The Aztecs’ Enigma at Quarterback : Santos Shuns Spotlight : He’s Better at Listening Than Talking

Todd Santos won’t get buddy-buddy with you right away. Maybe he’ll shake your hand, but he’ll be looking out a window. Well, no one ever said football was an eye contact sport.

But Santos has acted this way forever. You meet him, and you say here stands another arrogant quarterback. He constantly turns down television interviews, as if publicity grows on trees.

His father, Bob, says: “You might meet him and think he’s stuck up.”

Meanwhile, his brother, Rob, hates to watch him do interviews. Todd gets asked a question, and he’s looking out some window again, and he doesn’t even answer. Rob saw this happen once and said to him: “Hey, Todd. Are you even paying attention?”

But Todd Santos is listening to every word. He listens, and he thinks. God forbid he should answer off the top of his head and hurt somebody’s feelings. Last week, UCLA sacked him five times, and he was asked about his offensive line. He paused, looked for a window to stare out of and said: “UCLA has a great defense.”

Later, he said: “I hate to put people down. I think it’s pretty low to do that.”

And after you’ve met Santos a couple of times, he might even look you in the eye, and he might even give you the ultimate signal that he likes you. For instance, he might say something funny and then slap you on the knee. That’s it. You’ve done it. You’ve broken the Santos barrier.

He slapped you on the knee.

Even people in the San Diego State sports information department are waiting for their first slap. To them, he’s an enigma. They know he’s a nice kid, but why so quiet? They say: “No one’s really ever done a big story on the guy.”

But why? Here he is--the leading passer in San Diego State history, a school known specifically for its quarterbacks and cornerbacks--and nobody knows him? Nobody knows what makes him tick off the field and click on the field?

Supposedly, he’s a tough nut to crack. He did an interview this week and it actually lasted for a half hour, his unofficial record. He looked at his watch near the end and said: “Five more minutes, OK?”

The interviewer kind of frowned.

Santos said with a smile: “Oh, what were you thinking? Twenty more minutes?

And Santos slapped the interviewer on the knee.

A breakthrough.

And Todd Santos is a quarterback who’s breaking records and is only a junior. He’s famous now, at least in these parts. He was driving to practice one day this year, wearing his stereo headphones, when a policeman pulled him over. See, it’s against the law to drive with earphones on.

“Let me see your driver’s license, son,” the policeman said.

And when the cop saw who he’d just pulled over, he said: “I’m not gonna give you a ticket. . . . Have a good game this week.”

Todd Santos couldn’t believe a cop knew his name.

Todd Santos is a reserved quarterback. He is into church, and he’s not into drinking. He’s a Mormon. His girlfriend’s a Mormon. He lives with the athletic department’s academic adviser, who’s a Mormon. He says he has never smoked a cigarette. When he’s at home, and he and his buddies are bored, they ask him, “Let’s watch a tape of the Colorado State game on the VCR, Todd.” He says, “No, I don’t want to watch myself play.”

In college football, there’s The Boz, and then there’s Todd.

Todd Santos says he hasn’t even heard of Brian Bosworth, Oklahoma’s outrageous linebacker, who drives a white sports car and wears earrings and a Mohawk hairdo.

Listen to this . . .

Reporter: “You don’t know Brian Bosworth? He’s that guy from Oklahoma. You know, that linebacker? Drives a white Corvette?

Santos: “I wish I did (drive a white corvette). I drive a Honda Civic. . . . It gets me around. . . . So they (Oklahoma) got him the car or something, right?”

Reporter: “No, he (Bosworth) says he bought it.”

Santos giggles.

Reporter: “And he has a punk hairdo and wears an earring.”

Santos: “Well . . . uh . . . that’s crazy (giggling again).”

Reporter: “Would you wear an earring?

Santos: “No.”

Reporter: “Why?”

Santos: “It’s too . . . I’m more conservative than that. . . . I don’t even drink, for one thing.”

Reporter: “You ever been drunk?”

Santos: “High school. I mean, I drank every once in a while, but there was only one time I got drunk. . . . Graduation. . . . You’ve got to do it (get drunk) once in a lifetime. . . . I guess.”

Reporter: “How was it?”

Santos (giggling again): “Pretty crazy.”

Reporter: “Did you get a hangover?”

Santos: “Yeah . . . a little one. . . . I laid around all day.”

Reporter: “Do you still occasionally have a drink?”

Santos: “Not any more.”

Reporter: “Is it because of your religion or because you think it’s stupid?

Santos: “I think it’s all right to have a beer once in a while . . . with dinner, maybe. But with our religion, it (alcohol) is prohibited. You don’t drink liquor. I know it’s bad for you, and I know there’s a reason not to drink it, so that’s why I don’t drink it. If you have a beer, you can have another and on and on. So if you just stay away from it, then you’ll have a clearer mind.”

Reporter: “Never a cigarette either?”

Santos: “No . . . ever. Worst I’ve done is drink beer or liquor. Drugs? No . . . ever. But don’t get me wrong. I like to have fun, too. Don’t get me wrong. I’ll have fun, but I’ll do it in the right way. You need to have common sense.”

