IN the long and fanciful lore of U.S. sports, the popular image of the star athlete has always resembled that of a Jack Armstrong modeled in granite—a little dense, perhaps, but still a selfless wonder who would do anything for "Pop." the kindly old coach. The hero was humble, would blush when bussed by a cheerleader, and was forever uttering inspiring words like "When the going gets tough, the tough get going." For him, a big night on the town was a twin bill at the Bijou and an extra-thick malted milk. He was the All-America boy. from his crew cut and three-button blue suit right down to his sweat socks and brown loafers.
Anyone foolish enough to talk that way about today's athletes would be sued for defamation of character. The outspoken, power-conscious modern player no more accepts the daguerreotype than Muhammad Ali relates to Uncle Tom. In college and professional sports there are boycotts, strikes and lawsuits by players challenging the established order. Nothing is deader than the old locker-room adage that there is no "I" in T. . .E. . .A. . .M, or that coach equates with king. The free safety is now a freethinker. The inarticulate tackle of old now has his own TV talk show. The rangy country boy with the deadly hook shot has a lawyer, a business manager and a pressagent to handle his manifold interests. Nothing symbolizes the swinging new athlete better than his dress—both on the field and off it.
Freedom of Expression. The New York Jets' Joe Namath was once instantly recognizable with his fancy white cleats, long hair and Fu Manchu mustache. But now Joe is being upstaged by a whole host of players with twinkle-toe shoes and pageboy locks. Defensive End Tommy Hart, who started a run on white cleats among the San Francisco 49ers, says gleefully: "We're psychedelic, man!" The Chicago Cubs' Joe Pepitone, who favors lavender suede sashes and see-through paisley shirts off duty, gets his kicks on the field by wearing a fluffy hairpiece. In the National Basketball Association, beards, goatees and blossoming Afros are as common as jump shots. The Buffalo Braves' Emmette Bryant has different colored sets of headbands—one for home, the other for away games.
Coaches may shudder at some of the lifestyles, but most take it in stride —though Cornerback Earsell Mackbee claims that he was cut from the Minnesota Vikings this season for showing up one day in a red lace jumpsuit, a fake fur maxi vest and a slouch hat. "Freedom to express your own personality makes for a winning team," says the 49ers' Ken Willard. "It's the swinging feeling around the clubhouse. A feeling that they're them and I'm me." His teammate Gene Washington, who grooves on $350 Oscar de la Renta suits, deplores the "archaic regimen" of traditional football-club rules. "Room checks at 11 p.m. on a Friday night before a Sunday game is Cub Scout stuff. I think professional players are above that. They will separate themselves from the team if they don't take care of themselves. They will be judged by their own fellows."