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This story, by Bill Plaschke, first appeared in the April 24, 1995, issue of The Sporting News, under the headline “The Bottom Line”. After Joe Montana announced that he was retiring from the NFL, TSN went to those who even if they weren’t his best friends were certainly in closest touch with him during his playing days: his centers, beginning in midget league, junior high and high school, on to Notre Dame, and then for 15 seasons of a Hall of Fame career in the NFL.
The rest of us have just seen greatness.
These dozen men have felt it.
The rest of us, even most teammates and friends, have been forced to follow the wonders of Joe Montana from a distance.
These dozen men have been close enough to hear them. He has breathed down their shoulder pads. Screamed through their ear holes. Leaned exhaustedly on their hip pads. Dripped blood on their backs.
They have caught none of his touchdown passes. They have received none of his handoffs. They didn't play starring roles in The Catch, or The Drive, or the many-sequeled Comeback Kid.
But before Joe Montana has started anything, it has started with them.
Brian Phillips. Joe Debranski. Mark Gorscak. Vince Klees. Steve Quehl. Dave Huffman. Fred Quillan. Randy Cross. Chuck Thomas. Walt Downing. Jesse Sapolu. Tim Grunhard.
Meet Joe's centers.
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From the Monongahela (Pa) Wildcats to the Kansas City Chiefs, they have etched their names into the footnotes of football history simply by being the ones to give its greatest quarterback the ball.
Now that Montana's career has ended, they have looked back to discover what they shared was far more than pigskin.
With Montana, they have laughed, celebrated, hurt, fought and experienced a relationship far deeper than the word "Hut."
In celebration of Montana's announced retirement this week, they agreed to share some of these tales.
After, of course, they were tracked down.
Discovery occurred in small towns and big cities from the Boston area to San Francisco. One former 49ers center was even found living 20 minutes from the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio. "Tell Joe I'm waiting for him," former 49er Walt Downing says.
They are cement mixers and stockbrokers and TV analysts. In yet another tribute to the endurance of Montana, 38, only one of the dozen is still playing center and two are still playing football.
Besides all being literally touched by legend, they have another thing in common.
The Question
"Frankly, even now, everybody wants to know what it was like to have Joe Montana's hands all over your butt," former Notre Dame center Steve Quehl says.
Everybody? He paused. "Mostly the girls," he says.
The career of Joe Montana, from a different perspective …
Brian Phillips, 38, owner of Brian Phillips Cement Contracting, Monongahela, Pa.
I guess I was his first center, huh? Midget league and junior high. I can't believe somebody remembered. I don't even know if Joe remembers.
People in this town don't think he remembers any of us. He never comes back and hasn't really left anything behind. So he probably doesn't remember me either.
That's OK. I understand. I sure remember him.
I remember him for a Blue Chevy Caprice. That's the car his dad drove us around in, about eight or nine of us kids. He drove us all over the Pittsburgh area to play basketball.
St. Anthony’s. The Armory. The Mounds.
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Back then, it was obvious his dad was a big reason for Joe's success. His dad would get involved in everything Joe did, go to the practices, the games, all that stuff. His dad sometimes acted like everybody's dad.
Another reason for Joe's success was those drives in that Caprice. Because we would go into other neighborhoods, some times tough, inner-city neighborhoods and play kids in basketball.
And we would win. Just storm them. That made us tough.
Gosh, Joe was a great basketball player. Better than football, if you ask me.
I've seen him play one-on-one, spot some guy eight points, and beat him, 10-8. Beat him with his left hand.
Unbelievable leaping ability. I'm serious. He could fly. He was also a heck of a punter. Just a great athlete.
And a good wide receiver. Once in high school, Ringgold (of Monongahela) played Brownsville. I lined up in the slot. Joe handed the ball to Fidget Corbett, who handed the ball to me.
By that time, Joe was running down the left sideline. I threw him a pass. He caught it. Touchdown. Believe it or not.
Has he ever caught a touchdown pass since? I don't think so. I guess maybe that puts us in history together.
Also, maybe I'm the only center who leaned over a ball one time and noticed that he was not behind me like he was supposed to be. He had lined up over guard.
“Hey, Joe,” I yelled. “Wrong ass."
