He Plays Hitter but Not a Heavy : When Taft High’s DaShon Polk Takes the Field, He Smiles on Contact

At first glance, a bluegill looks an awful lot like a piranha. The shape is similar, ditto the size.

Then there are the teeth. A piranha, of course, has the kind of chompers that make instant weight loss a medical reality. A bluegill wouldn’t scare an earthworm.

Depending on the time of day, Taft High linebacker DaShon Polk appears to be either fillet of fish or man-eater. Polk’s baby face doesn’t quite jibe with the feeding frenzy he conducts on Friday nights.

For years, relatives have been driving Polk crazy by pinching his cherubic cheeks. But one family member spoke well when he nicknamed Polk “Jaws.”

“That’s silly, man,” said Polk, grinning, as usual.

It’s no gaffe.

The ball is bait.

The ballcarrier, raw meat.

“It’s like, he’s got something of yours and you want to get it back,” Polk said.

Since he arrived at Taft last season as an overgrown sophomore, Polk (6 feet 3, 195 pounds) has been the teeth of the team’s defense, which has allowed an average of 164.7 yards per game, third best in the region. He has chipped the molars of many a ballcarrier.

“He can put the hurt on you,” said El Camino Real co-Coach Mike Maio, whose Conquistadores (5-1) play at Taft (6-0) tonight in a key North Valley League game. “He’s very aggressive, somebody to be reckoned with.”

Reconnoiter and pulverize. That is Polk’s pattern, his mission. Just listen to Polk, an All-City Section selection, talk about the thrill of the kill.

Hear his voice rise and fall, see his eyes narrow, his teeth glint.

His descriptions are full of more whams , bams and bops than John Madden. By way of example, listen to Polk describe the first few moments of a game:

“I can’t get fired up in the locker room. Other guys are running around getting all fired up, but I can’t get that excited until I touch that field.

“Then you see the lights, then you start sweating in warm-ups. Sweat starts pouring down.

“Then it’s the kickoff team or kickoff return, and I’m on both teams.

“Who’s gonna make the tackle?

“I’m gonna make the tackle! Bam!

“On kickoff team, I’m gonna hit somebody. I run down my lane and run somebody over. Pow! And then it’s time for defense, I’m already out there after the kickoff.

“Defense, let’s go baby, yeeeeeaaaah. I’m already fired up ‘cause I just ran somebody over, yeeeeah. And I want to do it again. Wheeeeeeew. “

Whew is right. It should come as no great surprise when Taft Coach Troy Starr says that Polk is one player he never needs to motivate.

“His intensity is uncoachable,” Starr said. “I’ve had a few kids like that, and you either have it or you don’t.”

Always had it. Always will.

Didn’t always know it, though.

Polk always has been precocious, but he didn’t know he was predacious until sixth grade. He’d never played football when he went out for a Pop Warner team in Pacoima, where he has lived with his grandfather for the past eight years.

He nervously put on the uniform for his first practice, eyeing his teammates to see which pads went where.

Polk, big for his age, was placed on a team with older kids.

He ambled onto the field, having not the slightest whiff of what was expected of him. Almost immediately, Polk developed a habit of running into things. Namely, running backs. He immediately put the pop in Pop Warner.

“I was scared,” Polk said. “The first day, though, I rang somebody up. Coach was so happy, he came over and patted me on the helmet.

“I thought, ‘Damn, I guess that’s what I’m supposed to do.’ ”

Polk’s Taft teammates can recount from memory some of his biggest belts, such as the one he laid on former Reseda quarterback John Buckley (6-3, 200) last fall. Buckley rolled out of the pocket and Polk met him head-on.

“Nasty,” defensive back Dwyer McKeith said.

“Guy should have run out of bounds,” linebacker Antwan Simpson said.

Buckley, later selected to the All-City team, nearly had an out-of-body experience.

“That was the hit,” Polk said with a cackle. “ The hit. I got it on tape.

“I watch it every week. I rewind it. Pow! I watch it in slow motion. Wheweee . It was helmet to helmet, full speed. Next thing, I saw him on his back.”

When this type of thing happens, which is frequently, Polk typically spends the next few seconds gloating, giving the guy a cheerful earful.

“He wants them to know he’s out there,” Taft quarterback Mike Ferguson said. “He wants them to be afraid.”

