Gridiron Genius

by Michael Lombardi

  When I think about making the game safer, my mind wanders to that robot featured in Fox’s graphics. In a perfect world all the players in the league would be dressed in a protective shell like that guy. But it’s not so easy. Players don’t like to feel constricted or weighed down. They want to be able to play fast and without hindrance. Many of them won’t wear large shoulder pads, and even though NFL rules mandate knee and thigh pads, which help reduce injuries, players hate wearing them. Until the guys on the field learn to value safety more than performance, they are never going to lobby for safer equipment if they think it will limit them in any way. Given the chance, I bet some of them would go without a helmet if they thought it would make them faster. (I’m exaggerating—but only a little.) It’s not talked about nearly enough, but every stakeholder in the game must make a concerted effort to educate players on the risks they face and how to mitigate them. That includes schools, conferences, leagues, teams, coaches, suits, and the players’ union.

  While we’re on the subject of helmets, there are smart people who think that if you removed face masks from them right now, players might be less inclined to lead with their heads. I don’t buy it. Football skills are based on muscle memory and therefore are to a large degree instinctive. Unless players grow up tackling without a face mask—and good luck getting parents to agree to that—at some point they will unconsciously revert to their old ways. And if the game was on the line and it felt like a headfirst tackle was the best way to stop the ball carrier, every player in the NFL would go helmet-first, face mask or not.

  Instead, I have to believe there is some next-generation head protection just waiting to be created. For that matter, you’d think someone could invent body protection that allows for full range of motion. I mean, today there are bulletproof vests that look like something Mr. Rogers wore every afternoon. Surely, with $14 billion in revenues, the NFL can afford to research and develop some appropriate armor for the players. I am not a headgear engineer or a neuroscientist, but I know that if my game is to survive, those roles will be as important as those of players and coaches.

  Of course, rules, equipment, and fundamentals can solve only so much of the problem. At the core of the issue is the fact that the players keep getting faster and stronger, and that means more impact-related injuries. I remember being in Cleveland at a reunion honoring the great Jim Brown, the storied running back, and noticing that Brown seemed like he was nearly twice the size of his left tackle, Dick Schafrath. Linemen then were not the giants they are today. That growth will just continue, which means collisions, even legal ones, will be more violent.

  In addition, careers now last longer on average, and that can only increase the cumulative damage that players will incur. There were no 40-year-olds playing at Tom Brady’s level 40 years ago. Maybe he’s a once-in-a-generation freak, but it’s just as likely that his fanatical conditioning program—from nutrition to workouts to next-gen recovery techniques—are what’s keeping him revving at such a high level. I would expect that we’ll see even more research into and focus on nutrition and conditioning in football.

  It’s no exageration to say that Brady’s body truly is his temple. In the old days, players treated their bodies more like carnival tents. Before the 1980s, most guys didn’t waste the off-season staying fit. That’s what training camp was for. In my time, though, I never spoke to a player who didn’t say he was either heading to a workout or just getting back from one. Never.

  Potential wide receivers or defensive backs eligible for the draft are just as predictable. When I ask them what they’ll run in the 40, the answer is always the same: 4.44. Twenty years ago that time was extremely rare. Trust me, I kept track of all the sub-4.50 timers at the Combine and recorded no more than a handful of players that fast out of the 250 invited each year. Today I no longer bother. I’d run out of ink. A sub-4.5 is the standard, not the exception, and with that increase in speed comes an increase in impact velocity. No rule change can fix or reverse that, not unless you can change the fundamentals of physics or take tackling out of the game. And football without tackling isn’t football. I mean, how would you like to watch the Pro Bowl every Sunday? Ending tackling ends the sport. Although I do not suggest messing with the basic premise of the game, I can recommend a few healthy changes.

  Most important, we need to develop better ways to teach young players the fundamentals of tackling. As it is, every responsible coach in the country now teaches players to “see what they hit.” It’s the first lesson of tackling. In fact, there’s a giant sign on every locker room door in the NFL reminding players to keep their heads up. The problem is that until very recently tacklers were taught to lead with their helmets, and that will take a while, perhaps even a generation, to unlearn.

  From the earliest age kids need to learn to play the game “the right way.” I am a big fan of Pop Warner football, but I agree with all the recent studies that say that the bodies (and brains) of kids that age are just not ready to hit. The rush to introduce tackling leads to lifelong bad—and dangerous—habits. Another negative of Pop Warner is that too many young kids have yet to find their niche on the field. For example, a fat kid (like I was) is automatically assigned to play offensive line, when in a few years it’s perfectly possible he will lean out and become a dynamite wide receiver. Problem is, if he has had a bad experience in the trenches, he’ll never stick around long enough to find his fit at a skill position. More than likely he’ll move on to another sport, and that’s not good for football, a sport in which youth participation numbers have been in steady decline.

