Along the ‘O Line,’ Trench Warfare Is Nothing Personal

At 9 a.m. the sun appears above the working class of football players known as offensive linemen and extracts sweat. It runs down their bull necks, powerful arms and heaving stomachs, saturates their gold pants and white jerseys and even seeps into the pads, tape, gloves and heavy, pinching knee braces they must wear.

Although encumbered by all this equipment, they still rustle over the Cal State Long Beach practice field with an unexpected nimbleness, their high-top shoes sifting straw-colored pieces of grass.

But unlike backs and pass receivers, there is nothing sleek about the 49er offensive linemen--280-pound tackle Mike Lilly’s belly, bare beneath his No. 77, is so large it shimmers--and they carry no hint of romantic football glamour, which is the way they want it.

“They’re blue-collar guys, they punch in, they punch out,” said offensive line coach Art Valero. “They’re nasty, hungry, aggressive, in control.”

They don’t score touchdowns or make headlines. They see themselves, not as individual glory seekers, but as anonymous warriors who make up a talented unit referred to always as “O Line.”

Tackle Joe Iosefa tries to spread that philosophy to the rest of the team. After the practice last week, which the coaches had judged as unsatisfactory, Iosefa, 6 feet 3 and 290 pounds, told the entire offense in an emotional speech: “We ain’t goin’ nowhere with people doin’ their own thing. We don’t want individuals here. If you’re an individual, just walk off the field and go home.”

An offensive lineman’s job is to protect the quarterback by warding off the charges and blows of maniacal defensive players, and also block to open paths for runners.

“You’ve got to have an attitude,” said Iosefa, who made the All-Pacific Coast Athletic Assn. first team last season. “If you don’t, you might as well forget it. You’ve got to be nasty, down to the bone. I don’t like to hit people, but it’s a job.”

The offensive linemen think they are different and no one argues about that.

‘Certain Unity and Pride’

“They have a certain unity and pride they think is unique, and it is,” said Mike Sheppard, the head coach of the 49ers. “They’re happy-go-lucky--until the ball is snapped.”

Fun-loving and hard-working also describes Valero, 28, an enthusiastic, short, stocky man who once was an offensive linemen himself. He constantly encourages and teaches his players, promising them fun and excitement but never letting them stray too far from the work ethic.

“Go over and grab a drink,” Valero said during practice. And as the players headed for water--which they would also pour over their heads--they heard him say, “And hustle right back.”

The offensive linemen seem to immensely enjoy their private little club, whose doors are open to only a psychotic few.

“We’re a close group,” said Lilly, who is trying to reclaim his starting job at right tackle from Jeff Sherer.

An offensive lineman “needs a little more excitement than the average person. We’re kind of crazy.”

While Lilly cut the tape from around his ankles after practice, Jim Brooks, a bearded 6-4, 270-pound senior guard of whom Valero marvels, “Gee, what a stallion,” changed into camouflage pants.

“Offensive linemen are not normal people,” Brooks said. “We’ve got too much energy, we’re kind of goofy, maybe because we’ve been hit in the head so many times.”

Brooks has the personality suited for his job.

“I’ve always been outgoing,” he said. “You have to be. You don’t see too many quiet, to-themselves guys.”

Brooks said he looked forward to the violence of line play. “It’s fun and it gets my aggressions out,” he said. “You have trouble with the girlfriend, you hit a little harder.”

He said he has no tendency to carry his football habits with him when off the field.

“We have a confident feeling in society because we are larger than most people,” Brooks said. “But you don’t walk around being bullies.”

Despite their outgoing nature, the offensive linemen attract little attention from fans or the media.

‘You Have No Stats’

“You don’t get recognition, you have to do it for the guys, your coach and yourself,” said Spencer Battle, a 6-4, 275-pound senior guard. “You’re not going to be in the newspaper. You have no stats (statistics are kept for every other position). If you’re the type who needs attention, this is not for you.”

But they are sustained by the recognition they get from teammates.

