July 29, 1989|By CHARLES BRICKER, Staff Writer
MIAMI -- Brian Sochia must be ready to start the NFL season. He`s griping in midseason form.
The Dolphins` weight room is lousy. There isn`t enough ice in the players` cold tub. And he can`t find his beeper.
Show a coach a contented nose tackle and he`ll show you a sloppy, out-of- shape guy who isn`t ready to take up his spot in the middle of the line.
But now, Sochia. Irritable? He looked like he was ready to chew his pickup truck in two a couple days ago.
``Where the hell is that beeper?`` he asked, scavenging around his four-wheel drive vehicle.
Suddenly, the thing went off. ``There it is,`` he announced. Sochia stuck his XXL-sized ham hock under the front seat and pulled it free, cursing.
A day later only made Sochia a day crankier.
He came off the practice field Friday morning limping slightly and complaining about the weight room.
``You want to see it?`` he asks. He leads the way.
The Dolphins` weight room is, well, not exactly a room. It`s more like a patio with an aluminum roof, a few fluorescent tubes buzzing overhead, a sign on the wall imploring the players not to leave tobacco cups lying around and a large fan working fruitlessly.
``I don`t lift here. I belong to a club and I also have some weight equipment at my house,`` Sochia groused. ``Look at this place. It`s too (bleeping) hot in here. I roast on the field. I don`t need to roast in here.
``And the benches. They`re too narrow. If I`m lying down on one of these things, my shoulder might roll off. I could tear a shoulder or something, you know.``
Sochia can go from cantankerous to calm in the snap of a finger.
``To tell you the truth,`` he said quietly, ``this weight room is a real controversial subject around here. There is no reason why they can`t have a well-equipped, air-conditioned room. I don`t understand it. I don`t even try to understand it. I just try to do my job and do the best I can. If I knew the reason, I`d tell you.``
He turned 28 eight days ago. It has taken him a long time to become an elite nose tackle.
Never drafted, he signed as a free agent with Houston in 1983, dabbled at defensive end and finally settled in as a nose man after coming to Miami in 1986.
He reached new heights last year after being elected an alternate to the Pro Bowl and went to the game after Cincinnati`s Tim Krumrie broke his leg in Super Bowl XXIII.
A thankless job, nose tackle is for the human pinballs of the NFL. They are blocked and blindsided on almost every play. They learn instinctively to play with their heads on swivels.
``No way you would call Brian normal,`` said center Jeff Dellenbach. ``But, then, I don`t think you`d call any nose tackle normal.``
Dellenbach, who has to confront Sochia`s disposition almost daily in training camp, never knows what to expect.
``He`ll come out before practice and say he`s really hurt, then have the best practice of his life,`` Dellenbach said.
Sochia`s wandering thoughts are well known to teammates. Last year, he took two right shoes on a road trip with him. ``We went out for a Saturday walk- through before the game and he was wearing both right shoes. It turned into a big joke on the team, but it didn`t bother Brian at all,`` said Dellenbach. ``He just went out and got a new pair for Sunday.``
According to Dellenbach, teammates have a variety of nicknames for him, the most popular being ``Strange Brain.``
His idea of relaxation is about an hour on the shooting range at Markham Park in west Broward.
That and a little well-placed griping.
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