At St. Paul Grade School in Florence, Kentucky in 1956, the student-teacher ratio in fifth grade was 56-to-1.
Yes, that’s right. It was Sister Sylvester’s job to maintain order while imparting knowledge to all 56 of us.
She did a fine job, too. It was one of the most successful years of my entire education, as well as my all-time favorite.
I thought of that the other day when the Broncos announced Sean Payton’s coaching staff.
The active roster for National Football League teams is limited to 53 players—three fewer than my fifth grade class.
Add the maximum allowable practice squad members (16), and that makes 69 in uniform at practice who could play in a game once the season begins.
Sean Payton’s staff totals 16. Plus him, the player-coach ratio during the regular season is four-to-one.
Besides the boss, we have an assistant head coach, a defensive coordinator and four position coaches, an offensive coordinator and four position coaches, three special teams coaches and two strength-and-conditioning coaches.
If that seems like overkill to you, welcome to the party.
In place of students, we’re talking grown men here, most of them products of at least a few years of collegiate competition, plus four years of high school coaching and, in most cases, a few years of youth football.
Does it really take this intensely focused interaction between player and coach for such experienced hands to play well in the NFL?
I’ve believed for quite a while that the biggest problem with football nowadays—at any level but especially in the NFL—is its level of sophistication and complexity. Most fans have no idea what’s really supposed to happen on any given play.
Or why it succeeded or failed.
That’s because only coaches and players know what all 22 guys on the field are responsible for doing at that moment when the ball is snapped.
Formations vary on both sides of the ball. The result is that players are expected to carry out different assignments from play to play.
That running play that went for 35 yards? It’s the same one that lost five yards eight plays earlier. Maybe some knowledgeable fans know that, but many don’t.
Only the coaches and players know why it succeeded one time and failed the other.
An NFL play is often called in the order of formation, play type, offensive line protection scheme, and cadence. Each coach may have his own system of verbiage, but NFL play calls will have these four details.
But if the defense is in a formation that is likely to stop the called play, the quarterback, as he stands over center, will switch to something else that he thinks has a better chance of succeeding against that particular alignment.
That’s what was happening whenever you heard Peyton Manning holler, “Omaha!”
That word, he has explained, told his team he was changing the play—calling an “audible,” in football parlance.
Several years ago, while Sean Payton was head coach in New Orleans and Drew Brees was still his quarterback, they dissected a play for a feature story about NFL play calling terminology.
The call went like this:
Gun Flex Right Stack 394 Dragon Smoke Kill Turbo Sucker Right
In short, it was a run play that, on this occasion, went six yards for a touchdown.
It actually was two versions of the same play, the “kill” part the Saints’ equivalent of Manning’s “Omaha.” In this instance, Brees switched after reading the defensive formation once he got to the line of scrimmage.
I’ll concede that we didn’t have to follow such complex instructions in fifth grade.
Yet, what we were being taught at 10 or 11 years of age often seemed as incomprehensible.
Regardless, we didn’t have a teacher—or a tutor—for every four students. Sister Sylvester was it.
The Broncos, of course, aren’t alone with a glut of coaches. It’s the norm in pro football, as well as in other places.
Deion Sanders’ staff at the University of Colorado is—believe it or not—27 strong. It includes SEVEN quality control analysts; a director of sports performance, to whom report four strength-and-conditioning coaches; a Chief of Staff; and a “character coach.”
Even the Rockies list nine coaches, including three hitting coaches. Counting manager Bud Black, their in-season player-coach ratio is 2.6-to-1, without football’s more-complicated dimensions.
I wonder what Sister Sylvester would think of all this.
Denny Dressman is a veteran of 43 years in the newspaper business, including 25 at the Rocky Mountain News, where he began as executive sports editor. He is the author of 15 books, nine of them sports-related. You can write to Denny at dennydressman@comcast.net.