by Bruce Arians
Then, in the average of about four seconds from the snap to the end-of-play whistle, so many things can go right or wrong for the quarterback. A called play in an NFL game only works about half the time. But what really matters is how the quarterback reacts to what transpires on each and every play. When a play doesn’t go as designed, the quarterback must not sulk, lose his temper, or even convey a sense of frustration. And he sure better not let his grit waver. Still, I don’t want him to completely wipe the play from his memory—he needs to learn from what he just experienced on the field—but he needs to quickly move on and be the leader of his offense. QBs must always—always—act like the next play is going to be a touchdown, even if they don’t truly believe it. The quarterback needs to project calm and poise and steely-eyed confidence. This is grit, living play-to-play and growing play-to-play.
Another characteristic the NFL quarterback must have that you can’t see is the ability to process a vast amount of information in a short amount of time and make prudent decisions based on that intelligence. Twenty years ago NFL defenses typically had ten different coverage formations and five different blitz packages. But now a quarterback will see that many in the first two series of a game. So the quarterback must have an agile, quick mind to read the defense, anticipate what is coming, and make the appropriate change at the line of scrimmage to exploit the defense at its most vulnerable area.
The time from when the ball is snapped to when it must come out of the quarterback’s hand on a throw is usually less than three seconds. So the quarterback literally has to make dozens of rapid decisions—he has to read the defense, figure out where the most vulnerable area on the field will be, identify his hot receiver, make sure his protection is lined up correctly—that determine whether or not a play succeeds or fails. No other position in sports requires this much on-the-fly thinking. This is why quarterback is the hardest position to play in all of sports.
Another change in the game from two decades ago is that back then the same eleven defenders essentially stayed on the field for the entire game, unless they became injured. But now defenses will use twenty different players in a game, many of them specialists whose singular, ultimate job is to make life miserable play after play for the quarterback. This makes it infinitely more difficult for the quarterback to know at the snap of the ball which receiver will have an advantage and which defensive lineman is most likely to win his matchup against a certain offensive lineman in front of him. In other words, it’s now more challenging and confusing than ever to play quarterback in the NFL.
So many quarterbacks who are drafted high fail—and that has nothing to do with their physical talent. It’s what exists between their ears that matters most, that determines whether one will flourish or flounder in the NFL. Why don’t some first-round draft picks last very long in the league? General managers fell in love with their ability to throw a ball down the field and are seduced by their potential.
But what is very hard to measure when you’re scouting college quarterbacks is how they are going to react to the complexity of NFL defenses. This has nothing to do with arm strength and everything to do with mental strength. There’s that fundamental thing again—grit. I can’t overemphasize how important it is to have a fast, fertile mind to play quarterback in the NFL. And also how important it is to have the study habits of an Ivy League doctoral student. If a quarterback isn’t willing to put in the work during the week then he’ll have no chance at success on Sundays. Zilch. Zippo. We use every teaching tool: film, notes, field work, homework, and now virtual reality reps, which are priceless.
On the practice field I spend the most time with my quarterbacks reviewing what transpires during the three to four seconds of a basic pass play. First and foremost, the quarterback has to understand his protection, because the defense can always blitz one more guy than you can block. So at the line the quarterback has to read—predict—what he thinks the defense is going to do, and then understand where his hot receiver is going to be if a safety, a linebacker, or multiple defenders come on a blitz. Then once the ball is snapped, as the quarterback is dropping back—let’s say he sees that no blitz is coming—what must he do? He needs to quickly analyze the coverage. Is it zone or man? Are the safeties in the middle of the field or on the edges? The quarterback has to go through his progressions of potential receivers—one, two, three, four, five. If the safeties split to the edges, the quarterback’s progression is from inside out. If the safeties rotate inside to the middle of the field, his progression is just the opposite, outside in.
Then the ball has to come out of the quarterback’s hand on time. We have plays that are called rhythm throws where the quarterback’s back foot hits the end of his drop and—whoosh!—the ball flies out of his hand. Probably the hardest throw in football is the rhythm throw, because the ball must leave the quarterback’s hand before his receiver makes the final cut on his route. We also have what we call hitch throws, where the quarterback hits the end of his drop, hitches up a step, sets his feet and—bam!—he flings the ball. Timing is everything in the NFL; if a quarterback doesn’t have this skill—this one that really can’t be taught—he won’t last long in the league. An NFL QB either has this skill—this gift—or he doesn’t. I’ll take a quarterback with a great sense of timing any day over one with a big arm who struggles to make those rhythm throws.
The ideal quarterback also needs to be a leader. Virtually all of the great NFL quarterbacks have been extroverts, guys who love being around other guys and are life-of-the-party types. You can feel their presence when they walk into the room. There are exceptions, but most often the successful quarterback is a natural-born leader, a Patton in pads.
