To Air Is Human in Football

At USC, the theory of football has always been sim-ple. You get the biggest, fastest, roughest members of society, put them in pads, hand them the football--and they run right at you and over you, trampling as they go. The nicknames tell it all: “The Thundering Herd” and “Student Body Right.” They told you all you needed to know about USC football. Brute strength always conquers in the end. From Howard Jones to Larry Smith.

At UCLA, the problem has been a little different. The Bruins, historically, had to make do with guys--and teams--that couldn’t go through you. They had to go over you, around you, under you. They couldn’t play turnstile football. They had to surprise you, sneak past. They won games the way the cavalry won wars. They had to be light, fast, tricky. They weren’t anybody’s Thundering Herd. They were “gutty little Bruins,” a nickname hung on them by, of all people, a USC track coach. They had to win pots with two pair. USC had four of a kind.

One of the things the Bruins always had to have was the all-purpose thrower of the football. The Arm. Even in the days when throwing the ball 10 times a game was considered an “aerial circus.”

With USC, the quarterback was frequently regarded as an afterthought. Just someone to hand the ball off to O.J. Simpson or Mike Garrett. With the Bruins, the quarterback was crucial. The Bruins needed Bob Waterfield.

And they need Tommy Maddox.

Tommy Maddox might be the best pure thrower of the football in the college game today. This is not to say he’s Joe Montana or Roger Staubach. He still throws into blanket coverage, releases the ball across the line of scrimmage. But he’s only a rookie. He’s what they call a “redshirt freshman,” i.e., a guy who saved a year of his eligibility by spending it in the red shirt of the practice team all his freshman year.

There’s more to being a good quarterback than a strong arm. Some of the best--Joe Kapp and Billy Kilmer come to mind--used to deliver the ball like a shot duck. But they got it to the receiver. Frequently in the end zone. They were like Arnold Palmer as a golfer. His swing wasn’t anything to copy. But his score was.

Tommy Maddox’s passes are artistic enough. He doesn’t submarine the ball like a Bernie Kosar or affect the end-over-end throw favored by Kapp. He doesn’t five-yard you to death like a Fran Tarkenton. Even his interceptions are bombs. He threw a perfect interception for a 70-yard touchdown for Arizona a week ago. It was the third game-winning pass Maddox has thrown this season. He beat Stanford (driving into field-goal range) with one, Washington State with another. And a week ago, he beat UCLA with the bomb.

The interesting thing is, no one at UCLA is worried. Even his mistakes are impressive. Maddox is armed and dangerous.

He can throw hard, he can throw soft. But mostly, he can throw long. His presence has so softened up the defenses that teams that used to crash into the UCLA backfield like cops busting a crap game now tippy-toe back with fear in their eyes and panic in their feet. With the result being that the Bruin running attack has doubled its output since he’s been in there. Running back Brian Brown rushed for 22 yards total in the first three games. He has rushed for 226 in the last two games since Maddox has been in there.

It’s clear why UCLA wants him--for the same reasons they wanted Waterfield, Gary Beban, Tom Ramsey, Troy Aikman. What was less clear was why Maddox wanted UCLA.

Turns out, Tommy Maddox wanted UCLA for the same reason they wanted him. He needs a team that needs him. He throws the football for a living--or will, one day--and needs a job where he can do what he does best.

He grew up in Texas, hard by Ft. Worth and Dallas. He was All-Everything in high school, and Texas was about as anxious to lose him as the Alamo. Schools even recruited as a group, telling young Master Maddox: “Look, if you don’t come to our school, at least stay in the Southwest.”

“I didn’t like all the schools on probation in the Southwest Conference,” he admits. “But I didn’t like the wishbone or veer offenses most of them use. I believe in the pass. It’s what I do. I subscribe to the Bill Walsh theory when he said, ‘You can play catch for five yards or you can pound it out for five yards. Which do you think is easier?’ ”

Walsh was giving a sermon to the converted. Tommy Maddox became a Bruin when he was invited to watch their practices for the Cotton Bowl game against Arkansas after the 1988 season. The Bruin quarterback was Troy Aikman, who had transferred from Oklahoma to get away from the wishbone--and into a multimillion-dollar pro contract.

Maddox knew he had found a home. If you’re a chef, you don’t want to spend your career frying potatoes in a diner in Poughkeepsie. A great photographer doesn’t want to do weddings. Great movie stars don’t play butlers. And great quarterbacks don’t go to Baylor. Maddox wanted to go where he was not only appreciated but needed. He wanted to go where Waterfield became a legend, Beban a Heisman and Aikman a millionaire. After all, the football’s got air in it, hasn’t it?