Running On Empty

He will express some or all of the following emotions: shock, sympathy, outrage. But upon learning that a teammate has been cut, what an NFL player really thinks is, Better him than me. If you are an undrafted, over-achieving survivor and the guy who just got the ax is a former high draft pick who happened to play your position, you might feel a quick blast of vindication as well.

"They cut Russell?" The news, delivered to San Francisco 49ers running back Derek Loville as he walked off the practice field one day last week, caught the man known as D-Love by surprise. It was true: Russell White, the pudgy, former Cal tailback and 1993 third-round draft choice of the Los Angeles Rams, who reported to camp looking like the Nutty Professor, had been waived that morning. "I didn't know," said Loville, searching for, but not quite finding, an appropriately mournful tone. "No one told me."

It was a measure of the Niners' desperation to find backfield help that the rotund White, who had been signed on July 26, stuck on the roster for as long as he did. Don't be surprised if San Francisco president Carmen Policy puts out an all-points bulletin for Roger Craig. To decrease the predictability of its offense and increase the life expectancy of its All-Pro quarterback, Steve Young, the 49ers' brain trust went into this off-season with an urgent mission: to revive a running game that by the end of 1995 had been given up for dead. That the Niners will go into 1996 with Loville as their top running threat is testament that their mission remains unaccomplished. With fullback William Floyd out until at least midseason with a severe knee injury and free-agent pickup Johnny Johnson on the shelf with a bad back, D-Love, by default, is San Francisco's featured back for a second straight season.

By default is also how these 49ers have been thrust into the role of Super Bowl favorites in the eyes of many observers. With last year's NFL champs—those lap-dance aficionados from the Lone Star State—reeling from a series of self-inflicted wounds, the Niners appear to be as good a bet as any other team to represent the NFC next January in New Orleans.

Whether Jeff Wilkins will be San Francisco's kicker next January faded into the realm of uncertainty last Saturday night in wind-whipped 3Com Park. Before booting the 43-yard field goal that gave the 49ers a 16-13 preseason overtime win over the San Diego Chargers, Wilkins could not have kicked the ball into the ocean from the end of a pier. He flubbed three field goal tries, from 33, 27 and 33 yards, and, with no time left in regulation, botched an extra point attempt that would have put a merciful end to this ragged exhibition.

When Wilkins, at long last, converted a field goal as overtime expired, his teammates surged to congratulate him. Well, most of them. Johnson, who eats many of his meals at the 49ers' Rocklin, Calif., training camp in solitude, made a beeline for the locker room. "This is a real bad time for me," he said, brushing off a reporter. On his way out of the stadium, the sculpted, enigmatic loner again declined to answer questions, saying, "Not now."

But Johnny, if not now, when? You didn't suit up against the Chargers and hadn't even practiced since July 18. If your back doesn't heal in a hurry, the Niners are likely to cut their losses by cutting you, thus saving $500,000 against the salary cap. After Saturday's game, Policy sounded like a man whose patience was ebbing. "If Johnny's not going to be able to play by the early part of the season," he said, "we've got to consider other options."

The 49ers' backfield headaches are a hangover from March 1995, when the club decided not to match a three-year, $6.9 million offer sheet the Philadelphia Eagles had tendered to Ricky Watters. It was a defensible decision. Watters, though tremendously talented, was a me guy and a locker room distraction. But it was a decision that began the demise of the Niners' rushing attack, which reached its nadir last January in San Francisco's 27-17 playoff loss to the Green Bay Packers. Young's numbers—an NFL-postseason record 65 passes attempted and a team-leading 77 yards rushing—underlined the sorry state of the 49ers' ground game.

Suffice it to say that the debacle against the Packers was not first-year offensive coordinator Marc Trestman's finest hour. Two weeks later, former 49ers coach Bill Walsh rejoined the Niners as a so-called administrative assistant to the coaching staff. The Genius's return traumatized the staff—Trestman offered Policy his resignation; Policy told him to "have faith in the organization"—and had about it a whiff of desperation. Although it is too early to judge the success of this unorthodox arrangement, it has created some strain. Recently one assistant rolled his eyes when Walsh nearly tripped over himself getting to an NFL Films crew that was arriving at a practice.

San Francisco's front office didn't cover itself in glory in its off-season pursuit of free agents. It struck out with its offer sheet to Rodney Hampton, underestimating the New York Giants' determination to retain him. In search of an elephant—Niners-speak for a pass-rushing end—the 49ers wooed the Chargers' Leslie O'Neal. When O'Neal's price tag proved too high, San Francisco backed off, figuring his price would eventually drop. It didn't. O'Neal signed with the NFC West rival St. Louis Rams.