Does This Add Up? The Better Doss Plays, the More He’s on the Sideline

You’ve seen Reggie (Kentucky Fried Chicken) Doss. Then again, maybe you haven’t.

Quick, look . . . there he was, stuffing some running back into the turf, patroling what he calls the dark side of the Ram defense. And there Doss goes, summoned back to the Ram bench in favor of Gary Jeter, the designated pass rusher.

If Doss, a defensive end, completes his job as specified, which he usually does, he plays once every four downs. So, the better he guards against the run, the less he plays. You figure it out because Doss would rather not bother.

Against the New Orleans Saints last Sunday, a typical defensive series went like this:

First and 10 on the Saint 24. Doss takes his place on the right side of the defensive line. Saint offensive tackle Bill Contz is opposite him. Quarterback Dave Wilson takes the snap, hands to running back Rueben Mayes, who gains a yard up the middle.

Second and nine. And no Doss.

Anything resembling a passing situation and Doss finds himself on the sidelines, watching Jeter. That would explain why Doss, who had 8 1/2 sacks as recently as 1984, has 2 1/2 in the last 28 games.

“It’s kind of like a bullfight,” Doss said. “You have the picador who runs around and gets the bull tired and here comes the matador when all the hard work is done and he gets all the fame of being the hero.

“I kind of look at myself as being the picador, the guy who runs around when the bull is fresh, who has more chance of getting killed out there. Here comes the matador and the bull is tired, bloodied and bruised, so the matador stands up and sidesteps him with his cape and ole’s him.”

And about this chicken business. What does it all mean?

Said Doss: “It’s like that commercial that comes on: ‘Kentucky Fried Chicken--we only do one thing, so we do it right.’ ”

Doss does it right. Problem is, no one notices. Since when does a defensive end work a crowd into a frenzy with a toe tackle? Or earn a Pro Bowl berth by forcing a sweep inside? You think Mark Gastineau earns a jillion dollars because he can read a trap play?

Sacks. Defensive linemen love sacks. It’s their touchdown, their form of retribution.

Alex Karras, the former All-Pro of the Detroit Lions, once said he needed no other inspiration than the sight of an opposing quarterback.

” . . . I see them as ‘goodies,’ people who’ve had music lessons and a barber who calls them ‘Master Harry,’ and they go on to Eastern colleges and talk snuffy, and their hair is groomed flat against their heads, and they have these thin, delicate noses, and they take their girls on picnics with big straw hampers to hold the dishes . . . and napkins, and they’re so polite, they kiss on the cheek in public, and . . . “

And you get the picture.

This is what Doss must do without. “I’m kind of like the silent partner in a limited partnership,” he said. “I mean, a defensive end without sacks is like a carpenter without his tools.”

It wasn’t always this way for Doss. Back in 1978, when Doss wondered if anyone would draft someone from tiny Hampton Institute in Texas, it was worse. To put it charitably, he was a no-name. Sure, he was an NAIA All-American, but when is the last time Hampton played a school that didn’t need a car wash to buy its uniforms?

The Rams chose Doss in the ninth round and hoped for the best. By the 1982 season, they were getting it as Doss began what became a four-year reign of leading the defensive line in tackles. And although no one was mistaking him for Jack Youngblood, Doss did manage to dump a quarterback now and then.

Jeter, a likable fellow, arrived in 1983 from the New York Giants and added 6 1/2 sacks to the Ram total. Ram coaches embraced such potential. Doss grew angry and territorial.

“When Gary first got here . . . my first thoughts were, ‘Well, hell, here’s a guy who played for (Ram Coach John) Robinson in college, was their All-American and all that,’ ” Doss said. “Since I’ve been here, I’ve always had to fight that adversity: Low-round pick, you’re lucky to be here and all this kind of stuff. But I think I’ve proven myself to be a good player in the league and I think my work on the field shows it.

“When (Jeter) came in, I knew there was only going to be a certain number of spots open. I said, ‘Hey, I’m not giving up mine.’ He had to come out and perform and show he was a better player than I am. After the first year, we kind of had to co-exist. Is that the term I use?”

Doss still doesn’t invite Jeter over for afternoon tea, but things have calmed. Really, they had no choice.

“There was nothing to sell,” Jeter said. “They said, ‘This is how we’re going to do it.’ I have no complaints about the situation. I’ve always said that it’s the quality of the time, not the quantity that matters. Reggie . . . he’s a unique individual,” Jeter said. “At first, we didn’t get along.”

Now they do, enough to understand the situation. The Rams, those specialists, have tinkered with almost every position. The defensive backs are rotated. Linebackers are substituted, depending on the down and distance. And, of course, there are Doss and Jeter: Two players, one position.

“I think it’s a matter of getting the most efficient play over a 60- 70-play ballgame,” said Fritz Shurmur, the Ram defensive coordinator. “I know Reggie doesn’t like the fact that he comes out of the ballgame. Being the kind of guy he is, I understand it. I think that’s all based on the competitive nature. I wouldn’t want him if he jumped up and down and said, ‘I love it.’ I wouldn’t respect him.”

Shurmur said the Rams now get an expert in run defense and then a specialist at pass rushing out of the position. Doss and Jeter get more rest, too. “It keeps them fresher at the end of the game,” Shurmur said.

All Doss knows is that at the beginning of last season he was on the field for at least two plays a series. “But between this year and last, I’ve lost another down.

“What can you say about it? As long as I feel I can go out and play, when I’m in, do the best that I can, I can’t really gripe about it too much. Still, that little man inside of me is saying, ‘Damn, you can go out and do the job, get the job done.’ ”

Oddly enough, there is a Reggie Doss Fan Club, as evidenced by a single sign that hangs from the upper deck of Anaheim Stadium on game days. On occasion, Doss and the group talk shop after a game. It’s the least he can do, he says.

So it seems that someone notices a well-placed forearm shiver, after all. Or at least a good picador.