Largent Caps Career With Rightful Trip To Hall Of Fame

More than a month after breaking his elbow in the first game of his final season, Steve Largent finally was cleared by doctors to run.

He couldn’t practice with Seahawks teammates, but he was allowed to jog through pass routes, while the rest of the team attended to the daily bumps, grinds and drills.

For most football players, this would have been the next-best thing to vacation. For Largent, it was as serious as a bar exam.

He brought the script to that adjacent practice field. Like an actor rehearsing Shakespeare, he studied every play that would be run on Sunday and then, by himself, pantomimed the game.

Huddle. Call the play. Break the huddle. Run the pass route. A one-man fantasy game.

This story is told by defensive lineman Joe Nash, Largent’s teammate from 1982-89. It defines the receiver who will be enshrined in the Pro Football Hall of Fame today.

“He was probably one of the best students of the game,” Nash said. “He knew as much about the other opponents in the league as anybody.”

Even six years after his last game, Largent is unforgettable.

I remember the tiptoe catches on the sideline. His touchdown in the Hawks’ first playoff game, against Denver. The catch with 26 seconds left that tied Seattle’s 1987 playoff game with Houston. The reception in the back of the end zone in Cincinnati in 1989 that broke Don Hutson’s record for TD catches.

And, like everybody, I remember the retributive hit he put on Denver’s Mike Harden, weeks after Harden had knocked him out and celebrated over Largent’s limp body.

“I cut my teeth on Steve Largent,” said safety Eugene Robinson, a Seahawks rookie in 1985, “and there’s no doubt he ranks up there with all of the greats.”

He never experienced the luxury of having Dan Marino or Joe Montana throw to him, yet he finished his 14-year career with the NFL records for most passes caught, most receiving yards, most touchdown catches, and most consecutive games with a reception.

There were myths about Largent.

He was supposed to be slow, but he rarely was caught from behind.

“I think he liked perpetuating that myth,” Nash said.

He wasn’t tough.

“Believe me, he was tough. He just had one of those real feisty, confident attitudes,” Robinson said. “He would never say it, but he had that feeling, ‘Oh yeah, I can do that.”’

He was Larry Bird in pads. Everyone talked about what Largent couldn’t do. But Largent did it all.

“Bird wasn’t flamboyant,” Robinson said. “People said there was nothing real special about what he does. But you look at the box score and he’s got 55 points.

“Larry Bird was one of the greatest players ever. Ever. So was Steve Largent. Great hands. Great routes.”

His features were as soft as a choirboy’s. He wasn’t gristly like Sam Huff or snarly like Dick Butkus.

But Largent was all football. His talents were transcendent. He could play on grass or artificial turf, indoors or out. He could play with pain, and he could inflict it.

Largent was a station wagon, not a sports car.

“He never even wore gloves,” Robinson said. “He was like a 1945 Bronco Nagurski, no gloves on, no stickum, no wrist bands, nothing. Just hands. He didn’t have any long towel hanging out to his knees. It’s like, ‘My goodness, man, how plain can you get?’ He didn’t wear a bandanna. He was the most unassuming dude.”

His style was no style. For 14 years he did his job, caught his passes, earned his dough. Today, his football career ends where it belongs.

Steve Largent is a Hall of Famer.