A leader is willing to take risk and pay the price. The opening lines from one of my favorite poems, “If—” by Rudyard Kipling, come to mind:
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting…
What do these words mean to me? Simple: When the time comes to roll the dice—and that time comes for all of us—you’ll succeed if you keep your wits and stay focused on the task at hand.
The most important physical attribute of the ideal quarterback is the ability to throw the ball with accuracy to all parts of the field. If a receiver is open by half a step, the quarterback needs to be able to hit him in stride on the short passes, the intermediate-length throws, and the deeps balls. It’s very difficult to teach a quarterback to become accurate once he is in the NFL; this is a trait that leaps off the college film in the scouting process. Of course, you want your quarterback to have a strong arm, but it’s much more important to be accurate with the ball. If a kid is missing easy throws in college, I’ll think twice about drafting him or signing him as a college free agent. By the time a college QB is twenty-one or twenty-two he either has a well-developed sense of anticipation and accuracy or he doesn’t. The cold truth is that NFL coaches can’t develop those skills.
The final thing the ideal NFL quarterback needs—and this really is just the cherry on the top of the sundae—is athleticism. Now, I’m not talking about the need to be a great athlete. You look at past big-time college QBs who couldn’t make it in the NFL. They were plenty athletic. But they couldn’t process information at the NFL level and be accurate enough to play the game. In college they could make enough of the throws and then beat defenses with their legs. But you can’t do that in the NFL; the defensive players are too big and fast. That’s why the read option will never be a consistent staple in the pro game. If you put your quarterback in harm’s way enough, after all, harm will come to him.
An athletic NFL quarterback simply needs to be able to move in and out of the pocket. You don’t have to be fast. Tom Brady and Peyton Manning would never be described as fleet-of-foot speedsters. But they can mo
ve a step or two and then be extremely accurate with their throws even if they aren’t perfectly balanced. Ben Roethlisberger has never been the quickest guy, but he can roll out and complete a throw with defenders hanging all over him. Damn, that’s athleticism.
So if you take everything I just described about the ideal NFL quarterback—the heart, the grit, the smarts, the ability to lead, to throw with accuracy, and to have just enough athleticism—who do you get? Who would qualify?
If I could draw the perfect quarterback, it would be a mixture of all the top guys I’ve coached: the heart and mind of Peyton Manning; the grit and leadership of Big Ben; the athleticism of Andrew Luck; and the arm of Carson Palmer.
The most important relationship a head coach has on his team isn’t with the other coaches, the owner, or the general manager. It’s with the quarterback. He’s the one who runs the show on the field; he’s the ultimate extension of his coach. If there isn’t a high level of mutual trust between them, both coach and quarterback will be doomed.
That’s why I’ve always treated my quarterbacks like family. I play golf with them, go to dinner with them, talk to them about their personal lives, their kids, wives, girlfriends, partners, and their aspirations and dreams for the future. These are the same kind of discussions I’ve had with my own kids, Jake and Kristi.
Sometimes quarterbacks see ghosts out there on the field. They think they spot a certain coverage when they really don’t. So you have to have an open dialogue with them once they get to the sideline. I need to tell my quarterback that a defender is baiting him and tricking him, and my quarterback has to trust what I’m saying. The quarterback has to know that his coach isn’t making crap up, that what I see is in fact correct and what he sees on the field is in fact incorrect.
To show my quarterbacks how much I believe in them, I let them pick their favorite plays that we’ll run in the game. On the nights before a game we’ll sit down in a hotel conference room and we’ll have six third-down calls for certain distances. On third-and-five, for example, I’ll ask my quarterback to give me his top three plays that he wants to run in that situation. Then on game day we’ll do that. Not only does this give ownership of the game plan to my quarterback, but it also makes him more accountable for what happens during the game. I want my quarterback to feel like we are tethered at the hip—and at the heart.
I’ll also ask my quarterback at our Friday meeting to give me his fifteen favorite pass plays. Then I’ll get fifteen running plays from the coaches and I’ll script the first thirty plays. If there is a pass play that I really want to include in those first thirty, I’ll put it on the projector and make my case to the quarterback. But if he strongly disagrees, then I’ll let him win that argument. Remember: Players make plays, not coaches. So it’s vital that the quarterback be comfortable with the plays we will run. Because if he’s not, no matter how much I’m in love with a certain play design, it won’t work if my quarterback can’t execute it.
We continue this dialogue during the game. I’m constantly asking my quarterback what plays he likes, what he thinks will work against the defensive looks we’re seeing, and what calls he wants to avoid. These conversations are crucial to winning games.
But the fourth quarter is my time. This is when I generally tell my quarterback what plays we’ll execute. Oh yeah, I’ll still listen—hell, I’m always listening; that’s probably the most important skill as a coach—but the fourth quarter is when I usually take charge. And when the pressure mounts as the game clock winds down, that’s when I really like to go for the kill. Some offensive coaches sit on the ball in the fourth quarter. Not me, brother. This is often the best time to really cut it loose.