Reporter: “You know, you don’t exactly fit the stereotypical quarterback image. . . .

Santos: “And who has developed that image?”

Reporter: “The media, probably.”

Santos: “Uh huh. See, everyone’s different. Not everyone’s a Jim McMahon. Everyone’s got their own personality.”

He slapped the reporter on the knee.

The other great San Diego State quarterbacks were mostly mischievous.

Examples:

DENNIS SHAW, 1968-69, 5,324 PASSING YARDS--He initially attended USC, but Coach John McKay wanted to make him a linebacker. So he left for San Diego State, where Don Coryell put him at quarterback. In 1969, Shaw set a school record with 39 touchdown passes.

He used to team with receiver Tommy Nettles (Graig Nettles’ cousin). One game, State had a fourth and one deep in its own territory and Coryell decided to go for it. It was going to run a dive play, but Shaw saw Nettles uncovered and gave him a little nod. Nettles took off on a bomb and Shaw hung it up there. And Coryell was running alongside, screaming: “You better catch this, you son-of-a . . .”

BRIAN SIPE, 1969-71, 5,707 PASSING YARDS--He was the understudy to Shaw his first year. In a game against New Mexico, Shaw had thrown eight touchdown passes and five of them had been to receiver Tim Delaney. Coryell put Sipe in the game, with orders to get the ball to Delaney in the end zone so that Delaney could set an NCAA single-game record with six touchdown catches. Instead, Sipe threw a touchdown to another receiver.

Anyway, Sipe ran off the field in glee, but Coryell grabbed him by the shoulder pads and scolded him for disobeying. Sipe, overly emotional, slammed down his helmet. Shaw was sent back in, threw a touchdown to Delaney, and that was that. Sipe pouted for days.

JESSE FREITAS, 1972-73, 4,193 PASSING YARDS--In 1972, Coryell’s last season, Freitas alternated every other down with Bill Donckers. The following year, Freitas was the No. 1 quarterback under new Coach Claude Gilbert, but Gilbert planned to run the football more than Coryell. Freitas injured his hamstring--not seriously--but he wouldn’t play.

A friend asked Freitas: “How bad is it?”

Said Freitas: “Can you keep a secret? It ain’t that bad. But I didn’t come here to run the option. I’ll milk this injury for all it’s worth. I think I’ll tell Claude I feel good enough to drop back and pass, but not to run.”

He ended up throwing for 2,993 yards that year, third highest in school history.

And then there’s Todd . . .

TODD SANTOS, 1984 TO THE PRESENT, 5,727 PASSING YARDS (most in school history)--The most mischievous thing he has done? He went to John Wooden’s Basketball Camp one summer and missed dinner one night. He went back to his dormitory room and kept complaining he was hungry. His buddies got sick of his nagging and dared him to scream out the window, “I’m Hungry!”

He did, some counselors heard it and Todd and his buddies each had to do 100 sit-ups.

That’s Todd’s idea of mischief.

“You know how some guys think, ‘I’m the greatest!’? That bugs me,” Kristin Hill was saying.

She’s Todd’s girlfriend.

“When I meet a guy like that, it’s like I want to hit him,” she was saying. “But Todd, he’s really neat. You’d never know who he was.”

What she means is, you’d never know he’s a starting quarterback.

Kristin and Todd, they’re a great couple. The other day, Kristin--who’s on the San Diego State tennis team--was sitting with a teammate at a campus place named Monty’s Deli. Kristin--cute and petite, light brown hair and blue eyes--isn’t like Todd, in that she’ll talk your ear off. “I’m kind of a spaz, and he’s pretty calm,” she said.

Anyway, she and her friend, Shelley Susman, began talking about boys, and Kristin was saying things like, “Todd and I watch a lot of TV. . . .”

But at no point did Kristin say, “Well, he’s the team quarterback!” For all Susman knew, Kristin was going out with any old Todd. But a reporter stopped by and Susman found out which Todd her friend was talking about, and she opened her eyes wide, smiled and said: “This is such a shock. Oh my god! I’m sitting with a girl who goes out with Todd Santos?”

But Kristin isn’t the type who goes around bragging that she dates the star of the team, like a lot of college girls would.

“I don’t go out with him just ‘cause he’s quarterback,” Kristin said.

Santos met her through the athletic department’s academic adviser, Veston Thomas. It was last year. Thomas had become acquainted with Kristin and found out she was a Mormon and was interested in renewing her faith. Thomas also is a Mormon, and he and Todd are close, so he suggested that Todd take Kristin to church one Sunday.

Thomas told Kristin about it, but she didn’t want to go with Todd. She was just a freshman, and she was embarrassed. But they went, and two days later Todd called to ask her out on a real date.

“I was so nervous about our first date,” she was saying. “I told my dad I was going out with this guy, and I didn’t want to say he was the quarterback, but then I did. You know what reputations quarterbacks have. You know, they’re not usually nice to girls. My dad didn’t think I should go out with him. But, later, my dad met him and now he wants me to go out with him.”