You didn't want to mess too badly with Joe, though. He may be a great practical joker these days, but I was there when it started.
We're lying on mats in a school hallway outside the high school cafeteria, resting during three-a-day practices one summer. All of us are eating fruit. You know. Dates, apples, pears.
Well, our big tackle, Tank Tabarella, threw an apple core at Joe. He played dead for a second, then rose up and fired an apple core back at Tank.
Well Tank ducked and the core flew into the cafeteria and hit one of the workers. Hit her good. Gave her a hurting.
But Joe fell back down so fast, she never knew where it came from.
People talk about that bullet he threw to Dwight Clark in that championship game as being his best pass ever.
I know better.
Joe Debranski, 39, track department foreman, Contail, Pittsburgh
When I think about Joe, I think about his hands.
It was only at Ringgold High, but they were the softest, smoothest hand of any quarterback who had ever lined up underneath me.
This was also a problem. Because I could never tell when Joe didn't have his hands there.
There was nothing to stop him from playing a practical joke by pulling his hands out at the last minute and watching me snap the ball into my crotch.
He thought that was funny. Ha-ha
All of us forgave Joe for his stunts, though, because he was even smoother on the field.
I was there on that Friday against Monessen. The game that made Joe Montana.
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Big rivalry between a couple of steel towns. They were a powerhouse. Supposed to whip us. Nice time for Joe's first game as a starter.
We walked on to the field before the game and I couldn't believe it. Our team was in total silence.
Nobody said a word. It was so quiet, nobody even said, "Don't say anything."
We thought, "So this is how Montana leads his team before a game.” The intensity was incredible
And what happens? What do you think? Joe throws three touchdown passes, takes us to a 21-7 lead at the end of the first half, and we hang on for a 34-all tie
That game was so good. I wish I could get the film and send it to you. Apparently the coach sent it to Notre Dame, because some say that the Monessen game is what convinced Notre Dame to take Montana.
Guys around town still talk about that game. The guys at work, they are always hassling me, saying, "Hey man, you played with Montana, you and Joe are tight."
I say, "Right, man, he is sending me some tickets for this weekend's games, I should get them in the mail tomorrow."
But they know, and I know, that I am joking, because I have only seen Montana in person once since high school. He was back in town for some ceremony that honored him. I wanted to talk to him, kick around old times, did I ever.
But you know, it was tough even getting close to him. Best I could do was, I got his attention and he nodded at me. That was it.
But, hey, that was enough. He knew who I was. That nod was for me.
Mark Gorscak, 38, football administration coordinator, Weber State, Ogden, Utah
I was at a banquet once in this area where the speaker, being from Utah, introduced Steve Young as the greatest quarterback ever.
I told everybody at my table, "I can dispute that."
I only regularly centered for Joe during his senior year at Ringgold High, but even then, I could tell how cool he was.
It was his hands. He would always slide them underneath me late. Like, right before the snap.
Never worried that he might miss the ball. Just went up there and grabbed it and that was it.
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Another thing I remember about Joe was his eyes. When he wanted to get something done, he would give us this look in the huddle. We just knew he was going to do it.
I went to the Ringgold campus in Donora while Joe went to the campus in Monongahela, so I never really saw him off the field except during summer workouts.
And during that time, I probably saw him more on the basketball court. Did anybody tell you that Joe was a great basketball player? That he could have gone to college and played just that?
In my office here in Utah, I have an autographed picture of Joe. It kind of stands out here in Steve Young country. I tell people, “I was the man who made Joe famous.”
But I'm just joking. I tried to go see Joe during a preseason scrimmage a couple of years ago and couldn’t even get near him because of security.
But who knows? He may not remember me. He may not remember any of his centers.
Vince Klees, 39, Stockbroker, A.G. Edwards and Sons Inc., Hanover Park, Ill.
Everybody talks so much about Joe Montana being a small-town boy, it has almost become cliche.
But I remember when it was true.
He came to Notre Dame as a freshman from Monongahela with good looks, an All-American smile and a ton of ability. He could have dated any woman on campus.
But you know what? All he talked about was wanting to get married. Back home. To his high school sweetheart.
Joe and I mostly stood on the sideline together those early Notre Dame years.
So we spent a lot of time talking to each other.
And sure enough, he was just a sweet small-town kid w
