Quarterback.

Once upon a time that one word would bring a vision to any football fan’s mind.

This was the gunslinger, the quiet hero. He would stand there in the pocket, delivering lasers to receivers — they weren’t known yet, as wide receivers — remaining calm in the eye of the onrushing storm. He was as heroic as John Wayne, as quiet as Gary Cooper, as tough as Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer.

Oh, he may have had stooped shoulders like John Unitas, creaking knees like Joe Namath, an ability to scramble like Fran Tarkenton, but what he did was throw the football and the vision that would emerge whenever the word was used was universally similar.

No more.

While the importance of the quarterback’s role in the modern offense has inflated faster than the economy, the definition of his services and the physical requirements of the position have undergone a dramatic transformation.

When West Virginia and Louisville collide in a monumental Big East matchup Thursday night on Mountaineer Field at Milan Puskar Stadium, there is more at stake than just the Mountaineers bid to win th