Setting the Record Straight

By Tom Callahan

Washington's old-style kicker, Mark Moseley, lifts the uprights

In Washington, D.C., where many men are famous for putting their foot in it, no one is more renowned at the moment than Washington Redskins Place Kicker Mark Moseley. He has kicked more consecutive field goals than any National Football League kicker before him, and almost all of Moseley's kicks are in the national interest.

Because so much grim business is conducted in this city during the week, Redskin losses on Sunday are ominous events. On Moseley's right leg sways the mood of the Government. Last week, when Moseley broke Garo Yepremian's record of 20 straight field goals, Senators Paul Laxalt and John Warner hurried from the game after the first quarter to vote to keep the Republic going, but were back for the finish. Moseley's third field goal of the day with four seconds left beat the New York Giants, 15-14, and made the record 21. "I had no idea what yard line it was on," said Moseley, an uncomplicated man who leaves mental check lists to golfers. "All I do is swing my leg straight." Even though it was tipped by a Giant, the ball twirled the needed 42 yds.

In the N.F.L. today, soccer-style place kicking is more than the vogue. According to 26 of the 28 teams, it is the superior method. The only two field-goal kickers still swinging their legs straight are Rick Danmeier of the Minnesota Vikings and Moseley. "That's why I was glad to see Moseley get the record," said Lou ("the Toe") Groza, the Cleveland Browns' famed footman, who also played tackle in the '50s. "At least Moseley looks like a football player. I was talking to George Blanda a while back, and he said, 'You know, if they would just tighten the immigration laws, we could still be kicking.' "

German, Mexican, Polish and Norwegian sidewinders proliferated in the pros in the 1960s and '70s until Americans got the knack. In 1966 Cypriot Garo Yepremian's brother wrote to tell him about the land of milk and honey, and the soccer-style pioneer, Hungarian Pete Gogolak. Garo, a humble tiemaker, left home immediately to be a famous tie breaker. "The next thing I knew, I was a Detroit Lion," recalls Yepremian, who would serve four N.F.L. teams. "The first game I ever saw was in Baltimore against the Colts. I kicked off." Before the game, Yepremian's teammates dressed him in his pads. He stands 5 ft. 7 in. "After I kicked the ball, I stood for a moment admiring it. Since I was getting a lot of money, I figured it was part of my job to pick up the tee." He heard the thunder of hoofs. "I ran for my life to the sidelines." Laughter greeted him there. "I couldn't understand it. Then I realized I had run to the wrong sideline. I was sitting with the Baltimore Colts."

Early immigrant kickers had much to fear from all sides. "We were not loved," says Yepremian. In the secret hearts of football players, they were interlopers. "When they kicked a field goal," sneers Alex Karras, Yepremian's old Lion teammate, "they'd jump up and down and yell, 'I kick a touchdown! I kick a touchdown!' " Yepremian says, "I was short, I was bald, and I didn't understand football. But worst of all, I walked off the field cleaner than I walked on."

Back fashioning neckwear after 15 seasons, Yepremian has settled in Miami near his warmest memories. Over nine years there, the Dolphins came to regard him as fondly as a pet and eventually forgave him for the blocked-kick touchdown pass he accidentally threw to the Washington Redskins in the 1973 Super Bowl. "Washington is also where my streak ended at 20," he remembers, "but I didn't really mind Moseley breaking my record. A last-second field goal to win the game, that's doing it in style."

Moseley was a quarterback at Stephen F. Austin State University in Nacogdoches, Texas, and he is accepted by his fellows as a football player. (Occasionally in his twelve-year pro career he has practiced as an emergency quarterback.) "I know that has been an advantage," he says. "I can share in the feeling, the emotion, the atmosphere of the entire game."

Besides being a dreary calling at times, kicking positions are as fragile as Viennese chandeliers. After twelve years and four teams, egg-shaped Austrian Toni Fritsch missed two field goals for New Orleans last week and, disgusted with himself, went home to Vienna. Some of the soccer kickers, domestic and foreign, know enough about both football and human nature to risk tossing their lithe bodies about the field recklessly. If they never get smudged, they are certain to feel more isolated from teammates when the extra points blow off course. The New York Jets' Pat Leahy has had a particularly lonesome time this year. "It's not lonely if you don't let it be lonely," says Moseley, meaning if you never miss any field goals. For neglecting to make eleven of 30 last season, he had to wait until the final cut this year to find out if he was even on the team.

A sturdy leg and strong confidence are Moseley's only equipment. Though the Dallas Cowboys and other interested parties have inquired about the size and mythic qualities of Moseley's right foot, he is not a Sasquatch. His 10 1/2B swaddled in six sweat socks merely appears oversize in a hard, square-toed but lawful boot. The longest N.F.L. field goal on record, 63 yds., was punched by a man with half a foot, New Orleans' Tom Dempsey; Moseley's longest is 54 yds. Asked if he would like a swipe at Dempsey's record, Moseley replies, "I couldn't kick 63 now. Those days are over." Not that he feels older at 34, but the ball feels harder, even through six socks. "On snowy days," he says, "those barefoot kickers," like Philadelphia's Tony Franklin, "make me wince." He made the record on a snowy day in Washington, though no plowing was necessary to bare a spot. In New England, convicts are used for this detail. ("What can they do to me?" said the affable burglar who cleared the way three games ago for a protested 3-0 Patriots victory over Miami. "Put me in jail?") Moseley has almost been good enough to be illegal. --By Tom Callahan This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.