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ZERO OF THE LIONS
George Plimpton
September 07, 1964
As a football player, the zero wedged unheroically at left between the broad backs of Nick Pietrosante (33) and Jim Gibbons (80) of the Detroit Lions is a nothing who even keeps his helmet on because it hurts his ears to pull it off. He is the author, and he is about to take the field for the climax of what began as no more than a Walter Mitty daydream. He had long wondered—as has every follower of the sport—what it would feel like to quarterback a professional football team. Sports Illustrated approached the Detroit Lions, who were willing to oblige him before several thousand fans in their big preseason scrimmage. What follows is his account of the smashing career of the most naive, inept, befuddled, tolerated and unnerved quarterback that pro football has ever known
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September 07, 1964

Zero Of The Lions

As a football player, the zero wedged unheroically at left between the broad backs of Nick Pietrosante (33) and Jim Gibbons (80) of the Detroit Lions is a nothing who even keeps his helmet on because it hurts his ears to pull it off. He is the author, and he is about to take the field for the climax of what began as no more than a Walter Mitty daydream. He had long wondered—as has every follower of the sport—what it would feel like to quarterback a professional football team. Sports Illustrated approached the Detroit Lions, who were willing to oblige him before several thousand fans in their big preseason scrimmage. What follows is his account of the smashing career of the most naive, inept, befuddled, tolerated and unnerved quarterback that pro football has ever known

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"Somebody's put something in them," I said stubbornly.

Friday called out loudly: "Hey, the rookie thinks somebody's weighted his shoes. What'd anyone want to do that for?" I looked carefully at the corners of his mouth for a turn that would suggest that a joke was being played. There was no such indication. Sam Williams came around the lockers with Joe Schmidt, the All-League linebacker.

"Feet seem heavy?" Williams asked.

"Hell no, Sam," I said. "It's the shoes. Someone's stuck weights in them."

"Who'd want to do that?" asked Schmidt. He leaned over and hefted the shoes. "They seem all right to me."

A number of players were standing around by then, dressed for the bus ride, holding their helmets by the chin straps.

"Try them on," Schmidt suggested.

I slipped the shoes on, laced them up, and clomped around the locker room floor in front of my bench.

"What do you think?" Friday asked.

"Well, I don't know," I said. "I mean, I can walk and all, but they still seem all-fired heavy."

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