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Ron Dayne
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Strike the Heisman pose. Yeah, you know the one. The football tucked, one knee lifted,
pivoting, an arm extended, as if to ward off a tackler. There, you’ve got it. You
have done an imitation of a statue — which, I might note, the winners of this award
generally resemble when they begin playing the game for money.
In the last decade, only one recipient of the New York Athletic Club’s prized
piece of statuary has impacted the NFL positively. The reference is to Eddie George, the
1995 winner, who is a force as a Tennessee running back. The Raiders can’t tackle
him, I know that.
As for the others, let me tick them off: Desmond Howard, never more than a kick
returner; Gino Torretta, nothing; Charlie Ward, a basketball player; Rashaan Salaam, his
professional future, if he had one, wasted, by his admission, by his fondness for
marijuana; Danny Wuerffel, not enough arm; Charles Woodson, hardly exceptional as of yet
(although Woodson is young enough to revise this judgment); Ricky Williams, his rookie
season blighted by injuries; Ty Detmer, a career backup.
While George is a solid professional, to find a Heisman winner who has turned the NFL
on its ear, it is necessary to go back to 1988, when Barry Sanders won the thing and
hip-hopped, which is how he ran, off to Detroit.
This year’s winner is Wisconsin RB Ron Dayne, who doesn’t look anything like
the guy atop the trophy. Dayne has the look of a guy who should be wearing an apron behind
a bar or be sitting behind the wheel of a truck. Svelte, he is not. So round, so large.
Perhaps he can avoid what some would term "the Heisman jinx," but I would have
to question this. He looks to me like a fellow who could balloon up as he grows a bit
older.
Seeing Dayne, I am reminded of the running back we knew as "Ironhead," Craig
Heyward. Heyward’s listed dimensions were 5-11 and 260 pounds, similar to
Dayne’s, although the 5-11 part of that was likely generous. I first saw Ironhead in
a Pitt-Notre Dame game in Pitt Stadium (in which the Irish’s Tim Brown, the 1987
Heisman winner, was a participant). Heyward had great thrust, and he had quick feet. I
liked him tremendously.
Heyward, though, had five seasons in New Orleans in which he didn’t do much, and
another in Chicago with the same result. He moved on to Atlanta, where he was more
productive, then St. Louis and then Indianapolis before health reasons forced his
retirement.
One thing I hold about running backs: arriving in the NFL, they are not for long going
to be as swift and active as they had been as collegians. The hits get to them. They
benumb their limbs. Dayne, I would suggest, is better at this moment than he is ever going
to be.
Williams is the latest manifestation of this. As cruelly as he has been used during his
first season in New Orleans, it would be unrealistic to believe that he can recapture the
performance level from his time as a Texas collegian.
I remember the first time I saw Earl Campbell, to cite another Heisman winner (1977). I
was in Dallas for one of those Texas-Oklahoma games. Outside the Cotton Bowl before the
game, I encountered a folksy then-Chargers scout named Aubrey "Red" Phillips. I
wanted to know what Phillips thought of Campbell.
"I’d take him in a cornbread minute," said the scout.
That day, I saw why. Campbell had size, bullet speed and maneuverability. He was a
figure in his time with the Houston Oilers — you could look him up in the Pro
Football Hall of Fame — but I don’t think in the NFL he possessed the skills he
demonstrated on that afternoon in Dallas.
When Herschel Walker was a collegian, I also had one peek at him. While NFL players
were pursuing a work stoppage, I made a swing with a Chargers scout named Ron Nay through
Louisiana and Mississippi. In Starkville, Miss., one Saturday, the leading exhibit was
Walker, who had many of the attributes of the collegiate Campbell.
The Walker I glimpsed that day clearly was a superior athlete to the one who persevered
in the NFL for so long.
About Dayne, well, we shall see. The pros, I understand, recognize his rare size, his
power, his niftiness for a player so big. He will go high in the draft, but the Heisman
now on his mantel is not a guarantee of success on Sundays.
Years ago, the late Fido Murphy, world’s greatest football scout, self-proclaimed,
was invited to assess Terry Baker, an Oregon State quarterback who was the Heisman winner
in 1962.
"For carrying around a trophy, he’s got a great arm," barked Fido.
"For throwing a football, no."
Dayne doesn’t throw footballs. But you get the point.
Editor's note: Jerry Magee has covered pro football for the San Diego Union-Tribune
since 1961 and for PFW since its inception since 1967. |
