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Everything to Perfection. In the Year of the Quarterback, Navy's Staubach is easily the most electrifying player in a college uniform. "Just say he's terrific," says Pitt's Michelosen, whose Panthers play the Middies next week. But for nearly half of last year, he was a bench warmer, a green sophomore just up from the plebes, watching and learning from his elders. At last, Navy Coach Wayne Hardin waved him into a grinding, scoreless duel against Cornell. In 23 minutes of play, Staubach turned it into a rout, passing for one touchdown, running for two others. That was enough for Hardin. Staubach was his boy. When Navy played mighty Southern California, the nation's No. 1 team, the point spread was 17; Navy lost, but in a 13-6 squeaker. And then came Army. "If we have a perfect season and lose to Army," says Athletic Director William Busik, "then we're lousy."
Navy was a seven-point underdog. But at Annapolis they raised a banner, "Home of Roger Staubach," and for Navy that evened all the odds. Showing an admirable taste for tradition, he completed eleven out of 13 passes, personally accounted for 222 yds. and four touchdowns as Navy won 34-14. Army Coach Paul Dietzel had the air of a man preparing the excuse for next year. "Staubach is head and shoulders above all the other quarterbacks," he said.
"He's a beautiful, unbelievable passer; he's a scrambler and has great split vision; he can run, and that makes it impossible to defend against him and he's a tremendous inspirational leader."
Like Touch. In action, stilt-legged Quarterback Staubach is vaguely reminiscent of an ostrich. As he steps up behind the center, his arms hang loosely, and he shakes his fingers like a high-jumper warming up for the bar. Then he grabs the ball, rolls out to his right, and the fun begins. "At this point," says a Navy coach, "nobody knows what he's going to do except Staubach and God." He may pass, he may run, or he may just drop back 25 or 30 yds., before he makes up his mind. Navy linemen no longer block just one man; they hit, get up and hit somebody else, "because Roger may be coming back again." His receivers run their normal patterns, then keep dashing around waiting for the ball to come winging into their arms. As Staubach says: "Sometimes it gets to be a little like touch football."
Opposing coaches swear that he has eyes in the back of his head. As he dodges around back there, he has an uncanny "feel" for tacklers closing in on him from behind, and the glint of sunlight off a gold helmet among a swarm of defenders downfield is all he needs to register the position of his receiver. Says Coach Hardin: "Some people will be in a room a thousand times, and when they're out of it, they can't tell how many lights it has, what shape the furniture is, or anything. Staubach could. He sees things."