He’s Taking Diplomatic Stance Now

You look at Keyshawn Johnson and, in a way, you feel sorry for the cornerbacks and safeties of the NFL. They must feel the way Custer did when he saw that first smoke signal.

Calling Keyshawn Johnson “cocky” is like calling the Pacific Ocean “wet.” That’s not the half of it. Calling Keyshawn “confident” is to insult him. He’s not “confident” that he’ll get the job done, he’s positive.

Well, as Muhammad Ali used to say, “It ain’t braggin’ if you can do it.”

Keyshawn can do it. The NFL should have felt this way when Jerry Rice came out of Mississippi Valley State and signed with the 49ers. Like, oh-oh, there goes the neighborhood.

Except that Jerry Rice didn’t, so to speak, drop leaflets. He wanted to sneak up on the league. Get them looking the other way. He had scored 10 touchdowns before they knew he was there.

Keyshawn wants them to know he’s coming. Chances are, they’re already setting defenses for him.

You see, Keyshawn doesn’t believe in hiding his light under a bushel. He wants it shining down on his head while he’s taking a bow. Keyshawn wants to smell the roses, talk the talk. If you’re looking for modesty, leave your name and he’ll try to get back to you.

He’s bigger than Jerry Rice. Maybe not as devious. Rice seems to have some mysterious communication with the football, as if some signal emanates, telling him where it will come down. Rice always seems to be where it does.

Keyshawn finds the ball, it doesn’t find him. If he gets a finger on it, it’s caught. If three men jump for the ball, Keyshawn is the one who’ll come down with it. The quarterback doesn’t even have to hit him with it. Keyshawn finds a way to get to it. He’s more physical than Rice. Hell, he’s more physical than Mike Tyson.

It’s not that he doesn’t have the speed. He not only can run the 40 in 4.4, but, in junior college, he ran the 200 in 21.9, the 400 in 47.6 and long-jumped about 25 feet. He has such a long stride that, when it comes to covering ground, he can make a cheetah look hesitant.

Of course, playing wide receiver is not all speed. It’s deception, artfulness, ability to change direction, to cover up intentions. There are elements of playing a poker hand in every pass route. Keyshawn tries not to let you know you’re bucking four of a kind, but you are.

Keyshawn is like the stage magician taking a quarter out of your ear. “Oops, what have we here?!” type of thing. Some guys get double coverage. Keyshawn attracts half a team.

He was the No. 1 pro football draft pick. The New York Jets stepped right over the Heisman and Outland trophy winners, passed up on the swivel-hipped running backs and the iron-armed quarterbacks and picked the All-American from Troy. The Jets lured a quarterback, Neil O’Donnell, from Pittsburgh, and they wanted somebody open for him to throw to. Someone once said Keyshawn was like a Catholic church--always open.

He caught 168 passes for 2,796 yards and 16 touchdowns in two years at USC. He is as endemic a part of that institution as the statue of Tommy Trojan. As a youngster he stuffed envelopes for the sports information office. Later, he was a ball boy for the football team. When he finally enrolled at SC, he was as much at home as the team horse.

This Trojan horse has such a reputation for self-confidence, the Jets have to ask themselves whether what they’re looking at is the second coming of a Joe Namath--or of a Dennis Rodman.

I caught up with Keyshawn at the 11th annual Cedars-Sinai Hospital Sports Spectacular on Sunday night at the Century Plaza, where he had just been honored as college football player of the year.

So, is New York in for a diet of first-person-singulars and a chorus of me-mes from their new draftee?

Keyshawn surveys you as if you were a 5-7 safety between him and the ball. “Why would you get that idea?” he wants to know. “I know I’m in with a bunch of professionals who are the best in the country at what they do. I know I’m stepping up to another level. At high school, you play at one level. At college, it’s stepped up. Now, you’re in the pros, you’re playing at the highest level. Everyone there commands respect. Everybody is the same type of player. You’ve earned respect and you should get it.”

So, another bubble burst. There’ll be no purple reign of hair, no glut of personal boast, no head-butting of refs. Just a superbly disciplined football player who does not take his opposition lightly or his task easy.

Instead of trash-talking, you get a vision of Keyshawn, the pro, going out for a long one and reaching, almost apologetically, across the head of a defenseman for a pass and murmuring, “I say, old man, I really believe this was meant for me. So, do you mind? If you need me, I’ll be in the end zone with it. I take my calls there usually.”

Or, he might go over the middle and have to stiff-arm a linebacker and express sorrow that it had to come to this. “Sorry, old man, but you’re standing in my light. They want me to catch this ball and score with it. Nothing personal, but that’s what they pay me for. Now, do you get out of my way or do you want my cleat prints across your chest? I abhor violence, but, you see, I’m due in the end zone. You understand, I’m sure.”

This, of course, will be a new Keyshawn Johnson. Past competitors may not recognize the Keyshawn in this role. But, after all, this game is just a business deal between two corporate entities. No need to forget one’s manners. As the commercial says, to do otherwise would be uncivilized. And Keyshawn is leaving his civil transgressions behind as he ventures into a business world where ruthlessness is carried on behind a veneer of icy politeness--till you count your teeth.