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Miami Was One Tough Mudder
Paul Zimmerman
January 31, 1983
A sloppy field and a dauntless defense left the Jets in the muck as the Dolphins won the AFC Championship
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January 31, 1983

Miami Was One Tough Mudder

A sloppy field and a dauntless defense left the Jets in the muck as the Dolphins won the AFC Championship

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There was a great mystery that unfolded in the Orange Bowl last Sunday. How were the Miami Dolphins able to double-and triple-cover all the New York Jets' pass receivers and still have enough people left to rush the quarterback and stop the run? You know, the menial tasks. O.K., O.K., so maybe they didn't double-cover all the receivers, just most of them, the ones they were worried about.

The Dolphins are on their way to the Super Bowl after their 14-0 triumph over the Jets in the AFC Championship game, and there might be a major story breaking when the league office reviews the films of Sunday's game. Flash—the Miami Dolphins used 14 men on defense, and their victory is hereby canceled. Rewind the tape and play it again.

All right, all right, so they only used 11, but how come every time Richard Todd threw the ball downfield there was one green jersey surrounded by three white ones? Todd came into last weekend's action as the leading longball thrower of the four quarterbacks still in contention, based on playoff passing yardage. Wesley Walker was the playoffs' most prolific receiver. But at the end of that long, rainy, muddy day in Miami, this is what they had to show for their efforts: Five interceptions, including one that Linebacker A.J. Duhe ran back for the final touchdown in the fourth quarter. Seventy-seven yards worth of passing, subtracting 26 sack yards from Todd's 103 gross. Fifteen completions in 37 tries. One interception and one completion in four throws to Walker, and the completion gained zero yards and came with 1:25 left in the game.

And while the Jets' defense played almost as brilliantly as Miami's, it had to cover for an offense that got the ball past midfield only once under its own steam, an offense that gained more than 10 yards on only two plays—an 18-yard pass to Wide Receiver Lam Jones and a 12-yarder to Tight End Jerome Barkum, both of whom made diving catches.

And the mystery remains. In this era of high-flying offenses, how were the Dolphins able to lock up so many different receivers? On a slippery, muddy field, which is supposedly death to pass rushers, how were they able to get enough traction to sack Todd four times and still shut down one of the NFL's fine running attacks? How did Duhe, a converted defensive end, grab three interceptions, an AFC Championship record?

Todd had no explanations. Weary and depressed after his torturous afternoon, all he could offer was: "They beat us, period. They deserve to go to the Super Bowl, and that's all I'm going to say."

What he could have said was he couldn't read the coverage, which wasn't entirely his fault. Joe Walton, the offensive coordinator and a hot candidate for one of the NFL's vacant head-coaching jobs—at least he was before Sunday—sent in the plays, and they weren't too hot. But let's not be too hard on Walton. The finest offensive brain trust in football—San Diego's Dan Fouts and his Air Coryell playbook—suffered a similar five-interception fate against the Dolphins the week before. It, too, was overmatched by the Dolphins' defensive coach (please don't call him a genius; it's a jinx these days), Bill Arnsparger.

Todd could have said, "How are you expected to set up and throw when your feet keep slipping in the mud?" but that wouldn't have been classy. You're not supposed to blame anything on the conditions, which, thanks to a combined NFL and Orange Bowl foul-up, were horrible. Todd never looked comfortable in the pocket, even when he was getting enough time, and Dolphin Quarterback David Woodley (three interceptions) wasn't doing much better. The Jets' superb runner, Freeman McNeil, couldn't make his quick cuts on the treacherous turf, and most of the time the Dolphins' front three of Doug Betters, Bob Baumhower and Kim Bokamper were on him almost as soon as he got the ball, anyway. Todd's roll-outs to his right side, the comfortable side, were cut off by the 6'7" Betters, who had a big day against All-Pro Right Tackle Marvin Powell.

But the mystery remains: Has Arnsparger finally come up with the perfect coverage scheme to combat the football of the '80s? The great pass-defense performances of the past usually started with a ferocious rush up front—Doomsday Defense, Purple People Eaters, Steel Curtain, the Fearsome Foursome—names that had the opposition quarterback backpedaling before he got off the plane. But when the rush failed Sunday there was pure coverage, connecting lines on the blackboard, X's that met O's at exactly the right spot, intricate, cerebral stuff with catchy buzzwords like "inside-out," "double-double," "press" and "force."

Let's look at this thing a little more closely. Don Shula's Super Bowl defenses usually tried to funnel things toward the middle, where a pair of All-Pro safetymen, Dick Anderson and Jake Scott, were waiting to swoop in for the interceptions. Four of Todd's five interceptions, two by Duhe, one by Strong Safety Glenn Blackwood and one by Cornerback Gerald Small, came on stuff over the middle, crossing patterns, down-and-ins, posts. Todd was made to believe the inside was open, and then it was taken away from him.

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