How Fast Is The Fastest Man Alive?

Gaither eventually had to be routed from his place in the infield because his stories had drawn a crowd. The football coach told of a night in Jacksonville—Bob Hayes Night, as declared by the mayor, because Jacksonville is Hayes's home town—when his 192-pound halfback ran a punt back 83 yards for a touchdown and, in the last quarter, scored twice more to pull out a game against a strong Texas Southern team. But please do not be misled, said Gaither. What you see before you is not just a great runner but a great pass receiver and a man who can kick off over the goal line and punt 50 or 60 yards. "But I was scared to death to let him," said Gaither. "With that foot up he's fair game, and if he ever got racked I'd be Mister Mud himself, the man who ruined our Olympic sprinter."

Football Player Hayes has been drafted as a future by the Denver Broncos and the Dallas Cowboys and is likely to accept a professional contract after the Olympics (where he wants to win three gold medals) and after the next football season (he hopes to be back in time to play in five regular-season games, the Orange Blossom Classic and the North-South game, to which he has already been invited). Hayes could easily succeed as a pro where other sprinters, like Frank Budd and Glenn Davis, have failed. He is first a football player and second a sprinter. He has the necessary change of pace, he cuts without diminishing returns on his speed and, as Gaither modestly suggests, "is one helluva fine pass receiver."

Hayes runs track like a football player, a fact that is a continuing subject of investigation. If a man is that unorthodox, how does he run that fast? Pete Griffin, his former track coach and an A&M assistant, gives lectures on the subject and writes ponderous analyses in athletic journals. Naturally, nobody tries to change the way Hayes runs. "They would be foolish to try," says Hayes. "They would have to amputate his pigeon toes," says Track Coach Hill.

There have been minor modifications. Hill had Hayes move his right hand farther out from his body at the mark because he was coming off in too tight a knot and spiking himself. He also had him shorten his opening stride to increase acceleration. Hill's nostrils flare at the suggestion that Hayes's starts are less than lightning bolts, and it is true that they have improved, but Hayes still would not win many 10-yard races. Or 20-yard races, either. But he holds world indoor records for 60 and 70 yards, so he clearly—and quickly—makes up for lost time.

Hill meanwhile will lose sleep over cause and effect, wind resistance, gravitational pull, the five-day forecast and the importance of brushing after meals if and when they pertain to Robert Lee Hayes. He has already memorized the weather forecast for Tokyo in October.

He plies his student with meaningful figures and subtle textbook psychology. He tells him he is now running 29.9 feet per second and needs to do only 30.3 to run 100 yards in 8.9 seconds. That is a mere four-tenths of a foot per second faster. What could be easier, eh?

"Like most sprinters, Hayes is temperamental," says Hill, "so you have to use a few words on him, psych him up a little. Sometimes you have to be a little devious."

Hayes is susceptible to psychology. Last year at the Coliseum Relays in Los Angeles he was due to face Arizona State's Henry Carr, world record holder, in the 220 when he suddenly announced to Hill that he was exhausted and could not run. Hayes had just won at 100 yards; Carr had abstained. Now Hayes would have to face a fresh opponent—a very good fresh opponent—and it was not an appetizing prospect for so tired a man.

"O.K.," said Hill. "Pull on your sweat suit and relax. I'll get you scratched."

Moments later, Hill was back. "Hey, Bob, I just saw Carr talking to his coach. They look worried. Shaking their heads and everything. I don't think he wants to run against you very bad."