Dueling Jocks

Sportswriters and fans like to carry on about "dream teams," "front fours," "zone defenses," and so on and so forth. This would have you believe that most games come down to mysterious clashes of impersonal forces. But it ain't necessarily so. When it gets right down to what coaches call the nut cutting, it is still one man trying to beat another. When the two men are good enough, the rest of the game seems like so much scenery. Remember Sam Huff against Jimmy Brown? Or Wilt Chamberlain against Bill Russell? Roger Bannister and John Landy? When the best men at their game go one on one, you don't need Al DeRogatis or Howard Cosell to explain what is going on. There are still great match-ups around. Here are five of the best. And we'll let them tell you about it.

Fred Dryer, the smallest and possibly the fastest defensive end in the National Football League, against Ralph Neely, as awesome a lineman as one would not want to run into.

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, the giant superstar of the Los Angeles Lakers, and Dave Cowens, the hustlingest center in the league.

Nolan Ryan, who may be the best fast baller since Walter Johnson, certainly since Sandy Koufax, against Rod Carew, one of the greatest hitters in the history of baseball.

And there isn't a better match-up this side of Madison Square Garden than hockey enforcers Keith Magnuson of the Chicago Black Hawks and Dave Schultz of the world-champion Philadelphia Flyers. And not too many better left hooks.

Moving from the arena to the raceway, it has to be Richard Petty--King Richard--the greatest stock-car driver of them all, against David Pearson, the only man who has ever been able to race with him consistently.

There's no tennis here. Connors and Newcombe were only too happy to talk, but you're probably more interested in how your own opponent gets ready for you.

Dave Cowens

There's no way you can stop the man completely. No one can. You know Kareem Abdul-Jabbar is around because of his height. And it doesn't take you long to know he can block shots, because he's so tall (7'4") [officially, 7'2"] and has this tremendous reach. But he still has to have a strong forward who's going to help him out on the boards, because the other pros like myself will screen out Kareem every time, not even thinking of getting the rebound themselves.

You just have to make sure he's not standing around, getting the balls that are flying around, because he's at a different altitude.

One of the things that make Kareem such an outstanding offensive player is his passing ability. People don't realize that, but he stands up there above everyone and just picks people out. He can spot forwards sagging in the lane, or the guards, whatever. And he can get the ball to them.

They run many plays off him to make it easier to get the ball into him for a shot. He has the hook shot from both sides and now he has developed a turnaround jumper. Everybody was playing him to the middle, so he came up with the turnaround to the base line and he's good with it.

You have to stay with him and that wears you down. On offense, you have to play harder, too, because you have to try to get some of the points back that he's scoring on the other end.

I have always tried to play him to the middle, always trying to ease him out so that he's going to take the hook from a little farther out. That cuts down the percentages. If he's hitting from out there, there's a great possibility that you're going to get beaten.

But you have to try to push him out and keep him away from the boards; fight him for position, make him work hard. He likes to come across the middle, so you have to know where the ball is and there are certain places you just can't let the ball go.

I've never been much of a fan of basketball. I mean, I never read the sports pages and built up a lot of heroes, so a player like Abdul-Jabbar doesn't intimidate me. His press clippings don't impress me. All I know is that he is good and I have to play my best against him. I know it sounds idealistic, but you have to keep that idealism in mind. You have to strive for it, at least, and you're not going to get it all the time, because you're human. You're going to take short cuts and rest and at times you're going to be resting when you shouldn't be, but you have to keep those to a minimum.

There are some teams and players you know you'll have to play 48 minutes of good basketball against and there are others you'll play, say, 40 minutes, but with Kareem you just know that you have to go full steam from the opening tap to the end.

I don't like losing and I don't like the feeling of losing, but more than that, I don't like the way other people react to you when you lose. When Jabbar gets a streak and they're cheering like mad, I can't stand it and I play harder.

You take a lot of crap and you say, "Hey, I know I can do all these things." Sometimes you can and sometimes you fall flat on your face. I mean, you try and still you don't have that competitive edge, but against Kareem, I usually find it. He gives me the confidence and I say to myself, "Hey, I'll see you over there. Try and stop me."

