Brittenum is the player who carried Arkansas on that 80-yard drive in the last four minutes to overcome Texas, then No. 1, 27-24, while the Fayetteville stadium burst apart with unbearable drama and national television enjoyed its best college production. He hit six passes in the drive, five of them to Crockett, as Broyles—his shirttail out, his arms flapping—nearly went insane, along with everybody on the bench.
But just when the opponent thinks Arkansas will pass, it runs. And how. There will go hurtling Bobby Burnett, jarring Jim Lindsey, both veterans, or Harry Jones, particularly Harry Jones, who is the new ingredient—more so even than Brittenum—that makes Arkansas better than last year.
Harry Jones is 6 feet 2, weighs 195 and merely runs a 9.7 dash. He is a high-waisted, long-legged, tough, darting runner who is gone—really gone—when he turns a corner.
"He can cut sharp at top speed, and that's something else," says Broyles. "People are trying to compare him with Alworth, and it's unfair. Lance was great for us, and he's a great pro. But Harry is bigger, probably faster, and can cut. Mainly, though, Harry is on a better team. He's—well, just fantastic."
Jones is a good-looking junior from Enid, Okla., who was born in Huntington, W. Va., the son of a Christian minister. ( Broyles is the first Arkansas coach to recruit successfully outside the state; in fact, five members of the defensive unit are Texans.) Last season—it figures—Jones was a regular defensive safety, and even this season he was battling with Brittenum for the quarterback job up until the opening game.
The reason for the slow discovery of Jones was not because Broyles dislikes big, fast halfbacks who can gain 565 yards in seven games, averaging 8.4 yards per carry. These are Jones's impressive statistics this year. In amassing his yardage he has broken four times for runs of more than 50 yards and scored six touchdowns, two of them from 50 and 83 yards out, respectively, the first time he touched the ball in different games.
Nobody likes speed more than Broyles. "Luck follows speed," is his major contribution to football's stockpile of instant clich�s.
"The reason," says Broyles, "is pretty complicated. First, Harry was a sprint-out quarterback in high school. That's all he did. Sprint out and disappear. That's all he had to do. Well, last year he was afraid he wasn't going to get to play as a sophomore. So he begged for a chance to make the defensive team, and we had no one better. At defense he didn't get to learn enough about reading blocks, hitting the holes, changing directions and running pass patterns to beat out anyone at halfback, and he couldn't throw well enough to beat out Fred Marshall at quarterback. Last spring and this September we had to keep him at quarterback because we weren't sure Brittenum would come through. But Jon did. The main thing, however, is that Jim Lindsey got hurt at wingback. Jones got in there, and man, oh, man."
Says Broyles, "Harry still doesn't quite know what he's doing, but he has such tremendous natural ability it doesn't seem to matter."
Despite the facts that Arkansas has Jones and a good passing game, it is still its defense—quick, smart, alert, and positively vulpine at seizing on mistakes—that has shredded most of the victims. It is a defense led by two wondrously big and agile tackles, Loyd Phillips and Jim Williams; a defense so unusually quick in its lateral movements that it can use dozens of stunts; and a defense that aggressively contains an opponent. Its members scramble, swarm and punch from Broyles's aptly named "monster" alignment, trying to inflict indecision on the foe.