Ronnie Lott admits hardest hit

[Saniflush]

was from William Andrews.  I swear I will never know how Barfield was able to piss away games with William Andrews, Joe Cribs, and Lionel James all in the backfield?
I had seen this before and stumbled across it this weekend.

http://www.si.com/vault/1989/01/23/119255/super-bowl-preview-xxiii-hitter-with-heart-san-franciscos-all-pro-safety-ronnie-lott-is-as-generous-with-his-time-as-he-is-with-his-tackles

BOB AND MARIE BURCINA, A VIVACIOUS MIDDLE-aged couple, were two of
the friendliest people on Cadiz Drive in San Jose, Calif. They
organized neighborhood ice cream socials, opened their kitchen for
breakfast get- togethers and set up a hot dog stand in their
driveway for the street's annual June garage sale. When their
neighbor Toni Scurti had a baby, Bob welcomed her home from the
hospital with a large banner that read IT'S A BOY.
So when Bob was diagnosed as having lung cancer, Scurti surprised
him with a real-life get-well card -- a visit from her friend All-Pro
safety Ronnie Lott of the San Francisco 49ers. ''We walked in, and
Bob was hunched over in a chair, his arm in a sling,'' recalls
Scurti. ''The radiation treatments had taken a lot out of him, but
when he saw Ronnie, he sprang up and said, 'I'm going to walk across
the room to shake this man's hand.' ''
For two hours Lott shared stories about his teammates and life in
the NFL. Bob reminisced about old-time 49ers and critiqued the
current team's losses to the Phoenix Cardinals and the Los Angeles
Raiders earlier in the season. After Lott's visit, Marie couldn't get
Bob to wear anything but his red-and-gold 49er sweatpants and cap. On
Sundays he watched the Niners' games from his bed, often with tears
in his eyes. When he died two days before Christmas, at 57, he was
surrounded by the people and things he loved most -- his family and
his 49er mementos.
''Ronnie gave him energy,'' says Marie. ''The cancer was wearing
on him at all times, but for those few hours Ronnie gave my husband
peace of mind. That was something no one else was able to give.''
Lott, 29, is forever comforting those in need. To them he's more
than just the best free safety in the NFL -- he's a patron saint in
blue jeans and a baseball cap. A few months ago a woman Lott had
never met knocked on his door and asked him to visit a friend who had
recently broken his neck. No problem, said Lott, and while he was at
the hospital, he also consoled a man with a crushed hip. One morning
a friend of Lott's phoned to request an autographed football for a
sick colleague. By early afternoon the ball was on his friend's desk.
Lott also donates money to two San Francisco churches to help feed
the homeless, and he is planning to organize food drives at several
49er games next season.
''It's easy to help others, to give them some hope, some belief
that they can make it,'' says Lott. ''You've got to share yourself.
You can't forget where you came from and that you should help people.
The rewards you get from that are better than any others.''
Lott gives as much of himself on the field, but in a much
different way. He plays the game with passion, throwing his
six-foot, 200-pound body at running backs, wide receivers and tight
ends with abandon. He is not only one of the hardest hitters in the
NFL but also one of its most respected players. ''Ronnie slams into
guys full force, straight up,'' says Jack Tatum, the former Oakland
Raider All-Pro defensive back. ''But he has to refine his style. He
does as much damage to himself as he does to the other guy.''
Lott estimates that he has been knocked unconscious at least six
times making tackles. ''I'm dinged and dazed, like a boxer who's
trying to wake up,'' he says. ''On the sidelines, I'm always trying
to trick the doctors into believing I'm all right. When they say,
'You're out of the game,' I say, 'The hell I am.' ''
Lott has separated or dislocated his right shoulder twice and
separated the left one once. He has pinched a nerve in his neck and
broken or sprained three of his fingers. In 1985 he got his left
pinkie caught between his shoulder pads and the helmet of Dallas
running back Timmy Newsome. The bone at the tip of the finger was