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar

It's unbelievable; he's almost like a perpetual-motion machine. No one can run up and down the court every minute, but Cowens comes close to it. This makes it tough on me, because I know I have to be around all the time--particularly when they set up the fast break.

That's another thing: When I analyze another player, it's both the player and the setting he is in. And with Dave, you have the aspect of his playing with the Celtics, which is actually the perfect setting for him to be playing in. The Celtics are aggressive and so is Dave.

Like all good rebounders, Dave is a fighter on the boards and his effectiveness is increased because of his good timing. He doesn't score very well against (continued on page 164) Dueling Jocks (continued from page 156) me inside unless he can get position for offensive rebounds. He gives me the biggest problem when the Celtics are fast-breaking. I'll drop back halfway between the free-throw line and the basket to stop any penetration and to try to block any shots the guards might get if they beat someone on my team to the hoop.

As a center, Dave is first-rate. I don't think anyone in the league is second-rate. I mean, I can't give you an A, B, C or D on Dave, but he is certainly one of the finer centers I face. Hey, a lot of people say Dave Cowens is a great rebounding center, period. They forget that after he gets those rebounds, he makes the passes to start the fast break and then a lot of times follows the fast break down and puts in that one-hander from the free-throw area.

And they also forget that I have to stay with him all the time, because he can hit from out there. The Celtics wouldn't win as many games as they do if they didn't have him.

What else can I say? He's good and he's aggressive and to me that makes a good center. What he lacks in height (he's 6'9") he makes up in muscle. Players can do that. And I know one thing: I wouldn't want to fight him. One time he punched Bob Dandridge; he gave him a right-left combination and put Bob on his seat, so I don't want to fight anybody as rugged as that. He's a very fiery guy, but I've never seen him try to hurt anybody while he's playing. He takes as good as he gives and I never hear him complain. I would have to say he's a gentleman.

Richard Petty

Over the years, David [Pearson] has been the toughest cat for me to beat, day in and day out, year in and year out. I mean, short tracks, dirt tracks, super-speedways, road courses, you name it.

Sometimes he hasn't been the hardest driver in the world, but he does a lot of thinkin', and you don't find that too much. Oh, if he has to drive hard, he can and does. He's in good physical shape and he just don't get tired; he can race you to the end. I guess this is as important as most things. Some people say, "I can't run with them now, but by the time we run three, four hundred miles, I'll be able to smoke 'em." With David, you don't figure on beatin' him like that. You have to figure on just plain outrunnin' him or outsmartin' him. Or gettin' outrun or outsmarted.

About the only place I got him smoked now is on the short tracks, and that's because he don't run as many of them anymore as I do. As for the big tracks, sometimes I get him and sometimes he gets me.

One thing about David: Of all the drivers I drive with, I would trust him further than any of the rest; not trust to the sense that you think he's always right but trust when you're runnin' beside him or if he has to make a split-second decision. If you're following him in a draft with three or four cars and something happens up front, like somebody spins or slides, and you can't see anything, well, if he makes a right-hand turn, you just follow him. If he goes through the fence, you just go out with him. And you feel like there wasn't no other way out. I have that kind of confidence in his driving.

When he's drafting me (following about a foot away at top speed), I trust his judgment there, too. I know he'll work with me and try to make me run fast so he can run faster. He don't try to play around and mess you up so far as handling is concerned, or try to slow you down or any of that kind of stuff. We just get out there and run, man. And that's what it's all about.

As far as driving style is concerned, he's not that much different from Bobby Allison or Cale Yarborough or any of those other cats. But on the old dirt tracks, he was something special. He had his own technique and he was hard to beat.

He did one thing I don't understand, though. I mean, I been racin' with him for 15 years and I didn't understand what he did at Daytona last year in the Firecracker 400. If I had trusted him any further that day, we would both have crashed. We had already taken the white flag tellin' us we were goin' into the last lap and David run down to the start-finish line with me on his bumper at 190-200 miles an hour. Well, he just run down into the first corner and let off. He turned left a little and I had to swerve to the right to miss him. When I went by, he caught my draft and stayed back there until the fourth turn, where he pulled out and slingshot by me as we crossed the finish line.

