THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, January 28, 1995 TAG: 9501270087
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E2 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Larry Maddry
LENGTH: Medium: 78 lines
PSSST. Wanta know a secret?
I REALLY LIKE THE SAN DIEGO CHARGERS.
There, I've said it. I'm just saying it this once because I've been invited to a Super Bowl Party on Sunday.
I may not wear a paper bag over my head, but I'm just going to sit in a corner and keep my mouth shut. That's because the Chargers are the Bill Clintons of professional football.
No respect.
Super Bowl XXIX isn't going to be Goliath versus David. It's Goliath versus Forrest Gump.
There are a lot of jokes about the Chargers. You've probably heard some of them.
You know:
Circle the item that cannot run faster than Chargers quarterback Stan Humphries: (a) snail (b) marshmallow (c) gridlocked car (d) mountain (e) broken clock (f) ship anchor.
What is the difference between a pocket compass and a Chargers fan betting on the Super Bowl? Answer: The Chargers fan has more points.
I don't care if the Chargers are five-touchdown underdogs by kick-off time. Or that their players are so lacking in name recognition they have to show six IDs before they can cash a check.
They are my team for the Super Bowl. I usually root for teams from the South. The Skins, Miami, Atlanta, even Tampa Bay. It takes a real stretch to root for a team from Southern California. But that's what I'm doing.
Of course there are other reasons. Truth is you have to love a team that is as ugly as the Chargers. They don't win pretty. Or big. Humphries, their quarterback, watched his touchdown pass that put them into the Super Bowl while pinned to the ground by a Pittsburgh lineman.
The Chargers' best player isn't a running back or an end. He plays defense. His name is Junior Seau. Seau has a bad arm that hangs off his shoulder like a limp tube of sausage and has been useless most of the season. So he tackles with the other arm.
And where the Chargers aren't ugly, they are nondescript. Must be something about those Charger uniforms that suck all the personality out of anyone who wears one.
Their coach Bobby Ross is a Virginia Military Institute grad - remember when he was coach at Georgia Tech? - who sets the tone for the team. He has one of those ``everyman'' faces: Think of the people who hand out tokens in subway kiosks or towels in restaurant washrooms. Ross is Jerry Ford without the charisma.
The Chargers coach is so colorless - I swear - that twice this season he has had to pay his way into Jack Murphy Stadium (the Chargers' home) because the parking attendants didn't know who he was.
Oh, I almost forgot my favorite Charger: Natrone (rhymes with ``nay-tron'' bomb) Means. Natrone is a former University of North Carolina running back who grunts out yardage charging straight up the field with opposing lineman hanging off him like Keystone Cops off a wagon.
But he gets no respect, either. The conventional wisdom is that the defensive line of the San Francisco 49ers will stop him dead in his tracks - no visible Means of support, as the snappy sportswriters say.
But bad as they may be, the Chargers are my team now. There's no choice. The 49ers have too much glamour. Steve Young, the Niners quarterback, is better looking than Tom Cruise. Deion Sanders is a showboat who tap dances into an end zone better than Sammy Davis Jr. And Jerry Rice, the certain Hall of Famer, is the master chef of shake and bake.
San Francisco wants to be the first team to win five Super Bowls. The Chargers have never been in a Super Bowl for Pete's sakes. Like ole Forrest, thayur just re-yuhl proud to be there.
I'll be rooting for the Chargers, fingers crossed, rabbit's foot in pocket and hope in my heart when the game starts. But I expect to switch from peanuts to Excedrin by the time the fourth quarter rolls around.
Because this ain't gonna be no box of chocolates, Forrest. I know what we're gonna get. by CNB