His Value Measured in Seconds

Do any of these names mean anything to you? Ralph Metcalfe? Thane Baker? Enrique Figuerola? Lennox Miller? Robert Taylor? Silvio Leonard?

No? Then, you probably never heard of Sam Graddy, either.

Like all of the above, Sam Graddy could have been a historical figure. They all came within inches of it. They all finished second in the Olympic 100-meter dash. They are living proof of the wisdom of the British yachting skipper who brought news to Queen Victoria of the U.S. victory in the first America’s Cup race.

“Who was second?” demanded the Queen. The captain sighed. “Your Majesty,” he said gently, “there is no second.”

Sam Graddy could have told her the same thing. In 1984, Sam was, certifiably, the second-fastest human on the planet. Apart from a few ocelots, only one creature was faster. Fellow named Carl Lewis.

Ralph Metcalfe could have told him the feeling. Ralph Metcalfe would have been the fastest of his year--except for a fellow by the name of Jesse Owens. In fact, Metcalfe had the melancholy distinction of having finished second in two Olympic hundreds in a row--in 1932 he finished second to Eddie Tolan, in ’36 to Jesse Owens.

Jackie Robinson’s brother, Mack Robinson, could have told him, too. Mack finished second to Jesse in the 200 in ’36.

You finish first, you get to be Jesse Owens or Carl Lewis. You finish second, you get to be “Who?” You get a silver medal--and permanent obscurity.

If it weren’t for Carl Lewis, Sam Graddy might be a household name in this country today. Like Lewis, he might still be running in Olympic Games.

Instead, he had to go to work for a living, carve out a new career for himself. There are only medals, not money, for guys who finish second.

Sam Graddy was at a crossroads. He could spend the rest of his life chasing Carl Lewis across finish lines for cameras and watches. Or, he could spend his life racing guys who had to run backward much of the time, or, at least, run while trying to look over both shoulders at once.

He went into a line of work that would be considered anathema to your average track and field star. You see, an Olympic sprinter takes as much care of his legs and feet as the Louvre does of the Mona Lisa. He tends to think of them as separate parts of his anatomy. He does everything but put them in a vault overnight. He oils them, massages them, keeps them out of drafts. Nureyev never took better care of his legs than an Olympic sprinter does.

But Sam went into a business in which legs and thighs aren’t objets d’art, they’re targets. And 270-pound homicidal human Herefords are hurling themselves at them every Sunday.

Sam joined the National Football League, where he didn’t have to worry about Carl Lewis anymore. But Carl Banks was no day at the beach.

Olympians in the NFL are as rare as Eagle Scouts. An occasional Michael Carter, shotput medalist (silver) in the ’84 Olympics, a decathlete (Milt Campbell), suit up now and then. But the prototypical Olympian was the sprinter Bobby Hayes, who parlayed his sprint and relay gold medals from the Tokyo Olympics into a brilliant career as Roger Staubach’s favorite long receiver with the Dallas Cowboys.

Graddy, like Hayes, had been a football player before he was a sprinter. His dream was the Super Bowl long before it was the Olympic victory stand.

Even though he weighed only 145 pounds, Sam Graddy was a good enough football player in high school to get offers from scores of colleges. But mostly they were regional all-black schools. Encouraged by his father, a Delta Airlines pilot, Graddy, desirous of a big-campus atmosphere, settled for a track scholarship to Tennessee.

He had no trouble getting it. He still holds the Georgia state record for the 100-yard dash, 9.61 (in part because the event was discontinued in favor of the metric measure). He set the state record in the 220, as well.

But football coaches do not leave a talent like this carrying a baton when they can put a football in there instead and Graddy was soon coveted by the gridiron staff. He set out, instead, in search of his gold medal.

Only Carl Lewis stood in his way. Ben Johnson was no problem, he recalls.

“I had beaten him in the Pan Am games at Caracas. I beat him every time we ran. I had beaten the world record-holder, Calvin Smith. I won the ’84 NCAAs at Eugene, I won the SEC hundred where I ran a personal best of 10.09, I won the U.S. nationals, I set the indoor record in the 55 yards.”

Adds Graddy ruefully: “The only guy in the world who could beat me was Carl Lewis.”

At the Olympic trials in the Coliseum, the order of finish was Lewis, Graddy and the other football player, Ron Brown.

In the Olympic Games, Sam thought he had stolen the race. He had gotten out of the blocks well ahead of Lewis. But, then, everybody does.

“I led the race for 70 meters. And, then, here comes Carl at 80 meters and there goes Carl at 90 meters. They tell me he won by the biggest margin in the history of the 100 meters. He ran 9.9. I was second at 10.19.”

Ben Johnson was a wobbly third.

If you’re the second-best poet in the world, or the second-best painter, you’re an honored guest. If you’re the second-best sprinter, everyone just wants to know, “Do you know Carl Lewis?”

So, if being the world’s fastest human was out, Graddy went to plan B--being the world’s fastest football player.

The trouble with that game is, you have to arrive at the finish line with the football. Graddy had no trouble beating his opposition in the foot race part. The other trouble with this race is, the other runners don’t stay in their lanes. Gold and silver medals don’t impress free safeties.

His return to football at Tennessee after the Olympics was less than spectacular.

“I wound up being the guy handing out the Gatorade to players as they came off the field,” he says laughing.

Still, the pros are always interested in raw speed and even though he was an undrafted free agent, Graddy was able to choose Denver to sign with.

“They had John Elway and he threw deep and I thought he would find some way to get the ball to me.”

Elway couldn’t. Or didn’t. Graddy thinks it’s because he dropped a pass in practice once and Elway lost confidence in him.

“I always stunk as a practice player,” he says.

Denver put him in the window as a Plan B attraction and the Raiders’ Al Davis, a long time lover of Olympic speed, grabbed him.

There are two ways you can spot an exceptional athlete: 1) a silver medal, and 2) double coverage.

Sam Graddy got both. The quarterbacks are finding him while the defensive backs are looking for him in places he has just left. He has already caught a touchdown pass this season.

Ralph Metcalfe, Thane Baker, Mack Robinson, Lennox Miller are always going to remain in the shadow of the men who beat them in the Olympics.

But if Sam Graddy helps the Raiders into that other athletic extravaganza, the Super Bowl, and becomes a star, he may get the thrill of hearing someone come up to Carl Lewis and ask, “Did you ever know Sam Graddy?”

Of course, Carl could always answer, “Only in passing.”