The Rams’ Old Faithful in the Line

The thing I like about the Rams’ tackle, Jackie Slater, is, he always reminds me of this patient old mechanic who comes to fix the wiring or the plumbing.

You know the type. He comes in, drops his tool box, wanders over to check the problem, see whether it calls for a wrench, hammer, or simply needs to be plugged in where someone forgot. He’s as dependable as the tide, unexcitable as a saint and as meticulous as a surgeon. Nothing surprises Jackie Slater. Nothing upsets him.

Well, that’s not quite true. A couple of years ago, a flashy New York Jets defensive end, Mark Gastineau, was doing what he called a sack dance, a particularly obscene form of schoolyard gloating over a fallen quarterback, and Jackie Slater was enraged by what he took to be an unpardonable breach of a professional’s code. So, he went over and fetched the braggart end a clop alongside the head. Jackie Slater doesn’t like bullies. Or showoffs.

He likes people who are like himself--professional, impersonal, disciplined, even compassionate.

Some years ago, a San Diego psychiatrist did a study on the types who play pro football and concluded that you could always spot an offensive lineman by his locker. It would be neat, clothes on hangers, hats on hooks, no girlie pictures, no open cans, cigarette butts, no litter. It could belong to a monk. Defensive players’ lockers, on the other hand, looked like West Beirut.

Offensive players were, like their lockers, neat, almost persnickety, apt to give a great deal of attention to detail. They weren’t exactly given to going around wiping their hands on the tops of doorsills looking for dust, but they frowned on sloppiness. They are technicians. They are also, the good doctor found, stubborn, persistent, slow to anger, not given to violent outbursts. They are not risk-takers. They are good family men. They are programmed to take care of people, these Good Soldier Schweiks of football.

Jackie Slater has been taking care of people in football backfields so long that he doesn’t even bother to turn around anymore to see who it is.

In college, it was a piping-voiced young kid named Walter Payton. On the Rams, it’s been so many from Lawrence McCutcheon to Wendell Tyler to Eric Dickerson to Charles White--to say nothing of Pat Haden to Vince Ferragamo to Dieter Brock to Jim Everett--that Jackie Slater needs a program just like the guys up in the boxes.

Eric Dickerson may not miss Los Angeles, but it’s a safe bet he misses Jackie Slater. When Eric’s successor suggested, “Anybody can run behind that Ram line,” he probably had Slater in mind.

Slater has been anchoring that line since Gerald Ford was President. That was four coaches ago. Jackie is one of only two active Rams left to have played in the team’s only Super Bowl. He is part of the team’s past.

He is also part of its future. For offensive linemen, life in the NFL is a mixed bag. “You labor in anonymity,” admits Slater.

An offensive lineman is about as public a figure as a night watchman.

On the other hand, you labor long. You’re like a fine old watchmaker they won’t let retire. Of the 10 guys who have played the most games for the Rams, 6 are offensive linemen.

For some reason, maybe for a lot of them, offensive line play is not given to everyone. If you’re a guy who likes to get his picture in the paper or hear his name over the air, it’s not for you. If you’re the kind of guy who might throw himself on a hand grenade, it might be your spot. “It calls for consistency and sacrifice,” admits Slater. “It’s no place to go ad-libbing.” Soloists need not apply.

It calls for great strength and determination. Offensive linemen fight in a closet. The defender always knows where he is going to be. The offensive lineman has to figure out where the defenders, who frequently swap assignments to confuse the blocking, are going to come from.

“It is a combination of strength and technique,” says Slater.

Like shotputting, it requires a lifetime of concentration.

Jackie Ray Slater has historically done this better than anyone else. He is the mountain the pass rushers have to climb to get at the quarterback. They frequently end up lying on the slopes like a frozen leopard. Jackie usually gets the registered desperadoes of the game to block--the Reggie Whites, Bruce Clarks. But for 173 games he has danced every dance.

He’s the Rams’ Old Faithful, the pros’ pro. He’s the kind of guy who will show up for work on time and every day for 13 years, as he has on the Rams, and when he fixes something, there won’t be any parts left over. And if the play calls for a sweep, you can bet Slater’s man won’t stop it.

And you can eat off his locker.