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Here it is, folks. The art of long-snapping in a nutshell.
"Only in America can you snap a piece of aired-up leather between
your legs really fast and accurate and get paid for it," Chiefs
LS Kendall Gammon says. "If that’s not the American dream, I don’t
know what is."
Silly us for thinking the American dream had to do with a prosperous
job, a couple of "Leave it to Beaver"-type kids, a white picket
fence and the annual summer vacation. However, what is one man’s
dream can be another man’s nightmare. How many people in the world
would relish the fact that they hold a job virtually no one wants,
and some, including the long-snappers themselves, liken to a circus
act? A job in which you could serve as the definition of perfection
for a decade and then be out of work after a bad day at the office.
A job in which no one knows your name unless you screw up.
Gammon, who also serves as a motivational speaker, usually begins
his lectures by asking if anyone in the audience has heard of him.
Hands go up about as often as they do in a college Shakespeare class
the day after spring break ends. And that’s just fine for Gammon,
because his relative anonymity means he’s still employed.
"The less you’re known about, the better job you’re doing," says
Bears LS Patrick Mannelly, who operates his own informational Web
site (www.longsnapper.com) devoted to his craft.
That sentiment is hard to comprehend in the glory-hungry NFL, but
Mannelly doesn’t seem to mind. Even if he’s continually fooled into
thinking he has a legion of fans because his mail slot is just below
teammate Brian Urlacher’s, which is filled to capacity.
Funny how being virtually nameless is fine with them, but talk
of them faltering in the precision of their job is, well, not so
fine.
"Your buddies might say something and ask if you’ve ever thrown
a bad snap, but you never want to talk about it and keep knocking
on wood," Mannelly says, pausing to give the bench at Halas Hall
a few hard raps with his knuckle. "You’ve just got to be mentally
strong and block out all the possible negative scenarios. You don’t
even think about that when you get over the ball."
So there you have it. Talking to a deep-snapper about an errant
toss is similar to asking a baseball player about his current hitting
streak. It’s considered taboo, punishable by a glare that could
melt ice off a Lambeau Field bleacher in December. Just keep your
mouth shut about the possibilities of good fortune coming to an
abrupt end, and everyone will get along famously.
"I won’t let people talk to me about it. I’m just like that," Gammon
says. "There’s no reason to even think about it."
But something they have to consider is how to combat anyone from
mammoth defensive tackles to quick defensive backs, all of whom
are capable of shooting the gap to try to block the kick. Getting
the ball where it needs to go, blocking and tracking a punt returner
are all on the long-snapper’s to-do list.
Plenty of defenders often have some anger boiling inside them.
And according to Gammon, who better to seek out for retribution
than the guy who’s got his head between his legs?
"I figure it hurts a lot less if it’s a perfect snap, so I just
go about my business and deal with it," Gammon says.
The physical form of intimidation isn’t the only way to try to
distract a long-snapper.
"I haven’t really had anyone say much to me from across the line,"
Mannelly says, "but I did have Warren Sapp spit on my hand once
right before we kicked a field goal."
Mannelly picked up his snapping in the eighth grade, a significantly
earlier time than most. Duke’s senior long-snapper got hurt in a
preseason practice during Mannelly’s freshman year, and when "a
bunch of other guys who may have snapped in high school were rolling
them back there to the kicker," the job was his.
But Mannelly’s satisfaction with the trade is not the norm. At
least not at first. High school and college coaches often have to
twist the arms of players who they think may be able to do it. Gridiron
goliaths are often reduced to sheepishly avoiding eye contact with
the coach when it’s time to pick a potential long-snapper out of
the bunch.
Gammon says he was chosen when coaches caught a glimpse of him
"just screwing around at practice" before his sophomore season in
college. At first, he wasn’t real happy about it because special-teams
drills are at the end of the practice, and when you’re a lineman,
you’re not looking for any extra running at that point.
"I had a few bad snaps in the spring game that year, and quite
honestly, it embarrassed the hell out of me," says Gammon, who is
a regular contributor to longsnap.com, a comprehensive site for
those who are interested in seeing the world upside down. "I didn’t
want to be doing it, but if I was going to do it, I didn’t want
to make a fool of myself."
So he worked hard at snapping all summer long, and the embarrassing
moments were soon a thing of the past. This season will be Gammon’s
10th in the NFL.
I recently handled a few snaps from Mannelly after a team workout
at Halas Hall, the Bears’ headquarters in Lake Forest, Ill. Standing
15 yards back, as punters do, it didn’t take me long to figure out
this was probably very similar to playing catch with Peyton Manning.
Every snap is where it needs to be. Same height, same speed, right
where you’re expecting it. And with the speed of the snap during
field-goal tries (at only seven yards away), it’s amazing fingers
aren’t mangled more in this business. Anything short of absolute
concentration won’t do.
Long-snappers are the picture of consistency, if not perfection,
and their job is critical to the success of a football team. But
the question is, do they feel appreciated?
"Yeah, I’ve got some good teammates, and they tell me I’m doing
a good job or whatever," Mannelly says after a bit of a pause.
Seriously, how often, besides the punter, kicker and holder?
"Well, not very often," he adds with a chuckle, "so you’ve got
to give yourself your own self-assurance and a pat on the back."
Teammates joke about having Gammon teach them to snap after a Chiefs
practice so they can extend their careers a couple of years.
"Everybody wants to do this job in practice," Gammon says, "but
when it comes game time, they’re like, ‘Kendall, get in there.’
And that’s how it goes."
While they may be underappreciated, this is the kind of job that
just begs for attention, at least at social gatherings, if not in
postgame press conferences.
Once, for his coach’s TV show in college, Mannelly snapped the
ball through the window of a moving car at a distance of 15 yards.
But other experiments have been slightly less successful. Take,
for instance, the time he was approached by some high school kids
who were eager to field a snap or two.
"Are you sure you can you catch the ball?" Mannelly asked one of
them.
"Oh, I can catch a ball," the kid retorted.
"Well, it’s going to come back really fast, so make sure you can
catch it," Mannelly warned.
The kid said he’d be all right, stepped back a ways and proceeded
to have the ball go right through his hands, hit him in the face
and shatter his glasses.
It’s those kinds of experiences, the humorous, the humbling and
the enlightening, that make long-snapping a strong fraternity, one
in which guys are on a first-name basis and enjoy keeping an eye
on one another.
While their desire may have been to make it in the NFL as offensive
linemen, snapping the ball for 12-15 important plays a game isn’t
necessarily a hit to their ego.
"It’s something I take great pride it doing," Mannelly says. "It’s
a job, and I’m still playing pro football."
Long live the American dream.
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