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Here it is, folks. The art of long-snapping in a nutshell.
"Only in America can you snap a piece of aired-up leather between your legs really
fast and accurate and get paid for it," Chiefs LS Kendall Gammon says. "If
that’s not the American dream, I don’t know what is."
Silly us for thinking the American dream had to do with a prosperous job, a couple of
"Leave it to Beaver"-type kids, a white picket fence and the annual summer
vacation. However, what is one man’s dream can be another man’s nightmare. How
many people in the world would relish the fact that they hold a job virtually no one
wants, and some, including the long-snappers themselves, liken to a circus act? A job in
which you could serve as the definition of perfection for a decade and then be out of work
after a bad day at the office. A job in which no one knows your name unless you screw up.
Gammon, who also serves as a motivational speaker, usually begins his lectures by
asking if anyone in the audience has heard of him. Hands go up about as often as they do
in a college Shakespeare class the day after spring break ends. And that’s just fine
for Gammon, because his relative anonymity means he’s still employed.
"The less you’re known about, the better job you’re doing," says
Bears LS Patrick Mannelly, who operates his own informational Web site
(www.longsnapper.com) devoted to his craft.
That sentiment is hard to comprehend in the glory-hungry NFL, but Mannelly doesn’t
seem to mind. Even if he’s continually fooled into thinking he has a legion of fans
because his mail slot is just below teammate Brian Urlacher’s, which is filled to
capacity.
Funny how being virtually nameless is fine with them, but talk of them faltering in the
precision of their job is, well, not so fine.
"Your buddies might say something and ask if you’ve ever thrown a bad snap,
but you never want to talk about it and keep knocking on wood," Mannelly says,
pausing to give the bench at Halas Hall a few hard raps with his knuckle.
"You’ve just got to be mentally strong and block out all the possible negative
scenarios. You don’t even think about that when you get over the ball."
So there you have it. Talking to a deep-snapper about an errant toss is similar to
asking a baseball player about his current hitting streak. It’s considered taboo,
punishable by a glare that could melt ice off a Lambeau Field bleacher in December. Just
keep your mouth shut about the possibilities of good fortune coming to an abrupt end, and
everyone will get along famously.
"I won’t let people talk to me about it. I’m just like that,"
Gammon says. "There’s no reason to even think about it."
But something they have to consider is how to combat anyone from mammoth defensive
tackles to quick defensive backs, all of whom are capable of shooting the gap to try to
block the kick. Getting the ball where it needs to go, blocking and tracking a punt
returner are all on the long-snapper’s to-do list.
Plenty of defenders often have some anger boiling inside them. And according to Gammon,
who better to seek out for retribution than the guy who’s got his head between his
legs?
"I figure it hurts a lot less if it’s a perfect snap, so I just go about my
business and deal with it," Gammon says.
The physical form of intimidation isn’t the only way to try to distract a
long-snapper.
"I haven’t really had anyone say much to me from across the line,"
Mannelly says, "but I did have Warren Sapp spit on my hand once right before we
kicked a field goal."
Mannelly picked up his snapping in the eighth grade, a significantly earlier time than
most. Duke’s senior long-snapper got hurt in a preseason practice during
Mannelly’s freshman year, and when "a bunch of other guys who may have snapped
in high school were rolling them back there to the kicker," the job was his.
But Mannelly’s satisfaction with the trade is not the norm. At least not at first.
High school and college coaches often have to twist the arms of players who they think may
be able to do it. Gridiron goliaths are often reduced to sheepishly avoiding eye contact
with the coach when it’s time to pick a potential long-snapper out of the bunch.
Gammon says he was chosen when coaches caught a glimpse of him "just screwing
around at practice" before his sophomore season in college. At first, he wasn’t
real happy about it because special-teams drills are at the end of the practice, and when
you’re a lineman, you’re not looking for any extra running at that point.
"I had a few bad snaps in the spring game that year, and quite honestly, it
embarrassed the hell out of me," says Gammon, who is a regular contributor to
longsnap.com, a comprehensive site for those who are interested in seeing the world upside
down. "I didn’t want to be doing it, but if I was going to do it, I didn’t
want to make a fool of myself."
So he worked hard at snapping all summer long, and the embarrassing moments were soon a
thing of the past. This season will be Gammon’s 10th in the NFL.
I recently handled a few snaps from Mannelly after a team workout at Halas Hall, the
Bears’ headquarters in Lake Forest, Ill. Standing 15 yards back, as punters do, it
didn’t take me long to figure out this was probably very similar to playing catch
with Peyton Manning. Every snap is where it needs to be. Same height, same speed, right
where you’re expecting it. And with the speed of the snap during field-goal tries (at
only seven yards away), it’s amazing fingers aren’t mangled more in this
business. Anything short of absolute concentration won’t do.
Long-snappers are the picture of consistency, if not perfection, and their job is
critical to the success of a football team. But the question is, do they feel appreciated?
"Yeah, I’ve got some good teammates, and they tell me I’m doing a good
job or whatever," Mannelly says after a bit of a pause.
Seriously, how often, besides the punter, kicker and holder?
"Well, not very often," he adds with a chuckle, "so you’ve got to
give yourself your own self-assurance and a pat on the back."
Teammates joke about having Gammon teach them to snap after a Chiefs practice so they
can extend their careers a couple of years.
"Everybody wants to do this job in practice," Gammon says, "but when it
comes game time, they’re like, ‘Kendall, get in there.’ And that’s how
it goes."
While they may be underappreciated, this is the kind of job that just begs for
attention, at least at social gatherings, if not in postgame press conferences.
Once, for his coach’s TV show in college, Mannelly snapped the ball through the
window of a moving car at a distance of 15 yards. But other experiments have been slightly
less successful. Take, for instance, the time he was approached by some high school kids
who were eager to field a snap or two.
"Are you sure you can you catch the ball?" Mannelly asked one of them.
"Oh, I can catch a ball," the kid retorted.
"Well, it’s going to come back really fast, so make sure you can catch
it," Mannelly warned.
The kid said he’d be all right, stepped back a ways and proceeded to have the ball
go right through his hands, hit him in the face and shatter his glasses.
It’s those kinds of experiences, the humorous, the humbling and the enlightening,
that make long-snapping a strong fraternity, one in which guys are on a first-name basis
and enjoy keeping an eye on one another.
While their desire may have been to make it in the NFL as offensive linemen, snapping
the ball for 12-15 important plays a game isn’t necessarily a hit to their ego.
"It’s something I take great pride it doing," Mannelly says.
"It’s a job, and I’m still playing pro football."
Long live the American dream. |
