Battle of the QBs

Taliaferro, pronounced Tolliver, is an ancient and honorable name. It is said to come from the Latin telum (sword or dart) and ferre (to bear), date back to Julius Caesar (he bestowed it on a barbarian who saved his life, and it is what the T stands for in Booker T. Washington and Sam T. Rayburn. But it isn't box office, as far as David A. ("Sonny") Werblin, president of the American Football League's New York Jets, is concerned.

"I know the value of names," Sonny insisted, when he shelled out $600,000 last year to sign up college football's two gaudiest quarterbacks: Joe Namath of Alabama and John Huarte of Notre Dame. "I know you have to have stars on the stage." So imagine Sonny's surprise last week when an unsung $15,000-a-year-man named Mike Taliaferro beat out Namath and Huarte for the quarterback's job on the Jets.

Glad to Meet Me. Actually, Taliaferro had the edge all along: a second-year pro from the University of Illinois, he knew the New York plays, was familiar with the idiosyncrasies of the Jets' pass receivers. But Namath, the biggest bonus baby (at $400,000) in the history of pro football, cut quite a figure around the training camp at Peekskill, N.Y. He arrived toting a bag of golf clubs, buzzed around town in a green Continental convertible with the top down and jazz blaring from a tape recorder under the dash. His self-confidence knew no bounds. "Ah cain't wait 'til tomorrow," he cracked, admiring himself in the locker-room mirror, " 'cause ah get better lookin' every day."

Hoisting beers in a local pub, he regaled barflies with stories of his exploits at Alabama, those three winning seasons, 25 touchdown passes and 54.3% completion average. His parting words, bystanders recall, were: "Ah'm glad y'all had a chance t'meet me."

When Coach Weeb Ewbank told him, "Joe, you're throwing off your back foot and you're not getting enough follow-through," Namath replied: "Don't worry, Coach. Once I get loosened up, I'll hit all those s.o.b.s."

Then there was Huarte, who showed what he could do by sparking the College All-Stars to a near upset of the National Football League's champion Cleveland Browns (final score: 24-16) --throwing for two touchdowns and completing nine passes in a row. Taliaferro read the sports pages. He worried. He even toyed with the idea of quitting pro football altogether. "It's kind of discouraging," he admitted, "reading that stuff about Namath and Huarte in the papers every day."

Crest of Clippings. Namath never did get loosened up. He threw short passes so hard that the Jets' receivers couldn't hang onto them. His long passes tended to sail clear over everybody's head. In one exhibition game against the Buffalo Bills, he missed twelve passes in a row. Against the Boston Patriots, Joe played the full first half and completed only two out of 13--whereupon Taliaferro took over, led the Jets to two touchdowns and a 17-0 victory. Huarte had a different problem. To play for the All-Stars, he had to skip three weeks of practice with the Jets. By the time he finally arrived at Peekskill, riding the crest of his clippings, the New York play book was already two inches thick. "John was lost in the huddle," says one Jet. In the exhibition games, Huarte completed only five out of 21 passes and had three intercepted.

Last week Coach Ewbank made his decision. Namath was relegated to being just the highest-paid telephone operator in pro football--manning the Jets' spotting phone on the sidelines. Huarte was placed on waivers: any other team in the A.F.L. could claim him for the paltry sum of $100--if they were willing to pick up his fat contract. None was, so Huarte was demoted to the Jets' "taxi squad,"* where he could continue to collect paychecks without suiting up for games. Mike Taliaferro had won the battle of the quarterbacks.

Was it over? "All of these boys have talent," Coach Ewbank said. And nobody knew better just how temporary a No. 1 quarterback's job can be. Back in 1956, when he was coaching the N.F.L.'s Baltimore Colts, Ewbank's No. 1 quarterback was a fellow named George Shaw. Nobody remembers Shaw. He injured a leg one day, and Ewbank had to send in a sub to take his place. The sub's name: John Unitas.

*A nickname that goes back to the 1940s, when Cleveland Browns Owner Arthur Mc-Bride kept extra players around by putting them on the payroll of a taxi company that he also owned.

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