He Yearns to Free His Fury

An everlasting memory of Winston Moss might be one from a previous season, when the rowdy Raider linebacker went after Denver quarterback John Elway the way a rodeo cowboy goes after a calf, riding him out of bounds, under a bench and into a stupor. It was neither the nicest nor proudest moment of young Winston’s life, but football being a very serious business, all he can do about it today is nod and say: “Yeah, I remember that. That was a serious hit.”

Gentlemanly conduct in combat might suit that other Los Angeles athlete who wears the numeral 99 on his shirt, the one who plays hockey, but something different drives Winston Moss. The man plays football with a fury, same way he did for the University of Miami’s not-for-the-squeamish program, where wallflowers are unwelcome. Moss means what he says and says what he means. Should he hurt Elway’s feelings, or anything else, tough.

“Elway doesn’t like pressure. You’ve got to get under his skin,” Moss says, pounding his fist into his palm for emphasis, counting the hours before Sunday’s AFC playoff game. “We can definitely get to him. Elway doesn’t want you in his face. He wants to sit back there with all the time in the world so he can do all the things he wants to do. You’ve got to let the man know that you’re there. You’ve got to introduce yourself to him.”

This is why, for weeks now, this overlooked weapon of the Raider defense has been imploring his coaches to give the linebackers the green light, to go get that quarterback. Moss wants to blitz. Game after game, he keeps waiting for a signal that the Raiders are ready to put into action some of that blitzing strategy that would make the Elways of the world see black shirts coming at them in waves.

“We have it in every week,” Moss says, confounded. “We just don’t use it.”

He isn’t second-guessing. He isn’t exasperated. He’s eager. The idea of Elway under siege is so appealing. And the idea of Elway having plenty of time to throw is so unappetizing. It is difficult for a player of Moss’ passion to play with a controlled rage, rather than letting it all hang out. Collaring someone after a short gain isn’t nearly as satisfying to a linebacker as coming at someone under a full head of steam, screaming as though he were no more human than a foam-stuffed tackling dummy.

Cooling off after practice, Moss certainly seems sociable and at ease, a real pussycat. Yet something inside him often seems about to bust loose like lava, as an almost blood-curdling primal scream did once he and the Raiders had locked up last Sunday’s wild 33-30 overtime victory over the Broncos. There on a sideline Moss stood, howling at the top of his lungs, punctuating the importance of the victory until he grew hoarse. Perhaps one of the TV networks Sunday will dig up that clip, that revealing look at Winston and the furnace that burns within.

Moss explains it by saying, “That was one of the most emotional games I have ever played. I was done. I was drained. I was gone, man.”

Looked as though you really lost it out there, it is suggested.

“Hey, don’t worry. I can handle it,” Moss said, laughing.

On so many successful teams, the linebackers become so prominent, Lawrence Taylor, Mike Singletary, Karl Mecklenburg, such very public figures, so mobbed in malls, so profiled by magazines, so credited with the defense’s leadership. Not so with the Raiders, where the linemen and the deep backs bask in much more of the limelight. There are pretty knowledgeable football fans out there who could not on short notice identify who the Raider linebackers are , who could name no 99s other than Wayne Gretzky or the agent who worked with Maxwell Smart.

It makes Moss cross, a little.

“We make a lot of tackles,” he says. “But nobody wants to hear about tackles.”

They want to hear about sacks. Backers who are sackers get paid and praised the way home run hitters get preference over those who hit singles.

Still, Moss has the proper attitude about it, saying, “I’ll take a Super Bowl over any type of fame, anytime.”

Young and strong, having turned 28 on Christmas Eve, he figures to have a crack at both. After enduring several seasons as a Tampa Bay Buccaneer, where he was dismissed by some as a trouble-maker, the Miami-born Moss has no objection to being far from home. All he wants is to play with players who take the game as seriously as he does.

Moss is pretty good at getting what he wants, as when he requested 99 as his uniform number and was told he couldn’t have one outside of the 50s. “Why not?” Moss demanded, whereupon nobody could come up with an answer. He pursued it exactly the way he pursued John Elway, with everything he had. You want something in this business, you go after it.