  To counter that, we need to develop passion for the game as well as the fundamentals to play it. A recent study advocated keeping kids away from tackle football until high school, and I agree. Youth football should be primarily a skill camp, teaching kids how to play a variety of positions properly. It will keep players healthy and interested until they are better able to deal with the rigors of tackle football.

  Bill Walsh in his own way was ahead of the curve on this. He pretty much invented the concept of keeping professional players fresh for Sundays by cutting down on padded practices during the week. He was no finesse coach; he definitely understood the importance of physicality. But he knew that going all out all the time was counterproductive. In Cleveland, though, Belichick noticed that whenever his players didn’t wear pads, practice was slow and sloppy. As a result, he actually spent time teaching our guys how to get the most out of practicing without pads: how to take the right steps, use the proper footwork, make the necessary moves. It led to more high-intensity practices that were truer simulations of a game with a much lower risk of injury or fatigue.

  Now, because of rules limiting padded practices during the season, it is more important than ever for teams to figure out how to re-create game intensity while practicing in shorts during the week. How do you improve technique without contact? I’m not certain, but I know that coaches will have to find a way to address this catch-22: instilling the proper fundamentals of tackling while limiting the amount of contact in practice. Today teams use moving, motorized tackling dummies to help perfect technique. I’m curious to see what the next generation of computer-enhanced and robotic tackling equipment will look like.

  Another simple way to keep players healthy is to give them the proper time to heal by increasing game-day rosters from 46 to the full 53. More eligible players means teams wouldn’t have to pressure guys to return to the field (often through the use of painkilling injections) before they are 100 percent ready.

  Now, I know this next suggestion is bold and perhaps drastic, but bear with me: I think making the games shorter would solve many of football’s biggest problems. Sixty minutes is a long time. How about playing 48, 12 minutes a quarter, with maybe an 8-minute overtime? (Calm down. I understand any changes to the official game time would screw up comparisons to all the historic stats. But the height of the pitcher’s mound keeps changin
g and the DH blew up American League ERAs, and everybody in baseball somehow survived.) It’s just simple math, really: Fewer minutes means fewer impacts, which means fewer injuries. Also, all those injuries caused by late-game fatigue and poor technique could be avoided. And with the game’s current emphasis on playing with tempo, cutting game time by 12 minutes wouldn’t affect scoring or the drama all that much; in fact, it might enhance it.

  With each possession being that much more vital, coaches would have to utilize a different strategy. Instead of today’s average of 12 possessions a game, teams would get maybe 9. Each series of offensive downs that didn’t end in a score could cost the team the win. The whole game would become one desperate two-minute drill after another.

  Did you see Super Bowl LII? It would be like that, only shorter.

  I rest my case.

  And yes, I know, taking 12 minutes out of the game reduces the commercial space networks could sell. So make the halftimes longer. It will have the added benefit of offering teams extra time to get their adjustments down and medical issues dealt with. Make the time between quarters slightly longer, too. Better that the commercials run then anyway, as it means fewer in-game interruptions to mess with the flow of the game. Would paying fans feel cheated? I don’t think so. The games would be more exciting. Less would be much more.

  Along with reducing the game from 60 minutes to 48, my futuristic league would reduce time-outs from three to one in each half (the two-minute warning would stay). Coaches still will need to manage the clock correctly, but that strategy would change a bit. In the fourth quarter, a trailing team would be reluctant to punt the ball away, as fewer time-outs would have them rightfully concerned that they might not get it back. Coaches will need to find a different way to gain control of the clock. Don’t worry; it can be done. Think back to Super Bowl LI. The Pats came back from 28–3 and still had two time-outs remaining when the game entered overtime. Sure, the Falcons’ questionable play calling helped, but as crazy as it sounds, the Patriots were prepared for this extreme hurry-up contingency.

  Removing time-outs from the game would place greater importance on practicing real-time clock control. Doesn’t it seem weird to you that basketball coaches have to call a time-out to set up the final play of the game? Shouldn’t the team have been trained in such a situation already? No team in the NFL spends more time preparing for those moments than the Patriots. From the first day of off-season training to the last weekend, Belichick has his team working on end-of-game situations, and never is a time-out part of the scenario. He wants his team to believe that time-outs are unnecessary. So yes, in my future, the Patriots already have an advantage.

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  One thing won’t ever change: Athletes will never stop getting bigger, stronger, and faster. Jim Hines, an Olympic sprinter in 1998, was the first human to break 10 seconds in the 100 meters. Fifty years ago his 9.95 was considered the limit of human performance. Today he’d finish almost 11 feet behind Usain Bolt. That’s a huge gap; he might not even be on the TV screen at the tape.

  Athletic evolution, coupled with today’s more advanced training methods, has altered expectations and performance. There’s no reason to believe that continuing advances in training and technology won’t extend human limits even further. So the question becomes: How will tomorrow’s superhero-style athletes change the way football is played?

