Why It Took So Long for Two Black Quarterbacks to Face Off in the Super Bowl

For the first time in history, two Black quarterbacks will face off in a game which will decide the championship of a professional football league — in the U.S., that is. 

The outcome of Super Bowl LVII will likely be decided by those Black signal-callers: Patrick Mahomes, the newly-minted 2022 MVP and engine of the Kansas City Chiefs’ dynamic offensive machine, versus Jalen Hurts, also an MVP finalist and electrifying dual-threat QB. Both are considered to be among the very best in the NFL, and Mahomes is well on his way to stacking the kind of accomplishments and mind-boggling highlights that rank with the all-time greats. 

But the pair weren’t the first Black quarterbacks to go heat-to-head with a title on the line. In the 1981 CFL Grey Cup, the powerhouse Edmonton Eskimos topped the upstart Ottawa Rough Riders, 26-23. It marked the fourth of five straight CFL crowns for the Eskimos, thanks in large part to the otherworldly passing abilities of Warren Moon. Moon had gone undrafted out of the University of Washington in 1978, despite leading the Huskies to an unexpected Rose Bowl win. His counterpart, J.C. Watts, a two-time Orange Bowl MVP who later served in Congress, was named the game’s MVP in the loss.

For many, the presence of Mahomes and Hurts on football’s grandest stage is cause for celebration. As Doug Williams, the first Black quarterback to start in the Super Bowl in 1987 told Andscape: “We have come such a long way. It has been so hard, so many barriers, but we did it.” Moon agreed, even if the moment was long overdue: 

“I don’t know if it has taken longer than I thought, but I knew it would eventually happen,” he said in a recent Sports Illustrated interview. “And for those who don’t think that’s significant, fine. But I’ve been on the journey, so I know what the importance is.”

Moon’s dream — and the dream of so many other talented passers — was deferred because of the institutional prejudices and hard-wired bigotries present in the NFL for nearly its entire existence. The current state of affairs, where the majority of the top QBs in the NFL are Black, shouldn’t be attributed to the NFL adopting more progressive stances or a series of promises to improve diversity efforts, according to sports historians and activists who spoke with Rolling Stone. 

Dr. Harry Edwards, an emeritus professor of sociology at the University of California, Berkeley, thinks the milestone is cosmetic. “At the end of the day, what gave us the Black quarterback was not a change in racist dispositions among those who make those kinds of decisions,” Edwards, who has worked with NFL teams and other activist athletes, said when reached by phone. “What changed was the game structure itself.”

Ask the average football fanatic, and even they may have trouble naming one of the NFL’s first true marquee athletes: Fritz Pollard, a diminutive if electrifying ball carrier, and, given the strategies in play at the time, occasional passer. He was also the first Black head coach in any major pro sport, guiding the Akron Pros in 1921. Pollard only lasted a handful of seasons, and in short order, the NFL erected its own de facto color barrier in 1933, thanks in large part to the efforts of George Preston Marshall, the then-Boston Redskins owner. (Marshall, a segregationist, coined the racist team name himself.) The nod-and-a-wink ban lasted another 13 years.  

While star Black athletes dotted lineups on both offense and defense in the ensuing decades, for the most part, the position of quarterback was considered sacrosanct, the domain of square-jawed, immobile, and almost always white athletes. When evaluating a Black QB, a grizzled coach, general manager, owner or scout would furrow their brow, and lob coded language about “leadership,” or “football IQ,” fretting about some amalgam of potential white teammates who’d never rally around, let alone fully trust a Black athlete under center.

Edwards, the activist and sociology professor, describes this as an act of “predatory inclusion.” Black players would be granted entrance into pro football, but only within carefully prescribed roles, the kinds designed to keep those who’d buck the system in line, all while buttressing the fundamental power structure

In the 1970s, quarterbacks like James Harris and Marlin Briscoe were expected to not just meet expectations, but surpass them in the limited opportunities they were granted. This trend, too, continued well into the 21st century. In fact, their athletic ability was seen as somehow proof that they lacked the intelligence to handle the job, and therefore their talents were best suited at positions like cornerback, or running back, despite often having little to no prior experience  there. It was an extension of the blinkered logic of segregation, desegregated league or not. 

Numerous studies conducted over the last 20 years have shown that the language used in scouting reports for Black and white players (and not just for quarterbacks) has still tended to reaffirm racial biases: white players’ “intelligence” or “grit” are highlighted, while Black players’ physical attributes are placed front and center. For decades, NFL prospects were made to take a 50-question aptitude test known as the Wonderlic. Studies showed that it benefited white players significantly more than Black players, and also was a bad predictor of NFL success. The NFL didn’t eliminate the test until 2022.

As Andscape reported, NFL teams didn’t seem interested in giving Moon so much as a tryout, or grumbled that his college successes were due to an offensive system at Washington specifically designed to cover up his flaws. Moon was one of those who refused to buckle, even if that meant turning to the lesser-known CFL. By 1984, NFL teams were lining up to offer him a contract. His NFL career lasted another 17 years, including 9 Pro Bowl selections, and he remains the only person elected to both the CFL’s and NFL’s Hall of Fame. 

