Runts in the Big League

A little goes a long way in the N.F.L.

"I don't understand why people keep I talking about size," Cleveland Browns Running Back Greg Pruitt complains. "Nobody ever asked Columbus how tall he was." Perhaps because, in the words of a contemporary of the Great Discoverer, Columbus was "as regards his exterior person and bodily disposition, more than middling tall." But in the behemoth world of professional football, Pruitt, at 5 ft. 9 in. and 190 Ibs., is more than middling small. From his first day in football as a seventh-grader--when a 4-ft. 4-in. schoolmate looked down at Pruitt (who was an inch shorter) and dubbed him "Shorty"--Pruitt has been undersized and overly successful--an All-America and Pro-Bowl mote darting elusively through forests of giant defenders. Says Pruitt: "I've had to play at this size all my life. I've always been the smallest guy on the field. The thing that would catch my attention would not be a big guy; it would be to find another guy out there who is my size."

Pruitt does not have to look far for company this year; the little guys are making it big in the National Football League. Dashing to touchdowns, leaping to bat down passes or darting past befuddled defenders for a crucial reception, the runts have provided some of the most thrilling moments in a season of slogging defensive domination. Among the best: the Houston Oilers' Billy ("White Shoes") Johnson (5 ft. 9 in., 170 Ibs.) of the end-zone victory dance, scooting past Chicago Bear defenders, then performing the N.F.L.'s first dwarf dunk--a triumphant spike over the goal posts. The Baltimore Colts' Howard Stevens (5 ft. 5 in., 162 Ibs. and the smallest man in the N.F.L.), the Nureyev of the sidelines, dancing beyond the grasp of lumbering would-be tacklers. The Atlanta Falcons' Rolland Lawrence (5 ft. 9 3/4 in., 178 Ibs.), a hawk masquerading as a defensive back, swooping in front of half-foot taller tight ends for five interceptions. The Los Angeles Rams' Harold Jackson (5 ft. 10 in., 175 Ibs.), the wide receiver with a modest No. 1 dangling from a gold necklace around his neck, tying up the secondary with a series of baffling fakes, then floating into the end zone all alone.

With the new 3-4 defense choking off the long run and seamless zone defenses in the secondary denying all but the perfectly thrown pass, the big play is often the game-breaker in the N.F.L. this season. Often that play comes from the little men, especially on kickoff and punt returns. Many teams carry a diminutive run-back specialist on their rosters. As fearless as they are frail-looking, they await the ball amid the growing thunder of approaching tacklers. Momentarily obscured by a wall of blockers, they duck toward the sidelines in a suicidal dash toward glory. Johnson, who is the only N.F.L. player to return both a kick and punt for touchdowns this season, views his tiny stature as an advantage: "It can be a psychological edge. I always have ten other men up there blocking for me and they like to see a small guy do well. You know what they say about getting lost in a crowd. I'm small and those other folks--they're so big. While they're hunting around for me, maybe they're forgetting about blockers."

Pruitt does his share of lurking behind beefy blockers as well. "I can position myself behind my blockers so that a defensive guy has to commit himself just to see where I'm at," Pruitt says. "It's a cat-and-mouse game. He shows up on the outside, I go inside. He shows up inside, I go outside." So far, the mouse is winning; with 761 yards rushing, Pruitt is on his way to his third straight 1,000-yd. season.

Most N.F.L. midgets agree that next to putting up with jokes about their size (a 6-ft. 5-in. teammate ordered Atlanta's Lawrence out of the shower "because grown people don't shower with Munchkins"), the biggest hurdle is getting an opportunity to display their skills. Football's bias toward big men usually means lower spots in the draft for small players and fewer invitations to training camp as free agents, and more modest starting salaries. The important thing, says the Colts' Stevens, "is to get the chance to show what you can do and not get written off on size alone. Then you've got to cash in on that chance, because as a small man, you may not get another." Washington Cornerback Pat Fischer, 5 ft. 9 in., 170 lbs., a 16-year veteran and premier defender until disabled earlier this season with a back injury, is one of the N.F.L.'s pint-sized pioneers. Says he: "You need more luck than anything else. In the first couple of games, I made some exceptional plays that showed the coaches I could tackle people and not get killed. Coaches all have a predetermined idea of what a cornerback is supposed to look like. I never did fit the description, and I still don't." Coaches were unprepared for Fischer in other ways too. "I spent the first couple of days in camp just running around in my shorts," he recalls. "Eventually, they went to a college and found some pads and a helmet that fit me. The first exhibition game, though, my pants fell down below my knees."

Even when the uniforms fit, survival is difficult. Pruitt puts on "a lot of jukes and lateral movement" so that he does not get hit head on. "It's just like two trains colliding--the smaller one is going to take the most punishment." Johnson stares upfield at "an immovable mountain" and pours on the speed to run around it. St. Louis Cardinals Wide Receiver Mel Gray (5 ft. 9 in., 175 Ibs.) dislocated a shoulder trying to take out a bigger man and has since left the blocking to others. "Trying to be a hero, I ran into Dick Butkus. I missed the first five games of the season, and I learned my lesson." His teammate, Running Back Terry Metcalf, 5 ft. 10 in., 185 Ibs., set an N.F.L. record in 1975 for net yardage by cashing in on his size: "I'm smaller and harder to grab. If they can't hit me, they can't hurt me." Lawrence dashed into the Chicago backfield earlier this season to sack Quarterback Bob Avellini, but such heroics are generally off-limits to him. "I never go into the interior line--that's no-no land. Venture into there at my size and I'm taking a chance with my life. I also stay out of the way of those vicious pulling guards. When one of them makes contact, I go down low like a bulldog after a larger dog."

Despite their shared disadvantages, the bantams display few signs of brotherhood on the field. Unafraid of big tacklers, the Rams' Harold Jackson dreads a hit from undersized defensive backs: 'When a bigger guy hits you, he just hits you enough to put you down. But those little guys are trying to take your head off; they really let down the boom on you." No matter what their target--gnat or giant--the little men can be big trouble. Is overcompensation, a Napoleon complex? Gray admits to a special joy in beating the big guys. Says he: "I like to look at the expressions on their faces after I beat them running a goal pattern. After I catch the ball, I look over my shoulder and watch them."

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