This Kelly Is Worth at Least Second Look

Has anybody here seen Kelly? K - E - double-L - Y. Has anybody here seen Kelly? Kelly from the Emerald Isle. --Refrain from “Has Anybody Here Seen Kelly!” (c) 1909, C.W. Murphy and Will Letters, William J. McKenna.

In common American football lore, it is a given that quarterbacks come from that part of the country that is equal parts bituminous coal, blast furnaces, steel rigs hauling pipe along the turnpike, Arnold Palmer and black smoke--what one writer called “Pennsylvania grimy.”

Joe Namath came from there. So did John Unitas. Joe Montana. Dan Marino.

And so did Jim Kelly.

Who?

Jim Kelly. K - E - double-L - Y. He may yet be the best of them.

You know, comics come from the Lower East Side, swamis come from India, lions from Africa--and quarterbacks from where the Allegheny and the Monongahela rivers come together.

You would think the National Football League would have a permanent installation along the banks there, automatically signing contracts with ever kid who came along carrying a football. But, it never seems to get the message.

Consider that Dan Marino came out of that coal belt two years ago with an arm like a hose and a release like an Arizona gunfighter’s--and was not picked until the 27th selection. But, that’s nothing. Johnny Unitas was not picked at all. He was running a steam shovel when the Colts found him in 1955.

Jim Kelly was not exactly on a steam shovel when the Houston Gamblers of the USFL found him, but he was close to it. He was the No. 12 draft pick of the NFL. Since that pick belonged to the Buffalo Bills--”I cried,” recalls Kelly--a steam shovel looked attractive by comparison. At least, a steam shovel is warm. “I hate to throw the ball in 10-degree weather,” Kelly said.

Fortunately for football, Kelly was not relegated to digging holes in the ground. Or playing for Buffalo either. Not quite. The Chicago Blitz of the USFL picked him on the 14th round and then, announcing that they were going to put their franchise on hold for a year, traded him to the Houston Gamblers. Houston signed him. It was like giving Michelangelo a chisel.

What is it about the Western Pennsylvania air that makes all-pro passers? Does the ball spiral better in the soot? Can’t the defense see? Does the looming presence of the coal mines make a pass rush seem like a comparatively easy way to make a living? All of the above?

Dan Marino, by any yardstick, had a fabulous rookie season. He completed 173 passes in only nine starts, throwing for 20 touchdowns and 2,210 yards, and threw only six interceptions. Kelly’s first year made that look like a struggle. Kelly gained more yards throwing than any quarterback in this country ever had, 5,219. That more than doubled the number of yards any rookie had ever thrown for before.

He threw for 44 touchdowns, more than any rookie had ever thrown for, and more than any quarterback had ever thrown for till Marino’s 48 last fall. Kelly had nine 300-yard games, and that was more than anyone till Marino hit 13 last fall.

Kelly did all this playing in a sprint-out offense, grandly called run-and-shoot. This is a suicidal attack favored by Mouse Davis, then offensive coordinator of the Gamblers. It was a little bit like trying to shoot buffalo from under the belly of a moving horse, or trying to hit a golf ball under water.

Dutch Van Brocklin, no less, once said that a quarterback should run only out of sheer terror or to get out of a hotel fire.

Quarterbacks, you see, like to plant that rear foot, take a breath, survey their options, read a defense, check with their stockbroker and get good and ready before launching that ball to where disaster might lurk. Kelly had to shoot off the hip in a moving crowd, like a bank robber doing a crossword puzzle while fleeing a heist. Or like a batter having to tap-dance and hit the curve ball at the same time.

Of course, the purists argue that the USFL is off-Broadway. Some think it’s just junior high school Gilbert and Sullivan. But gaining 5,219 yards shooting from the hip is marksmanship worthy of Sergeant York.

Look at it this way: No one else in the league found it that easy. Besides, the supporting cast didn’t put anybody in mind of the Lombardi Packers or the ’58 Baltimore Colts. Kelly might not have found complicated coverages out there, but neither did he see Elroy Hirsch running for the ball.

A lot of people were waiting to see what this modern Machine Gun Kelly could do for an encore. They found out Sunday at the L. A. Coliseum. K - E -double-L -Y completed 35 of his 54 passes for six touchdowns and 574 yards.

One of his touchdowns won’t make the record book, since it went to the wrong team.

But the five others were vintage Western Pennsylvania touchdowns. Kelly got three of them in the last nine minutes when his team was 20 points down and breathing hard. He got one of them in two plays spanning 53 seconds, and all three in an elapsed time of 2:42.

Those 574 yards were more than any American quarterback had ever thrown for, and part of the reason for it was that his coach, Jack Pardee, gave Kelly the luxury of throwing from the pocket in the second half. All of a sudden Kelly didn’t have to feel like the lead guy in a prison bust-out.

Five touchdowns and 574 yards would be a pretty good season for some quarterbacks. But not for guys trying to match up with Pennsylvania legends like Namath, Unitas, Marino and Montana.

Anybody here who hasn’t seen this Kelly may be missing history.