MUNSON’S GAZETTA: JOHN “SUPERNEEDLE” SMITH

http://youtube.com/watch?v=DAh_4s_-tas

Today’s GAZETTA was prompted by a comment made by the subject of our previous one, Ev Carr. He mentioned some amazing plays by RB John Smith that he blocked on, including one where John “juked” 6 guys. Got me to thinking about John, one of the earliest “stars” at Boise State. More I thought, more I realized he was the first “premier” RB we had. Wideouts Al Marshall & Don Hutt would be the first stars I can recall; media always talks about QB’s, so these WRs had to be “impact” to get ink. John was first RB to get that kind of hype, playing each season from ’72 through ’75. We were almost never on tv, and we were still Div II or IAA, so not much was made of us or him. I’ve said from the jump Broncos always had good college QBs and WRs; John made the jump for us at RB.

A Bay Area brother with innate charisma, John was impeccably well dressed in the expensive, non-flashy way,  more polished refinement than “bling” (a word not yet coined). He had perfect media poise, approachably responsive, articulate and playful. He was more the exuberant competitor than grim warrior, although he most certainly could bring it when it had to be brought. No game face he, he embodied the joy of athletics for me better than anyone I can name. Ev said he was always upbeat, no matter the score, always positive, “c’mon we can do it” kinda’ guy. To be as productive and focused as he was and not lose the “kid’ in him-well, frankly, I don’t know how he did it. I didn’t know him personally, more’s the pity.

His nickname bespoke both his lean angular physique and his running style, which can only be compared to Gayle Sayers, the greatest RB in history. “Superneedle” had the Sayers-like ability to hit the line, disappear amidst the linemen’s flurry (i. e. “thread the needlle”), and emerge at full throttle to the amazement of all. Saying he was “elusive” is like saying water is wet. Watching from the stands, he’d get the ball, go into the line-then,  it was as if a trap door opened somewhere within the LBs when he emerged, or, rather, was launched like a jet off an aircraft carrier. He had the unbeatable lightness of bearing, an other-worldly metallic super-alloy structure that made him stronger, faster and more flexible than a human can be. 42 career TDs, 17 in ’74 and ’75 respectively. In our playoff loss to N. Michigan here in ’75 (our second in a row to “directional” Michigan ( year before to Central Michigan-an away loss in the championship)), he had 132 yards on 14 carries,  9.4 per carry average including a 50 yard TD.

My best memory? In our second playoff appearance as a college in ’73, and our first in Bronco stadium, we hosted South Dakota State. We knew nothing about them, and back then there were no cable shows etc to preview stuff like now, nor would it have made any difference if there had been, ‘cuz Div II football was considered less marketable than a 1/2 full Dixie cup of warm hamster (bw). ‘Yotes took the opening kick and moved impressively, a sight we weren’t used to seeing especially at Bronco stadium. We held them to a FG, but frankly NUGies, I was going “hmm”. On the ensuing kickoff, we did a reverse, “Superneedle” got the ball at the 14 and went 86 yards without anyone getting within 15 yards of him. In my mind I see him running absolutely all alone on that (then) green AstroTurf, and in the event, he might as well have been. I was in the west bleachers thus behind SDSU players and watched as they attempted manfully to adopt a studied insouciance at this, but they were clearly abashed, nearly astonished, at the preposterously comic ease with which Superneedle made that runback and the sheer unadorned brute physicality he had displayed doing it.The stadium eruption added punctuation to his heroics; as the ball was handed to him, you could hear the crowd emit a quizzical sound, gradually growing into a roar as we realized that, like an audience seeing “The Sting”, we had been duped too. Over 3 1/2 quarters to go, but game over. ‘Yotes had said coming in they didn’t know who we were: they found out.

That game. It was the last time I saw Bill Johnston; the following spring he would die in an accident at a BSU facility directly across the street from the stadium. Last game I attended with Tom Scott’s brother Mark; Paul J. Schneider’s first broadcast. I digress. As I said we were Div II then. The world did little note, nor did it long remember, what transpired on our humble field back then, but guys like Superneedle started something we are still seeing play out. In Tennessee Williams’ “A Streetcar Named Desire” Blanche DuBois compares a kind of New Orleans afternoon to “a little bit of Eternity dropped in your hands”. Something like that, I sense, happened on certain Boise fall afternoons, though it wasn’t Eternity that fell, but more like a glinting sliver/slice of diamond magic, a dazzling laser so briefly glimpsed I didn’t realize I’d seen it until later.When the static dissonance of present sense impression dissolves we are left with the golden distillate of memory, a wine imbibed more and more as we conclude our journey. In the end all is memory. Promise me you will revel in yours as you make them,be breathlessly astounded by them,rapturously revere them,store them, see the sparkle as the sands of time stream in them. And I promise you I shall rage as I , soon, forever let mine go.