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Namath assays his talents with cool detachment; his teammates look on him with almost religious awe. He is their meal ticket, the No. 1 breadwinner in one of the tightest families in the game. There is never any doubt who is in charge when the Jets get the ball. Coach Weeb Ewbank, perhaps football's best tutor of quarterbacks (he was also Unitas' coach at Baltimore during Johnny U.'s heyday), will occasionally send in a play, but Namath always has the option to change it. Appraising the situation on the field, Namath is usually the last man to step into the huddle. Then he may say something like "Slot right, flex, Jerome clear out that seam, Rich blow on through there at the post." Translation: he wants Wide Receiver Jerome Barkum to dash into the gap between two defenders while Tight End Caster sprints straight upfield toward the goal post. About 40% of the time, though, Namath will simply say "Play at the line," and call the signal after he has sized up the defense.
Namath is no academic wizard. But Jet Receiver Coach Ken Meyer says wonderingly: "Joe's football intelligence must be in the genius range." Nearly every football expert agrees that Namath has no peer in analyzing the situation during the crucial 2.5 to 3.5 seconds between the time he takes the snap from Center John Schmitt, drops back into the defensive pocket and cocks to fire. Says diminutive Wide Receiver Eddie Bell, who had seven catches for 197 yds. against Baltimore: "Namath must have peripheral vision. Most quarterbacks wait until their receiver makes his break and then they throw. Namath throws before you break and the ball comes right down into your arms. Somehow he anticipates what guy is going to be open. And when he throws a bad pass, he admits it." Joe does not often have to make that admission, as rival defenders will testify. Says Washington Redskin Cornerback Mike Bass: "If he has the slightest amount of time, there is no real defense against him. He'll get off a perfect pass."
Glowering. One curious aspect of Namath's eminence is that he is totally out of step with the latest trend in pro football quarterbacks: powerful, mobile passers who can run nearly as well as they throw. He is not the perfect quarterback to begin with; his ball handling is merely ordinary, and as Minnesota Viking Fran Tarkenton points out, Namath tends to overestimate his arm and throw into a crowd. Further, every step that Namath takes away from his pass protection is an invitation to disaster. Who knows when those Achilles' knees, girded every Sunday in steel and rubber like radial tires, will absorb the blow that ends his career? Whether Joe could have been the kind of running quarterback in the pros that he was at Alabama is moot. Namath has been forced by injuries into the obsolescent mold of such pocket passers as San Francisco's John Brodie, Sonny Jurgensen of Washington and Joe's own high school idol, the incomparable John Unitas.