shattered, and when the bone failed to heal, Lott had the tip
amputated. He has also played with torn cartilage in his right knee
and with a cracked tibia in his right leg.
Lott is such an intimidating force that scouts contend some wide
receivers cringe at the thought of running routes into his territory.
They sometimes fail to reach up for passes, opting instead to stay
low and protect their bodies from Lott's devastating blows. Ray
Rhodes, San Francisco's defensive- backfield coach, likes to call
these hard hits ''woo licks'' because they make stadium crowds -- and
opponents studying game films -- let out cries of wonder at every
crunch. Wooooooo!
''When you see Ronnie taking out guys on film, it puts thoughts in
the back of your mind,'' says Dallas Cowboys tight end Doug Cosbie.
''You know he's going to hit you, and it's not going to be a whole
lot of fun. It's like a prizefighter who has to face Mike Tyson; he
can't flinch every time Tyson throws a punch.''
At the moment of contact, Lott says he can gauge how hard his hit
is but not how effective it will be. The world around him goes
silent, and he claims he never hears his victim grunt, groan or
squeal. ''That's because he knocks the wind out of each one of
them,'' says Dennis Thurman, who coaches the Cardinals' defensive
backs.
Lott laughs when asked about his hardest hit, a head-on collision
with  Atlanta Falcons running back William Andrews in 1982. ''I ran
10 yards straight at him, as hard as I could,'' he recalls. ''He
didn't see me. The whole time I was saying to myself, This is it!
Then, boom. I slid off of him like butter. I hit the ground, and he
didn't go down. I was thinking, What?
''People are always asking where I'll be 10 years from now, if
I'll be able to walk,'' continues Lott. ''I'm just thankful to be
here today. It's not important to be known as someone who hits hard.
It's important to be thought of as a guy who gives his all. Sure, I'm
taking a risk of getting injured or being burned. But one thing you
don't do is sell out on your heart.''
Lott started learning that lesson very early in life. The oldest
of Roy and Mary Lott's three children, Ronnie was born in
Albuquerque, then moved to Washington, D.C., five years later when
his father, who was in the Air Force, was given the job of
chauffeuring generals between Bolling Air Force Base and the
Pentagon. Growing up in the inner city toughened Ronnie. ''You
learned how to compete,'' he recalls. ''Either you were good or you
didn't play.'' But city life also squelched the freedom and
spontaneity he had enjoyed in Albuquerque. The schoolyard was far
from home, so Lott played baseball in an abandoned parking lot and
football in the street with his brother, Roy Jr., and their friends,
Richard and Stanley Walker. ''I pretended I was Charley Taylor,''
says Lott. ''Richard called himself Daryle Lamonica. Stanley was
Larry Brown, and Roy thought he was Billy Kilmer.''
At Christmas the Lott brothers and their playmates begged their
parents for Washington Redskins helmets and uniforms. Ronnie also
pleaded for a pair of P.F. Flyers, insisting that those particular
shoes would make him run faster and jump higher than the rest of the
kids. ''To demonstrate how good the sneakers were, he jumped from our
second-floor apartment window to the first- floor landing,'' says Roy
Sr. with a laugh. ''That landing was only four feet square. He hit it
perfectly and didn't even hurt himself. That really shocked me.''
When Ronnie was nine, the Lotts moved to San Bernardino, Calif.,
50 miles east of Los Angeles, and a year later settled in nearby
Rialto. Ronnie had difficulty channeling the aggressiveness he had
developed playing games on pavement. During one recess Lott clobbered
a fifth-grade teacher with a kickball while making a tag and was
ordered to write and illustrate a booklet on sportsmanship, which his
mother still has.
Ronnie convinced his parents to let him try out for Little League
baseball by promising to wash and iron his own uniform. And when he
and Roy Jr. started playing Pop Warner football, everybody in the
family got involved. Roy Sr. was a league administrator, sister Suzie
was a cheerleader and Mary provided sandwiches and sodas after games.

