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Gambling was an embarrassing analogy to Kush, whose No. 1 draft choice of 1982, Ohio State Quarterback Art Schlichter, ran up a reported six-figure tab with bookies and recently turned to the FBI for protection. Going 0-8-1 on the field last year in his first N.F.L. season, Kush is 0-9 this year in the Supreme Court, which decided that he would have to defend himself against charges stemming from a sideline assault case brought by a former punter at Arizona State. That incident four seasons ago ended Rush's prosperous 22-year college coaching career. Probably Elway did not crave Kush's style of discipline.
Even if the coach was the one rejected, the city of Baltimore could not help feeling slurred. That Baltimore now constitutes the N.F.L.'s Black Hole of Calcutta seems rather sad if you know the charms of gritty cities and remember Lenny Moore, Raymond Berry, Jim Parker, Gino Marchetti, Alan Ameche, L.G. ("Long Gone") Dupre, "Big Daddy" Lipscomb and other remarkable players on exceptional Colts teams. "It is nothing but money, greed and selfishness any more," laments former Baltimore Quarterback Johnny Unitas, who never turned down any money but whose first salary in the N.F.L. was $5,000 in 1956.
Last week the Colts finally struck a deal with the Denver Broncos: two No. 1 draft choices plus a spare quarterback for the rights to Elway, who signed instantly, for $5 million over five years, with Denver, as close as he could get to the West Coast. The affair ended the way all N.F.L. episodes conclude lately, with Raiders Operator Al Davis claiming a league conspiracy had prevented him from trading for the Elway pick. One thing, though. The sympathy ordinarily felt toward the livestock seemed to go off somewhere else too. No matter how good they are, workaday towns are nobody's No. 1 draft choice. —By Tom Callahan