Run attack puts Vinny in back seat Hubert Mizell, The St.Petersburg Times, published 1988 Vinny Testaverde remains pro football's answer to the B-1 bomber. Erratic. Potentially lethal. Expensive. A controversial project. And, from the most vociferous of critics, there have been suggestions that the whole idea be scrapped. Well, while “Air Vinny” keeps on working at not crashing, Tampa Bay's notorious NFL strugglers have an all-rookie, all-SEC running game that - at least for one Sunday - has cooled the heat on the quarterback's neck. “It was real pleasing to sit back, hand off and watch those guys go,” Testaverde said. “A real impressive view from where I stand. It's so much easier when the running game is going. It keeps the defense off balance, and it keeps the pressure off me.” While it would be the smallest and most dependable of Buccaneers, placekicker Donald Igwebuike, who popped a 52-yard field goal to put Detroit to 23-20 death, it was three galloping Tampa Bay kiddos who softened the Lions for the kill. Lars Tate (Georgia) ran 18 times for 106 yards and scored a touchdown. William Howard (Tennessee) bulled for 78 on 14 carries and a TD. Kerry Goode (Alabama) squirted 39 yards on four attempts. Tate-Howard-Goode, as a Tampa Bay troika, amassed 223 yards. They averaged 6.2 yards for 36 carries. Because they ran the football so efficiently, the Bucs allowed the interception-prone Testaverde to keep his gun on the rack after a shaky first quarter. He was 5-for-5 in the second half, finishing with a season-low 107 yards passing. But when the Bucs absolutely needed their QB to deliver, “Rip Van Vinny” awoke with 16 seconds left in the game, laying a clutch 26-yard pass in Bruce Hill's skinny gut to set up Igwebuike's victory kick. Still, more than anything, it was Tampa Bay's running that did in the Lions in Sunday's not-so-celebrated confluence of 2-8 teams. “Give credit where it is most due - to our offensive line,” said Tate, the first Buccaneer to crack 100 yards rushing since James Wilder's 130 against Detroit 24 months ago. “Our guys up front were blowing the Lions off the line. Luckily, we didn't fall way behind in the game, like we usually do. We could rely on our rushing. It felt so good, getting enough carries to develop a rhythm. And, as long as we're giving credit to our blockers, please don't forget William Howard, who is a big fullback and a devastating blocker.” Although it was Testaverde's 25th birthday, the 240-pound Howard was Sunday's most toasted player in the Silverdome. Among 25,956 customers who sparsely populated the 80,000-seat stadium, there was a vocal colony of 250 who trucked up from Howard's hometown in Ohio to cheer the favorite son. “It was one of the highlights of my life,” said the wide-bodied fullback. “I had 25 family members here; no, maybe it was more like 40. What a thrill, to have a good day and win before those folks from back home.” Howard is from Lima, Ohio, just 2 1/2 hours south on Interstate 75 from the Lions' home dome. Five buses and several cars made the trip to see both Howard and Detroit cornerback William White. They were teammates back at Lima High School. Immediately after Perkins' post-game talk with his team, Howard bolted from the Bucs' locker room, still in full uniform, and went to visit with those 250 beans from dear old Lima. He hugged, he kissed, he grinned and he shed a tear or two. “Mr. (Ray) Crisp was there,” Howard said, “and he coached both William (White) and me back in midget football. We were 9 years old then. Wow, seeing all those people from home really meant a lot.” Professional football can seem so cold, so businesslike. But, now and then, something cuddly and nice will occur. Something so simple and so human. William Howard, even if he someday wins a Super Bowl, is never going to forget Nov. 13, 1988, at the Silverdome. On the total pro football landscape, Sunday wasn't a very big deal. It was one mediocre-or-worse team beating another, playing to the smallest of NFL audiences. But when you're really hungry, having lost five games in a row, even the tiniest of morsels can go down like a feast.