Now, I don't mind gettin' outrun, but I didn't like him pullin' a trick like that. Besides, I was runnin' second, anyhow. Most of us race by an unwritten law where you do certain things and there's a limit. I mean, you just only cheat so much or you only take advantage so much, and this was a deal where I think from my understanding of the ethics of racing that he went a little overboard.

But there again, he was ridin' around there and he was thinkin'--and me and him had run off and left everybody else--and I guess he felt that if he wasn't careful, I was going to outthink him. I was thinkin' the same way. But I didn't think he'd go that far.

Four or five weeks after that, we ran at Talladega and it was the same situation, except I was leading and David was second. He had caught me on a caution flag and went past me on the white-flag lap. I guess I slowed down a little. But he passed me and I caught a good draft and started by him as we came out of four. We sort of leaned on each other a little bit. He cut one way and I didn't move and sparks flew off the cars, but I beat him by a couple of feet.

Everybody said, "Well, I see you got even," and I said, "You don't never get even."

David Pearson

Richard [Petty] is a real good boy. As for runnin' on a race track, I had rather run with him than anyone I know. I really had.

'Course, the sportswriters start a lot of things. Like last year at Daytona; all that stuff wasn't true, you know. I mean, I was leadin' the race on the last lap and naturally you're gonna do anything you can to outfox the other guy. Well, I knew he was gonna draft by me when we came out of four. There wasn't no way in the world I was gonna outrun him. So I had to think of something, some way to make him pass me before we got to the fourth turn.

I just backed off and pulled to the inside and naturally he thought something happened to my car, so he just went buzzin' right on by me, and then I come right up on him and started draftin' him. I passed him comin' off number four and won the race.

As for Talladega--where the reporters got in it again--it wasn't exactly the same. I couldn't run with Richard there. I thought Allison and them was a lap behind or I wouldn't have passed Richard in the first place. My back glass was comin' out and air was gettin' under it and the car was a mess. But it was some kind of finish, anyway.

To tell you the truth, I'm more relaxed runnin' close to Richard than by anybody else. Even if we're rubbin' fenders. I mean, I know what he's gonna do, because I've run with him long enough. A lot of those other drivers, you don't know what they're gonna do. They might run in one corner wide-open one time and the next they might back off, but Richard is smooth. He'll usually run the same groove all day long and at the same speed. That makes a lot of difference when you're drafting somebody.

On a long track, it's more or less the car; I mean, you got more runnin' room and you can run harder. But on a short track, you can take a car that's not even runnin' good and you can still do pretty good. Just like Martinsville, Virginia: It's strictly a handling track and Richard is real hard to beat there.

'Course, Richard has been runnin' short races since he started and he's really good. You'll follow him through and, (continued on page 278) Dueling Jocks (continued from page 164) unless you see another opening someplace, you'll do it every time. I mean, I know him.

He's been in racing a long time and you just have to hand it to him. When he started, of course, he started out in top equipment. That's one thing I gotta say for him: He didn't have to do like me and some of the other guys, you know, work his way up or something. He's had it made from the start.

Oh, we've run all types of tracks. We even run the International Race of Champions at Riverside. On the road course. We drove Porsches the first year, you know. Racing Porsches. Neither of us had ever been in a rear-engine car, not even a Volkswagen to go to the store. And here we was with them little-bitty things and the five-speed transmissions. But we had fun. In a stock car, you know, you run right down into the corner and back off, and then you get back on it in the corner. With them Porsches, you back off earlier and get back on it earlier. If it starts slidin' a little bit, all you do is stomp on the gas and it sort of gets up high and keeps right on goin'.

We didn't even know where the gears was. I would have to look down at the thing on the gearshift to find out where the next gear was. And I would look over at Richard and see him readin' the instructions, too. But we done all right.

Stock cars is where we both belong, though. We drive a lot the same. Up high. Richard drives a little higher than I do, but I try to stay up there as close to the wall as I can. Any time you run high through the turns, you're makin' the corner a lot bigger. It's not as sharp, and naturally a car will run a lot freer in a big turn. And there's not as much trouble with slower cars, 'cause they're usually down low. And it's a lot safer, you know; if you blow a tire, you're already against the wall and it's better to hit it sideways than head on. Me and Richard drive up there a lot.

