The fullback didnât ask for glory. He asked for a four-yard hole and a linebacker to punish. For decades, the NFL was a land ruled by these square-jawed battering rams. They had necks wider than their helmets, forearms like telephone poles, and the job description of a human plow. Their mission? Run directly into chaosâand if they got the ball once in a while, that was just gravy. Thick, gravel-flavored gravy.
These werenât finesse guys. They didnât juke, and they sure as hell didnât dance. They hit the hole like it owed them money. Watching a fullback carry the ball was like watching a fridge tip over in slow motionâinevitable, heavy, and deeply satisfying.
Names like Riggins, Csonka, Johnston, and Rathman still echo through the halls of gridiron mythology. They wore neck rolls. They had blood on their chinstraps. They led the way through trenches filled with chaos so the glory boys behind them could get the headlines.
And now? Theyâre practically extinct.
Modern offenses have no patience for blunt instruments. Too slow. Too specialized. Not âdynamicâ enough. So we traded the fullback for bubble screens and slot receivers with podcast deals.
Itâs a damn shame.
Because nothingânothingâfired up a cold stadium crowd like a fullback rumbling for a brutal 3rd-and-2 conversion, dragging half the opposing defense like a shopping cart full of bricks. No spin moves. No celebrations. Just a man with a mouthguard, a mission, and the ability to move the line of scrimmage through sheer stubbornness.
They didnât want the spotlight. They wanted the contact. And if they scored? You can bet that ball got handed to the ref with a nod, not a TikTok.
Bring back the fullback. The game needs more blunt force. And fewer prima donnas with moisturized ankles.
