arrived in his office, Coach Noll updated me on the situation: Bradshaw was getting his wrist X-rayed, and Kruczek would be out for an extended period of time. They were in the process of trying to locate Neil Graff, a quarterback who had been with us during training camp and was now somewhere in Canada on a hunting trip. In the meantime, Coach Noll told me to attend the quarterbacks meeting that afternoon.
I immediately wondered about Cliff Stoudt. After all, Coach Noll had drafted him, not me. Cliff might have struggled in the preseason, but I had been playing defense and hadn’t practiced one minute at quarterback.
Coach Noll answered before I could even ask my question. As always, his assessment was brief and to the point: “We have some questions at quarterback right now. As the week goes on, we’ll have a better idea about Terry, Neil, and Cliff. We’ll see who gives us the best chance to win. If you do, you’re going to play. If we have another option that gives us a better chance, you’ll go back to safety.”
After the quarterbacks meeting, I raced home and began calling my buddies. “I might be starting on Monday Night Football against Cincinnati …
at quarterback.
”
The next day they did locate Neil Graff, and Terry Bradshaw checked out healthy enough to play with a cast. I was back at safety. But even so, in the days and years to follow, I drew great satisfaction from knowing that Coach Noll had had confidence that I could go in and play quarterback—and direct all of those future Hall of Famers.
Some people had suggested to me that I wasn’t drafted as a quarterback because of my race. At first, I didn’t agree; I just figured that playing quarterback in the NFL was completely different from playing in college. But after talking with coaches and scouts that first year, I grew less certain. A number of them said they had passed on me in the draft because of quantifiable characteristics such as my height and arm strength. Later in the season, however, when we played guys like Bob Griese, Joe Ferguson, and Fran Tarkenton, I would deliberately walk by, look them in the eye, and measure my height against theirs. I was as tall as each one of them. I began to wonder if race had indeed played a role. To make matters worse, when I saw the backup QBs … now
that
was really frustrating. A lot of them just weren’t very good. I continued to wonder.
During that week in the middle of the 1977 season, I realized that quarterbacking in the NFL was ultimately no different from playing quarterback at any other level. I believe I could have done it, given the opportunity. But I didn’t get that opportunity, and whether it was because of my race or because of some legitimate factor, it was time to move on.
----
In the following off-season, I was able to work out regularly at the stadium. I added about eight pounds to my frame, reaching 188 pounds. Back then, the Steelers and the Pirates shared Pittsburgh’s Three Rivers Stadium, so I tried to schedule my off-season workouts—which fell during the Pirates’ regular season—for the middle of the day. I often wrapped up my workout and headed next door to the Pirates clubhouse just in time to see guys like John Candelaria, Bert Blyleven, Dave Parker, Phil Garner, Rennie Stennett, and Omar Moreno.
The Pirates clubhouse was noisy, worlds apart from the silence and anxiety of a football locker room on game day. The baseball players were frying chicken and playing cards, yelling back and forth, answering mail, and listening to radios. In the middle of the bedlam, I saw my first Spanish-language Bible as Manny Sanguillen sat in his locker—as I learned he always did—quietly reading.
The next season, when the Pirates had added Bill Madlock and Tim Foli and were on their way to a World Series win with their “We Are Family” theme, I asked Willie Stargell about the noisy atmosphere in the clubhouse on game day. “Isn’t it a little distracting?”
Willie
I immediately wondered about Cliff Stoudt. After all, Coach Noll had drafted him, not me. Cliff might have struggled in the preseason, but I had been playing defense and hadn’t practiced one minute at quarterback.
Coach Noll answered before I could even ask my question. As always, his assessment was brief and to the point: “We have some questions at quarterback right now. As the week goes on, we’ll have a better idea about Terry, Neil, and Cliff. We’ll see who gives us the best chance to win. If you do, you’re going to play. If we have another option that gives us a better chance, you’ll go back to safety.”
After the quarterbacks meeting, I raced home and began calling my buddies. “I might be starting on Monday Night Football against Cincinnati …
at quarterback.
”
The next day they did locate Neil Graff, and Terry Bradshaw checked out healthy enough to play with a cast. I was back at safety. But even so, in the days and years to follow, I drew great satisfaction from knowing that Coach Noll had had confidence that I could go in and play quarterback—and direct all of those future Hall of Famers.
Some people had suggested to me that I wasn’t drafted as a quarterback because of my race. At first, I didn’t agree; I just figured that playing quarterback in the NFL was completely different from playing in college. But after talking with coaches and scouts that first year, I grew less certain. A number of them said they had passed on me in the draft because of quantifiable characteristics such as my height and arm strength. Later in the season, however, when we played guys like Bob Griese, Joe Ferguson, and Fran Tarkenton, I would deliberately walk by, look them in the eye, and measure my height against theirs. I was as tall as each one of them. I began to wonder if race had indeed played a role. To make matters worse, when I saw the backup QBs … now
that
was really frustrating. A lot of them just weren’t very good. I continued to wonder.
During that week in the middle of the 1977 season, I realized that quarterbacking in the NFL was ultimately no different from playing quarterback at any other level. I believe I could have done it, given the opportunity. But I didn’t get that opportunity, and whether it was because of my race or because of some legitimate factor, it was time to move on.
----
In the following off-season, I was able to work out regularly at the stadium. I added about eight pounds to my frame, reaching 188 pounds. Back then, the Steelers and the Pirates shared Pittsburgh’s Three Rivers Stadium, so I tried to schedule my off-season workouts—which fell during the Pirates’ regular season—for the middle of the day. I often wrapped up my workout and headed next door to the Pirates clubhouse just in time to see guys like John Candelaria, Bert Blyleven, Dave Parker, Phil Garner, Rennie Stennett, and Omar Moreno.
The Pirates clubhouse was noisy, worlds apart from the silence and anxiety of a football locker room on game day. The baseball players were frying chicken and playing cards, yelling back and forth, answering mail, and listening to radios. In the middle of the bedlam, I saw my first Spanish-language Bible as Manny Sanguillen sat in his locker—as I learned he always did—quietly reading.
The next season, when the Pirates had added Bill Madlock and Tim Foli and were on their way to a World Series win with their “We Are Family” theme, I asked Willie Stargell about the noisy atmosphere in the clubhouse on game day. “Isn’t it a little distracting?”
Willie
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