Nolan Ryan

I'm not really intimidated by hitters, but there's a ... I don't know, it's not a fear, it's just a different feeling when, say, a Reggie Jackson comes to bat. For one thing, you know the home-run hitter can beat you with one swing of the bat and that goes through your mind. But I studied the home-run hitters and I know pretty well what not to throw at them. Nobody in the American League has more than two home runs against me. It's funny--Rod Carew has two against me and he's not really a homerun hitter.

But when you pitch to Carew, you really don't know how to get him out. If you get him out with one pitch one time, then next time you try that and he murders you. He adjusts very well. I guess that's it. He adjusts well.

For one thing, Carew is a fast-ball hitter and that makes it very tough for me. He hits me probably better than anyone I face. And, you know, it's a peculiar situation: Either I strike him out or he hits me, there's usually no in-between. Not many grounders, either a strike-out or a hit.

I don't know Rod very well. I try not to get to know the good hitters, because I have to be aggressive with them and I don't want anything to interfere with that. I do know I somehow have a different outlook toward singles and doubles hitters than I do toward the home-run hitters. I keep going back to Reggie, but it's a good contrast. For some reason, I worry more about Carew in a clutch situation, I'd rather face Reggie at a time like that.

And if Rod gets on base, he really worries me. He has the potential to steal second or third. Or even home. You have to hold him tight so the catcher will at least have a shot at throwing him out, so you're dividing your attention between Rod and the batter. Obviously, the best strategy with Rod is not to let him get on base in the first place, but that's hard to avoid. He gets the bat on the ball a lot.

The one ball I try to keep away from him is down and in. Most left-handed hitters hit a down-and-in ball better and Rod is no exception, so I try to keep it up and away to him.

Rod Carew has impressed me more with his bat control than any hitter I have seen--in either league. To me, he's the best hitter in baseball.

Rod Carew

Nolan Ryan is in a class by himself, as far as I'm concerned. I mean, there are times when he's struck me out two or three times a ball game, and hitting is something I've never had to work real hard at. It's something that just sort of came to me. Some guys have the talent to do it and others have to work at it.

The funny thing is there are other times against Nolan when I get two or three hits a game. I know a lot of it depends on me. If my arms are tired or if I don't feel completely up, I'm not going to hit him. If I'm sharp, I do.

There's no question, Nolan keeps you alert, because he is definitely the type of guy you can't take pitches on. You can't really afford to let him get out in front of you. Man, if he gets two strikes on you, you're in trouble.

A lot of people talk about his fast ball--you know it's explosive--but no one ever mentions his breaking ball. He's got everything, and you just can't look for that one certain pitch, I'm not saying that his fast ball isn't fast; I mean, I've faced guys like Sam McDowell and a lot of others and they always threw hard; but nobody, nobody, threw pitches at me like Nolan's. And his fast ball does a lot, too. One minute it will run away from you and then the next minute it will run up.

That's exactly why he's so effective; because he's doing so many different things with it. You can get used to a lot of guys real quick because they throw mostly the same thing at you and you can really swing. But I'm always happy when Nolan throws a change-up at me, because I know I've got a chance.

But you know he's going to throw those fast balls and you just have to be ready for them. When he throws it, I just try to hit to the opposite field. Anything. There's really not much else you can do with a guy like that. I'm the kind of hitter that thinks contact. I just try to hit it somewhere, anywhere, and I guess because I'm a wrist hitter, I hit him pretty well at times. I use my wrists and Pow! And then there are times ... I mean, man, if he's on and his fast ball is really working, I don't care how good a hitter a guy is, he's gonna get you out. You just have to turn your bat up four or five clicks and do your best.

I hit two homers off Nolan, one at home and one at the Angels' park. The one at home was an outside fast ball and I put it into the left-field bleachers. I think it was after the first one that I realized that you don't really have to swing hard at a guy like that. I mean, that ball is coming down there so fast that you just have to make contact and it really takes off. Making contact on a good fast-ball pitcher is the hard part.

The home run at Anaheim came after he had thrown two fast balls at me and then a tail end--a rising fast ball. I hit the third one over the scoreboard in center field. It wasn't a really good fast ball, but it made me feel good, because I'm not normally a home-run hitter.

