REDSKIN TONES DOWN : Manley, Leader of the Sack, Isn’t Rushing Words

During his six seasons in the National Football League, Dexter Manley has gotten more publicity for his whim than for his wham.

That’s not to say the Washington Redskins’ defensive end doesn’t pack a punch. The 70 sacks he has recorded since the league started keeping that statistic in 1982 are tops in the NFL, and he has sent more than one opposing quarterback off the field in search of his senses.

It’s just that Manley, a lightning-quick, 6-foot 3-inch 257-pounder, is more likely to cause a stir with his quick wit--and even quicker lip--than his fast feet. Throw some unusual off-the-field antics and you’ve got a bona fide folk hero, more revered than the founding fathers here in the nation’s capital.

For example:

--Manley knocked out Cowboy quarterback Danny White in the NFC championship game four years ago, and the Redskins knocked Dallas out of Super Bowl XVII. A week later, Manley was telling the media throngs that he probably would be the Super Bowl’s most valuable player and guaranteed a Washington win. And the Redskins did win, 27-17.

--In 1982, he was arrested for impersonating a police officer and altering the registration on his Mercedes. He had worked as a county deputy in the off-season and failed to turn in his badge, and he changed the date on the temporary tags because the new one, from Texas where the car was registered, hadn’t arrived yet.

--He showed up at training camp in 1983 with a Mohawk haircut and the new, self-imposed nickname of Mr. D.

--In 1985, he arrived for practice three hours late, drove his Ford Bronco onto the edge of the practice field, got out and raised a drinking glass in a toast to the Redskins. When a couple of teammates persuaded him to go home, Manley sped out of the parking lot, crashed into a 16-wheel tractor-trailer and totaled his car. He wasn’t seriously injured and somehow passed an on-site sobriety test.

--Later that year, he told a Chicago reporter that he intended to knock Bear running back Walter Payton out of the game.

--During this season’s holdout--he missed all of training camp and the entire exhibition season in a contract dispute--Manley said on a radio show that Washington owner Jack Kent Cooke was “a miser . . . the guy is very tight.”

--The holdout didn’t seem to hurt Manley’s performance on the field--or in front of the microphones. He told San Francisco reporters before a game that he was going after 49er quarterback Joe Montana, who had recently come off back surgery, and wanted to “ring his clock.” Washington won the game, but Manley was hampered by what he said were illegal crackback blocks by 49er tight end Russ Francis. “The next time I see Russ Francis, I’m going to hit him in the mouth with a baseball bat,” Manley said later.

So you can’t wait to hear what Manley has to say about the NFC championship game against the Giants Sunday in the Meadowlands at East Rutherford, N.J.?

Don’t hold your breath, because Manley--believe it or not--is holding his tongue.

Most in these parts find this turn of events hard to believe. Every day this week, they have crowded around Manley’s locker, turned on their television cameras and held up their microphones and waited-- hoped --for him to break the spell and jettison a load of jibes.

But Dexter is not budging.

He just stands there in his electric blue tights, a pink bandanna slung around his neck and that huge, contagious grin splitting his face, giving ridiculously meek answers that ring with the kind of tedium you’d expect from a high school coach on the eve of the big game.

“I’m nervous--I don’t know if I really want to show up at Giants Stadium,” he says, trying desperately to look serious. “I don’t know if the other players will have to drag me out of my hotel room.

“They’ve beaten us twice already. We have to find out how to beat them. But right now, I don’t think we can. We’ll have to wait and see, I guess.”

You get the feeling that this Mr. Humble routine wasn’t Manley’s idea. He’s playing it just a bit too strong, you know.

The thing is, Coach Joe Gibbs and even Cooke himself have suggested that Manley choose his words more carefully on numerous occasions in the past . . . and it hardly ever even slowed him down before.

Has management asked him to refrain from mentioning what he has in mind for Giant quarterback Phil Simms’ timepiece? Are there a lot of things he wants to say, but just isn’t going to?

“Probably,” he says with a wink.

But those pesky media types keep baiting him, waiting for that inevitable slip when the real Dexter Manley’s provocations come flowing from this smiling impersonator’s mouth.

“Y’all won’t stop, will ya?” he said, the good-natured tone still apparent. “Ya just won’t stop. I’m mute today, guys, M-U-T-E. Look, there’s (receiver) Gary Clark over there. Don’t y’all want to talk to Gary?

“Look, we’re very fortunate to get this far, and I don’t want to say anything inflammatory to get those guys ticked off, ‘cause let me tell you, they’re for real. Best thing to do is just be quiet.

“And, hey, I’ve been shut out for three weeks now, anyway. Half a sack in the last three weeks. Who wants to hear from guy who has half a sack in three weeks?”

Few are convinced. Manley is still pinned in front of his locker. It’s as if everyone is sure he’ll break sooner or later, and they don’t want to miss it.

Maybe a few more specific questions to get him rolling . . .

What can he do to get around Giant tackle Brad Benson, who kept Manley away from Simms in the last meeting?