Kristin doesn’t drink either, but they go to movies and to the beach, just like any other couple. Thomas is proud to have been the matchmaker, mainly because he and Santos are so close.

Last year, Santos had been living with four other players in a four-bedroom apartment. The landlord wanted only three people living there, and she evicted all of them. Santos had nowhere to go, but Thomas said he had an empty room in his basement and that Todd could rent it.

He has lived there ever since, and Thomas’ six kids have fallen in love with Santos. After the season-opening victory over Cal State Long Beach, Santos returned to his room to find a crayon-written poster hanging from the ceiling:

“Todd, you’re rad!” it said.

Then, when he broke SDSU’s all-time career passing record against UCLA last Saturday, he returned to find another one:

“The greatest in history! We think you’re great! Good luck, Todd!”

When it’s real quiet in the house, Thomas knows exactly where his kids are--hanging out with Todd.

“He just fits in,” Thomas said. “To be honest, he’s another member of the family. On Mother’s Day, he gave my wife a card. She thinks the world of him.”

Sometimes, Santos calls Mrs. Thomas mom.

His real mom and dad live in Selma, Calif., a small town (pop: 11,000) about half an hour from Fresno. His mom is talkative, a Mormon and a secretary for a local school; his dad is quiet, isn’t a Mormon and works for a tire company. There are two other boys--Rob and Ron--and both are quarterbacks.

Todd was asked to describe Selma, and he called it boring. But Todd doesn’t much like to talk about where he came from.

“Call my old friend, Steve Richardson,” Todd said. “He can really talk. You’ll like him. He’d be a really good Roy Firestone or someone like that. He’d be good on ESPN.”

Steve Richardson was asked to describe Selma.

“Selma, in a nutshell, is a little bigger than Mayberry, and it gets half the recognition,” Richardson said.

Todd Santos somehow made it out of there. He excelled as a quarterback and had a great junior season, leading Selma to a 13-0 record. But the Coach Rich Merlo came in the following year and, according to Santos’ brother, Rob, wasn’t disciplined enough. A lot of Todd’s teammates rebelled and the team fell apart. Todd, who was upset at his teammates because he badly wanted a big-time college scholarship, typically would not criticize them. But the mediocre senior season cost him.

Fresno State and Northern Arizona offered scholarships, but he had higher desires. He wanted to go to Brigham Young, being a Mormon and all. And he visited there, but they didn’t come through. San Diego State had run out of fall scholarships but said he could have one in the spring if he wanted. He accepted.

So he sat out a semester and went to work in his brother-in-law’s cotton plant. Said Richardson: “He was real quiet at that time. He was worried about his future.”

Richardson didn’t even want him to go to SDSU because the Aztecs had just recruited phenom, Jim Plum, from Helix High.

Santos redshirted the first year, and he was homesick and lonely. His mom had always kicked him out of bed on Sundays to make him go to church, but he’d never cared, really, about religion. But once he got to SDSU, he became a strict Mormon, mostly because he needed something familiar to grasp onto.

By his second year at school, 1984, he was splitting time at quarterback and was happier. Then he started all of last season. Plum is riding the bench.

Santos wants to go pro. He spent all last summer working out at Fresno State with National Football League receivers Stephon Paige and Henry Ellard. He stayed in shape. He and Richardson would go out dancing, but Todd would just order water.

“You should’ve seen the looks the waitresses gave him,” Richardson said.

One night, they went into a Chinese restaurant and the waitress asked Santos what he wanted to drink, and Richardson said: “Bring him water, Miss. A big pitcher of water!”

“Cut it out, Steve,” Santos said.

The thing about Santos, though, is that he’s almost too laid-back. Richardson said he and Santos used to go out together but that Santos wouldn’t start getting dressed until Richardson came over to his house. “I guess I’ll get ready now,” he’d always say.

Richardson also said Santos doesn’t like to read about himself. “He won’t read your article--I guarantee it.”

He’s just not one to get over-excited. Last Saturday night he broke the school record but said only: “I guess I’m excited about it.”

That same night, his uncle came inside the locker room to tell him that his younger brother, Ron, had been hit by a car. Ron had a broken arm, broken leg, knee ligament damage and a serious concussion. It had been a hit-and-run, and he’d been thrown 20 feet.

When Todd found out, he was scared, but here’s how he responded to his uncle: “That Ronnie is always getting into trouble.”

Honestly, Ron’s accident devastated Todd. Richardson said he knows Todd is upset when he doesn’t return phone messages. And Richardson has called him three times this week and has yet to hear a word back.

Still, Santos was asked this week if the accident would affect his preparations for Saturday’s game against New Mexico.

“Oh, no problem,” he said, staring out the window again.

SAN DIEGO PASSING LEADERS

Name Years Comp.Att.Int. Yards TDs Todd Santos 1984- 455-746-35 5,727 36 Brian Sipe 1969-71 436-788-43 5,707 44 Dennis Shaw 1968-69 333-575-41 5,324 39 Jesse Freitas 1972-73 324-518-31 4,193 28