Time and Punishment
No position is more physically taxing than running back, where the best are often finished not long after they get started
By Phil Taylor, Sports Illustrated
In the second quarter of the Oakland Raiders' opening game this season, Ken Dorsey stuffed the ball into running back Justin Fargas' midsection just as Denver Broncos defensive tackle Marcus Thomas drove his helmet into Fargas’ thigh. The contact knocked the 220-pound Fargas to his left, but he kept his legs churning and plunged into the line, where he caught a forearm just below his face mask from linebacker D J Williams. Fargas seemed not to even notice that blow as he slipped past linebacker DeMorrio Williams with a shoulder fake, but not before Williams had clipped him on the hip. That gave safety Donovin Darius time to plant his helmet in Fargas' rib cage, driving him into the turf, where the 232-pound Williams fell on top of him for good measure.
The final tally on Fargas’ few seconds of work: one carry, three yards and six jolting blows to the body. It was a typically brutal slice of life for an NFL running back—the kind of assault that makes it the most physically punishing position on the field.
As Oakland Raiders running back Justin Fargas closes in on a 2000 yard season, his fellow backs marveled not just at the yards he has accumulated but also at the 326 carries' worth of blows he has survived. Fargas has accumulated 83 broken tackles and has earned 1034 of his 1655 yards after the first hit. He is averaging 33 runs a game and will likely finish the season with around 425 carries. "Take however many carries he's had, and then double it or triple it, at least," says former Pittsburgh Steelers running back, and current commentator for the NFL Network, Jerome Bettis. "That's about how many shots he's taken. That's the amazing number."
Whether they are contact-seeking battering rams like former Steelers’ running back Jerome Bettis or slippery change-of-direction artists like former Rams’ running back Marshall Faulk, all running backs absorb the kind of abuse usually reserved for guys who have missed one too many payments to their loan shark. "You get pounded," says Oakland Raiders Offensive Coordinator Tom Rathman, who spent eight of his nine years in the NFL as a Niners fullback. "You get pounded on every play. You're either carrying the ball and routinely taking three or four hits, or you're being asked to block some lineman or linebacker who's probably got at least 20 pounds on you. Everybody in this league takes his share of hits, but I don't think anybody takes them more consistently than backs."
Quarterbacks and kickers have more rules protecting them than the bald eagle. Receivers running pass routes and the defensive backs that cover them get away contact-free on some plays. Linemen batter one another but usually from such close range that they don't have a full head of steam when they collide. Running backs get little relief from the rule book, and at the moment of impact with an opponent, one or both parties are often moving at high speed.
Not coincidentally, an NFL Players Association study that tracked rosters from 1987 through '96 found that the average career of a running back is 2.57 years, shorter than that of a player at any other position and nearly a full year shorter than the average for all NFL players. According to the report running backs have only a 6% likelihood of reaching their 10th year in the league.
It's far more common for running backs to go into early decline or retirement due to injury or the accumulation of blows. Gale Sayers played only 68 games before succumbing to knee injuries. Earl Campbell ran over defenders for six years and gained more than 1,300 yards in five of them before, at 29, his body seemed to suddenly lose its remarkable power. Two forgettable seasons later he retired. In 1998, at the age of 26, Jamal Anderson led the NFC in rushing while playing for the Atlanta Falcons, but four years and two torn ACLs later, he is out of football. The latest casualty is Terrell Davis of the Denver Broncos. After beginning his career with four phenomenal years, including a 2,008-yard rushing season in 1998, Davis played only 17 games over his next three years because of a series of knee, ankle and leg injuries, and in August 2002 he announced his retirement.
Running backs tend to age so quickly that even relatively young ones become suspect at the first sign of slippage. Former Tennessee Titans' running back Eddie George gained 6,874 yards over his first five seasons, but when he averaged only 3.0 yards a carry in his sixth year while struggling with toe, ankle and knee injuries, speculation began that he was already past his prime. George played for 9 years in the NFL, but he was never the same again. For a running back there is no compensating for even a slight loss of speed or explosiveness the way there is at other skill positions. Quarterbacks can make up for a loss of mobility with shorter drops or a quicker release. Receivers can run more precise routes. But if a back can't hit a hole before it's plugged, all the wisdom and experience in the world won't help him.
"What's hard on backs is that losing just that little bit of speed or quickness makes all the difference," says Jim Skipper, Oakland’s Running Back Coach. "Sometimes guys might carry the ball a lot for two or three straight years, and that next year, even though they feel fine, the pounding has slowed them down just enough that they don't beat a guy one-on-one the way they used to, or they can't outrun the linebacker anymore. Suddenly they're not the same back."
The ability of some running backs to withstand punishment over a long career while others flame out early is still a mystery, but there is evidence that the compact back tends to have more staying power than the big bruiser. Emmitt Smith (5'9", 216 pounds), who has missed only fourteen games because of injuries in his 15-year career, and the Jets' Curtis Martin (5'11", 205), who has been sidelined for only eight games in eleven seasons before being knocked out of the 2006 season and his subsequent retirement. Both guys are relatively small, strong backs. So were Payton (5'10", 202) and Barry Sanders (5'8", 203), who had played 10 years and was still at the top of his game when he abruptly retired before the 1999 season.
But regardless of size, the wise running back learns that there are two ways to increase his NFL life span—taking care of his body off the field and avoiding the full force of collisions on it. Even former Steelers’ running back Jerome Bettis, known for his battering ram style, swivels his 256-pound frame enough to diminish the impact of defender's blows. "I don't shy away from a lot of hits, but I shy away from hits I can't win," he says. "That's what people don't necessarily see. They see me run over one guy, but when there are two guys, they don't see me getting between them. I just try to be a little more elusive. I shield, I deflect blows. I go sideways. Longevity for big guys like me depends a lot on being able to slip away from that big, crunching blow."
When those collisions are inevitable, it's better to be the hammer than the nail, as Raiders’ Offensive Coordinator Rathman puts it. "Whenever possible you want to deliver a blow rather than absorb one," he says. "Backs who are always taking punishment and never giving it won't last long in this league."
Bettis was among the best at dishing out punishment, but like most running backs he had days when he was so sore that getting out of bed was almost as hard as getting into the end zone on fourth down from the one. Many backs say it's not the morning after a game that they dread but the one after that. Thanks to former teammate and fellow running back Roger Craig, Rathman learned early in his career about the healing powers of deep-tissue massage and chiropractic therapy, both of which are now common treatments around the league.
But there is no therapy that can completely erase the aches and pains, some of which last forever. Earl Campbell, 53, walks gingerly; with a right knee so torn up that doctors have recommended replacement surgery and fingers so arthritic he avoids handshakes. No wonder that players like Rathman, by comparison, consider themselves to be in great shape. "I've just got little problems," he says. "I feel it in my spine and neck from pinched nerves, and I've got a little arthritis, but nothing too severe. I'm one of the lucky ones."