SOUTHERN SECTION DIVISION I FOOTBALL CHAMPIONSHIP : A Big-Time Hit With a Flip Side : Quartz Hill: Selves Smith intimidates on both defense and offense but a docile person emerges off the field.

Any psychologist attempting to study the duality of man might begin his research on the Quartz Hill High football field.

Look for No. 39. That would be senior Selves Smith, one of the area’s best linebackers who also appears at running back.

Smith will be at the forefront at 7:30 tonight at Anaheim Stadium where Quartz Hill (11-2) will square off against Loyola (11-2) in the Southern Section Division I championship game.

Watch Smith play inside linebacker. As a play unfolds Smith, eyes wide and staring a la the Chicago Bears’ Mike Singletary, will streak past blockers, drill a running back behind the line, then spring to his feet, firing an imaginary gun at the fallen back and blowing imaginary smoke from his index finger.

“I like contact,” Smith said. “I like hitting. If there’s a way I could get every tackle, I would love it, ‘cause I love hitting. . . . I like punishing runners. Once you hit somebody and clean their clock, it makes you feel good .”

But keep that notebook out. Smith has another side--a nice-guy side. Listen to him giggle. Look at that irrepressible glow. This is one big kid taking a bite out of life.

“When we go out as guys,” said John Sokalski, a defensive back and close friend, “Selves will act stupid and he’ll be giggling and making funny faces. He’s just a goofy kid. He’s just a sweetheart.”

Jekyll and Hyde? No. As they say in the high desert these days: Selves Lives.

If Quartz Hill’s overwhelming success as a team can be pinpointed, it can be traced to two areas: a hard-hitting, dynamic defense and a slick, greyhound-race running game.

There is only one player on the team--the best football team in the Lancaster school’s 26-year history and the first to play for a Southern Section championship--who can claim to play a pivotal role in both of those areas. His name rhymes with that of an American musical icon and he performs his own version of rock ‘n’ roll.

While Smith may be a love-me-tender sort off the field, he’s an on-the-field hound dog. He loves to leave ballcarriers all shook up, but that’s only one part of his game. Running the ball can be just as painful for opposing teams.

“An impact player on offense and defense,” said retiring Canyon Coach Harry Welch, whose team lost only to Loyola and Quartz Hill. “He can dominate you from sideline to sideline.”

Smith anchors a defensive dragnet that has allowed just 207 yards a game, 96 on the ground. Opponents are averaging only 9.5 points a game against the Rebels and have not scored in the second half of the past five games.

“That’s our belief,” Smith said about his team’s second-half dominance. “We have to believe that. To us, the second half looks like 0-0 and we’re going to kick some butt. We figure, you can’t lose a game if they don’t score on you.”

Little wonder that Welch found himself obliged to say: “Some kids are geniuses on the athletic field. This kid is advanced placement in football.”

Smith has arrived at that plateau by virtue of a family rich in athletic tradition--especially track.

His mother Alga was a champion high school sprinter in Alabama and his sister Madette was the California state long jump champion in 1986 and the state 200-meter champion in 1987. Smith runs the 100 meters and the 400 relay with football teammates Erik Thomas, David Nelson and Dehryen Mabry in the spring.

“People think because of my size, I’m slow,” the 5-foot-11 1/2, 205-pound Smith said. “But I have good, quick speed because it runs in my family. Because of my mom and my sisters.”

Smith, the Nice Guy, beams proudly.

As part of Quartz Hill’s Three Horsemen backfield with Thomas and Nelson, Smith has carried the ball 76 times for 546 yards--a robust 7.2-yards-per-carry average--and 10 touchdowns.

Smith’s popularity is such that each time he scores a touchdown, broadcaster Bob McEwen of Lancaster’s KAV Channel 3 shouts: “Ladies and gentlemen, Selves has left the building.”

Smith cracks up in embarrassment at the mention of the line.

“Yeah, I hear that on TV,” he said, giggling.

As proficient a runner as Smith is, his seal of authority clearly is stamped on the other side of the ball. His range reminds observers of a high school version of the New York Giants’ Lawrence Taylor, as fast and as powerful as a cougar.

“He’s our leader, no question,” defensive coach Ken Hettinger said. “He loves to hit and just plays excited.”

Opponents concur.

“He’s the diamond of the defense,” Welch said. “He is the polished gem. He can sack the quarterback, he can intercept the ball. He is a clean, beautifully aggressive player.”

Smith prefers a comparison to Singletary. For Smith, the eyes have it.

“That’s my boy,” Smith said. “Those eyes. That’s what the guys call me sometimes when I’m out there, they say, ‘Look at Selves’ eyes.’ My eyes are like this big, and sometimes in the game, I’ll just think about him. I’ll say, ‘Singletary, Singletary,’ and it gets me pumped up and my eyes get big and I start. . . . aaaaahhhh. . . . you know, getting all crazy.”

Smith nearly bounces off walls when he talks about playing linebacker. It is a labor of love for him, one that has drawn the interest of Pacific 10 Conference schools such as USC, UCLA, Arizona, Washington and Oregon. Smith has not made any college plans yet, shelving those letters until after the season. After tonight.

Tonight he will strap on his Rebel helmet for the last time. He will stop being Selves the Nice Guy and become Selves the Nasty again.

He will be counted on to make hits like the one he did in the opener against South Bakersfield, when he hit a running back like a 200-volt charge.

“From the cornerback position, I could see it,” Sokalski said. “A hole opened up and here comes the fullback, and I mean Selves lights him up.

“Knocks him flat on his butt. He didn’t even wrap. He just drove into his body. Everybody went nuts, telling him, ‘Selves, that was a crazy hit.’ ”

Smith enjoys the memory.

“When we met, it was like--Pow!--and all of a sudden, you see this guy flying back,” Smith said with a grin. “I jumped up screaming, ‘Aaaaahhhhh.’ ”

Hearing such war stories from and about such a disarmingly high-spirited individual seems incongruous. Said Hettinger: ‘He’s almost always in a good mood.”

One guesses it goes back to that idea of the duality of man. How else can it be explained?

“That’s what everybody says,” said Smith, referring to the notion that he’s just too darn nice to play football. “Everybody tells me that. But come game time, it’s a different Selves. I’m meeeeaaan.”

Sokalski says that it’s just part of the paradox that is Selves Smith.

“That’s basically how it is,” Sokalski said. “Football’s his sport. He gets fire in his eyes. He likes to pound. But in life, he’s like a puppy dog.”

Not to be confused, mind you, with a hound dog. For wherever Selves goes in life, his name, taken from his grandfather, will forever be associated with what’s-his-name. It’s appropriate, because, after all, it’s now or never for Smith and the Rebels.

“I don’t know,” Selves said sheepishly about the name confusion. “The first time people hear my name, they say, ‘Elvis?’ And I say, ‘No, Selves.’ But once they figure it out, they never forget.”

Little wonder. Selves Smith, on and off the playing field, is difficult to forget.