There's another thing that impresses me about Nolan: A lot of pitchers get tired, you know, around the seventh or eighth, but that's the time when he's at his best. He's rarin' back and throwin' harder than he was in the first inning and I think, "When is he gonna let up?" It's just coming at you all the time.

A lot of hitters try to overpower Nolan and you just can't do that. Like I said, you should just try to hit the ball somewhere. Anywhere. Go to the opposite field. Just try to get a hit. And if you do, pat yourself on the back.

Ralph Neely

If you're playing across from a super-player like Fred Dryer, you tend to concentrate more. I know, ideally speaking, you should think 100 percent of the time before every game, but when you play 20 games, you just don't do it. You save it for the tough ones.

I've been playing in the N.F.L. for ten years and I know most of the guys I'm playing against. I know if they're having a good year or if their team is hot, and that in itself gets me up. It's kind of a self-motivation or pride. I mean, I'm paid to be a professional and if I don't perform, I'm not really a pro.

My playing weight is about 265, but you don't have to be big to play the game anymore. When I came to the league, you did, but all of that has changed. Fred is a perfect example of that. What Fred lacks in size he makes up in quickness and finesse.

This means that I have to block Fred differently than I do Jack Gregory, for instance. He's so damn quick. The first time I ever played against him, he was with the Giants and he gave me a terrible time that day. I never knew where he was. I just wasn't used to blocking against a 225-pound end who was as fast as a halfback. I was used to people trying to punish me and here he was, running around me.

The thing about Fred I never have to worry about is him trying to run over me, so I eliminate that fear. The only thing I have to do is keep position on the guy; for example, in pass blocking, I just try to keep myself between him and the quarterback. And I try never to overcommit. If I do, he's around me.

Speaking from an offensive lineman's viewpoint, it is a natural tendency to want to punish somebody physically. I mean, they're coming through and using the hand slap and all that stuff, so you have to use a tremendous amount of self-discipline to maintain your cool. Fred Dryer would love to have you try to come way out and knock his head off, because he's so quick you probably wouldn't touch him and he would be right back there on the quarterback. So I never try to punish him physically--unless it's third and one!

You have to overlook a lot of things in the line. I'm not a holder, but if my man gets away and the quarterback is fixin' to get decked, I'll do everything but tackle him.

When we line up against each other, we just play football. There's not much conversation. Dryer always plays low because of his size. I mean, he can't stand up too high, because a big guy would move him right out. I'll never forget that first game I played against him, when he was with the Giants: He had been going outside most of the day and it got up to a third-and-one-foot situation and I was ready to eat his lunch right there on the field. But when the ball was snapped, he zipped right inside me and nailed the quarterback for a one-yard loss. I never touched him! He did that twice that day and I'll never forget it. Every time I line up across from him, I remember it.

Fred Dryer

I concentrate a great deal on movement of a tackle. First off, I watch two or three game films of the guy I'm going to play against. I even keep a little book on him; you know, past experiences and his strong points and weak points. At all times, I try to employ the things I do best as a defensive lineman.

In the case of Ralph Neely, I've usually got my hands full, because not only is he big, he's an exceptional athlete with good foot movement and good balance. When I was in my first year with the Giants, I quickly learned that Ralph was by far the best tackle in our division. He's tough to move around physically and you're sure not going to be able to just run into him for four quarters and expect to punish him or wear him down. I'm probably the lightest end around and I'm not going to be running into a Ralph Neely. That's not my idea of a good time.

I have a certain technique in rushing, which consists mainly of trying to get off with the football and just plain beating the guy to the punch, hoping to either get around him or force him to change his strategy to fight off mine. But Ralph is set very short sometimes. He just steps right out to his left and takes you on right at the line of scrimmage, breaking your pattern. You have to take him on right there, and you usually come out on the short end of the stick when that happens. When I'm down in a stance across from Ralph, even that's difficult. Hell, I can't even see over him, so I try everything.

The successes I've had with Ralph are the ones where I've gone deep on him. He likes to ride the ends deep into the backfield, so any type of move off that I've found to be the best, although that's not foolproof, either. Some days the guy's just flat got you. You can be doing everything right and giving him your best shot and you can't even get off the line of scrimmage. Other days, you beat him at things you never expect to get by him with.