“He shut me out the last time, that’s all I can say,” Manley said. “The odds are against me. I don’t really stand a chance.”

OK, let’s try another tack.

The Giants have a powerful, two-pronged attack featuring Simms and running back Joe Morris. What must the Redskins do to contain them?

“I think we have to find a way to slip an extra guy on the field to even have a chance to stop those guys,” he said. With a straight face, too.

The guy who has made more opponents’ locker room bulletin boards than Hollywood Henderson is determined to stay off the Giants’ walls this week.

“Look, I’m just playing it cool,” he said. “It’s just, well, a common-sense approach to keep a low profile. The Giants are a great football team and we’re just a Rodney Dangerfield football team. We really don’t stand a chance. I don’t see no reason for us to even go out there.”

He shakes his head. Dexter Manley can hardly believe he’s saying this stuff. He pauses for a moment or two, smiles and then says, “Isn’t this a lot of (bleep)?”

Then he excuses himself and leaves for a team meeting.

Manley may get a lot of attention for what he says--and even for what he’s not saying these days--but opponents spend a great deal of time preparing for him.

When he finally agreed to terms with the Redskins this season, he settled for a reduced base salary--$1.6 million over four years--to get a contract bulging with incentive clauses. The more sacks, records and awards he gets, the more money he pockets.

It was a gamble that’s paying big dividends these days.

His 18 sacks this season are a team record, but he has had more than sacks appeal. Maybe even more impressive is the impact he has had on his opponents’ concentration. He has led offensive left tackles across the line of scrimmage into 27 penalties--including 15 holding calls--for a total of 218 yards. That means Manley has been responsible for almost as many yards on the ground as running back Kelvin Bryant, who gained 258 yards in 69 carries.

If you add in an estimated 120 yards in sacks, 26 more for the fumble recovery he carried in for a touchdown against Minnesota, and subtract the 75 yards he has cost the team with penalties against him, he has a great yardage record for a man who only touches the ball by mistake.

Manley will be making his first Pro Bowl appearance this year. It will be his first more because of his lack of popularity with his peers--the players vote for the Pro Bowl teams--than his ability and performance in the past.

“I know that because of some of the things I’ve said, most of the players around the league think I’m a jerk,” he said.

Guard R.C. Thielemann, who spent eight years with Atlanta before coming to Washington in a trade last season, admitted that Manley is considered a hotdog by many players.

For years, Manley also was considered a sucker for the run because of his undisciplined desire to get to the quarterback.

“I desire to get there,” Manley told the Washington Post last year. “Like if someone kidnaped my kid, I’d desire to get there.”

But Gibbs said that teams no longer run exclusively at Manley. And he has started using words such as consistent and balanced when talking about Manley. Manley is still intent on getting to the passer, but he doesn’t mind throttling a ballcarrier now and again, either.

“He’s not exactly your top short-yardage man, but he’s gotten much better at playing the run,” middle linebacker Neal Olkewicz said.

Olkewicz thinks he has watched Manley grow up on the field, but the consensus is that Manley’s personal life has had more to do with his maturation than any on-the-field experiences.

He was married briefly while in high school because his girlfriend was pregnant. “I didn’t want an illegitimate kid,” he said. Manley was remarried the day before the 1984 season opener, and he and his second wife, Glinda, have two children, Dexter, 2, and daughter Dalis, 8 months. His first son, Derrick, is 9 and lives with his mother in Houston.

“Yeah, I’ve settled down,” Manley said.

Except for when he’s on the field, of course.

Manley carries an ugly six-inch scar on his left cheek, the result of a fight over a parking space when he was a freshman at Oklahoma State.

He says he learned to walk away from fights that night. But he still revels in controversy and the limelight that goes with it.

“Dexter does a lot of things that irritate you, but he’s also refreshing,” Olkewicz said. “I don’t know if he can tone it down. Even in practice, he plays with an intensity you rarely see.”

A writer made one last stop at Manley’s locker, informing him it was his last chance to say something scandalous.

“I told you, I’m a Boy Scout,” Manley said. “You must have heard a lot of stuff about me. What did you expect me to be, a Brian Boswell or somethin’?”

Manley laughed when he was told the man’s name was not Boswell but Bosworth, the flamboyant linebacker from the University of Oklahoma.

“Well, maybe I’ll dye a blond streak down here,” he said, rubbing his head. “Then I’ll remember it.”

But then what’s in a name? Surely, this guy wearing Dexter Manley’s No. 72 is an impostor, anyway.

So who will show up at Giants Stadium Sunday? Will it be the old quarterback-baiting, quarterback-hating Manley whom Redskin fans have grown to love? Or this new polite version?

For the first time in this week of humility, the real Dexter Manley spoke:

“If I’m healthy after these practices, ‘cause these are very physical practices, believe me (chuckles), believe me (his voice rising), I’m gonna lay it on the line. Man, I got to, for the fans, ‘cause they’re the best.”