I have a great deal of admiration for David Greene. He left college as the winningest quarterback in college football history. He played in the NFL, then became a successful businessman and football commentator.
But if there was an all-time college football great from the past 20 years who could sneak into a Sigma Chi keg party and disappear into the crowd without notice, it's Greene. Even at the height of his college fame he had a physique more like a pro golfer than a pro football player. A senior PGA tour player. And his arm strength was best described as "solidly good enough."
But if there is one thing at which David Greene was perhaps the apex of human evolution, at which he was better than anyone else on the face of the Earth, it was the play action fake.
David Greene victimized not only these poor Vanderbilt defenders. He and Fred Gibson did unspeakable things with it to a whole team of Clemson Tigers. Seeing David Greene fake the dive, nonchalantly saunter to the back of his drop then heave the ball 50 yards downfield was like watching a buddy of yours win a bar bet by playing the Maple Leaf Rag behind his back. With his toes. It was a talent so singularly incongruent that you couldn't help but watch it over and over again, wondering if you'd really seen it. I would argue that Greene had the best play action fake in SEC history, and I don't think it's even particularly close. A true thing of gridiron beauty.
The best part may have been the sheer danger involved. It's hard to overstate the peril of casually strolling down a football field with your back turned to an entire collegiate defense which could blindside you with impunity if they realized that you were doing so while holding the damn football. Can you imagine the mental makeup required to do that . . .ever . . .so . . . painfully . . .slowly? To not draw any attention to yourself until the absolute perfect moment? It takes a special person to do that. And David Greene was one special quarterback in his day. Until later . . .