He is a finesse blocker. He likes to make good contact and get his elbow up and turn the guy, take charge. As I said, I don't try to push him around, but once in a while I'll just tee off and run right into the guy, put my helmet down and hit him right in the face mask, just so I can watch his reaction. You know, to see if there's any sort of body lean or anything you can run off later. In other words, I'm setting him up for later; but when that later comes, you have to make the right decision and make it quick. When you feel he's set up, you have to move then. If you make a mistake, well..... I mean, if you can get him to move, you can have a good day, but, man, I'm playing against a guy who can knock your arms right out of your jersey.

There's a lot that goes on in the line. They could call a holding penalty on every play, but you'd put the fans to sleep. It would be just like baseball. But there are times when I complain to the ref and he usually says something like, "Yeah, there's a whole bunch of guys over on the other side bitching and moaning about the same thing, but everybody can't be holding on every play." But the truth of the matter is that they can be. And oftentimes they are.

If nothing else works, that's the time when you want to be friends with the guy next to you. If Larry Brooks is having a good day next to me, maybe we will change it up and he will help me out a little. You just try to get people moving around in there. I mean, you have to make something happen if it's a tight game, and often the only way you can do that is by scrambling things up front.

You've got to test Neely out. Early in the game, you can afford to waste a couple of rushes. There are times when I have gotten by him and sacked the quarterback and there are times when he's right there waiting for me. That's what makes a long day.

Keith Magnuson

As long as there are players like Dave Schultz, there will be fights. But I think it's good for hockey. When a guy like Schultz has a fight, you can see it go right through a bench. You can see a bench literally collapse if a guy loses a fight or you can see one completely come to life if he kicks the livin' hell out of somebody.

Schultz is a pretty good fighter. He picks his spots. I tell you, he fights a lot like John Ferguson. The only difference is that Ferguson doesn't duck his head and Dave does. He comes up with that punch well while his head is ducked and he's hard to hit. He's a smart fighter and he usually gets in the first punch.

Players may say he's crazy because of all the penalties, but he's a big part of the Philadelphia team. He's the backbone of the team and he realizes that if things aren't going right, he gets them going right by starting something. A lot of people think this is poor sportsmanship, but I think it's an important part of hockey.

There's no place to go in hockey, there's no out of bounds. In football, if you want to run out of bounds when someone is going to hit you, you can do it; but in hockey, you gotta face the guy sooner or later during the night or else he is gonna intimidate you.

I mean, when I broke the penalty record, my brother even wrote to me and said, "You're a martyr without a cause." But I think he was wrong, because I'm sure I gained the respect of the league for setting the record.

I like fighters and I respect them. I respect Schultz. But, at the same time, I can't stand him. I mean, when we get on the ice, I don't think of respect or anything like that. He's really a different person on the ice. But then I think I am, too. Some players I respect on the ice because they're great hockey players and they don't go around looking for trouble, but Dave looks for it, because he knows that's the reason he's up there. I'm the same way. I feel my talent is limited and in order to play up to par or even better than some of the other players, I have to psyche myself up, and a lot of times that means fighting. If I tried to score goals, I wouldn't be in the N.H.L. very long.

I suppose that's our job description, and if somebody hits our goal tender or picks on one of our smaller players, he's gonna have me to contend with. Schultz or anybody. I mean, I don't win that many fights, but at least I let a guy know he's in a game of hockey.

The first time Dave hit me, he was a rookie. It was like he was testing the fastest gun in the West. I was behind the net and the puck went dead and he hit me late. I didn't even know who the guy was and I turned around and he had dropped his gloves and said, "Let's go." So we did. He got the best of me that time, I think. In fact, I got to thinking about it later in the game and I really felt intimidated. You know, I hadn't really let him know I was around. I mean, him being a rookie and all that. So when we were facing off and waiting for the puck to drop, I looked at him and dropped my gloves. He saw me do it and was a little surprised, but we went at it. I knew at that time that he was a pretty good fighter and could handle himself, and I also knew we would meet again--many times.

