WHAT A RELIEF it will be to pass through the approaching NFL-less months without having to worry about who the greatest quarterback in football is.
We now know that it is Joe Montana of San Francisco, an issue that was settled clearly in Super Bowl XIX and the only reason to remember the game at all, unless you count the human American flag that boogied during the National Anthem.
Montana is the best quarterback, and a more reluctant hero we have not had in football since last year, when Jim Plunkett mumbled his way into our hearts.
“Joe is the greatest quarterback in football today,” said his coach, Bill Walsh, and if you can’t trust a guy who always dresses in white, who can you trust?
“Joe Montana is the best that ever played,” said Dwight Clark, who used to be Montana’s roommate and still serves as Montana’s landlord between brides.
“Joe has established himself as maybe the finest quarterback to play,” said Paul Hackett, who is only Montana’s personal coach.
There we have three perfectly objective endorsements, and, of course, our own eyes.
SUPER BOWL XIX was just the latest chapter in the Joe Montana (Montagna in the original Italian) story. The beginning was back in Monongahela, Pa., in the back yard where an only child already burdened with the designation of junior after his name caught footballs thrown by a father determined to make him a great athlete.
The story moved to Notre Dame where, from seventh string, Montana became a college legend. Montana brought the Irish from behind no less than half a dozen times in his three seasons of play there, from a 20-point rescue against Air Force, to a 35-34 victory over Houston in the Cotton Bowl with no time left after Notre Dame had fallen behind 34-12.
And now to San Francisco, where in just six years Montana has won two Super Bowls and has been the outstanding player in each one.
“I don’t know how I’ve been able to do these things,” Montana said. “I just go out there and try to win.”
You don’t learn much about Montana from Montana. For a young man consistently described as fiercely competitive, he is absolutely timid in public.
In any gathering, he would be the one most likely to pass for a sarcophagus.
He speaks softly, though he always fixes the questioner with his clear blue eyes, and he always stops his answer short of anything revealing, though he did confess after this Super Bowl that the one thing that most upset him was being called a wimp by “a writer from Miami.”
OF COURSE, NO ONE in San Francisco would call him that, no matter how tempted by Montana’s hermit instincts. In fact, Montana was declared God for a Day by one group of sign painters who watched the 49er victory parade that Montana skipped.
In all candor, Montana does not look like a quarterback. What he looks like is somebody who carries your groceries to the car.
“The good Lord did not put him together like Dan Marino,” said 49er guard Randy Cross, “but he can run, pass and get out of the way of problems. Marino is the best thrower in the league. Joe Montana is the best quarterback.”
“He is not a flamboyant person,” said Walsh. “He’s like a great writer or musician. There’s something internal that you just know.
“People will play alongside him more smoothly than someone who attracts a lot of attention. He doesn’t have that bravado that certain people who are less smart have.”
What Montana has are results. Notre Dame used to cheer when Dan Devine would finally put Montana into a game, usually when it appeared lost. Devine likes to take credit for discovering Montana, but there is a story around that, during Montana’s junior year, after two Notre Dame quarterbacks had been hurt, Devine whirled angrily and yelled at his assistants, “Get me a quarterback!”
Montana was sent into the game. He brought the Irish back to beat Purdue, causing Devine to ask, “What’s that kid’s name?”
WALSH AND MONTANA are an ideal pair, kind of like a professor and his puppy. Here’s a new trick, Joe. Roll over and stand on one leg. Isn’t he cute? “He is extremely coachable,” said Walsh, “and he is very inventive.”
Walsh first saw Montana when Walsh was working out UCLA running back James Owens before the 1979 draft. Owens had brought Montana along to throw the ball to him, and Walsh was impressed enough to forget Owens and make Montana the 49ers’ second selection.
The choice was high enough to startle NFL scouts. “They questioned his consistency,” said Walsh, “but I felt that was the fault of Notre Dame. I wondered why, if he could have one great game, why not two, or three? They said his arm wasn’t strong enough, but it is as strong as Dan Fouts’. I put his arm in the 90th percentile.
“Joe has leadership, instinct, resourcefulness, maturity. We have the most detailed offense in the league. The quarterback is our limit. But with Joe, we don’t have a limit.”
End of argument.