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What's Dirty? Huff's rough play is openly admired by pros. Explains Rams Coach Paul, who himself once enjoyed the title of meanest man in the league: "This is a contact sport, and it's played for pay by huge, finely trained animals. Rough play is what every coach wants. It causes fumbles, it causes touchdowns, and it stops the other team from scoring." The pros speak with respect of how Lion Fullback John Henry Johnson can throw his shoulder into a man's chest, then bring it up under his chin ("There's no better weapon in the game"). The elbow is also fancied. "I'd rather land one six-inch punch with my elbow," says one Ram, "than a roundhouse haymaker with my fist." As for tripping, holding, or pushing, no pro considers this dirty. Says one coach: "You get penalties when you get caught and touchdowns when you don't. On pass plays, the pushing and shoving and holding between defender and receiver is ridiculous. You look at the films after a game, and you'll see, time and time again, the key block was actually holding."
Yet the professionals' very capacity for hard play, and the game's increasing demands on their skill, have imposed a kind of unspoken code. Basic rule: there should be no deliberate intent to maim. Any pro violating the rule knows that sooner or later he will be playing the same team again, and someone will get him in retaliation. Occasionally, a hotheaded rookie will break the rules, but the hotheads do not last. Says Huff: "Sure, I get mad at certain players. But if I'm looking to get him on the next play, the ball carrier runs somewhere else. So I may get the man I'm after, and we lose the game."
Run for Fun. Even at its cleanest, pro football is a game of awesome violence. "Sometimes after a game you're so dragged out, so beat, especially if you've lost a close one, you can hardly raise your arms," says one Forty-Niner back. "You sit there naked on a dressing-room bench, maybe smoking a cigarette in hopes it will pick you up, but it doesn't. Every bone seems to creak, and every muscle seems stiff. If you think at ail, you're saying to yourself, 'Why the hell am I in this game? My wife is right: it isn't worth it. This is my last year.'
"Then you get into a team bus, and a friendly lineman shoves a pint bottle in your hand. Well, what the hell—a short drink won't hurt, or even two. Mostly, we guys just get a nice jag on, but I confess I've been roaring drunk. Well, next day you ache a lot—but at least you were able to sleep through your dreams while replaying the game. The headache goes away, and by Tuesday, you're back for more. Hey, this is good! It's fun to run. The hell with retiring, at least until next Sunday."
Running for fun is not for Sam Huff, who gets $11,000 from the Giants (plus a $1,000 bonus if they win the championship), plus another $12,000 for testimonials, speeches, and an off-season job as a Philip Morris salesman. "It's too tough a game to play for nothing," says Huff. "I enjoy being with the fellas and all, but without the money, boy, that happiness is over."