  Well, player size won’t change the way linemen do their job on either side of the ball. Big and strong is what their game is all about, so bigger and stronger won’t rearrange the dynamic much. Maybe the left tackle isn’t the marquee line position it once was now that there are athletic defenders rushing the quarterback from so many different angles, but for the most part these agile hulks will keep on fighting for territory in the trenches as they always have. But skill players? They’re a totally different story. As they get more athletic and even better at what they do, offensive schemes will evolve to maximize their talents. When that happens, football will react the way it always does: by looking into the past to see its future.

  Most of you reading this will be too young to remember the single wing’s heyday. That formation featured an unbalanced line and three skill players in the backfield. Sometimes the quarterback would line up behind a tackle or guard, and the tailback would line up behind the center and take the direct snap. Think of that crucial fourth-down call in Super Bowl LII when tight end Trey Burton passed the ball to quarterback Nick Foles, who had shifted out of the normal quarterback spot. It looked like a backyard play or something from the football future, but it was actually just a variation of the century-old single wing.

  Carl Snavely, the college Hall of Fame coach who had a 180–96–16 record in his years at Bucknell, North Carolina, Cornell, and Washington University in St. Louis, once said about the formation first invented by Glenn “Pop” Warner: “There is no way to improve on football beyond the unbalanced line single-wing.” Well, sorry, Carl, but Bill Walsh would like to disagree. That said, with so many talented athletes these days, offensive position designations may become something for the history books, filed next to Hines’s 100-meter time. Futuristic football will simply designate all nonlinemen on offense as interchangeable “skilled players,” all of them capable of throwing, catching, or running with the ball. And guess what the best system is for such a scheme? Yup, the single wing. For more than 50 years football has been slowly evolving back to its roots in rugby, and I for one can’t wait to see what happens next.

  Basketball is evolving in a similar fashion. Ben Simmons, the Philadelphia 76ers point guard prodigy, is still an outlier at 6'10", but he’s a lot less of one than he would have been just a few years ago. These days on the hardwood, more and more players can play anywhere. We watch center-size point guards pass to small-forward-size centers. Someday all of football will look the same way. In some places, it’s already started. Programs identify both the Eagles’ Zach Ertz and the Chiefs’ Travis Kelce as tight ends on the basis of their size, but they’re really much more like wide receivers, lining up all over the field. Tight end has evolved from a glorified extra tackle to a unique skill position. It’s a trend that will continue. Eventually, there will be a similar positional response on defense—smaller, faster linebackers or bigger, stronger cornerbacks—to cover those massive receivers disguised as tight ends. If you push this theory a little more, who knows, we might eventually see Ben Simmons types at wideout being covered by 6'10" corners. Hey, I can remember when 6'5" was too tall to be fast. Give the giraffes a little more time, and they’ll be up to speed and running the West Coast offense, and our game will be one step closer to basketball on grass.

  How about this: Imagine if the Texans had a pair of Deshaun Watsons—two highly and equally skilled quarterbacks who were equally dangerous with the ball in their hands. Think of the stress you could put on the defense with both of those players on the field at the same time. Defensive coordinators would have no idea what to do. On one down, Watson 1 might be a passer throwing to Watson 2. On the next, Watson 2 might line up as a running back who fakes a sweep, pulls up, and throws an 80-yard bomb to Watson 1, who originally was lined up behind center.

  This, of course, would force the defense to attack differently. They’d have to defend players instead of plays. There would be a ton of man coverage and a need for the same kind of multidimensional players on defense, because you’d never really know who was going to control the ball or where it might be going. Meanwhile, I bet owners would like a game populated with such human Swiss Army knives because the high cost of quarterbacks would sink when all but the most versatile skill position guys would have the same value. Instead of one quarterback making $10 million, you’d have 10 quasi-QBs making $1 million each. Which plan seems more sustainable?

  Today’s teams won’t platoon quarterbacks because most coaches—and schemes—are heavily dependent on a reliable consistency under center a
nd in the passing game. But as Al Davis once said to me, “I’d rather be right than consistent,” and the future will agree with Al: Consistency will take a backseat to scoring points. Classic drop-back passers are already getting harder and harder to find. Quarterback launch points are becoming more varied—not just behind the center but behind the tackle or the guard or even outside the pocket near the sideline. And so eventually there will be much more movement in the backfield. First down will look like a Harlem Globetrotters weave drill: players sprinting in every direction, handing the ball off from one player to the next before Watson 1 launches a bomb to Watson 2.

  Come on, how much fun would that be to watch—even for only 48 minutes?!

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  In 1985, Feng-hsiung Hsu was a graduate student at Carnegie Mellon, developing a computer that could play chess well enough to compete against a grand master. The project, first called “chip test,” eventually got Hsu hired by IBM, and in 1996 the fruits of his team’s labor, Deep Blue, faced off against Garry Kasparov, arguably the greatest (human) chess player ever. Kasparov won that match, but a year later Deep Blue won the rematch. Artificial intelligence had proved itself more potent than the human brain, at least in chess.