Steve Young not only played Sunday. He played well, he was able to talk about it and he didn’t have to leave the 49ers’ locker room surrounded by neurologists.
In a drama-impaired NFL that’s losing quarterbacks faster than the Bears are losing pride, this is progress. And what do you have to thank for it? Maximum protection.
Young, you might recall, was flattened on San Francisco’s fifth play of the young season Aug. 31. He incurred his third concussion in 10 months, returned later in the defeat at Tampa Bay, then sat out the 49ers’ victory at St. Louis.
He probably should have passed on Sunday’s slaughter of New Orleans–or better yet, celebrated retirement–but there he was, on first down, sliding with the ball for 8 yards.
“I gotta play the way I play,” said Young.
He’s either very noble, or very naive.
Maybe Young, a terrific competitor, still lives in the shadow of Joe Montana, a football god who played on after back surgery despite being implored to quit, lest he absorb one last hit that would render him paralyzed.
Or maybe Young really believed what he was hearing all last week, about how his coaches and teammates would rally around his damaged head and provide him “maximum protection.” It was as if Young would be sprayed with a high-powered deodorant and anti-perspirant to keep 300-linemen off the scent.
The Saints recorded six sacks, including an intentional-grounding violation accrued when Young threw the ball away to avoid being pummeled. If that’s “maximum protection” against a pathetic outfit, how will the 49ers handle a real team?
“Well,” said Young, “there are some things I can do to take the edge off the possibility of those freak blows.”
Sounds like he’s drifting off again, as he did in Tampa Bay, where he made no sense. Young wore an industrial-strength helmet Sunday, with pads on pads, and he added a mouthpiece to his wardrobe.
But even if the 49ers keep opponents from picking the pocket, how can Young be protected from himself? Thoroughbreds of his ilk weren’t trained to run half a race. Why, Young can’t even master the feet-first slide. His instinct is to lead with his chin, an invitation to abuse.
Perhaps that explains why Sunday’s crowd was so sedate. The game was a walkover, but there was this hush whenever the Saints made contact with Young. Why did he stay in there until it was 33-0?
Steve Mariucci, San Francisco’s rookie coach, had no worthwhile answers. But let Young explain.
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“I appreciate the concern,” he said. “I’ve looked at my life after football, and it’s sunny and great. In a way, I can’t wait to start it. But as long as I am on the football field, there is this feeling of adrenaline, this joy.”
It would seem, in this era of unabated genius, that offensive gurus paid to put points on the board also could devise a system whereby the game’s most important players are kept out of hospitals. Why isn’t “maximum protection” for quarterbacks more of a rule instead of the emergency exception? If modern, carnivorous defenses must blitz, is there a law against blocking for the QB? Does everybody have to abandon ship and become a receiver?
The 49ers recall a “max protect” alert for Montana in Soldier Field during the 1988 season. They lost 10-9 but Montana was healthy enough to return there for the NFC championship game in January “Bear” weather. Without the conservative “max protect,” the 49ers clobbered the Bears 28-3 and then won Super Bowl XXIII.
Remember back when the Bears used to make the playoffs?