A few games later, I ran at him and he got his stick up and gave me ten stitches in the mouth. But I got back at him and when he came to Chicago (a guy's always tougher in his own rink, anyway), the ref had to pull us apart all evening. Hell, one time I was so mad at him I jumped out of the penalty box and went after him.

Last year, we had a good, long fight right in the middle of the ice and I ended up with ten stitches in my mouth again. I'm not real sure what I did to him, but I got some good punches in and there was a lot of blood.

If we both quit playing hockey, I suppose I could forget all this, but right now I can't stand to even be in the same bar with him. Like a banquet in Windsor, where we both spoke once: If I had known he was going to be there, I wouldn't even have gone. One time I knew he was in a restaurant in Chicago and I wouldn't even go in, I feel that much against him.

But if we quit.... Listen, here's a good example: Three years ago, I broke my jaw in a game against the New York Rangers. Ferguson was playing then. We had fought a lot but never talked to each other. So last year, I ran into John after he had retired. We both looked at each other and after a few seconds, he stuck out his hand. As I was shaking it, he said, "You know, I got a hell of a lot of respect for you." I'll never forget that moment.

Dave Schultz

My weakest point is my skating. My strongest, I suppose, is my ability to fight on the ice. I mean, when I first came to the Philadelphia Flyers and the N.H.L. and watched guys like Keith Magnuson, I knew I needed the confidence to get out there and mix it up.

It didn't take me long, because Keith set a penalty record in the league of 291 minutes and I broke it in my second season. And one of the first guys I had a fight with was Magnuson. I went behind the net and he was there, so I hit him. He came at me from the side and gave me a good shot, and then he waited for me to get my gloves off and we had a good fight. I think I might have won that one. I know I felt good. I thought, "Boy, am I lucky. I'm starting to get into fights with guys with big reputations."

I'm not the greatest fighter in the league, but I'm always ready. That makes me valuable to my team. Every team needs somebody who will fight for it and that's my job with the Flyers. It's funny, I never had a street fight. I was always scared I was going to get hurt. But then, I never had any confidence, either. Now it might be a different thing.

When something happens, like when someone does anything to one of our players, something just clicks inside me; or if I'm in a corner and somebody hits me, I just change and I become five times as strong as I normally am.

I even psyche myself up for the fights. In the afternoons, when I'm lying down, I think about fighting Magnuson--if we're playing the Black Hawks. I go over it in my mind again and again, and by the time I reach the rink, I'm ready. And it usually happens that night, exactly as I imagined it. It works pretty well.

One night in Chicago, right after the first shift of the game, there was a two-line pass and the whistle blew, but Magnuson kept on coming and he hit Rick MacLeish. The coach said, "Schultz, go over there," so I skated over and said, "What are you trying to do?" and he said, "Get lost, kid." So we had another good fight.

Keith is a good hockey player. I've never seen a guy more psyched up constantly. When you come out for warm-ups in Chicago, for instance, you come right from behind the net at the end of the rink. The dressing rooms are downstairs and you come up these 15 steps. Well, Magnuson runs the last three or four steps and he makes two laps around the rink before anybody else makes one. The first time I saw this, I said, "Holy Christ, what's going on here?"

He's unbelievable. Even when we're just getting ready for a face-off, he's lifting his skates and he's moving around and he's ready and that kind of psyches me out. It certainly makes you aware that he's ready to play, if nothing else. He's like that every game. I mean, you just expect when the puck's dropped that he's going to go zooming all over the place.

I've heard that when he came into the league, he went up to opposing players and said, "Hey, who's the tough guy on this team?" and they would tell him and he would go pick a fight with the guy. He didn't win all of them, but he was a gutsy kid.

A lot of people have said to me, "Well, Keith Magnuson must not be that great a fighter, because you usually win," but they're wrong. It's your willingness to fight that counts. If you know a guy is going to fight you every time, you also know that one day he'll give you a good punch. That's what makes anybody tough.

It's hard to describe why I fight. Maybe I should get an analyst. All I know is I really like to fight with guys like Magnuson. I don't know if he's ever beaten me, but he swings pretty good, and all the while I keep right on breaking the penalty record in the N.H.L. Last year I had 472 minutes. That's ridiculous.