“If a running back gets publicity, you figure in the background someone has to be doing something,” Lilly said. “They (runners) thank us a lot.”

Brooks says offensive linemen have their own thrills.

“I live for the great block,” he said. “It’s the greatest feeling when you make a great block and see the running back go by. It’s a feeling that keeps me from being jealous” of the more-frequent praise ball carriers and quarterbacks receive.

Center Mike Hollingshaus, whose upper body reflects long hours in the weight room, rode a bicycle from the locker room back to the dormitory where he shared a room full of dirty clothes and empty cookie boxes with Brooks.

“We don’t even care about glory,” Hollingshaus said. “It’s fun for us. The greatest thing is to own the guy across from you; the worst thing is to get beat. If you have a bad practice, you’re in the worst mood, it’s the ultimate low, but if you come out and have a good day, it’s the ultimate high.”

Before the afternoon practice, the offensive linemen gather in a classroom to listen to Valero, who stands before a green board. With chalk, he diagrams formations and spills out football jargon: “drive,” “drop-step,” “key his near foot,” “C gap to linebacker,” “radical overleap through C gap,” “slip-it.”

“We’re going full-tilt this afternoon,” Valero says, indicating that there will be a contact scrimmage. “You have to be like a pack of wild dogs.”

Hearing this, Hollingshaus rocks his short, earnest head back and forth with anticipation, and grins.

In the moments before practice, the linemen lounge beneath one of the trees that line the field. They notice a breeze but regret that breezes never seem capable of piercing their face masks.

‘Big, Stupid Slobs’

Brooks says he can name only a couple of the top offensive linemen in pro football.

Battle says he believes that fans think of offensive linemen as big, dumb guys who run over people.

“Big, stupid slobs,” says Hollingshaus, an engineering major, as he puts on his bulky, black shoulder pads. Most of the others on the offensive line study physical education or industrial arts.

Hollingshaus, during a one-on-one drill, repels a defensive lineman after their initial grunting clash. Rushing up to him, Valero says: “Good, good, you got him going backward. Great work with your hands.”

A jetliner on a final approach screams overhead, a red light on its blackened belly twinkling, so close it seems as if one of the big linemen could reach up and pluck it from the sky.

But they don’t even look up, riveted instead on the nasty sight of Battle dropping a defensive rusher like a cowboy dumps a steer.

The following night, the 49ers held a scrimmage at Veterans Stadium, the first team against the reserves.

The smell of grass turning damp was in the air. The offensive linemen were ready. They huffed and spat and belched in anticipation. Iosefa’s black hair, mustache and beard gave him a sinister look. He had a bandage on his arm.

Quarterback Jeff Graham pounded on Battle’s back.

“Let’s go, O,” Graham said, then thumped the shoulder pads of the other offensive linemen.

Battle’s low, excited voice came from inside his face mask: “Come on, Joe, we’re about to roll.”

Enthusiasm of Young Boys

The offensive linemen rushed onto the field with the enthusiasm of young boys tearing toward a Christmas tree. They gave Graham the protection he needed to complete passes and they also made some key blocks. They were just as excited when they ran off the field to huddle around Valero and discuss what had just happened.

A holding penalty was called on Hollingshaus, distressing him. The day before he had talked of the pressure on an offensive linemen and how the only time they are noticed is when they make a mistake.

For the rest of the scrimmage, Hollingshaus couldn’t get the penalty off his mind. “When you think you’re playing clean, it’s the ultimate letdown,” he said.

Brooks talked about how he approached his opponent.

“There is a desire to tear him up,” he said. “You don’t know him, he’s probably a nice guy, but it’s a competitive grudge. You’ve always been taught to try and kill him the first few plays, force him to worry about you instead of his job”--getting to the quarterback).

The toughness of their work--”A street fight on every play,” Hollingshaus said--could be seen in Brooks’ hands.

“Your hands are never the same; the fingers are swollen, twisted and scabbed all season,” Brooks said, but not as a complaint.

“The great thing is to walk off the field and have this blood all over you. You feel like a warrior.”

An anonymous one, of course.