Baseball, Where Defense Isn’t on Defense

It isn’t easy to believe, but Howie Long, renowned defensive lineman for the Los Angeles Raiders, never has attended a professional baseball game.

Of course, Howie is only 30, meaning he still has time to avail himself of the baseball experience, which he wishes he had pursued personally, in the first place.

Noting the contracts now written in baseball, Howie lapses into shock.

“My sons (he has three) never will play football,” he promises. “In our yard, you see gloves, balls, bats and a batting tee. My sons also will be sent to baseball camp.”

Probing the case more deeply, you find that Howie is motivated by more than money.

“In baseball, there is no holding,” he says, bottling some strong emotions. “Holding is all you see in my line of work. It is a curse. I would guess there is holding on 50% of the running plays and 99% of the passing plays.”

Escalation of holding, along with refinement of holding tactics, upsets Howie, especially reviewing, over the last decade, rule changes tilting the game toward the offense.

Rushers have been deprived of the head slap. The defense is allowed to bump receivers only within five yards of scrimmage. Blockers have been granted expanded use of the hands.

Then rushers going after the passer are permitted to hit him only if they are within a step of him. It used to be two steps, showing life for rushers is only half as good.

If a scrambling quarterback goes into a slide, the defense no longer can jump him. Nor can it grab the facemask of the guy with the ball.

The rusher can’t cream the kicker. If he merely brushes the punter, the victim takes an animated pratfall, trying to instigate a penalty.

And football initiates an “in the grasp” rule, calling for a whistle the instant the tackler gets his hands on the quarterback.

Out the window goes the joy of one guy grabbing him while two others work him over.

Little wonder Howie Long is encouraging his sons to take up baseball, a game from which the pleasure hasn’t vanished.

“The funniest part of football today,” Howie says, “is the scene in the projection room where defensive linemen study the previous game’s film. They see all this holding. They see a blocker grabbing a rusher by the jersey, falling backward and pulling the rusher down on top of him. They see leg-whipping. The official doesn’t call it. Someone in our room screams, ‘What the hell is he looking at?’ ”

Long is asked: “Do you have any luck on the field taking a grievance to the referee?”

“You can talk to a few,” he answers. “But you have to remember that referees today are stars in their own right. They make videos. They write books. They are in demand as speakers. They are featured performers on television.”

The function of the football referee took a dramatic turn when he was outfitted with a microphone and a beeper button at his belt and asked to make proclamations.

It was like going from silent pictures to talkies, like one in a crowd scene suddenly given lines. Facing the camera, often before millions, your referee clears his throat today and announces: “Will the timer please put four seconds back on the clock.”

For offsetting penalties, on which a speech can run 20 seconds, a ref may rehearse.

Since referees have become so visible, some may require an appointment for Howie Long to lodge a beef on holding.

“Why do you feel the defense is being discriminated against?” Howie is asked.

“Television pays to see points on the board,” he explains. “Offense sells television better than defense. Well, if you want offense, you protect the quarterback better. You protect the receivers better. And you do things to help the run.”

Considering that Howie is paid roughly $1 million a year, you wouldn’t want to say the system is abusing him.

But he still aims to urge his sons to take up baseball, which doesn’t favor the offense and doesn’t feature officials who face the camera, flick a button at the belt and announce:

“Personal foul, No. 2 of the Dodgers. He has been expelled.”