Latest Setback Is Business as Usual for Butz

Dave Butz has reached the point in his football life where he’s become the game. Free as a 305-pound bird, ready and seemingly eager to be bagged by the highest bidder, he may be the only player in National Football League history twice able to sell his services in a mostly unrestricted market. Coming to the Washington Redskins and, perhaps, going.

Predictions about where Butz might play next season, if he plays at all, are oil-slick slippery. With two Super Bowl rings, he might be the sort of on-the-field and clubhouse presence a contender covets. He also might be a few hundred thousand dollars, or two twisted knees at defensive tackle, away from his 15th season as a Redskin.

There is one certainty: this free-agent experience will not be remotely as rewarding as his last. The leverage this time is on the other side.

As he expected, Butz did get a letter from the Redskins the other day. Registered no less. But it apparently was little more than a glorified howdy. Nowhere was there mention of a qualifying offer about next season’s pay.

For a man who will turn 39 about a month before any NFL training camp opens, this is not pleasant news. It means that the Redskins are fairly certain either 27 other teams will not woo him with much passion or that he will not be a major factor if somebody does meet his price.

While not putting it in writing, the Redskins are suggesting Butz could once more try to earn a place here--but on their terms. It’s demeaning, essentially making a man bigger in ways other than size beg for a job, but not to the degree that it seems at first glance. Even if he’s let go, Butz has a parachute suitable for a man of his stature.

Butz is in the phase-out portion of a gutty and lately glorious career; if they can get away with it, the Redskins will refuse to pay him regular wages (estimated at $500,000) for what might well be part-time work. Playing-time incentives always could be part of any contract at a drastically reduced base salary.

Let’s say the Redskins and everybody else insist the last member of the Over The Hill Gang actually is over the hill. A player with as much service as Butz is entitled to $150,000 in severance pay. It’s the sort of league-wide gesture (earned through tough bargaining) once offered only by George Allen, the man ho brought Butz to Washington.

“It’s big business, baby,” Butz told The Washington Post’s Tom Friend. “Here today, gone tomorrow. It doesn’t matter how many times you played hurt. It doesn’t make a difference.”

Pro football certainly is a bigger business than when Butz arrived, though perhaps actually less cold to the hired hands. How long has Butz been around the Redskins? Well, about 14 years longer than lots of fans imagined and at least a few teammates hoped. When his colossally wide feet first dented Redskins’ sod, in early August 1975, John Riggins was still a New York Jet.

Free agents in the NFL were even less free when Butz made his escape from St. Louis. The price he fetched, two first-round draft choices and a No. 2, still is considered the largest compensation ever, wildly exorbitant even for Allen.

The Raiders and Redskins offered equally flattering contracts; double his salary with the Cardinals and all of it guaranteed, Butz said. Allen’s offer was the earliest.

What Allen paid in draft-choice terms seemed especially outrageous because Butz had missed all but one game the year before with as ugly a knee injury as anyone his weight can suffer. For many, the deal was typical Washington overspending--Allen’s answer to the $400 screwdriver.

Butz is fairly certain some Redskins conspired against him almost as much as opposition guards and centers during his early years here. He thought it strange that his tackle partner, Diron Talbert, called so many audibles during combat that Butz never recognized. He would hesitate, just a fraction of a second, but long enough to be embarrassed and for Talbert’s buddy, Bill Brundidge, to be sent into the game.

So Butz more than anything has been a survivor. From serious knee surgery. From teammates trying to delay his ascent as long as possible. From coaches and players around the league who whispered he was not quite inspired enough to reach his full potential. He’s outlasted nearly all his critics and contemporaries. Randy White, a child of 36, announced his retirement from the Cowboys last week.

Butz can be enigmatic. Some friends thought he would retire gracefully after last season, when the Redskins seemed to be hinting that might be a fine idea after he set the record for consecutive games played; suddenly, he was talking not only about another season but also all but crawling to training camp. Incredibly, he described the scourge of all veterans, that annual intrusion into the offseason, mimicamp, as “fun.”

Often unapproachable, Butz can be delightful. After returning an interception 26 yards, to the one-yard line, against the Bears in 1981, Butz said one of his concerns was being whistled for delay of game. He always adds that it took the offense two cracks to advance the ball that measly extra yard into the end zone.

More than any Redskin, Butz has watched the experience he now faces. Business as usual in the business of sport.