Crisscrossing the country as a military family, Mary believes,
brought the Lotts closer together. ''We were the only family we
had,'' she says. ''It was just the five of us. We made sure everybody
shared, everybody gave. And we kept our focus humble.''
Says Lott, ''I never really had a best friend until my freshman
year at Southern Cal. I couldn't get close to anybody because we were
always leaving town. My parents were like my friends.''
At USC, Lott was a consensus All-America at safety in both his
junior and senior seasons. As a junior he also played reserve point
guard on the basketball team. Since being selected by San Francisco
in the first round of the 1981 draft, he has led the Niners in
interceptions four times (twice sharing the lead with others) and has
been selected for the Pro Bowl in seven of his eight seasons -- four
times at cornerback, which he played until 1985, and three at safety.
Only two other players, Mel Renfro and Dave Grayson, have ever been
named All-Pro at both positions.
Despite an annual salary of $842,500, which makes him one of the
highest paid defensive backs in the league, Lott remains remarkably
down-to-earth. He has owned a couple of Mercedes, but he now drives a
Volkswagen Rabbit. He lives in a modest two-bedroom condominium in
Santa Clara, Calif. On the tables in his den are his college diploma
(he graduated in four years from USC with a degree in public
administration), Suzie's wedding picture and some handmade cards from
young 49er fans. The walls of his breakfast nook are covered with
inspirational poems and prayers collected by his mother. And his high
school diploma is on the nightstand in the guest room.
During the season Lott writes a weekly column for the San Jose
Mercury News and does a weekly sports show for KNTV in San Jose. Part
of his reimbursement for the show is free commercial time for his
restaurant, Sports City Cafe, which he created, and owns with several
others, including teammates Roger Craig, Keena Turner and Eric
Wright. Lott also has become a devotee of Asian art and culture.
''I'm intrigued by the peacefulness,'' he says. Since 1986, (
taekwondo has been part of his off-season conditioning program. Three
times a week he performs a routine that includes 700 sit-ups, 400
push-ups and hundreds of kicks and punches.
Lott collects photographs of children who have written fan letters
to him. Two of his buddies are Tony and Matt Kelly, who are students
at Santa Clara High. He met the boys seven years ago at a local park.
Lott plays pickup basketball with them and takes them shopping at the
mall and out to dinner. For Christmas, the Kellys gave Lott a new
basketball.
Lott has recently received letters from Bob Burcina's 15
grandchildren. Each thanked him for having visited their grandpa.
Just before he died, Bob also sent Lott a note. Too weak to write,
he dictated it to Marie. Along with the letter he included a poem he
had written for the 49ers in 1982 that was read on the radio before
they faced the Cincinnati Bengals in Super Bowl XVI. Marie says Bob
sensed that he might not make it to this year's Super Bowl, but he
wanted to cheer on his new friend. Bob ended the poem this way:

God goes with you on your trip to the bowl,
and if for some reason you don't reach your goal;
Come back to us with heads held high,
for we surely know you gave it one hell of a try.
But on a sad note let's not linger.
You're coming home WITH THAT RING ON
YOUR FINGER.

[Kaos]

James Brooks says "fuck you"

[Snaggletiger]

Kind of like the Brandon Jacobs problem.  You've got a 260 pound beast of a back.  But who do you sit so you can play him? 

[Townhallsavoy]

[WiregrassTiger]

Couldn't we have waited at least a few more days into 2015 before bringing up the Barfield era? But yes, William (Willie as his close friends call him) = The man. Lott wasn't too shabby either.

[Saniflush]

James Brooks says "fuck you"

Damnit!  You're right. 

No tomatoes for you.

[CCTAU]

Kind of like the Brandon Jacobs problem.  You've got a 260 pound beast of a back.  But who do you sit so you can play him?

It was the WISHBONE. You don't sit no damn body!

[jmar]

We used Cribbs (Bills/Stallions) as the main RB in the veer, Andrews was considered the "blocking back." Brooks lined up at RB, WR and kick returner. Of the three I felt Brooks might score anytime he touched the ball. He starred at both Cincy and San Deigo.
Andrews (Falcons) was a powerful back who led all NFL backs as a receiver for a few years before injuries slowed him. I can't recall an Auburn QB ever throwing him a pass.
All three extended their careers by being very good inside runners and recievers.

 I still maintain to this day that this trio (on one team) was the greatest waste of talent in the history of American football.