Lou Moore is a history professor at Grand Valley State University, and the author of We Will Win the Day: The Civil Rights Movement, the Black Athlete. “The power that [Moon and others] had was to say, ‘You know, I’m a quarterback, and I only want to be a quarterback. And if you won’t let me play here, then I’ll go somewhere else,’” he told Rolling Stone. The largely overlooked CFL stars hold a firm place in his heart, like Condredge Holloway, the first Black starting QB in the SEC, and later a standout with the Ottawa Rough Riders and Toronto Argonauts. Like Moon, Holloway was inducted into the CFL’s Hall of Fame. 

The CFL was undoubtedly more welcoming to Black quarterbacks. Moon told Andscape that he rarely encountered the kind of racism that was far more pervasive in the U.S. (Other Black stars like Cookie Gilchrist had differing experiences. “I dealt with racism when I was in Canada,” he said in a 1983 interview. “I dealt with racists. I was totally exploited. I was left with nothing, with no dignity. I was treated like an animal.”) However, the opportunities afforded by the Canadian league weren’t necessarily tied to a progressive stance. They exploited a market inefficiency. In this case, one prompted by structural racism. And the NFL’s loss was their gain. 

Moore mentioned that Hurts, too, ran smack-dab into some not entirely dissimilar roadblocks when he was coming out of college. Like Moon, Briscoe, Harris, and many more, he had to field questions about whether his athletic abilities could be better suited elsewhere. Hurts would hear none of it. “I’ve always been a team guy first,” he told a reporter during the 2020 NFL scouting combine. “But I think I’m a quarterback. I think that’s that.” 

The same goes for Lamar Jackson, the 2019 MVP, Heisman Trophy winner, and record-holder for rushing yards by a QB. Not only did he drop till the end of the first round in 2016, but teams were reportedly tugging on his sleeve prior to the draft to see if he’d consider a position switch. (Jackson claimed no team made such a request.) Storied former NFL executive Bill Polian said outright the 6’3” Jackson was too “short” and should try his hand at wide receiver. 

So what changed? A few things, none of which had much to do with football’s commitment to diversity. For one, the shift from a run-first to pass-centric offenses was coupled with an increased value being placed on quarterbacks with the ability to avoid the swarm of pass rushers. Speed is of the essence at every position in the NFL now. As such, the very same dual-threat field generals which had been overlooked quickly became a near-necessity. Two, the salary cap made it a near-impossibility to let a QB — regardless of their racial identity — sit on the bench for a few seasons while they absorbed the intricacies of a pro-style offense. Instead, the NFL began importing the more wide-open college offensive strategies, and a larger percentage of the quarterbacks at the helm of those teams happened to be Black. Strengthening the rules meant to protect passers both in and out of the pocket has allowed mobile quarterbacks to do damage with both their arms and legs, and with fewer worries about being wrecked by a charging linebacker, too. Three, when given the chance, players like Michael Vick and Cam Newton more than thrived. Biases or not, the NFL is a copycat league, and NFL bigwigs are conditioned from birth to copy what works. Yes, some of the truly revanchist ideas that pervaded in football have faded, but chalking these developments up entirely to enlightenment is a comforting delusion.

“The reality is: Don’t tell me about the image that’s projected before your eyes,” Edwards said. “Tell me about the dynamics underlying the circumstances that brought that image into being.”  

Edwards was similarly skeptical in 2007, when two Black head coaches — Tony Dungy and Lovie Smith — faced each other in the Super Bowl. Despite it being heralded as a grand sign of progress, in the ensuing decades, the number of Black men coaching teams has more or less stagnated. “It should be embarrassing, but of course, it’s not. Not for the league and the owners,” Edwards added. 

Any concerns about racial equity stop at the point it might cost the NFL a few dollars, said Moore. In the summer of 2020, Mahomes in particular and scores of Black NFL players did realize they had the ability to effect change if they stood in solidarity. But the league has a long track record of throwing enough money and issuing flurries of carefully-crafted statements right up until the public stops paying attention. “The NFL will do as much as they need—the bare minimum,” said Moore. “That’s what you’re going to get. Nothing more.”

During a press conference at last year’s Super Bowl, NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell called the tiny number of Black head coaches “unacceptable,” and swore resolving the matter was an NFL priority. (It was far from the first time he’d made such a promise.) This came shortly after Brian Flores, the former Miami Dolphins head coach, filed a class-action lawsuit against the NFL, accusing the league of racial discrimination. This week, Goodell was asked by NFL.com reporter Jim Trotter what concrete steps had been taken to achieve those goals. As an example, 60 to 70 percent of the league is Black, Trotter said, and yet there are scant few people of color in the league’s in-house media arm. Goodell’s answer was: “I am not in charge of the newsroom.” 

Still, Moore believes that what makes the Mahomes-Hurts matchup of such importance is that, if nothing else, it forces the football-loving public to revisit the full scope of the NFL’s past and present, warts and all. “You can’t get rid of this history. It’s not Florida,” he quipped, referring to Governor Ron DeSantis’s efforts to purge discussion of race from classrooms. Today’s Super Bowl matchup, then, can and should serve as a moment to honor the people who struggled to bear that weight.

“I don’t get the sense that people are really celebrating the NFL as much as they’re celebrating the moment of, ‘Wow, it’s been a long time,’” said Moore. “A long time coming.”