Behold the tush: the gluteus maximus, the largest muscle in the body, responsible for keeping the body upright. It has many names—buttocks, bum, derrière, fanny, rump, seat, keister, haunches, backside, buns—but, in the National Football League, tush is the term of the day. Butts can fumble and asses get whooped, but a pushed tush can earn you a first-and-ten. Just ask the Philadelphia Eagles.
The tush getting the most attention belongs to Jalen Hurts, the team’s quarterback. When he was selected in the second round of the 2020 N.F.L. draft, many Eagles fans were surprised, and not pleasantly. Philadelphians are dyspeptic by nature, but they had a point: the Eagles had just given the quarterback Carson Wentz a four-year, hundred-and-twenty-eight-million-dollar extension, and teams don’t usually use second-round picks on quarterbacks unless they expect them to challenge for a starting job someday. Wentz had already had a tetchy relationship with a previous high-profile backup, Nick Foles, and Hurts was no sure thing: in college, at Alabama, he’d been benched in the middle of the national championship game in favor of Tua Tagovailoa, who was seen as a more dynamic, high-upside prospect. But Philly’s gamble paid off: Hurts replaced Wentz in week thirteen of the regular season, and despite a bit of an uneven start, his gifts were immediately apparent. Hurts is smart, has an accurate arm, and he can run. He not only has rare speed and anticipation but an ability to stay on his feet while being trucked by a linebacker. He has, in other words, a great butt.
His glutes were already famous for their exploits. At fifteen years old, he competed in power-lifting meets; after transferring to Oklahoma from Alabama, for his final collegiate season, he was videotaped squatting five hundred and eighty-five pounds, nearly triple his own weight, and double that of a defensive lineman. A nice ass is not a requirement for the quarterback position. (If it were, Peyton Manning wouldn’t be in the Hall of Fame.) But, in an era defined by the run-pass option, having a quarterback who can stay upright while absorbing and exerting force sure helps.
The trick is putting the ass to work. The Eagles were terrible during Hurts’s rookie year, and they began the next season 2–5. Then they started running, more than anyone else, and became a juggernaut. Hurts led all quarterbacks that season in rushing, with seven hundred and eighty-four yards. The following year, he ran for seven hundred and sixty, finished second in M.V.P. voting, and led the Eagles to the Super Bowl. For some of those rushing yards, though—some of the most critical ones—he had help. At some point before the 2023 campaign, the Eagles’ coaches figured out that Hurts’s rear could do more than just make him a great runner. It could also be the perfect target for a big shove.
The modern “tush push” can be traced to a play that came at the end of a 2005 game between the University of Southern California and Notre Dame. Behind by three points, U.S.C. had the ball on Notre Dame’s goal line, with seven seconds left. The quarterback Matt Leinart ran straight into the wall of the Notre Dame defense, on a so-called Q.B. sneak, and appeared to have been stopped. But Reggie Bush, U.S.C.’s star running back, came in behind Leinart and shoved him into the end zone for the game-winning touchdown. At the time, it was illegal in both college football and the N.F.L. to directly aid the runner—most sneaks involve the quarterback diving into a sliver of open space or trying to leap over the offensive and defensive lines—but no flag was thrown. The following year, the N.F.L. removed language forbidding pushing the ball-carrier forward. The N.F.L. has denied that this decision had anything to do with the Bush push; the idea, according to the league, was to save referees from difficult judgment calls, not to give teams the opportunity to try a new offensive strategy.
But, during the first game of the 2022 season, that’s precisely what the Eagles did. As time wound down, the Eagles clung to a 38–35 lead over the Detroit Lions, facing fourth-and-one. Hurts lined up for a sneak and was shoved forward just far enough for a first down. As the Eagles’ campaign went on, the rugby-style scrum on a Q.B. sneak became the team’s signature play. “Sneak,” it should be said, quickly became a misnomer: everyone knew what was coming—but no one could stop it even so. Philly fans soon gave the play a geographically appropriate name, dubbing it the “brotherly shove.” (Somehow there have been no prominent appeals to call the play a “bum rush.”) The Eagles used it forty-one times during the regular season and converted the short yardage thirty-seven times. During the Super Bowl, the Eagles went to it six times, twice scoring touchdowns.
This year, the Eagles have gone to the tush push a league-leading seventeen times, gaining yards on all but one attempt. Other teams are trying it, too, and experimenting with other techniques. The Q.B. sneak has never been so popular. According to The Athletic, there were two hundred and thirty-three sneaks in 2021, a twenty-first-century record that was surpassed the following year. This season, sneaks are on pace to break the record again. Many of these plays are the more traditional sneak—violent and messy, with bodies writhing everywhere. But other teams are trying to copy the Eagles. They are using their quarterbacks as battering rams.
Not long ago, Peter King, a marquee N.F.L. writer, described the tush push as an “abomination,” an “idiotic rule” that should be outlawed, and, worse, “a rugby play.” King is not alone in his derision. Other commentators have called it “ugly,” “a Pop Warner play,” and “unfair.” “Cheaters,” Joe Schad, of the Orlando Sentinel, tweeted, after the Eagles converted a first down on a Q.B. sneak against the Miami Dolphins last week. The N.F.L.’s rules committee considered banning it last season and will likely reëxamine the matter next year. Teams other than the Eagles, including some who have begun using the play, are said to hate it. The real issue seems to be that it almost always works, thus sapping high-stakes moments of their drama. But another argument against it, somewhat paradoxically, is that only the Eagles are good at it.
If this seems counter to the spirit of competitive sport—you might as well ban Patrick Mahomes for being too gifted—that’s because it is. And yet there’s something to the idea. Most quarterbacks do not have legs like pistons; few of them can squat six hundred pounds. And most offensive lines don’t have Jason Kelce—the brother of Travis, who is also partly known for his football prowess—at center. Kelce’s relatively compact body lets him play low to the ground, and he gives up nothing to his larger counterparts in strength. According to the Eagles, though, what makes it work is the usual mix of commitment and preparation. Other teams are free to do it.
The Chicago Bears have tried some novel sneaks this season; the Buffalo Bills, with the ox-like Josh Allen at quarterback, have used the push sparingly but well. The Los Angeles Chargers tried it with a quarterback who has a broken hand, which was pretty dumb. Two players were injured when the New York Giants gave the play a shot, which is evidence either that the play is dangerous or that the Giants are the Giants. (The Giants’ coach, Brian Daboll, later said that the team did not practice the play live.)
Some teams haven’t tried it and won’t. After Mahomes was injured in a quarterback sneak a few seasons ago, Andy Reid, the coach of the Kansas City Chiefs, swore he’d never run the play with him again. Reid knows that the gain of six feet isn’t worth risking the loss of God’s arm. The most reasonable argument against the tush push probably does involve safety: it looks dangerous, at least, even if there’s not yet any data to show that it actually is. At the same time, there’s something thrillingly elemental about the tush push—and something smart about it, too. Football is commonly called a game of inches. If you can run a play that reliably gains a yard? Pat on the butt for you. ♦
