Football is a graveyard for plain speaking English. When a wide receiver, for example, is talented enough to catch any pass thrown in his zip code, you’ve got to discuss his great “catch radius.”

Forget the old days when guys used to say about football, “It’s not rocket science.”

Well, it’s still not rocket science but its language sounds as if it is.

A “catch radius” involves metrics that examine a player’s ability to “get vertical” (jump high) and catch a pass in “3-dimensional space.” The shelves in my desk are three-dimensional, and I’d prefer if we just put this obtuse language on the shelf. An even better place for it would be the nearest garbage dump.

From a definition found on the internet: “Catch Radius affects a player’s ability to succeed in the red zone, particularly on fade routes and 50-50 balls. The equation squares a player’s 40-time, 20-yard shuttle, and 3-cone and multiplies it by the square of a player’s height, arm length, and vertical jump. The values of all six data inputs are normalized to have equal weight.”

You read that and you either start breaking out in a cold sweat with nightmares of past bouts with calculus tests, or you are zapped into a deep sleep.

In the likely event this sort of highfalutin jargon doesn’t ebb but continues to flow, I’d like to contribute. It could fill some jargon vacuums.

In addition to “catch radius,” there ought to be a “blocking diameter” and a “tackling circumference.” A good “blocking diameter” would measure the “hold time” in which an offensive lineman can hold off a defensive lineman (without being penalized for holding) from sacking the quarterback, particularly on three-step drops as opposed to five-step drops. It would also factor in the frequency with which an offensive lineman can block more than one defender on a play. Square the diameter of the breadth and length and depth of the lineman’s reach and divide by the hold time to get his blocking diameter score.

Basically, the same sort of metrics in reverse could apply for a “tackling circumference.” Think  of the old pictures of legendary linebacker Dick Butkus charging into a scrum of blockers and a running back, arms outstretched to either side as if to collect them within his circumference reach and tackle them all.

Several coaches follow the same template for coachspeak. Dennis Allen, the Saints’ second-year head coach, has a similar speaking style as his predecessor, Sean Payton. When they stop to talk to the media, it’s time for “look” and “listen.”

As in: “Look, at the end of the day, we have a ton of respect for Joe Billy Sixpence, as far as his knowledge of the game, and yet he’s an even better human being.”

Or, “Look, we understand what Freddy Frenchloaf is going through with this nagging injury, but we expect him back soon to help our football team. He brings a lot to the table. He’s a high-motor guy and has great football IQ and he’s a great locker room guy.”

Add it all up and square the coaches’ jargon in 3-dimensional space, and at the end of the day (they really love that phrase), you’ll feel like you’ve fumbled on a fade route and you’re bracing to go hard for a 50-50 ball.

Bob Tompkins enjoyed a 43-year newspaper career as an award-winning writer and editor, serving the last 39 years at the Town Talk in Alexandria through most of 2015. He is a member of the Louisiana Sports Hall of Fame as a past winner of the LSWA’s Distinguished Service Award in Sports Journalism. An Alexandria resident, Tompkins is a contributing columnist sharing his talents with Rapides Parish Journal readers.