Polk made the switch from strong safety to inside linebacker over the summer. A few weeks ago, he was moved to outside linebacker to take advantage of his speed and blitzing ability. Quarterbacks have been added to his quarry.

In last week’s 49-7 pasting of Chatsworth, Taft sacked quarterback Aaron Hummel on the first play. Hummel finished with minus-41 yards rushing and Polk racked up 2 1/2 sacks. Polk sometimes peers into the backfield and catches the quarterback casting a wary glance.

“I can see the fear,” Polk said.

Bagging quarterbacks is his newest forte. Sacks of groceries are old news. Strange as it seems, when the dust settles at practice, Polk heads home and. . . . puts on an apron?

After a hard day applying the heat, Polk steps into the kitchen, where he definitely holds his own--his own spatula.

“I can cook,” Polk said. “Steak, chicken, pork chops, roast. Anything, everything. Breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

Polk does the cooking for himself and his 79-year-old grandfather, Ernest O’Neal Polk Sr.

DaShon does the cleaning. He does the laundry. He does the dishes. He takes out the trash. He irons clothes. On the field, Polk’s a tiger who can bench-press 270 pounds and run 40 yards in 4.6 seconds, but at home, Polk is a domesticated cat.

“I really like the way he cooks fish and chicken,” his grandfather said.

Polk moved in with his grandfather when DaShon’s parents experienced financial difficulty. Polk and his grandfather have proved a perfect match.

“I can honestly say that I’ve never had any trouble with him,” the elder Polk said. “I’m not bragging, but he really is a nice young man. I love having him around.”

Said DaShon: “If it wasn’t for him, man, I don’t know. He’s the man. He’s strict, but that’s good. He’s my life, right there.”

Some of Polk’s teammates marvel at his ability to juggle his many commitments.

“He’s got more responsibilities than most Valley kids have their whole lives,” Ferguson said.

Last summer, Polk and his neighborhood pal, Taft running back Jerry Brown, did custodial and maintenance work at Taft. Polk spent some money on school clothes and squirreled the rest away for a rainy day.

“He’s a very, very mature kid,” Starr said. “A big-time player and person.”

Though he is only a junior, Polk has attracted attention. Talent bird-dogs, paid by colleges to supply game film on top prospects, compare Polk to former Antelope Valley High standout Tommie Smith, a punishing defensive back who later played at Washington.

“This kid’s an obvious blue-chipper,” said Raoul Estrada of Santa Ana-based Para-Dies Scouting. “He has all the physical tools.”

Several Big Eight Conference schools already are aware of Polk’s intimidating presence and have requested Taft game tapes, Estrada said.

“He might be the top safety prospect in the state next year,” Estrada said.

Safety, linebacker. . . . Polk will play anywhere--and has. In fact, Polk is the third-string center and quarterback, the second-string fullback, a part-time slot back and tight end, an inside and outside linebacker, and the starting long snapper. He plays on all of Taft’s special teams.

Because of injuries in the offensive line, Polk played the entire game at center against Monroe four weeks ago--after one day of practice at the position. He and Ferguson didn’t botch a single exchange.

Not surprisingly, Polk hated the experience because it violated his Golden Rule: It is Better to Give Than Receive.

“I didn’t like it at all ,” Polk said with a grimace. “I had to take the blows, and I’m not used to that. Taking it, bam , like that, them coming after me. Pow .”

A good whacking is OK with Polk, in moderation. While running a pass pattern this week during practice, Polk was decked by lineman Dan Lazarovits, another of Taft’s four All-City players.

“It felt good,” Polk said.

No doubt.

Polk bears a thick, inch-long scar on his left forearm from a wound several years ago. The stitch marks are still visible.

“I like it,” Polk said.

Uh-huh.

Unquestionably, when it’s time to buckle the chin strap, Polk’s alter ego steps forward. Even his grandfather has trouble believing it’s the same kid out there on Friday night.

“He steps out of his nice, sweet way,” his grandfather said. “When somebody comes his way, bam! “

For Polk, that’s the ultimate compliment. Anything descriptive that ends in bam or wham is Polk’s kind of tag line.

“I try to hit somebody every play,” Polk said. “If you don’t hit somebody, you didn’t do nothing.”