Columnist Ron Kantowski: Tired players now have out from sprints

Wednesday, Aug. 8, 2001 | 11:14 a.m.

Ron Kantowski's column usually appears Thursday. Reach him at 259-4088 or ron@lasvegassun.com. Regular columnist Dean Juipe has the day off.

Before last week, two-a-day practices were the football equivalent of mining coal. For an athlete, there was no bigger grind.

All that changed when Korey Stringer, the Minnesota Vikings' all-pro offensive tackle, collapsed and died from heatstroke during training camp.

I defy you to find a coach who, the next time an offensive tackle says he's feeling a little lightheaded when it comes time for wind sprints, demands that he suck it up and run with his teammates.

And that's just as it should be. Provided the offensive tackle actually is feeling lightheaded.

But what if he isn't? What if he's just allergic to wind sprints? How does a coach make the distinction between a guy who is feeling woozy from one who simply does not feeling like running?

Well, as of last week, he doesn't. He can't afford to. What would happen if the coach told Tiny, Fridge or Biscuit (or whatever cute nickname for a 360-pound behemoth you prefer) that he didn't look any more dazed or confused than usual, and to get his big butt in line and wait for the whistle? And then when the whistle blew, ol' Tiny keeled over like the Titanic in the North Atlantic?

The lawyers would get that same look that Jerry Rice had on that memorable Sunday afternoon a few years ago, when he spotted former UNLV defensive back Charles Dimry lined up against him. They would have a field day.

Of course, it's not that two-a-day practices wouldn't have evolved into a walk in the park on their own. A generation ago coaches rarely if ever took a water break. Back in those days, you were perceived to be weak -- not simply thirsty -- if you asked for a drink.

But soon thereafter, the University of Florida decided to export Gatorade in mass quantities, Vince Lombardi died and Woody Hayes retired.

Players still did wind sprints. Our high school basketball team called them "bullets," a drill concocted by the Marquis de Sade in which we were to sprint to the free-throw line and back, to half court and back, to the opposite free-throw line and back, and, finally, the length of the court and back. Only by my senior year, if you finished in some prescribed time (that only Bob Hayes could attain), I remember Coach actually letting the student managers use those little plastic bottles with the long nozzles.

The reason for all this butt-busting, of course, was that when the fourth quarter arrived, we would be in better shape than the other guys. The problem with that logic is the other guys were doing bullets, too. Only they were taller than we were.

But today, given the rash of training camp deaths, coaches won't be driving their players as hard, and teams will begin running out of gas a lot earlier. Crunch Time might be moved up to right after halftime. In time, only historians will appreciate what John Elway and Joe Montana accomplished in the last two minutes of the game.

And you won't see high school players raise four fingers in the air after the third-quarter gun -- not because games will no longer be decided in the fourth quarter, but because they may not have the stamina to raise those four fingers in the air.