(6 of 9)
Montana's enthusiasm for all the comeback lore is restrained, which helps explain why he talks so little about those years. He spent too much of the games on the bench. But even there his self-assurance showed, and it could have rankled Devine or his assistants. Teammates may see more virtue in his kind of sanguine temperament than college coaching staffs do. Whether shooting baskets in the intramural "Bookstore Classic," or pool at Corby's or Frisbees at beer cans in the hallway hockey games, Montana was a natural competitor, and the players knew it. His jokes, another element probably only they understood—icebreaking one-liners—were not automatically funny. They were only funny when he said them.
"That pass was a little off the mark," he deadpanned after finally getting into the Purdue game the championship year and then throwing his first pass out of the stadium. "The coach is going to really think I'm a jerk." Joe had sat on the bench in that game watching first Rusty Lisch, then Gary Forystek, then Lisch again. When Montana at last came on in the fourth quarter, the Boilermakers led 24-14. From that first miss, he went on to complete nine of 13 for 154 yds. and a 31-24 victory. "The team responded to him that day," Devine says quietly and pauses. "And I responded to him."
There were six registered miracles in Montana's time at Notre Dame, more than enough to elevate anyone to the rank of blessed. In his final college game, in arctic conditions at the Cotton Bowl, the Irish lagged behind Houston 34-12, almost as if to test the limit of his magic. Montana got to work, and with four seconds left, a pass play to Kris Haines would have scored the winning touchdown, except Haines slipped. Kris remembers: "We went back into the huddle with two seconds to go, and Joe said, 'Don't worry, you can do it.' He gave me that little half-smile of his and called the exact same play again, right on the money for the touchdown." The final score was 35-34. Joe was ready for the pros.
At the time, most pro scouts thought less of Montana than Bill Walsh thinks of most scouts. "They have no command of what the quarterback position takes, but they are good at reinforcing each other's opinion on what they don't know. All they care about is how tall he is, his build, how heavy he is, his delivery and if he can 'throw the ball a country mile.' "
Montana cannot throw the ball that far, only far enough. "They said he was erratic, skittery, not particularly well built, not particularly strong-armed; and he had a side arm delivery." They missed the things Walsh has seen since. "He's a natural football player—really, a natural competitor. He competes instinctively. It's like he's so used to competing that he has no awe for it, nor for himself."