This Rerun Could Play for USC’s Entire Season

Some years ago, in the course of a tight pennant race, a paper printed a story singing the praises of the New York Yankees’ stout defense.

Fresco Thompson, vice president of the Dodgers, was unimpressed.

“When the Yankees start talking of beating you with the glove, they are in trouble,” he observed.

Another time, a boxing expert was noting that former champion Ezzard Charles was working on a new left jab for his fight with Rocky Marciano. The Rock’s trainer, Charlie Goldman, was skeptical.

“You ain’t gonna beat no Marciano with no jab,” he advised.

That’s why a lot of us were surprised to read before the season that USC’s hopes for a Heisman Trophy and a Rose Bowl bid resided in the strong right arm of quarterback Rob Johnson. As Fresco Thompson might note, when the Trojans start talking of beating you with the arm, they are in trouble.

The Trojans do not go over you. They go through you. They do not jab, they throw the right.

This, after all, is the school of the Thundering Herd. This is Tailback U. Student Body Right. Not “Everybody out for a long one!” The Trojans punish you, they don’t flimflam you. Passes are for Yale and Stanford, not SC and Ohio State.

Trojans are fast. But they are physical. This is not light horse cavalry swooping down from the hills. This is the main army smashing through where you are weakest.

It goes back to Howard Jones. The Headman. Jones disdained trickery. A pass was considered sissy football, a court of last resort, strategy of desperation. But you have to remember, in those days a passer had to be five yards behind the line of scrimmage. And two consecutive incomplete passes resulted in a penalty. And a pass incomplete in the end zone meant the ball went over to the other team--on its 20-yard line.

The pass was so suspect to Trojan brain trusts that, as late as 1955 they were putting the ball in the air only 152 times all season. Last year, Rob Johnson alone put the ball up 449 times. Passing yardage, only 723 with two touchdowns in 1950, was 3,829 last year with 31 touchdowns.

In 1929, Howard Jones’ team rolled up 492 points in 12 games, including a 47-14 Rose Bowl victory. Now, that was herd mentality!

The Thundering Herd has looked more like a flock of sheep at times in its recent past. But in the opener Saturday, there were signs that the herd had only been frozen in time and was beginning to thaw back into its old mode.

SC was behind in the third quarter, 17-10. The Trojans had the ball on their 30. Washington was keying on their tailback, Shawn Walters, and he had to make hard yardage under a canopy of purple enemy tacklers.

That’s when Delon Washington entered the equation. It’s probably as unknown as Delon will ever be. He blew his cover. He rolled for 12 yards, then he rocked for nine. Then he took off for 34. He put the Trojans on the Washington 16. Two plays later they were in the end zone.

Washington beat Washington. The Red Shirts were coming.

Is it, move over Marcus Allen? Get out of the way, O.J.? Look out, Pacific 10? Is Morley Drury reincarnated? Is Howard Jones nodding contentedly some place today? Is Coach John Robinson no longer Bo-Peep?

This Washington, Delon, that is, may be the father of his country--Trojan country. One game doesn’t make him Cotton Warburton or Charlie White. One game doesn’t get you a Heisman vote.

Delon has a lot more on his mind than being the latest Trojan horse. He comes from a point in time that brought into the language some of the most dreaded words it can have this side of leukemia-- drive - by shooting and gang related. The plagues of the ‘90s.

Delon is at USC because a much-beloved older brother died in a drive-by shooting at a car wash in Dallas. Delon had also lost an uncle, three cousins and three friends to the violence of the New West that is making Tombstone and Dodge City look like church picnics.

No one ever thought of the USC backfield as a hide-out before but it was the place Delon’s brother had always urged him to go to get as far away from the ‘hood as he could get. Was it a problem smuggling his Olympic speed, 10.3 in the 100, his 29 touchdowns one year at Dallas’ Kimball High past the bird dogs for the universities of Texas, Texas A& M, Baylor and Houston?

“I was mad at Texas--they didn’t make me all-state,” Washington says, grinning.

Only 18, he has a lot to get even with. He doesn’t see it that way, though.

“My brother is with me,” he says sincerely. “I’m doing what he wants, what he would have done.”

He’s also doing what the Trojan alumni want. The Trojans beat you with the foot, not the arm. The game is not armball or airball. It’s football. Jones ball. The old-time Trojans figured if they wanted you to throw the ball, they would have put up a net, right?