Though Peete Is Ill, He Has the Will

Where do you go to catch the measles?

I mean, today the measles, tomorrow the Rose Bowl, maybe the Heisman.

Think what Rodney Peete could have done if he came down with smallpox.

Every quarterback in the country will be trying to find the nearest measles outbreak.

Back in the middle of the Civil War as General Grant took Vicksburg, President Lincoln wanted to appoint him commanding general of the Union armies, but his advisers were against it. “General Grant drinks a lot,” they protested. “Find out what he drinks and give a case of it to my other generals,” retorted Lincoln.

Every coach in the country will probably take a look at his quarterback now and wonder where he went wrong keeping him healthy. “Did you ever think of trying to get the measles, kid? Why don’t you go down and hang around the isolation ward? Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

On the week of big games, most quarterbacks take part in tense, nail-biting blackboard drills. They practice till dark, they worry, they get worn out, nerves frazzled going over and over the game plan in their heads.

All Rodney Peete wanted to do all week was get his temperature back to normal, get rid of those spots and rashes, stop itching, see if his throat would stop aching, and be able to go around under his right name for a change and not use all those aliases they dreamed up to register him in hospitals without anyone knowing about it.

Look at it this way: He got a lot of rest. He had a lot of other things to worry about besides blitzing linebackers.

He may have revolutionized pregame preparations.

It’s not so far-fetched. Anyone who ever plays golf knows that a little physical infirmity can do wonders for your game. It sharpens your concentration. For instance, if you were to get a severe nosebleed on the way to the first tee, you’d be surprised how it makes you keep your head still over the ball. Lots of fighters have found out that worrying about a tender right hand, a little swelling in the knuckles, can make your jab 20 times more devastating and effective.

No one ever thought of the measles as a sure-fire pregame preparation before, but if one more guy has a day like Rodney Peete had Saturday, you can bet me, coaches will be carrying little vials of measles virus around with them. I mean, who needs steroids?

All Rodney Peete did on one measly (so to speak) little virus was play every down, on offense, of the most important football game of the year, complete 16 of 28 passes, direct an attack that was to beat UCLA, 31-22, get named player of the game and probably earn himself a date at the Downtown Athletic Club in New York next month to pick up the most treasured bauble in collegiate athletics.

You think he could do that if his temperature was 98.6 all week, his pulse rate normal, he didn’t have a rash and he didn’t have to stay in bed all day and watch soap operas instead of UCLA guys sacking quarterbacks?

There’s a lot to be said for shut-ins if they can get out of a sick bed and cross up the UCLA secondary.

On the other side of the line, Troy Aikman, UCLA signal caller, never had a chance. He spent the week on his feet in frenetic preparations. His blood pressure was perfect, pulse steady, eyesight 20/20 and he didn’t have a spot on him. His teeth didn’t even hurt. You’re surprised he lasted a quarter.

It’s pretty hard to find any other plausible explanation for USC’s victory over UCLA Saturday. On balance, the Trojans might not really have been the best team. USC and Peete scored virtually every time they had a reasonable chance to do so. Measles apparently makes you opportunistic, too. There may be no end to the real resources it brings out in you. UCLA, on the other hand, seemed to stall or get petrified in sight of the goal line. The Bruins squandered chances and had to settle for field goals. It was, ultimately, the difference in the game.

Some dumbbell must have inoculated them against the measles before the game.

It is a rule of thumb with most coaches that, if you have to throw the ball 50 times in a game, you lose.

UCLA just got under the wire--48 times the Bruins threw the ball. That may have been too many. The week before the game, the UCLA coach, Terry Donahue, was bemused by the fact Oregon State had had some success (not victory) against USC by putting the ball in the air 60 times. You wanted to say, “No, no, Coach, 60 passes is desperation time.” UCLA’s downfall was that, in 70 offensive plays, the Bruins could manage only 73 yards rushing. Either that did them in--or the fact that none of them, much less their quarterback, had to spend any time in an oxygen tent the week of the game.

USC’s mythology is redolent with guys who came off the fourth-string and off the bench to pull out Rose Bowl games in derring-dos of antiquity. But, this is the first time anyone came out of quarantine to do it.

Rodney Peete looks like the kind of guy who would get measles. Or the mumps. He looks like a little kid who should be playing in a helmet three sizes too big for him or in a jersey that comes down to his knees. His nickname should be “Skippy” or “Spanky.” You wouldn’t be too surprised to hear he had the colic, in fact.

You have to like a guy and a team who, with a 12-point lead in the 4th quarter, 4th down and a yard to go and the ball on their own 33-yard line, get this! Go for it! Rodney took the ball, got stuffed, turned back--and raced around end for the obligatory yardage. And just made it.

Think he could have done that without a week’s rest? Peete bought his team some precious time with that maneuver. There were 14:24 minutes on the clock when he made that first down. There were 11:09 on the clock when USC had to surrender the ball. Keeping the ball out of Troy Aikman’s passing arm that long at that time was a major plus.

You wonder what they’ll do with him before the Notre Dame game next week. Put him in an iron lung? Not completely out of the question. Maybe they’ll suggest he go out and play in the traffic. If there are any good cholera epidemics out there, they may ship him over to it and tell him to get out and mingle.

After the game, someone asked Rodney what he was going to do the week before next Saturday’s Notre Dame game. “Oh, I’m going to go out and practice all week,” he said, smiling.

No, no, Rodney. That’s just what Notre Dame wants to hear. What they’re afraid of is that he’ll get a job in a contagious disease ward or the team will send him some place where it’s not safe to drink the water. And feed him peanuts. They don’t want him taken down with a serious case of health.