No matter the circumstance late in a game—if the game is tied or we’re winning or losing—I always remind my quarterback of one thing: If the matchup is right, throw the ball deep. Don’t hesitate, don’t think twice. Don’t ever waste an opportunity to crush the spirit of the defense by completing a long touchdown. And if it doesn’t work, well, at least we didn’t leave any damn bullets in the chamber.
My family moved from Marlowe, West Virginia, to York, Pennsylvania, when I was eight. As a kid I spent virtually all of my free time at Memorial Park, which was just down the street from my house on Springdale Avenue in our blue-collar neighborhood.
At the park we played every type of game—volleyball, tetherball, softball, baseball, basketball, and football. Some of the older guys at the park were African American, and I never thought twice about our different skin colors. One of the older black guys was named Eddie Berry. He played offensive line at York High and he gave me my first nickname: S.Q. Smooth.
Esquire Smooth. I loved it. I carved it into the picnic tables at the park. Getting that nickname meant I was accepted at the park, and it did more for my confidence than anything else I ever did as a kid. I felt I belonged there, my home away from home. For us boys at the park, sports was our common language, our bond of brotherhood.
Another older kid who I admired at the park was Denny Stock, the starting quarterback at York High, who would eventually earn a football scholarship to Lehigh. I studied Denny closely, how he carried himself, how he interacted with others, how he always seemed so composed and in control of every situation. He had such an air about him, a confidence you could almost feel. He was cool personified to me—and my introduction to what a quarterback should be.
Hut-hut-hut—HIKE!
These words were the soundtrack of my childhood, words that represented the wonderful promise of what could be accomplished on a football field. I soon became a quarterback myself, in both high school and college. For nearly fifty years, quarterbacking has been my life’s work. Though I believe it is the most difficult position to play in all of sports, it can be mastered. In the thousands and thousands of hours I’ve spent on the field and in the film room I’ve learned a few secrets about quarterbacks—and how to turn potential into production.
Hut-hut-hut—HIKE!
Let’s take the snap and break down the art of quarter-backing.
You really knew Bruce was bound to be an NFL head coach at some point. He had it in his blood.
–PEYTON MANNING
CHAPTER 2
PEYTON MANNING
It was December 12, 1999. The scene was the old RCA Dome in Indianapolis. The main character in this little tale: Peyton Manning, then in his second year with the Colts. I was his quarterback coach.
We were about to face the New England Patriots, a team that was clearly in Peyton’s head. The previous fall, in just the second start of his rookie season, Peyton threw three interceptions in a 29–6 loss at Foxboro. Midway through the fourth quarter of the game, with the outcome already decided, Peyton was so frustrated that he asked for mercy: He wanted to be pulled from the game.
“Fuck no, get back in there,” I told him. “We’ll go no-huddle and maybe you’ll learn something. You can never ask to come out. You’re our leader. Act like it.”
What happened after our talk was a sight to behold. Peyton led us on a late-fourth-quarter drive that culminated with a three-yard touchdown pass to wide receiver Torrance Small—the only points we scored that day. We played fast and it seemed to give Peyton a shot of confidence. I filed those two distinctly different Mannings in my head.
Before that December 1999 game against the Patriots, I saw during pregame warm-ups that Peyton was a live wire of nervous energy, crackling with anxiety. He fidgeted like a Mexican jumping bean and he had a frowning, contorted face. Frankly, he looked like he really needed to go to the bathroom, even though he was all clear on that front.
I always study my quarterbacks during pregame warm-ups. I want to know if they’re tense, uptight; if the ball is coming out of their hand nicely; if their drops are hurried; and whether they’re in rhythm. You need them to stay in the moment—“the precious present,” as basketball coach Rick Pitino describes it—and not look too far ahead. They just need to focus on what they can control and not worry abou
t the game plan or the different defensive looks the other team is going to throw at us. Bottom line: Body language is so important to the quarterback position because the rest of the offense feeds off the quarterback. So if your quarterback looks shaky before a game, you need to do something about it—and damn fast.
Peyton kept fidgeting with his equipment. This was, in poker parlance, a classic tell, because I knew that whenever he adjusted and readjusted his left kneepad, he was really upset about something. Peyton can obsess with the best of them, and I knew he needed to be calmed down. I approached him on the field, determined to shift his focus.
“Peyton, your footwork is all messed up,” I said. “What’s wrong with you, man?”
Peyton then spent the final ten minutes of pregame perfecting his footwork, even though I saw that it had been flawless during his warm-up. I wanted him to quit worrying about the fact that we were about to play a team that had been his nemesis, his kryptonite. We’d lost three in a row to the Pats. And sure enough, Peyton’s mind became so locked onto taking precise five- and seven-step drops that his anxiety vanished into the crisp December air.
I always want to know what’s going on in the head of my quarterback. Is he happy? Sad? Mad? Stressed? Pissed? Calm? Irritated? A good quarterback coach is a part-time psychologist. You have to know the emotions of your most important player, because what’s going on between his ears is just as critical as the physical part of the game.
