I’m not much of a professional football fan. But, as someone who grew up in the Philadelphia area, I couldn’t pass up the chance to watch the Super Bowl this past weekend. I’m glad I tuned in. It was fun to see Eagles win. It was even more fun to see how they did it – including a wild fourth down play called the “Philly Special”. The quarterback becomes a pretend blocker becomes a receiver, catching a pass for a touchdown from a tight end who was tossed the ball from a running back who received the initial snap as a suddenly pretend quarterback.
Did you follow all that?
Don’t worry if you didn’t: just know that the play was a bit of “razzle dazzle”, an inspired piece of sports trickery that both fooled the other team and actually worked.
I have some experience with such plays. Back in late ’60s and early 70’s, my friends and I used to run trick plays regularly, in the streets of my neighborhood. These were “pick-up” games, spontaneous three-on-three or four-on-four matches among pre-teens and early teens who lived within the same few blocks. We would dodge traffic and race the setting sun for as long as our parents let us. The spaces were tight. So our play-calling needed to reflect the reality of our circumstances. Parked cars were part of the strategy.
“Down-and-out, over the Oldsmobile,” was one play. “Button hook under the first street lamp,” was another.
I was usually the quarterback. Back then, quarterbacks in football were quick. They were mobile, sometimes (but not always) better at out-maneuvering larger guys on the other team than heaving the ball long distances. This is the only reason why a small kid of less than average athletic ability – me – could talk the bigger kids in the neighborhood to letting him play the position.
Our plays didn’t have names; we loved making them up as we went along. There was an exception, however, a receiver route that a tall friend of mine used to run. It was called “Crazy Legs”.
Here’s what it sounded like in our street huddle: “Robbie, fake a down-and-in, curl back towards the tree, and then head for the Masterson VW. Joe, do Crazy Legs. Car!”
“Car!” wasn’t a running route for a receiver. It was a warning to move out of the way for a car coming down the street.
I couldn’t tell you exactly what Crazy Legs was. Joe was tall – a good target for a short kid like me. He would sort of go this way, then sort of go that way, and then do an odd flight-on-the-ground wheeling type motion with his feet and legs. His hands and arms didn’t or couldn’t follow his feet and legs, making his upper and lower extremities look like they belonged to different bodies. Often, the defender would get so confused that all I had to do was lob the ball high and long and let Joe run under it. When it worked, it was a thing of beauty. I would pretend that I was going to throw to Robbie over the hood of the parked VW, then run right and throw the closest thing I could to a spiral at somewhere in space where I thought Joe was headed. Because it was Crazy Legs, I was never too sure where that would be. That’s why it was extra special when I guessed right and the ball and Joe’s hands arrived at the same spot on the street at the same time.
When the Eagles completed the Philly Special in this year’s Super Bowl, anyone and everyone who has played pick-up sports, either in the street or the back yard or the local field, court, or gym, connected with its magic. We’ve grown up on plays like that, maybe even tried them in real games, the ones when there were coaches and officials and a crowd and rules. They often didn’t work. But it was great trying them out.
“Fake reverse option throw right,” I once called in an eighth grade official game. I faked a hand-off to the full back, faked another hand-off to the flanker back coming around behind everyone, and then turned right, expecting the defenders to be completely confused. Nope. There was a giant of a defensive player just standing there, waiting for me. Since this was a real game, with pads and officials and a score board, I couldn’t yell “Car!” to save the impending disaster. I just tried to slip around the beast of an opponent, a guy at least twice my size. Unfortunately, he caught the end of my jersey, by his fingertips, and proceeded to spin me around like he was tossing a discus. After he released me, I skidded for at least five yards and was picked off the ground by Robbie, Joe, and others with a yard of turf and mud crammed inside the front of my helmet. “Where did he come from?” I remember asking, pulling grass and dirt off my face. A few guys shrugged. “Guess the play didn’t fool him,” someone muttered. When we got back in the huddle, we all couldn’t stop laughing.
So congratulations to the Eagles! And thank you for the Philly Special. If you need some new trick plays for next season, my childhood friends and I could send you some ideas. Maybe Joe could even revive his version of Crazy Legs for your receivers.