lot of people are curious about what goes through a player’s mind in the moments leading up to a sack. I’ve always sidestepped this question, because frankly there’s not that much to analyze. It’s a simple thing, really. It’s a tackle on the quarterback. No one asks you about the anatomy of a tackle on an end run, do they?
In fairness, I completely understand the football fan’s fascination with the sack. It represents the ultimate breakdown of a team’s protection scheme, and it is the ultimate triumph for a defense. It’s hard as a shit to get a sack if it’s not your “specialty,” and it’s still very hard even if it is. The handful of players who have been able to put up double-figure sack numbers year after year really are a breed apart, and I’m proud to be one of them.
What does a sack mean to a football player? It depends on the sack. There are sacks that represent game-changing plays, and there are sacks at junk time, when the game has long since been decided. The players know the difference. They also know you can come up just short of a sack and still make a game-changing play. So there are “non-sacks” that are more meaningful than actual sacks.
To my mind, the best of all worlds is to make a great sack in a big game at a crucial moment. I’m always looking for the big play, that classic sack in the classic situation. Most defensive players have a big-picture sense of the game, and they can tell when it reaches a potential turning point. That’s when the best players want to make a signature play. Stats and glory are nice, but if you can win a game with a sack, that’s the ultimate.
What transpires in the two to three seconds it takes for a play like this to unfold? Presented for your approval, here is the anatomy of a sack:
As soon as we break the defensive huddle, I wait for the other team to show me its formation. We know from watching films that there are only X number of plays a team runs out of any one formation, so I click open that file in my head and quickly access that information. Is it a pass? Is it a run? Where is it going? What’s the blocking scheme? Where are the opportunities? Have I been successful against this team in this situation?
As I get into my stance, I split my vision between the ball and the man blocking me. The first one that moves and I’m gone. Blast off! I don’t pre-plan my approach. I’m more like a Randy Johnson fastball. Here I am, now try to hit me. And I never adjust to the other guy—it’s always his job to adjust to me. Once we develop a rhythm to our battles, then I’ll improvise and start mixing in sliders and change-ups.
I can usually tell within the two or three few tenths of a second
whether it’s a run or a pass. On a running play, the offensive line moves differently, and I just react. As an end, it’s my job to make sure the play doesn’t turn the corner. Because of my speed and balance, I can wait an extra beat and read the blocks before I commit myself.
Assuming it’s a pass, I get up a head of steam and see how the blocker reacts. My goal as a pass rusher is to get my body even with the blocker’s. At that point, I’m gone. (As I like to say, “If we’re even, I’m leavin’.”) If he shows up in front of me, I’ll almost always cut inside. If he gives me his upfield shoulder, then I’ll go around him. Sometimes the tackle fires out at you. That’s when I’ll jump-step him and give him my killer crossover. That’s a slick move that makes you look really stupid, and it also gives me a clear path to the quarterback. Guys don’t test me like that more than once. It’s a good way to earn yourself a seat on the bench. In general, being overly aggressive against me doesn’t pay off. With my quickness and balance, I know how to use a blocker’s strength against him. The best way to deal with me in those first few tenths of a second is to be physical and cunning and patient all at the same time. And that’s all I’ll say.
From the instant the ball is snapped, I’ve divided my attention between the man in front of me and the man with the ball—in this case, the quarterback. Once I’ve dealt with the tackle, the quarterback’s got my full attention. The next thing I’m trying to determine is whether he’s taken a three-step drop or a five-step drop. There’s an internal clock in my head on each play, and it’s ticking down from 2.5 seconds. That’s how long it takes a QB to take his normal drop, find his receiver, and get rid of the ball. A three-step drop means you’ve got less time to maneuver—sometimes a half-second less—because he’s likely to be looking for a short pass.
This may not seem like a lot of time to accomplish everything I need to, and in truth it isn’t. But there are times when my mind kicks into overdrive and time actually slows down, like in The Matrix.
Not that dramatically, of course, just a tad. But it’s enough to make a difference, to let you see other blockers angling towards you, and to make conscious adjustments instead of going on 100 percent instinct. And you definitely need that “extra” time, because it’s really hard to get a sack in the NFL. You can do everything right and still come up empty. The quarterback dumps the ball, he makes an unexpected move, he breaks your tackle, or maybe you just don’t close the way you should. A lot can go wrong. For every sack I get—and I should get my 100th sometime in 2004—there’s a sack that got away.
The best part of what I do comes when I’m about three steps away from the quarterback. If he hasn’t started his throwing motion, and if there are no blockers coming to his rescue, at that moment I’m the only man in the stadium who knows that a sack is coming. There is literally nothing a QB can do at that point. I’ve got him.
Contrary to popular belief, I’m not out there looking for a sack every time the ball is snapped. My game is more about constant pressure. It’s about ruining a series, stopping a drive, messing up an opponent’s gameplan, making the quarterback do things he doesn’t like to do. At the beginning of each series, I’m thinking about what can I do to pressure the other guys three times, how I can create the kind of gridlock that makes them go three-and-out and relinquish the football.
The key is to play like your hair’s on fire and your heart’s about to stop. You also have to have the mindset that you’re going to score points. Throughout history, the great players and the great teams have thought this way.
