The Rush
On Super Bowl Sunday, millions of fans will watch
as Troy Aikman and Neil O'Donnell drop back to pass, just inches away from huge, fast, powerful men who want to hurt them. To a quarterback, the pass rush is a terrifying onslaught. But to a defensive end, it's the purest feeling of his life.
Illustration by Val Mina
You are a defensive lineman in the NFL. There are only minutes to go in the game. Your team is winning, but They have the ball. They are moving toward your goal line. If the ball crosses that infinite plane only 42 yards away in the possession of one of Them, you will lose. Because of the time and the score and the distance, They will throw the ball. You know that. Everyone knows that. This is a time in the game when you have only one job at the snap of the ball: get to the quarterback.
Other times, your job is more complex. There are gaps to be filled. There are offensive linemen you must slam into, grab hold of, push out of the way. There are complex patterns of fast-moving bodies that tell you where you have to go and what you must do if you get there in time. There are big fullbacks to fend off, and eel-slick running backs to grab hold of and wrestle to the ground. You have certain responsibilities for certain defensive plays. These will change if the formation of the offense in front of you changes from two running backs to one, one wide receiver to three, or two tight ends to none.
On a normal play, early in the game, the seconds before each snap are like a complex math problem that must be solved instantly and reacted to innately. Then, as if you have suddenly been transported into a surrealist painting, what only an instant ago were just numbers are now animate objects. They attack you. The mental challenges turn into physical ones. Three hundred and twenty pound tubs of guts come raging at you like six-foot waves. You brace yourself. Your bones are jarred. Your muscles, ligaments, and tendons are stress-tested. After the impact you have to move with urgency of a man on a bed of hot coals.
Sometimes the other team is running the ball. You may end up at the bottom of a pile with some unseen malefactor twisting your ankle. You may end up running in an open space of grass that seems much too large, trying to catch up to a man who is much too fast. This is just like one of those bad dreams.
Next page: A violent beauty
