| THE CINCINNATI ENQUIRER | FRIDAY, JULY 31, 1998 |
He Never Cheated Himself, or His Fans
BY TIM SULLIVAN
He didn't need to exert himself in order to excel in professional football. He chose to. The first career Cincinnati Bengal to earn election to the Pro Football Hall of Fame got there because he was a giant with the work ethic of an ant.
If blocking sometimes seemed to require no sweat from the brilliant tackle, it was because of all the perspiration he spent in preparation.
"Monday morning after a tough football game, he's out there running five miles before the rest of us got there," said Bruce Kozerski, Munoz' longtime linemate. "He didn't have the biggest upper body, but he could get on a leg press machine and watch a full-length movie."
Anthony Munoz is a religious man, and if his football career had a credo, it could have been taken from the gospel of St. Luke: "For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required." He was named to 11 Pro Bowls in his 13 seasons, but always behaved like a guy trying to make a good first impression.
Heroic? Hardly. Munoz was handsomely paid to keep himself in shape, to heed his coaches and study his playbook. The effort he expended on his job was about what you'd expect from any highly motivated human in a lucrative and intensely competitive profession.
Still, a lot of athletes with a lot less ability have offered a lot less effort than Anthony Munoz. When the Bengals selected him, in the first round of the 1980 draft, their roster was dominated by directionless underachievers. Two years later ‹ with Munoz blocking Ken Anderson's blind side, opening holes for Pete Johnson and setting an exalted example ‹ the Bengals reached their first Super Bowl.
"The first minicamp he came to, it was like, ŒWhoa,' " said Dave Lapham, the former Bengal lineman. "He had big hair back then, and he was so big he blocked all the light in the doorway. But when I watched him on the field, he moved like a 220-pound guy. He had the power and strength of an 18-wheeler with the rack-and-pinion steering of a Ferrari."
Munoz was a Goliath who could glide, and a good enough baseball player at Southern California that agent Mike Trope threatened to turn him into a full-time pitcher during his first contract negotiation with the Bengals. Even when he weighed close to 300 pounds, Munoz was nimble enough to play shortstop on Bengal softball teams.
"He had more range than most of the guys playing shortstop (professionally)," Kozerski said. "And nobody wanted to play first base because his throws would break your hand."
Lapham once fielded a Munoz peg, and had the ball strike the base of his index finger. He says it took three innings to regain feeling in three fingers.
"Even in the world we lived in (as professional athletes), some of the things he did were simply amazing," Kozerski said.
Kozerski remembers Munoz putting one overmatched rookie on his back on 13 consecutive plays. Sam Wyche thought enough of Munoz' hands that he used him as a tight end in goal-line situations, both as target and decoy. Coslet says the huge tackle would have made a terrific punter.
There wasn't much Anthony Munoz could not do on a football field, but there was one thing he would not do. He would not cheat his talent. What he was given, he put to use. What he has achieved, he has earned.
Enquirer columnist Tim Sullivan welcomes your E-mail. Message him at tsullivan@enquirer.com
|
