Their Cherished Lott in Life

The hardest hitter in sport? Choose one: a) Mike Tyson, b) Jose Canseco, c) Pete Sampras, d) John Daly.

The answer might be none of the above. The hardest hitter in sport might be a 6-foot, 200-pound human projectile who plays a game as if he were shot out of a cannon, or dropped from a passing transport with a knife in his teeth, a grenade in his fist and murder in his heart.

Ronnie Lott doesn’t hit a ball, he hits the guy carrying it. You don’t need a tape measure to register his hits, you need a seismograph. They are frequently 8.0 on the Richter scale at the epicenter, which is where Lott, approaching at sprinter speed, collides with the movable object carrying the football.

Lott is unarmed but dangerous. Lott is not supposed to be carrying the football--unless, of course, he is carrying the guy carrying the football. Which is often.

Lott is a first-rate wide receiver. In a way, he is better than Jerry Rice. Because, look at it this way, the quarterback is aiming the ball at Jerry Rice, right?

The last guy in the world the quarterback wants to catch the ball is Lott. But 58 times in his career, Lott has gotten open and caught the pass. Five times, he has scored a touchdown.

There are some games in Lott’s career they couldn’t be sure whether he was playing offense or defense. One year, he rolled up 134 yards with the football--on 10 interceptions.

Those would be pretty good numbers for a wide receiver. He even recovered 10 fumbles. If you’re looking for Lott, first look for the football. He will be on it, or holding it, or knocking it down or knocking down the one with it.

He is a strong safety by profession. He might be the best. That’s the Custer position in football--the last stand. If he falls, the battle might be lost.

Lott learned something early that every football player learns sooner or later: The game has to be played hard, aggressively, super-confidently--or not at all. Play football cautiously, timidly, even diffidently, and, chances are, you are not only going to lose, you are going to get hurt. To survive, you attack. Lott does that better than the German army.

Every general in history knew that an army on offense had better morale than the one sitting in a trench waiting for the bombardment. So, Lott carries the fight to the enemy. He strikes first and oftenest. He also knows speed is the antidote to strength. When Lott is on the field, receivers tiptoe into his territory, like guys walking through a cemetery where the statues move.

Lott doesn’t play football for a living, he plays it for a life. Intense, motivated, he feels personally insulted when a receiver or the ball arrives in his territory.

Lott tries to persuade intruders of the inadvisability of their rashness by hitting them at about the velocity and power of a falling safe. A Lott hit on a field is like no other. The ballcarrier usually acts like a guy who stepped on a roller skate he didn’t know was there.

No one plays football with more passion than Lott. The San Francisco 49ers went to four Super Bowls while he was there. Coach Bill Walsh and quarterback Joe Montana put up a brilliant offense. But first, they needed the ball. Lott got it for them. No one ever completed a long bomb when he was in the area.

So the football world was stunned earlier this year when the 49ers, so to speak, put Lott in the window with a price tag on him, put him in that humiliating bin marked “Plan B.” The NFL’s remnant barrel. It is the NFL’s scarlet letter. It has the effect of devaluing a player. You might say Lott’s life turned to salt.

But Lott was only 32. He could still run backward as fast as most people could run forward. He still played the search-and-destroy game of a heat-seeking missile.

The 49ers made a terrible mistake--and all you have to do to know it is look at the standings.

Lott, who has told his life story in his biography “Total Impact--Straight Talk From Football’s Hardest Hitter,” still is a Lott of football player and is having his typical all-pro year. He has seven interceptions--his second-best total--a sack and more than 70 tackles. As usual, his area should be marked “Lott Full--Try Alternate Areas.”

Lott’s locker is not ordinarily the best place to be when the Raiders lose inexcusably, as they did to Buffalo at the Coliseum on Sunday. Lott might mistake you for a tight end with the football. Lott does not like losing.

But he was asked whether he thought his brilliant season vindicated him and avenged his shabby casting off by the 49ers. “Football’s not about vengeance,” he said. “You play for your team and yourself. The only time I concern myself with the 49ers is when we play them. (The Raiders beat them in September, 12-6.)”

That might be. But the Hemingway confidant and author, Gerald Murphy, once observed, “Living well is the best revenge.” Lott is alive and living well and kicking butt in the NFL. The 49ers are looking for a free safety.