Another Ideal Quarterback
In last week's subzero winds at Cincinnati's Riverfront Stadium, San Diego Quarterback Dan Fouts looked like a man trying to throw a nerf ball in mid-hurricane. The passes of the winning quarterback, Cincinnati's Kenny Anderson, were somehow strong and true. Said Bengal Linebacker Reggie Williams: "He has the mental toughness to be able to control the ball under those conditions. Fouts was not able to do that." Anderson put it differently, in his normal self-deflating prose: "I threw a lot of flutter balls and some end-over-enders. We were going to throw until something disastrous happened. Nothing did, fortunately."
No one is going to compliment Ken Anderson and get away with it. Anderson, 32, hailed last week by a florid Cincinnati sportswriter as "Jack Armstrong come to life in a football uniform," is the classic aw-shucks hero, resolutely unquotable, eager to point out that he is merely one cog in the great Bengal machine. That machine indeed has some brilliant parts, finely tuned by its no-nonsense coach, Forrest Gregg. One All-Pro wide receiver, Veteran Isaac Curtis, has been joined by another, exuberant Rookie Cris Collinsworth. Pete Johnson, a.k.a. the human bowling ball, is a hard-hitting, if not overwhelming runner. Pat McInally, from Harvard, of all places, is the league's best punter. And the offensive line is bolstered by two of the most awesome monsters currently stuffed into padding: Anthony Munoz (6 ft. 6 in., 280 Ibs.) and Max Montoya (6 ft. 5 in., a mere 275 Ibs.). But the team moves, or sputters, because of its talented quarterback.
A career devoted to self-effacement, and conducted in Cincinnati, naturally leads to the question, Who is Ken Anderson? All football fans remember that he comes from an unlikely Lutheran institution in Rock Island, Ill., "little-known Augustana College" (in footballese, adjective and noun are welded together, as in "wartorn Middle East"). Also little known is the general opinion that if N.F.L. computers were programmed to construct the ideal quarterback, they would spit out Kenny Anderson. He is strong, quick (4.8 sec. over 40 yds.), with outstanding peripheral vision and, at 6 ft. 3 in., tall enough to throw over the modern hyperthyroid lineman. Unlike other strong-armed quarterbacks, the Jets' Richard Todd, for instance, Anderson throws passes that are mysteriously hard to drop. They float down so softly, and with so little spin, says former Bengal Wide Receiver Chip Myers, "I was able to pick out the laces on the ball." Anderson's running ability is so good that Giants Coach Ray Perkins thinks it may spell the difference between the two closely matched Super Bowl teams. And in the N.F.L., where a quarterback may face 35 or 40 different defensive patterns in a single game, Anderson's ability to decode and react in nanoseconds is legendary. One result: he is the least intercepted quarterback in the league.
Anderson grew up in Batavia, Ill., the son of a janitor. Even little-known Augustana did not want him as a football player: he was a basketball recruit, and wrote a letter asking to play football. Cincinnati drafted him in the third round in 1971, and he was developed into a pro quarterback by none other than Bill Walsh, then the Bengals' offensive coach.
By 1975 Anderson was one of the league's premier quarterbacks, and the 11-3 Bengals were beginning to think Super Bowl. But then Walsh left, Anderson's statistics fell and the team deteriorated. In 1978 the Bengals opened with eight straight losses, in 1979 with six. Anderson broke a bone in his throwing hand, one in a long series of injuries that cut his effectiveness for three seasons. Fans actually cheered when Anderson was carried off the field injured in 1980, and in the opening game of this season he was so terrible that Gregg benched him.
The next week, hesitantly, Gregg decided to give him another shot, particularly since the game was on the road, where Anderson would be spared the booing of Cincinnati fans. "I was pretty loose. Things couldn't have got any worse," says Anderson. He passed for 252 yds., beating the Jets 31-30. After that, the team jelled under Gregg's strong coaching, and Anderson stayed healthy behind the team's first good offensive line in years. Said Ken: "I've gone from the doghouse to the penthouse in just one season." Characteristically, he never said a word about the constant booing and has remained as unflappable in triumph as in defeat. Last week, when Anderson was named the N.F.L.'s Most Valuable Player, Bill Walsh said, "I have felt all along that Ken was the greatest forward passer in the N.F.L. in recent years. Our Joe Montana is a worthy runnerup, but Ken is the M.V.P." Replied Anderson: "Awww, that's Bill. Just blowing smoke."
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