 Denver Bronco
quarterback Steve Tensi barked signals in the crisp October air as the Houston Oiler
defense jumped around trying to anticipate where the play would unfold. Suddenly the ball
was snapped, and two lines of massive men collided with a crack as loud as a rifle shot.
Tensi whirled and
handed off to a short, chunky, bowlegged back with number 44 emblazoned in brilliant
orange across his uniform. Displaying instant acceleration, the trademark of all great
runners, the little running back darted through a tiny hole opened by his blockers and
shot into the Oilers' secondary.
One of the
great moments of pro football was taking place. Floyd Little had the ball in an open
field.
An Oiler
linebacker dove at Little. Displaying another natural skill found in all great runners,
the Bronco back spotted the defender out of the corner of his eye and skittered crablike
out of reach, leaving the Oiler linebacker with nothing but a faceful of dirt.
Little roared
upfield, the target of a converging mass of tacklers. He sped straight at one of them,
faked with his head and shoulders, and left the man frozen on the spot.
Another tackler
lunged at Little and got a tenuous hold on the 5-foot-10, 195-pound back - but not for
long. Little spun in a full circle, ripped free and sped off in a different direction.
Looking clumsy next to Little's balletlike turns and twists, the Houston defensive unit
lumbered after him.
A fleet safety
hurled himself in a flying cross body block in an attempt to knock the Bronco ball-carrier
off his feet. Little was hit hard, but instead of going down, he simply bounced a few feet
sideways and continued running. By this time, there were bodies strewn all over the field
as one by one the blockers and tacklers were knocked down or collapsed in exhaustion. But
Floyd Little danced on.
Finally, a Houston
defender grabbed him by one leg and held on. Floyd dragged him several yards before the
rest of the posse arrived. Then the little Bronco and the big Oilers collapsed in one
dusty heap. The play had gained a total of 35 yards, but to get it Little had zigzagged at
least a hundred.
Then the booing
began as the crowd saw the referee's yellow flag on the ground back upfield. Denver had
been called for clipping, so the incredible play was nullified. Little shook his head in
disgust. It was 1967, his rookie year in the National Football League, and nothing seemed
to be going right.
After an
outstanding career as an All-America at Syracuse University, Little had been Denver's top
draft choice. But after paying a reported $130,000 to sign him, the Broncos were beginning
to wonder if Little was worth it. Though he showed flashes of Brilliance - like that run
against Houston - Little's professional career did not start off well.
 Part of the problem was the great physical and emotional
adjustment all players must make when they move from college to pro ball. More significant
was the fact that the Broncos were having troubles of their own when Little joined them.
Perennial losers, the Broncos had finished last in the American Football League's Western
Division in both 1965 and 1966. Naturally, they could not provide Little with the kind of
blocking help essential to the success of any runner, nor could they pose enough other
threats on offense to keep opposing defenses from concentrating solely on Little.
Bronco fans,
however, refused to look at the situation logically. As they saw it, here was this hotshot
All-America from the East getting all that money and not earning it. Called "a
$130,000 lemon," Little was booed for failures he was powerless to prevent. It was a
tough situation, but if anyone in Denver expected Floyd Little to fold up, quit, and slink
back home, they were in for a surprise. Floyd Little had faced far tougher obstacles
before, and he had overcome them all. Making good in pro ball was just one more hurdle in
a struggle he had been waging against long odds since his childhood. |
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· Floyd Little ·