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Bill Plaschke

Moon Made His Position Clear From Start

July 30, 2006|Bill Plaschke | Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com. To read previous Plaschke columns, go to latimes.com/plaschke.

One of the steadiest voices in football history is cracking.

"I never wanted to talk about this ... "

One of the smoothest demeanors in football history is breaking.

"I never wanted people to think I was crying ... "

Warren Moon sighs.

The journey is over. He finally belongs.

Next weekend when he becomes the first African American quarterback inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame, he is finally guaranteed cheers.

There will be no racial catcalls. There will be no death threats. There will be nobody wondering whether he is smart enough or savvy enough simply because he isn't white enough.

Nothing he can say will keep him out.

So now, finally, he can say it.

"I've had it real, real hard," Moon says. "What I've had to deal with, you shouldn't have to deal with."

For one of the greatest football players from Los Angeles, it will be a day of triumph.

For those many football people who never believed blacks could play quarterback, it should be a day of shame.

"During Warren's hardest times, I always told him, just win, and everything will be fine," recalls his mother Pat. "If you win, nobody cares what color you are."

Today, teams are finally getting it. There were nine black starting quarterbacks last season. Michael Vick is on the cover of video games. Donovan McNabb is the star of soup commercials. Vince Young was the first quarterback selected in this year's NFL draft.

Moon chuckles. He was never the face of anything, and he was never drafted by anybody.

He never made it to the Super Bowl, never made it big in endorsements, never felt the love given John Elway or the respect granted Dan Marino.

"All I ever heard was, 'Have you ever thought about playing another position?' " he recalls.

Thought about it? Never. Not once. Ever. It temporarily cost him his country, nearly cost him his career, and could have cost him his life, but he never backed down.

"Only by sheer force of will did he make it," says longtime agent and friend Leigh Steinberg, who will introduce him in Saturday's Canton, Ohio, ceremony.

Moon's will eventually pushed him into the top five in all five major passing categories, into the Hall of Fame on the first attempt, and, most important, onto the bedroom walls of young black football players everywhere.

"I remember walking into the home of a young African American quarterback recently, and there were two photos above his trophy case," Steinberg says. "One was of Martin Luther King, and the other was of Warren Moon."

Oh, but the hammering that went into the hanging of that picture.

It started when Moon was a senior at Hamilton High, down the road from the mid-city duplex where he was raised with his mother and five sisters.

His father died when he was 7, forcing him to become the male figure in a house of six women, maturing him quickly, so much that his nickname back then was "Pops."

"That's where he got his stubbornness," his mother says. "He had to run the house with all of us women in it."

So, then, as a senior, Moon did not blink when Arizona State rescinded its offer for him to play quarterback after they signed two white quarterbacks.

"They asked me if I would play running back or defensive back," Moon recalls. "I said, 'No way.' "

Moon was adamant that he was a quarterback. They could take away his scholarship, but they would not take his position.

So he went to West L.A. College for a season, spending the fall sending out game films to Division I coaches around the country. He was finally summoned by rookie boss Don James, at the University of Washington, a program then plagued by racial strife.

"I called a player there and he told me not to come," Moon recalls. "My mother told me not to go. Lots of people told me not to go."

But, lacking options, he searched himself for strength.

"I decided, I wanted to be a quarterback, and this was my only opportunity, and even if I had to deal with a lot of racial stuff, I would do it," he explains.

He had that racial-stuff part right.

From his first game there, he was booed and derided, his girlfriend and friends surrounded in the stands by nastiness.

"People would yell at the field, 'You'll never win with that 'N' playing quarterback!' " he recalls. "There was a lot of that stuff, all the time, and it was hard."

Moon remembers his teammates looking at him in the huddle as if to say, "Can you take it?" He remembers honing his game face during those three seasons, learning to act like a leader even when, inside, he felt he was being chased.

"Throughout my career, I was never able to relax, I always had to go on the field with another responsibility, I felt like I was playing not just for my team, but for my race," he says. "This feeling never went away."

When he led the Huskies to a stunning Rose Bowl victory over Michigan in 1978, earning game MVP in the process, he thought that color was no longer an

issue.

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