait of a captain, it will seem on
the screen, a captain confident, rugged,
unafraid—to the layman. “Do you know
what I say to myself?" says Ed Brown, a
highly competent professional who plays
quarterback for the Pittsburgh Steelers.
“You know what 1'11 be saying when I
see that close-up of the tough quarterback
in the play-off game? 1'11 be saying, the
poor guy is going to get creamed."
National League football, approaching
its climactic championship game, is our
most explosive demonstration of sanc-
tioned mass violence, and in the eye of
the violence stands the quarterback.
However he may appear, he is cheerlessly
aware that he is his team's jugular vein
and that the opposition would not weep
were he put out with an injury. This has
been true since the popularization of the
T formation in 1940; but in just the past
few years the quarterback's occupational
hazards have increased sharply. Coaches,
despairing of attempts to cover bumble-
bee pass-receivers, placed new emphasis
on smothering the passer. Thus, on one
recent Sunday Y. A. Tittle, the skilled,
elusive New York Giant veteran, emerged
with blood streaming down his face, not-
withstanding the face bar he wore;
Philadelphia’s Sonny Jurgensen retired to
the sidelines, his throwing arm bashed by
a 245-pound tackle; and Green Bay
quarterback Bart Starr, slugged by a
defensive halfback, left the brawl and the
game with a broken hand.
Men who make their living playing de-
fense are transformed the moment they
see a quarterback light out from behind
his cup of blockers. One shot at him in
open field can decide a game. The job is
more difficult under a pileup, where the
quarterback can snuggle up to layers of
beef, but a knee or an elbow placed
firmly against the small of his back does
damage and is judicious.
At times, Chicago quarterback Bill
Wade wishes he were a halfback for a
play or two. Halfbacks block, and a hard
block makes a nice repayment to an
opponent who has been uncouth. "But
a quarterback,” Wade points out, “is a
piece of merchandise that has to last
twenty games. You've just got to condi-
tion yourself to being a target.”
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