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Layne himself likes to minimize his importance to the team. "You're nuthin' without them ten big brothers," he drawls. But brother Bobby is more than just another quarterback. "Let me give you an example," says Bob McClellan, sports editor of the Detroit Times. "It's the L.A. Coliseum, fourth quarter. The Rams lead, 24-20. Remember? The Rams kick off and the Lions get the ball on their own 20-yard line. Bobby looks at the clock. There's ten minutes to play. Does Bobby throw the ball around like crazy and try for a quick touchdown? Hell no! That would give the Rams six minutes to catch up. Bobby takes his own sweet time. He uses up more than six minutes. Then he makes his touchdown and the Lions win. That's the kind of an old pro's trick Layne pulls all the time. He's dynamite when he smells that goal line." How Rough Can It Get? The intricate play patterns that swirl into organized confusion are often tricky to follow.
From any spot in the field, the pros are capable of pulling the perfect play: that heart-warming performance when every blocker gets his man and a long pass connects or a shifty runner is shaken loose for a touchdown. The man in the stands needs a quick eye to spot the subtleties of down-and-out pass patterns (ends charging straight downfield, then suddenly cutting for the sidelines), flaring halfbacks (who sneak through the line of scrimmage to take a pass in the flat) and looping defenses (in which defensive linemen feint to one side before charging to the other).
Not only do the pros play better and more complex football than even the best college teams, they also play rougher. "We play rough and we teach rough," says Lion Coach Buddy Parker. "And when I say rough I don't mean poking a guy in the eye. I mean gang tackling—right close to piling on."
If mugging goes on, it obviously goes best at the bottom of a pileup. Ball carriers who join the pros fresh from the unskilled slugfests of collegiate football learn fast how to fall with knees doubled and cleats in the air—a practice nicely calculated to scare off any unnecessary tackier. A runner who doesn't throw his arm in front of his face the moment he is brought down is either foolhardy or unconscious.
How to Keep Your Teeth. The Lions take just about as much as they dish out. And most of them agree that Don Paul (6 ft. 1 in., 225 Ibs.), captain of the Los Angeles Rams and a rib-cracking linebacker of the old school, is the dirtiest player in the league. Pro football being what it is, Paul takes this judgment for what it is meant to be—sheer flattery. "I play the Lions' kind of football," says Paul. "I don't hit with my fists, but when I hit a ball carrier and there is a split second between then and the time the whistle blows, I hit him again, hard." As far as Paul is concerned, the difference between a good pro player and a good college player can be summed up easily: "In the pros, you know how to get that extra leverage to be able to hit hard. You know how to hit and then be able to keep your feet to hit again. On top of everything else, you're 40 to 60 pounds heavier and 500% meaner."