A Pro’s Pro Studies What to Tackle Next

“Anybody can play on special teams, but to be good, I think you have to be kind of sick, where you really don’t care about your body. Actually, getting your bell rung doesn’t feel too bad. It feels kind of good.”--HANK BAUER 1983

Hank Bauer could not run a pass pattern like Lynn Swann or carry a football like Earl Campbell or block like Ed White or tackle like Lawrence Taylor.

However, none of those fellows could do all of those things.

Hank Bauer could. And did.

And do not get the idea that Bauer was therefore cubbyholed as a jack-of-all-trades and master of none. He was perhaps the first National Football League player to become a star on special teams.

Before Bauer came along, about the only special-teams players who got any recognition were the kickers . . . and I mean the fellows who kick (or miss) field goals and extra points. Even punters labored in relative obscurity.

Indeed, the special teams were a rotten place to be and a dirty job to do. They were one step above playing semipro football for a construction company. Playing special teams was more of a sentence than an assignment.

No one told Bauer.

He relished whatever it was he was asked to do on a football field. It never occurred to him that special teams were anything but.

He was nicknamed the Howitzer, mainly because he would roll through opposing blockers as relentlessly as a 200-pound cannon ball. When the Chargers were kicking off, which was often at the height of Air Coryell’s golden days, receiving teams were more concerned with Bauer than they were with the ball.

I can imagine kick returners had specific instructions for their teammates: “If you guys will just block Bauer, I’ll worry about the other 10 guys.”

The NFL Alumni Assn. recognizes the special-teams player of the year with the Pro’s Pro Award. It had to have been invented with Bauer in mind. He won it in 1980, 1981 and 1982.

At a banquet before the 1983 Super Bowl, all of the top players were being honored. Bauer was there to pick up his usual Pro’s Pro Award.

“I want to thank everybody,” Bauer said in acceptance, “and I hope all you guys enjoy your trip to Hawaii.”

Everyone else was invited to play in the Pro Bowl, but not the Pro’s Pro. There was no accommodation for special-teams players in the Pro Bowl, except, of course, for kickers and punters.

The oversight was corrected for the 1983 season, when each conference selected one special-teams player to the Pro Bowl.

However, it was too late for Hank Bauer. He retired during training camp because it was discovered that he had a broken neck. In fact, he had unwittingly played the last six games of the 1982 season with the injury. Sure, there was pain, but Bauer assumed the game was supposed to be played in varying degrees of discomfort.

Thus, for special-teams players, he had opened doors he would never pass through.

“I was a little bit of a pioneer,” he said Friday. “That was my niche . . . my contribution.”

Hank Bauer was sitting on the deck behind his Tierrasanta home. The morning was splendid, the sun bright and the dew sparkling on the grass. The yard is perched above a canyon, and schoolchildren were playing on a mesa off in the distance.

From Hank Bauer’s backyard, he could see forever.

But he could not see as far as tomorrow.

You see, Bauer is out of work. To him, that’s not the bad part. The bad part is that being out of work means that he is out of football.

After serving four years as a Charger assistant coach, he was fired this week.

“I’m disappointed, hurt and shocked,” he said. “It’s an empty feeling, kind of a mid-life crisis, I guess.”

These things happen all the time, of course. Assistant coaches come and go, always much more quietly than head coaches come and go. There is neither fuss nor fanfare for hirings or firings. Just short statements and small headlines.

It just couldn’t be that way for Hank Bauer. He was too much of an institution hereabouts.

Fans loved Hank Bauer for the same reason they love the Padres’ Tim Flannery. He was an all-out guy. They knew if they paid $20 for a seat, they would get $19.99 of effort from Bauer and figure the other guys would pick up the rest of it.

“I hope people remember me that way,” Bauer said. “People I run into tell me that they remember me as an all-out guy, and I think that’s the most complimentary thing you can say about an athlete.”

Bauer, at 32, is contemplating an uncertain future. Football has been his life as much as his livelihood.

In a sense, he is at a tranquil crossroads. He does not need to make a snap decision, the way he would if he had to decide who to block or who to substitute. He has time.

When I asked if he had a few minutes to visit, he laughed.

“Are you joking?” he said. “I have nothing but time.”

He talked of coaching, broadcasting, teaching or maybe even training for a career in something such as sales. It’s like he’s running down the field and six different guys are carrying the ball, and he can tackle whoever he wants. In this case, Bauer will tackle whatever he wants.

Whatever Hank Bauer tackles, you know one thing for sure. He will hit it hard.